Allardyce, who was a slow and methodical Scotchman,
stared long and hard at the little craft, while our seamen lined the
bulwark or clustered upon the fore shrouds to have a view of the
stranger. In latitude 20 degrees and longitude 10 degrees, which were
about our bearings, one becomes a little curious as to whom one meets,
for one has left the main lines of Atlantic commerce to the north.
For ten days we had been sailing over a solitary sea.
"She's derelict, I'm thinking," said the second mate.
I had come to the same conclusion, for I could see no signs of life
upon her deck, and there was no answer to the friendly wavings from our
seamen. The crew had probably deserted her under the impression that
she was about to founder.
"She can't last long," continued Allardyce, in his measured way.
"She may put her nose down and her tail up any minute. The water's
lipping up to the edge of her rail."
"What's her flag?" I asked.
"I'm trying to make out. It's got all twisted and tangled with the
halyards. Yes, I've got it now, clear enough. It's the Brazilian flag,
but it's wrong side up."
She had hoisted a signal of distress, then, before her people had
abandoned her. Perhaps they had only just gone. I took the mate's
glass and looked round over the tumultuous face of the deep blue
Atlantic, still veined and starred with white lines and spoutings of
foam.
Pages:
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180