"Whitish-green," said the man, who always believed in keeping in with
his superior officers.
The captain swore at him.
By this time two or three of the crew who had over-heard part of the
conversation had collected aft, and now stood in a small wondering knot
before their strange captain.
"My lads," said the latter, moistening his dry lips with his tongue, "I
name no names--I don't know 'em yet--and I cast no suspicions, but
somebody has been painting up and altering this 'ere craft, and twisting
things about until a man 'ud hardly know her. Now what's the little
game"
There was no answer, and the captain, who was seeing things clearer and
clearer in the growing light, got paler and paler.
"I must be going crazy," he muttered. "Is this the SMILING JANE, or am I
dreaming?"
"It ain't the SMILING JANE," said one of the seamen; "leastways," he
added cautiously, "it wasn't when I came aboard."
"Not the SMILING JANE!" roared the skipper; "what is it, then?"
"Why, the MARY ANN," chorused the astonished crew.
"My lads," faltered the agonised captain after a long pause. "My lads--"
He stopped and swallowed something in his throat. "I've been and
brought away the wrong ship," he continued with an effort; "that's what
I've done. I must have been bewitched.
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