Mr Perry, the late first lieutenant, who now, by the death of Captain Harrison, had automatically become acting captain of the _Psyche_, had turned over the command of the launch to the master's mate, for the return passage, and was in the gig with me; and as we drew nearer to the river's mouth I noticed that he rose in the stern-sheets of the boat and glanced somewhat anxiously to seaward. For a full minute or more he stood gazing under the sharp of his hand out across the sandbank as it seemed to glide rapidly past us, its summit momentarily growing lower as the gig swept along toward the point where the dwindling spit plunged beneath the surface of the water, and, as he gazed, the expression of puzzlement and anxiety on his face rapidly intensified. By this time, too, his action and attitude had attracted the attention of those in the boats astern, and, glancing back at them, I saw that Nugent, in the launch, and Hoskins, the third lieutenant, in the pinnace, had followed his example. Naturally, I did the same, wondering meanwhile what it was at which they were all looking so intently, when Mr Perry suddenly turned upon me and demanded, almost angrily-- "I say, Mr Fortescue, what has become of the ship? D'ye see anything of her?" "The ship, sir?" I echoed dazedly--for, with the question, it had come to me in a flash that we ought by this time to be able to see at least the spars of the _Psyche_ swaying rhythmically athwart the sky out over the low sandbank, if she still lay at anchor where we had left her;--"the ship? No, sir, I confess that I can't see her anywhere. Surely Mr Purchase cannot have shifted his berth, for any reason? But--no," I continued, as the absurdity of the suggestion came home to me--"of course he hasn't; he hasn't enough hands left with him to make sail upon the ship, even if he were obliged to slip his cables." At that moment a hail of "Gig ahoy!" came from Nugent aboard the launch; and, glancing back at him, we saw him pointing at some object that had suddenly appeared on the ridge of the spit, away on our port quarter. It was a man, a white man, a seaman, if one might judge from his costume, and he was waving a large coloured handkerchief, or something of the kind, with the evident object of attracting our attention. While we still stood at gaze, wondering what this apparition could possibly mean, another man appeared beside him. "Down helm, and run the boat in on the bank," ordered our new skipper. "I must see what this means."