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 considerably snaky." Then, without
moving 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 a
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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