For a sailor's glance assured him that she was
English--English in her rig and the stiff cut of her canvas, and in all
those points of character to a seaman so distinctive, which apprise him
of his kindred through the length of air and water, as clearly as we
landsmen know a man from a woman at the measure of a furlong, or a
quarter of a mile. He perceived that it was an English pilot-boat, and
that she was standing towards him. At first his heart fluttered with
a warm idea, that there must be good news for him on board that boat.
Perhaps, without his knowledge, an exchange of prisoners might have been
agreed upon; and what a grand Christmas-box for him, if the order for
his release was there! But another thought showed him the absurdity
of this hope, for orders of release do not come so. Nevertheless, he
watched that boat with interest and wonder.
Presently, just as the sun was setting, and shadows crossed the water,
the sail (which had been gleaming like a candle-flame against the haze
and upon the glaze) flickered and fell, and the bows swung round, and
her figure was drawn upon the tideway. She was now within half a mile
of M. Jalais' house, and Scudamore, though longing for a spy-glass, was
able to make out a good deal without one. He saw that she was an
English pilot-boat, undecked, but fitted with a cuddy forward, rigged
luggerwise, and built for speed, yet fit to encounter almost any Channel
surges.
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