Finn answered with alacrity, ‘The schooner-yacht “Bride,” sir.’
‘Zhe vight vorr herr nation?’ sending a lethargic glance at our masthead as if in search of a pennant.
‘No, sir,’ cried Finn, ‘we’re a pleasure vessel.’
‘Dere is no var,’ exclaimed the Dutchman, shaking his head, ‘between mine coundry und yours.’
‘Ho no, sir,’ exclaimed Finn.
‘Den I ask,’ said the Dutchman, in a voice like a trombone, ‘vy you vire ot me?’
This promised no end. I hastily whispered to Finn, ‘Leave him to me. Turn to quietly and trim sail and get way upon the vessel. He’ll take no other hint, I fear.’ Finn sneaked off. ‘Pardon me, sir,’ said I, ‘you’ll have heard from the captain that our firing at you was a blunder into which we were led by mistaking your ship. We desire to tender you our humble apology, which I trust you will see your way to accept without delay as we are very desirous of proceeding on our voyage.’
He looked at me with a motionless head and a face as vacant of human intelligence as a cloud, with its fat, its paleness, its Alp upon Alp of chin, then ponderously and slowly putting his hand into his breast he pulled out a great pocket-book and said, ‘Vot dis schip’s name?’
‘The “Bridesmaid,”’ said I.