“But they are of the same make,” observed a third.
“Ay, ay, don’t you see they are sister-vessels, fools, and are on the same voyage?” said another, gravely, who, up to that time, had maintained unbroken silence, and had, with the aid of a serious aspect, looked wisdom itself.
“Ay, that’s it, that’s it,” they all cried, at this suggestion, “they belong to the same owner, and are on the same voyage.”
All seemed to concur in this opinion, except the same old sailor, who, on the previous day, regarded the Mexican brig with so much suspicion. He seemed to entertain doubts about this new vessel, as he did with regard to the other.
“Well, younker, what do you think of this fresh gentleman, now?” he said, satirically, to the unfortunate young man who had offended his self-esteem, and who seemed now to be entirely devoted to the revengeful ridicule of that elder son of Neptune.
“Don’t know,” was the crabbed reply.
“Don’t know, eh? you will know, perhaps, when them young eyes of yours have squinted oftner at the sun, my hearty, hi, hi, hi!”
The brigantine drew nearer and nearer, and seemed carefully to measure the same distance at which the brig of the day before had passed. She came with her sails filled with the fresh breeze, and was passing the man-of-war, when one of the heavy guns of the large vessel was fired. The shot fell across the brigantine’s bows, but at some distance from her.
Her sails still bellied with the wind; she still skipped along, and the beautiful and pure white wavelets of foam still swelled on each of her sides.