Her spars, especially, were
unusually heavy for a craft of her size.
The British officer was received by a little, thin, elderly man
wearing a Panama hat and speaking with a strong Yankee accent.
"Produce your papers, if you please," said O'Riley. They were handed
out at once, and seemed to be perfectly regular.
"What have you got on board?" was the next question.
"General cargo--dry goods, and so on."
"Why isn't your name on the register?"
"Ain't it now? Well, I guess it must be because this is a new ship.
We can't put our name on by telegraph, mister."
"Just tell your men to knock off the hatches. I want to have a look
at your cargo."
The skipper shook his head.
"I've been delayed long enough," said he, "and have lost a great
part of the only wind we've had in this darned latitude for a week."
"I'll do it myself, then!" cried O'Riley.
"Not now, sir; not with six men while I have fifteen. You have no
right to search the hold of a respectable merchantman and disturb
her cargo. Do you take me for a slaver, or what? Ef you must have
the hatches up, send back to your man-of-war for a larger crew, so
as to overpower me, you understand, and you may do it with pleasure.
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