The boat came fizzing alongside handsomely, and the fat man, watching his opportunity, planted himself upon the steps and rose like a whale to our deck, upon which he stepped. In a very phlegmatic, leisurely way he stood staring around him for a little out of a pair of small, greenish, expressionless eyes, and with a countenance that discovered no signs of any sort of emotion; then in the deepest voice I ever heard in a man, a tone that literally vibrated upon the ear like the low note of a church organ, he said in Dutch, ‘Who speaks my language?’ I knew a few sentences in German, enough to enable me to understand his question, but by no means enough to converse with, even if the man spoke that tongue, so I said bluntly in English, ‘No one, sir.’ He wheezed a bit, looking stolidly at me, and exclaimed ‘You are captain?’ I motioned to Finn. ‘Vy you vire ot me?’ he demanded, turning his fat, emotionless face upon the skipper. Finn touched his cap. ‘Heartily sorry, sir: ’twas all a blunder happening through our mistaking you for another craft. I’m very willing to ’pologise and do whatever’s right.’ The Dutchman listened apathetically, then slowly bringing his fist of the shape, if not the hue, of a leg of beef to his vast spread of breast, he exclaimed in a voice even deeper than his former utterance, ‘Vot I ask is, vy you vire at me?’ Finn substantially repeated his former apology. The Dutchman gazed at him dully, with an expression of glassiness coming into his eyes. ‘Vot schip dis?’ Finn answered with alacrity, ‘The schooner-yacht “Bride,” sir.’ ‘Zhe vight vorr herr nation?’ sending a lethargic glance at our masthead as if in search of a pennant. ‘No, sir,’ cried Finn, ‘we’re a pleasure vessel.’ ‘Dere is no var,’ exclaimed the Dutchman, shaking his head, ‘between mine coundry und yours.’ ‘Ho no, sir,’ exclaimed Finn. ‘Den I ask,’ said the Dutchman, in a voice like a trombone, ‘vy you vire ot me?’ This promised no end. I hastily whispered to Finn, ‘Leave him to me. Turn to quietly and trim sail and get way upon the vessel. He’ll take no other hint, I fear.’ Finn sneaked off. ‘Pardon me, sir,’ said I, ‘you’ll have heard from the captain that our firing at you was a blunder into which we were led by mistaking your ship. We desire to tender you our humble apology, which I trust you will see your way to accept without delay as we are very desirous of proceeding on our voyage.’ He looked at me with a motionless head and a face as vacant of human intelligence as a cloud, with its fat, its paleness, its Alp upon Alp of chin, then ponderously and slowly putting his hand into his breast he pulled out a great pocket-book and said, ‘Vot dis schip’s name?’ ‘The “Bridesmaid,”’ said I. He wrote down the word, wheezing laboriously. ‘Your captain name?’ ‘Fidler,’ I answered. This he entered. ‘Owner!’ ‘Colonel Hope-Kennedy.’ ‘Ow you shpell?’ I dictated, and he put down the letters as I delivered them. ‘Where you vrom?’