The sailor who sat on a coil of rope with his back against a mast, playing the violin, was an old man, his head bare, his long white hair flying.
It was yet too far away for his face to be disclosed, but Robert knew that his expression must be rapt, because his attitude showed that his soul was in his music.

The two young sailors, with their arms about the shoulders of each other, were still dancing, and two more had joined them.
The crowd of spectators had thickened.

Evidently it was a ship with a numerous crew, perhaps a rich merchantman out of Bristol or Boston.

No flag was flying over her.

That, however, was not unusual in those seas, and in times of war when a man waited to see the colors of his neighbor before showing his own.