"She is hove-to," said Dodd very gravely.
At eight o'clock, the stranger lay about two miles to windward, and still
hove-to.
By this time all eyes were turned upon her, and half a dozen glasses.
Everybody, except the captain, delivered an opinion.
She was a Greek lying-to for water: she was a Malay coming north with
canes, and short of hands: she was a pirate watching the Straits.
The captain leaned silent and sombre with his arms on the bulwarks, and
watched the suspected craft.
Mr. Fullalove joined the group, and levelled a powerful glass, of his own
construction. His inspection was long and minute, and, while the glass
was at his eye, Sharpe asked him half in a whisper, could he make out
anything?
"Wal," said he, "the varmint looks considerable snaky." Then, without
removing his glass, he let drop a word at a time, as if the facts were
trickling into his telescope at the lens, and out at the sight
"One--two--four--seven, false ports."
There was a momentary murmur among the officers all round. But British
sailors are undemonstrative: Colonel Kenealy, strolling the deck with his
cigar, saw they were watching another ship with maritime curiosity, and
making comments but he discerned no particular emotion nor anxiety in
what they said, nor in the grave low tones they said it in.
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