miss her in the fog, and Captain
Blastblow don't do any better in her than any one else has ever done,"
continued Washburn. "But the wind is freshening, Captain Alick."

"Yes; and the barometer indicates that we are to have a bad day of it,"
I replied, looking at the white caps that rolled up to windward of the
steamer.

The wind was gusty and savage. The steamer heeled well over to port
under the heavy press of sail we were carrying. But I did not care much
how hard it blew, if it would only carry off the fog, as I believed it
would do soon.

By half-past ten I found it necessary to take in the fore square-sail
and the fore top-gallant sail, for I was afraid the heavy weight of
canvas would strain the foremast. This relieved the steamer for a time;
but the wind had increased to a gale, and had hauled more to the
southward. Half an hour later we took in the fore topsail and the main
gaff-topsail, so that nothing but our fore and aft sails remained. The
log at eleven indicated that we were making twelve knots, and it was
about time for us to be up with St. Augustine light, but we could not
see it in the fog. Suddenly we heard a fog-horn on our starboard bow.

I rushed into the pilot-house and rang the gong. The engineer
immediately stopped the engine, and the roar of escaping steam
followed. I was afraid we might run down some of the small craft that
go in and out of St. Augustine.

"Sail, ho!" shouted Ben Bowman, on the top-gallant forecastle. "I see
her; she is a pilot-boat."

A moment later I saw a sail-boat, in which were three men. There was a
number on her sail, which indicated that she was a pilot-boat. She had
evidently heard our whistle, and had came out in the rough sea to take
us into St. Augustine, if we were bound into that port. I directed the
wheel man to port the helm, so as to throw the Sylvania up into the
wind under the stern of the pilot-boat.

"How came you up there, captain?" demanded one of the men in the boat,
and all of them looked amazed.

"We are bound to the southward, coming down from St. Johns bar," I
replied. "How does St. Augustine bear from here?"

"Due east," answered the spokesman of the trio.

"Look out for your reckoning, Washburn," I added, turning to the mate.

"Twenty minutes of twelve," added Washburn, consulting the chronometer.
"This is exactly where we ought to be at this time," and he made the
entry on the log-slate.

"Haven't you been over this course before to