“Any room for me?” asked the paymaster, earnestly.
“I can pull an oar, sir,” insinuated the marine officer.
“As navigator, I consider it my duty to make the visit,” spoke up a tall, fine-looking lieutenant.
The captain laughed.
“If it wasn’t against the rules I’d go myself,” he said. “As it is, the first deck officer shall make the trip. Mr. Jones,” turning to another officer, “take the whaleboat and a good crew, and see what you find on board that vessel. Better go armed. There’s no telling what you will encounter. Make haste, and bring me a detailed report.”
The practice ship’s course was changed, and in less than an hour she was hove to within a half-mile of the mysterious vessel.
The latter was in plain view now, and she presented a sight that brought exclamations of wonder and amazement from the Monongahela’s crew.
She was unlike anything in the shape of a vessel they had ever before seen. She was high forward and aft, with a curious house-shaped structure amidships. The masts were mere poles, guiltless of yards, ropes or sails. There was no regular bowsprit forward, but in its place was a queer, stumpy bow.
At the top of each mast were small, circular, wooden cages. The sides of the hull seemed to be painted green at first, but the surgeon’s sharp eyes soon ascertained that it was not paint, but a luxuriant growth of marine grass.
The decks were littered with débris, and trailing over the stern was apparently a mass of tangled ropes and sails.