She was larger than I had thought, a lumping craft for those days, bark rigged, with lower spars the heaviest I had ever seen.

No evidence of life appeared on board, although everything looked shipshape alow and aloft, and a rather extensive wash flapped in the wind forward, bespeaking a generous crew.

There was no flag at the mizzen to signify nationality, yet there was a peculiar touch to the rig which confirmed in my mind the truth of Sanchez's guess that she was originally Dutch.
A moment later this supposition was confirmed as my eyes made out the name painted across the stern--NAMUR OF ROTTERDAM.
Fairfax leaned far out across the rail, as we swept in closer, his eyes searching the stranger's side for some evidence of human presence aboard, but the Spaniard exhibited no particular interest in the proceedings, standing motionless, the smoke of the cheroot blown idly from his mouth, The fellow's face was turned from me, yet I could not help note the insolence of his attitude, in spite of my occupation at the wheel.

A hundred feet distant, I held the dancing sloop to mere steerage-way, while Fairfax hailed in a voice which went roaring across the water like a gun.
"Ahoy, the bark!" A red-faced man with a black beard thrust his head up above the after rail, and answered, using English, yet with a faint accent which was not Dutch.

What he looked like below the shoulders could not be discerned.
"Veil, vat's vanted?
Vos anyding wrong ?" "No, not aboard here," returned Fairfax, a bit puzzled at the reply, "We ran down to see if you were in any trouble.