asks the frigate's captain of his
first, as the two stand looking through their levelled glasses.

"Not anything, sir," replies the lieutenant; "except that she should be
Chilian from her colours. I can't see a soul aboard of her. Ah,
yonder! Something shows over the taffrail! Looks like a man's head!
It's down again--ducked suddenly."

A short silence succeeds, the commanding officer, busied with his
binocular, endeavouring to catch sight of the thing seen by his
subordinate. It does not appear again.

"Odd!" says the captain, resuming speech; "a ship running up signals of
distress, at the same time refusing to be relieved! Very odd, isn't it,
gentlemen?" he asks, addressing himself to the group of officers now
gathered around; who all signify assent to his interrogatory.

"There must be something amiss," he continues. "Can any of you think
what it is?"

To this there is a negative response. They are as much puzzled as
himself--mystified by the strange barque, and more by her strange
behaviour.

There are two, however, who have thoughts different from the rest--the
third lieutenant, and one of the midshipmen. Less thoughts than
imaginings; and these so vague, that neither communicates them to the
captain, nor to one another. And whatever their fancies, they do not
appear pleasant ones; since on the faces of both is an expression of
something like anxiety. Slight and little observable, it is not noticed
by their comrades standing around. But it seems to deepen, while they
continue to gaze at the becalmed barque, as though due to something
there observed. Still they remain silent, keeping the dark thought, if
such it be, to themselves.

"Well, gentlemen," says the commanding officer to his assembled
subordinates, "I must say this _is_ singular. In all my experience at
sea, I don't remember anything like it. What trick the Chilian barque--
if she be Chilian--is up to, I can't guess; not for the life of me. It
cannot be a case of piracy. The craft has no guns; and if she had, she
appears without men to handle them. It's a riddle all round; to get the
reading of which, we'll have to send a boat to her."

"I don't think we'll get a very willing crew, sir," says the first
lieutenant jestingly. "Forward, they're quite superstitious about the
character of the stranger. Some of them fancy her the _Flying
Dutchman_. When the boatswain pipes for boarders, they'll feel as if
his whistle were a signal