The party were just going down to lunch, on the third day, when a
lookout in the maintop hailed the deck:
"A sail astern."
"How does she bear?"
"She is dead astern of us, sir, and I can only make out her upper
sails. I should say that they are her royals."
Mr. Green ran up, with his telescope slung over his shoulder.
"I cannot make much out of her, sir," he shouted to the captain. "She
may be anything. She must be nearly thirty miles astern. I think, with
Pearson, that it is her royals we see."
"Take a look round, Mr. Green."
The mate did so, and presently called down:
"I can make out something else away on the starboard quarter, but so
far astern that I can scarce swear to her. Still, it can be nothing
but a sail."
"Thank you, Mr. Green. I daresay that we shall know more about her,
later on."
When the captain joined the passengers at table, one of the ladies
said:
"You seem interested in that ship astern of us, captain."
"Yes, Mrs. Seaforth. One is always interested in a ship, when one gets
down as far as this. She may be another Indiaman, and although the
Madras has no claim to any great speed in a light breeze like this,
one never likes being passed.
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