‘Dot vhas a very bad look-out for der ship und her people!’ exclaimed Peter Green, whose glass I had filled with wine. ‘Tell der story, Mr. Hagan.’
‘Why,’ said Hagan, speaking through his nose, ‘it was like this: I had stepped out of my cottage just as day was a-breaking to take a look ’round; away out nor’-west I see something black—just a black speck. Wal, I borrows the governor’s glass and makes out a ship’s boat, with an oar stepped and something white flying from the head of it. Three of our people, Miller, Riley, and Swain, agree with me to go and have a look at the boat. So we launches, and what do we find? A boat with four men in her; one man dead, another seemingly dying, t’other two too weak to sit up. We got ’em ashore, buried the body, and brought the others to. Him that seemed dying is a bit better, but he looks queer, and, to my mind, ain’t a-going to last. He hurt himself somewheres insides when the scramble happened in the fire. The other two are all right, and all three want to get away.’
‘Survivors of a fire. I take it?’ said, Tom.
‘Yaw,’ answered Green.
‘Smart little barque,’ said Hagan; ‘burned to the water’s edge. The people got away in two boats. Them that’s ashore is the skipper and mate and an able seaman.’
‘Who’s the sick man?’ said Mr. Bates.
‘Der mate,’ answered Peter Green.
‘How long have they been with you?’ I asked.
‘T’ree weeks, marm. Captain,’ exclaimed the Dutchman, turning to Tom, ‘did you know the leedle ship? She vhas called—she vhas called—ach, my memory!’
‘The Arab Chief,’ said Hagan.