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. This is a strange
place to anchor. What are you--Dutch?"

The fellow waved his hands in a gesture indicating disgust. "Dat's
eet. Ve're out ov Rotterdam--you see ze name ov ze sheep. But ve not
sail frum thar dis time--no. Ve cum here from ze Barbadoes," he
explained brokenly "wiz cane-sugar, an' hides. Ve vait here for our
agent."

"But why anchor in a place like this? Why not go on up to the wharfs?"

"Vye not? For ziz--I no trust my crew ashore. Zay Vest Indy niggers,
an' vud run avay ven ze chance cum. I know vat zay do."

In spite of my efforts the two vessels were drifting rapidly apart,