Near the prow was planted Sir Oliver's spear, with his arms--a boar's head gules upon a field of gold.

Close by the stern stood Black Simon with the pennon of the house of Loring.

In the waist gathered the Southampton mariners, hairy and burly men, with their jerkins thrown off, their waists braced tight, swords, mallets, and pole-axes in their hands.

Their leader, Goodwin Hawtayne, stood upon the poop and talked with Sir Nigel, casting his eye up sometimes at the swelling sail, and then glancing back at the two seamen who held the tiller.
"Pass the word," said Sir Nigel, "that no man shall stand to arms or draw his bow-string until my trumpeter shall sound.

It would be well that we should seem to be a merchant-ship from Southampton and appear to flee from them." "We shall see them anon," said the master-shipman.