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"Sing!" he shouted, as the Chinaman clambered away like a bewildered ape; "sing a little more. I would if I were you. Why don't you sing and wave, you dam' fool philly-loo bird?" "Yas, sah," answered the coolie. "What you yell for? Charlie, ask him whaffo him sing." "I tink-um ship," answered Charlie calmly, looking out over the starboard quarter. "Ship!"
"Hello, hello!" cried the Captain, rolling from his hammock. "Turtle? Where-away?" "I tink-um 'bout quallah mile, mebbee, four-piecee tortle all-same weatha bow." "Turtle, hey? Down y'r wheel, Jim, haul y'r jib to win'ward," he commanded the man at the wheel; then to the men forward: "Get the dory overboard. Son, Charlie, and you, Wing, tumble in. Wake up now and see you stay so."
"Him velly sick," hazarded the Chinaman from the ratlines, adding a sentence in Chinese to Charlie. "He says he tink-um ship sick, all same; ask um something ship velly sick." By this time the Captain, Wilbur, and all on board could plainly make out a sail some eight miles off the starboard bow.
But in precisely the same manner as a trained physician glances at a doomed patient, and from that indefinable look in the face of him and the eyes of him pronounces the verdict "death," so Kitchell took in the stranger with a single comprehensive glance, and exclaimed: "Wreck!" "Yas, sah. I tink-um velly sick." "Oh, go to 'll, or go below and fetch up my glass hustle!" The glass was brought.
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