There was something in the way the youth named Farnol Greer handled the instrument that caused Madden to ask:
“What do you make out, Greer?”
“She is lying to, sir. She's backing her tops'ls flat against the breeze, and her mains'l's reefed and drawing with it.”
“Lying to!” cried three or four voices. “W'ot does she mean by that? Looks as if she'd be bloomin' glad to get out o' such a bally place as this!”
“Let me have another look.” Madden resumed the binoculars.
Now that Madden's attention was called to this unusual disposition of the sails, he could make out their position for himself.
This started another tide of speculation buzzing among the castaways. Was the Vulcan crippled? Had she run short of coal? But why should she voluntarily lay-to in the very sight of her quarry?
“They're fishin',” surmised Deschaillon, “off in th' boats fishin'; they're weethout food also.”
This wild surmise was the only reasonable hypothesis that had been struck on. Another
