That same evening, about ten o'clock, I was sitting in the cabin with the master of the vessel. The cabin had two state-rooms, as they are called in merchantmen, opening off it, one on each side of the door, and four open berths aft, shut in with green baize curtains, that ran on brass rods. Each of the beds was tenanted by a Spanish passenger, while the master and I slept in cots slung in the main cabin. The Dons, tired with the exploits of the day, had by this time all bestowed themselves in their nests, and, so far as we could judge by the nasal chorus going on, were sound asleep. On a sudden we heard the mate, who appeared to be standing aft beside the man at the wheel, hail some one forward.
"Who is that standing on the rail at the gang-way there?"
Some one answered, but we could not make out what was said.
The mate again spoke—"whereabouts do you see it?"
"There, sir—right to windward there."
We then heard a bustle in the companion, as if some one was groping for the glass; and in a minute the mate came down to the cabin with it in his hand.
"There is a strange sail to windward of us, sir."
"What does she look like?" said the skipper; "not that infernal felucca again?"
"No, sir," said the man. "I think she is a large schooner; but it is so thick and dark, that I cannot be certain."
"I'll bet a thousand," said I, "that old Dogvane was right after all; and that this infernal little Midge, that has been buzzing round us all day, will have enacted the jackal to the lion, and brought this big fellow upon us."