“No fear of that. It could never have been supposed that we had got so far south; and they would not know in which direction to look for us,” he answered.
Still I could not help having some doubts on the subject.
“We will hail the stranger, and learn what she is,” said Uncle Paul; so, uniting our voices, we shouted out, “Ship ahoy! ship ahoy!”
A voice replied, in Dutch; and my father, who understood the language, at once cried out,—“Heave to, for the love of Heaven, and receive us on board!”
“Ya, ya,” was the answer; “we will be up with you presently.”
In a few minutes we were alongside the stranger, a small Dutch trading-sloop. As soon as we were all on board our boat was dropped astern, and sail was made. Her skipper, Mynheer Jan van Dunk, gave us a kind reception, exhibiting the greatest sympathy when he heard of the sufferings we had endured, and seeming especially moved at hearing of those Marian had gone through.
“I have one little maid just like her,” he said, taking her in his arms. “She must go into my berth and sleep while we get supper ready. Poor little dear, she has had no food for so many days.”
“Thank you, I am not so very hungry,” said Marian; “but I am very thirsty.”
“Well, well, then, we will get you some tea ready,” he answered. “Peter,” he cried to his mate, “get a fire lighted in the caboose. Quick, quick, now; they all want food—I see it in their looks.”
The skipper said this while we were seated round the table in his little cabin, pretty closely packed, as may be supposed.