"But we may be thrown upon a part of the coast occupied by the enemy." "Better that than go to old Davy, sir," said the grey-haired bow-oarsman, "as I nearly did when the _Polly Femus_, 74, came through these same Straits of Messina." "When?" said I. "Lately?" "Lord love you, no, sir—why ’t was in the year one." "One?" "That is 1801. We were standing for Malta with a stiff breeze from the nor’-east. The _Polly Femus_ was close hauled on the starboard tack——" "D—n the _Polyphemus_," cried the midshipman, testily, as he put the helm up; "take in your loose gaff, Tom: if we are not picked up by the _Amphion_, your tune will be changed before morning. Hoste keeps a good look out!" "He was made a sailor of in the _Polly_—whew! beg pardon, sir," said the old fellow, who could not resist making another allusion to his old ship. "Faith! Captain Dundas," said the middy, "it is so dark that I have not the slightest notion of our whereabouts." "Yonder’s a spark away to windward, sir," said old Tom. "The _Electra_, cannot be less than somewhere about two miles off—a few fathoms more or less." At that moment the frigate fired a gun; the red flash gleamed through the gloom, and after a lapse the report was borne past us on the night wind. A blue light was next burned; it shone like a distant star above the black and tumbling sea, then expired: and so did all our hopes of reaching the ship—the sound of her gun having informed us that we had been swept by the current far to the north of the Lanterna of Messina, which was rapidly being lost amid the murky vapour. "Keep a good look out there forward," cried the middy: "if we miss the _Amphion_, we may all go to the bottom, or be under weigh for a French prison by this time to-morrow." "Ay, ay, sir," replied the sailor through his hand, while, bending forward, he strove to pierce the gloom a-head. "Give way, men—cheerily now." The rowers stretched back over the thwarts till their oars bent like willow wands, and as the strong current was with us now, we flew through the foaming water with the speed of a race-horse. "The _Amphion_ should be somewhere hereabouts," said the midshipman, as the oarsmen suspended their labours after a quarter of an hour’s pulling: we anxiously scanned the gloomy watery waste, but could discern no trace of her. Vapour and obscurity involved us on every side, and our minds became a prey to apprehensions, while our blood chilled with the cold atmosphere, and a three hours’ seat in an open boat at such a season. The tower of the Lantern had vanished; a single star only was visible, and the inky waves often hid it, as the boat plunged down into the dark trough of the midnight sea. Suddenly the broad moon showed her silvery disc above the level horizon; her size seemed immense, and as the thin gauzy clouds rolled away from her shining face, we saw the black waves rising and falling in strong outline between. Her aspect was gloomy and louring.