‘Is she the “Shark”?’
‘She may be. But such of her crew as I make out don’t look to me to be English.’
‘Can you distinguish any women on board?’
‘Nothing approaching a woman. They mean to board us. They have a fine boat of a whaling pattern hanging to leeward, and there are sailors preparing to lower her. They are not Englishmen, I swear. I see a large fat man delivering orders apparently with sluggish gesticulations, which strike me as distinctly Dutch. How about her figure-head?’ I continued, and I brought the glass to bear on the bows of the schooner. ‘Ha!’ I cried, and looked round.
Wilfrid was watching the schooner right aft, where he had stood during the greater part of the chase, his arms folded as before, the same iron-hard expression on his countenance. I called to him.
‘What is the figure-head of the “Shark”?’
He started, and answered, ‘I don’t know. Ask Finn,’ and so saying walked towards us.
The skipper was giving some instructions to Crimp on the other side of the deck.
‘Captain Finn,’ I called.
‘Sir.’