“Well, younker,” said the same old sailor of the morning, to the same young man who had doubted his penetration, “well, younker, what do you think of that ere customer now, eh? He has the wind in his maintopsail, has’nt he? and seems to have plenty of pride of his own, and won’t speak to nobody. Ay, ay, them customers, never throw away words or shots, I know. Come, younker, I’ll give you another wrinkle,” continued the old tar.
“Well, let’s have it?”
“Mark my word,” continued the old sailor, in a low and mysterious tone, “if you don’t see that ere customer again, before long, my name is not what it is, I know,” and winking impressively on his hearers, he rolled away chuckling with self-satisfaction.
The man-of-war continued there the remaining portion of that day and the night which ensued: nothing happened, during that period of time, to relieve the longing anxiety of the man-of-war’s people.
The next morning the usual watches were again sent up the masts. About noon, a vessel came in sight. It was steering, like the one of the previous day, directly towards the man-of-war; and seemed to approach her with an equal degree of speed. As she drew nearer and nearer, she was made out to be a light brigantine, such as those that are to be seen on the Mediterranean. Strange, however, the hull and make seemed to be the same as those of the vessel spoken the day before: but the new comer, instead of painted port-holes, had but a plain white streak.
The men evinced the same admiration for this “craft,” to use their own term, as they did for the one of the day before. There was, however, such a striking similarity in the hulls of the two vessels, that their admiration soon gave place to a feeling of mixed surprise and suspicion.
“What can those two crafts be?” they mutually asked each other.
“They are men-of-war,” some answered: “but where are the port-holes of this customer?”
“By jingo! I think they are pleasure boats,” said one.
“Oh, no, they look to me like Malaga boats,” said another.