“Ah! your Don is a prince of the earth!  There is charity in lightening his golden burden, or the man would sink under it, as did the Roman matron under the pressure of the Sabine shields.  I think you see no such gilded beauty in the stranger, Mr Wilder.”

“It is a heavy ship!”

“The more likely to bear a noble freight.  You are new, sir, to this merry trade of ours, or you would know that size is a quality we always esteem in our visitors.  If they carry pennants, we leave them to meditate on the many ‘slips which exist between the cup and the lip;’ and, if stored with metal no more dangerous than that of Potosi, they generally sail the faster after passing a few hours in our company.”

“Is not the stranger making signals?” demanded Wilder, thoughtfully.

“Is he so quick to see us!  A good look-out must be had, when a vessel, that is merely steadied by her stay-sails, can be seen so far.  Vigilance is a never-failing sign of value!”

A pause succeeded, during which all the glasses, in imitation of that of Wilder, were again raised in the direction of the stranger.  Different opinions were given; some affirming, and some doubting, the fact of the signals.  The Rover himself was silent, though his observation was keen, and long continued.

“We have wearied oar eyes till sight is getting dim,” he said.  “I have found the use of trying fresh organs when my own have refused to serve me.  Come hither, lad,” he continued, addressing a man who was executing some delicate job in seamanship on the poop, at no great distance from the spot where the groupe of officers had placed themselves; “come hither:  Tell me what you make of the sail in the south-western board.”

The man proved to be Scipio, who had been chosen for his expertness, to perform the task in question.  Placing his cap on the deck, in a reverence even deeper than that which the seaman usually manifests toward his superior, he lifted the glass in one hand, while with the other he covered the eye that had at the moment no occasion for the use of its vision.  But no sooner did the wandering instrument fall on the distant object, than he dropped it again, and fastened his look, in a sort of stupid admiration, on Wilder.

“Did you see the sail?” demanded the Rover.

“Masser can see him wid he naked eye.”

“Ay, but what make you of him by the aid of the glass?”

“He’m ship, sir.”

“True.  On what course?”

“He got he starboard tacks aboard, sir.”

“Still true.  But has he signals abroad?”

“He’m got t’ree new cloths in he maintop-gallant royal, sir.”

“His vessel is all the better for the repairs.  Did you see his flags?”

“He’m show no flag, masser.”

“I thought as much myself.  Go forward, lad—­stay—­one often gets a true idea by seeking it where it is not thought to exist.  Of what size do you take the stranger to be?”