something else that rubbed the expression of patient resignation from
his face; he was staring over the starboard rail with an expression of
lively interest. I followed his gaze with mine, but saw only a
ferryboat in the distance, and, close by, a big red-stack tug towing a
dilapidated coal hulk.

The Captain's eyes were upon this tow. He tugged excitedly at his
beard. "Well, by George, what a coincidence!" he exclaimed. He turned
to the mate, his bright eyes snapping. "Look, Briggs! Do you know
her? By George, do you recognize her?"

The writing guy was disgusted by this interruption, just when he was
going to prove his genius. Briggs shifted his quid, spat, and
inspected the passing hulk with extreme deliberation. I looked at her
too, wondering what there was about an old coal-carrier that could
pierce Captain Shreve's accustomed phlegm.

The tow was passing abreast, but a couple of hundred yards distant.
The tug was shortening the line, and on the hulk's forecastle-head a
couple of hands were busy at a cathead, preparing to let go anchor.
She was ill-favored enough to look at, that hulk--weather-beaten,
begrimed, stripped of all that makes a ship sightly. Nothing but the
worn-out old hull was left. An eyesore, truly. Yet, any seaman could
see with half an eye she had once been a fine ship. The clipper lines
were there.

Suddenly Briggs sat up in his chair, and exclaimed, "Well, blast my
eyes, so it is!" He nodded to the Captain, and then returned his
regard to the hulk, his nostrils working with interest. "So it is! So
it is! Well, blast my----"