“Let me see, then.”
I looked through the glass until my eyes ached, but as I could perceive nothing, I resumed my walk on deck, satisfied in my own mind that Timothy had been mistaken. The latter, however, continued to look through the glass, and when I approached him, a few minutes afterwards, said:
“Well, sir, now that it brightens a little, I see what it is that has been puzzling me.”
“The deuce you do! give me the glass.” In a moment I saw it also.
“By Jove, Tailtackle, you’re right. Send the men to their posts, get the long guns ready, and clear the deck for action.”
These orders of mine quickly changed our hitherto quiet vessel into a scene of bustle and confusion. I kept my eyes steadily fixed on the object which had attracted 93 the watchful gaze of Timothy Tailtackle, but all that I could make out was that it was a strange sail. On account of the distance, and unusual darkness of the night, I could distinguish neither its size nor rig. All this time a fine breeze was driving us rapidly towards the coast of Cuba.
“Give the glass to the boatswain, Master Tailtackle, and come forward here.”
The long gun was now swung round, and the other pieces run into the opened ports. They were all double shotted and carefully primed, and the whole crew, even to a negro we had on board, stood at their posts ready for action.
“I see her now, sir, plain enough,” cried Tailtackle.
“Good! What does she look like?”