We took a boat, and
put off to the most extraordinary craft I had ever seen. We approached
her stern, and, as I curiously looked at it, I could think of nothing
but an old picture that hung in my father's house. It was of the
Flemish school, and represented the rear view of the _vrouw_ of a
burgomaster going to market. The wide yards were stretched like
elbows, and even the studding-sails were spread. The hull was seared
and blistered, and, in the tops, I saw what I supposed to be strings
of turnips or cabbages, little round masses, with tufted crests; but
Titbottom assured me they were sailors.
We rowed hard, but came no nearer the vessel.
"She is going with the tide and wind," said I; "we shall never catch
her."
My companion said nothing.
"But why have they set the studding-sails?" asked I.
"She never takes in any sails," answered Titbottom.
"The more fool she," thought I, a little impatiently, angry at not
getting nearer to the vessel. But I did not say it aloud. I would as
soon have said it to Prue as to Titbottom. The truth is, I began to
feel a little ill, from the motion of the boat, and remembered, with a
shade of regret, Prue and peppermint.
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