At midnight I turned out, and found the stranger close aboard our port quarter, and O’Toole furious at the answer he had received on hailing him.
“He won’t stand off, Mr. Gore,” said the second mate as I came aft, “an’ if it holds calm another hour he’ll be alongside.”
After O’Toole had gone below, I took the glass and watched the man who had just relieved the watch on her quarter-deck. He was not over fifty fathoms distant, and I could see that he was tall and wore a full beard.
Just below the stranger’s white quarter-rail was a yellowish streak on her black hull, and on focusing the night-glass upon it I read Countess of Warwick in small gold letters.
She drifted steadily nearer and I hailed her again.
At that moment a sturdy, bow-legged man appeared on deck and joined the one I had been watching.
He came to the rail and stared at me for several minutes, and then answered in a deep, gruff, even tone:
“By the great eternal! Ain’t this ocean big enough for you, that you must come wailing like a babe in the night? S’help me Gawd, when I sailed Yankee clippers there was little trouble in finding room enough in any ocean. This here lady is a real countess, and you needn’t be afraid of her sassiety, even if she is a little fast. She won’t foul them blooming stunsails of yours.”
At the sound of this voice, which was now quite near and distinct, I heard a quick movement in the skipper’s cabin, and I glanced down into it through one of the open ports.
Crojack had jumped out of his bunk and was in the act of swallowing a stiff drink of grog,—his usual toilet,—and as he finished it he bounded on deck with a series of sudden springs.