‘This wind is taking off,’ said Mr. Bates.
Tom looked aloft and then round the sea. He started, peered a little eagerly and, pointing, exclaimed: ‘Is that a vessel yonder in the flow of the moonlight?’
Will, who had keen eyes, looked and said: ‘Yes, sir.’
The mate fetched the glass from the companion-way and gave it to Tom, who said: ‘It’s a little brig, I think.’
The mate pointed the telescope, and when he was done with it I asked leave to look. He steadied the glass, and I quite clearly saw the vessel. She lay exactly under the moon in the full stream of the silver light, where the first of it smote the dark edge and flowed across the ocean.
‘How is she heading?’ said Tom.
‘She seems to be standing south,’ answered the mate.
‘Would she not receive us?’ said I.
‘We can’t board anything in these clothes,’ exclaimed Tom.
‘She don’t seem to be travelling,’ exclaimed the mate. ‘She hangs steady under the moon. Perhaps the calm’s about her. The heat’s drying up the breeze.’