“Men, how did she get there?” asked the admiral now of the common, ignorant sailors who came, terrified, and grouped themselves about him as their protector.
One of them said that she had jumped over them.
Another said that she had dived under them.
Yet others contended that she had wings—that she had fins—that she was not a ship, but an apparition.
Now, again, suddenly, the little boat began to sink.
“Now I shall see,” said the wounded commander, doubtingly. “Perhaps, after all, we have punctured her below the water line, and she is a goner. If they call for help, have the boats ready. Have them ready, anyhow. The fact is, we need a bit of help ourselves.”
“And,” ventured Nicht Wahr, dreamily, in an evil way he had, when he had been too much crossed, “they may have needles and thread.”
“Nicht Wahr,” said the commander, in ignorance of his irony, “do you know that I think that little thing is made of tin—perhaps several sheets nailed together?”
“Precisely, sire,” said Wahr.
“Tin will sink,” said the impudent Weiss Nicht, again on deck.