‘Yonder’s the sail that was sighted awhile gone, Sir Wilfrid,’ sung out Captain Finn in his leather-lunged voice.
My cousin sprang to his feet, and the three of us went to the rail to look.
CHAPTER VIII.
WE SPEAK THE ‘WANDERER.’
On the lee-bow was a dash of orange light, much less like the sails of a ship than a feather of vapour bronzed by a sunset and vanishing in the tail of a cloud.
‘How does she head, Finn?’ cried Wilfrid to the skipper, who was viewing her through a long, heavy, powerful glass of his own.
‘Coming dead on end for us, sir.’
‘What’ll she be, captain?’ said I.
He eyed her a bit, and answered, ‘A square rig, sir; a bit of a barque, I dare say.’