he brig rolled lazily on
the long swell. All at once the mate stopped suddenly in his walk,
looked earnestly towards the coast line, and then, without speaking,
raised his finger and pointed towards the setting moon. It was just
sinking behind a patch of forest trees, their long tapering fan-like
leaves distinctly marked against the light, while, sweeping past, the
spars of a small vessel could be seen, the thin whip-like sticks plainly
visible against the sky. Next, the long, low black hull drew clear of
the land, and distinctly revealed against the light the spars and
rigging of a small schooner. Not a rag of canvas was shown, and yet
slowly and with a gentle caption the dark mass glided on into the night,
right on the path which the brig was taking.

The two seamen looked at each other.

"I thought as much. It is the pirate!" ejaculated the captain, with a
deep sigh.

"If they had chosen their weather, it could not suit them better."

Stepping aft, the captain glanced at the compass.

"Round in the weather-braces and sheets, Mr Lowe. Port, you may,
Hutchins; keep her dead to the west."

"Ay, ay, sir," replied the man, as the spokes flew through his fingers;
and the ship's head falling off, the wind was brought nearly aft, the
two vessels thus moving on almost parallel lines.

"Can you make him out now?" asked the captain, as his mate rejoined him
on the quarter-deck.

Long and anxiously did the officer addressed peer into the night. The
missionary joined the group, and was made acquainted with what was
passing.

"There she is," said the mate, "right on our quarter. Look! in go her
sweeps, for she has made sail, and is standing on the same course as
ourselves, keeping way with us under her foresail, mainsail, and jib.
That craft could close with us any moment, sir. Shall I rouse the
crew?"

The captain did not speak; but stood, his elbows leaning on the weather
bulwarks, looking in the direction of the schooner.

"If it is the vessel you suppose, she knows we carry guns," remarked
Wyzinski; "but does not know how many. She will wait for daylight."

"You are quite right," replied the captain. "Leave the men quiet, Mr
Lowe. We will keep the watch together, and may God send us wind," and
here the old seaman reverently lifted his cap, "for yonder is a dreadful
foe."

The sound of the bell tolled out the hours, the wind, which had
freshened, towards morning died away; but all night long the thr