It resembled a man dressed in what, in former ages, were known as petticoat-breeches. Their plenty made them look like a frock. Inspecting this figure through a binocular glass, Mr. Vanderholt perceived that the rest of its garb consisted of a white shirt, a silk handkerchief, tied in a sailor's knot under a wide turned-down collar, a braided jacket, blue, and a cap with a naval peak, much after the pattern that is worn by yachting men. A short, square man stood at the wheel, that blazed in a brass circle to the sun, and beside him stood another man, remarkable for nothing but a long goatlike beard, and a blue cap, tasselled, pointed, and overhanging, such as mutinous smacksmen wear in Italian opera. 'A queer ship's company!' exclaimed Mr. Vanderholt to Glew. 'In all your going a-fishing did you ever see the like of such a sailor-man as that chap yonder in the trousers?' Captain Glew's reply was arrested by a hail from the little barque. 'Ho!' shrilled the strange figure in breeches. 'The schooner ahoy! What schooner are you?' 'The _Mowbray_, of London, on a cruise. What ship are you?' 'The _Wife's Hope_, from Calcutta to New York! Eighty days out! Jute and linseed! We're short of sugar: can you loan me some?' All this was delivered in the voice of a bantam-cock, delirious with continuous triumphant clarioning. 'The _Wife's Hope_,' said Mr. Vanderholt, turning to his daughter. 'Here's some Yankee notion.' 'If that figure's not a woman,' answered Violet, 'it does not speak with the voice of a man.' After a brief consultation with Mr. Vanderholt, Captain Glew shouted: 'I think we can let you have some sugar--a cask of moist, and some lump, to help you along to the next ship. We'll carry it aboard for you.' The figure in breeches flourished its hand in a gesture of delight, and then began to walk the short poop with superior stately strides, constantly directing glances at the yacht. The _Mowbray_ carried three good boats, and the boat amidships was the long-boat; this was promptly got over the side. They broke out a cask of moist sugar and a case of lump; and a crew having entered her, Mr. and Miss Vanderholt were steered by Mr. Tweed to the _Wife's Hope_ over the glazed heave of the deep-blue afternoon swell. Very hot it was. The sunshine tingled in the water, and the trembling fire rose roasting to the face. 'Do you think we shall be welcome, father?' said Miss Vanderholt, a little nervously. 'We are here to see the wonders of the deep,' answered Mr. Vanderholt, 'whether they welcome us or not; and yonder figure seems to me to be one of the greatest wonders in the world.' 'It is a woman, sir,' said Mr. Tweed. 'A female ship-master,' exclaimed Mr. Vanderholt. 'The _Wife's Hope_! It should be the _Husband's Despair_.'