A few men were to be seen racing aft, and in a minute or two a squab boat descended from a pair of davits as stout as catheads with four men in her, two to row, one to bale, and one to steer.
Whilst they were coming Captain Weaver said to Captain Acton: "The master of that brig, sir, seems to have his wife aboard."
But though Captain Acton and Admiral Lawrence heard him, their eyes were busy with the boat as she approached, and neither raised a glass to determine the appearance of the female.
The man who steered the boat was the captain; he climbed over the side of the Aurora, and presented the aspect of a man not unlike Mr John Eagle; he looked sour with succession of bad weather, with little ships that made nothing but leeway on a wind, with immensely long voyages, with shortness of rations and fresh water, and with the aridity of the ocean which he had been forced to keep for nearly the whole of his life.
"I should be much obliged for a cask of beef, sir," he said, after touching the narrow penthouse of a queerly constructed fur cap. "It's still a long way home for that there Louisa Ann, whose bin a hundred and seventy days in bringing us so fur."
"Have you spoke any ships lately?" asked Captain Weaver.
"The last we spoke," answered the man, "was the day before yesterday. And we took out of her by request of her master, a young female who was said to have gone mad, but for my part I never met with anybody saner. She's an additional mouth, and a cask of beef would be grateful."
"A young female!" said Captain Acton. "What was the name of the vessel you took her from?"
At this point the Admiral levelled his glass at the brig. The master of the Louisa Ann went to the side and shouted down, received an answer, returned and said: "Her name was the Minorca."
"The Minorca!" shouted Captain Acton. "The day before yesterday! And you received a young lady from her?"