I had wore
round, two hours before, to get the Dawn's head on the same tack with
him, and followed under bare poles. As the stranger soon set his
main-top-sail close reefed, and then his fore, it enabled us to make a
little sail also, in order to keep up with him. This we did all that
night; and, in the morning, both ships were under everything that
would draw, with a moderate breeze from the northward, and no great
matter of sea going. The English vessel was about a league to leeward
of us, and a little ahead. Under such circumstances, it was easy to
close. Accordingly, just as the two ships' companies were about to go
to breakfast, the Dawn ranged up under the lee-quarter of the
stranger.
"What ship's that?" I hailed, in the usual manner.
"The Dundee; Robert Ferguson, master--what ship's that?"
"The Dawn; Miles Wallingford. Where are you from?"
"From Rio de Janeiro, bound to London. Where are _you_ from?"
"From New York, to Bordeaux. A heavy blow we have just had of it."
"Quite; the like of it, I've not seen in many a day. You've a pratty
sea-boat, yon!"
"She made capital weather, in the late gale, and I've every reason to
be satisfied with her. Pray, haven't you an American on board, of the
name of Marble? We fancied that we saw the face of an old shipmate on
your taffrail, yesterday, and have kept you company in order to
inquire after his news.
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