As I stood near the bulwarks on which I had been leaning so as not to be thrown down by the plunging of the ship, I had not yet had a good look at the pilot, but he soon came near me. The man was apparently about forty. He was tall, thin, and bony; his face very sunburnt, his cheeks hollow; his eyes were green, and his hair black and very thick. He wore a Scotch cap of red and blue plaid woollen stuff, which was pulled down to his eyebrows. A cape of heavy brown cloth, dripping with salt water, hung down to the tops of his great fisherman's boots, and completed his costume. It seemed to me that I had met this man before. I had a vague remembrance of just such a sinister face, though I found it impossible to recall the circumstances or place of our meeting; but there came over me an uncomfortable feeling which I attributed to my feverish condition. "Can we get in to anchor at Malta to-night, pilot?" said Williams to him. After having looked at the compass and questioned the state of the sky, the sea, and the wind, the pilot answered in very good English: "We might get to an island to-night, but not to the island of Malta, sir." "No!" cried Williams; "and why not?" "Because you can't, it is impossible," said the pilot, carelessly. "But," continued Williams, "though the wind is very strong, and blowing from the north, it is not strong enough to send us ashore. The yacht sails beautifully, she rises with every wave." "Could she resist a current that runs seven or eight knots an hour, sir, and that driving us right ashore the same way the wind is doing?" "I tell you, pilot," replied Williams, "that two years ago I ran into the harbour of Malta in a worse storm than this." "But not worse than what we are to have to-night," said the pilot. "To-night?" replied Williams, incredulously. "Yes, to-night," replied the pilot, firmly. "How do you know that we will have a bad night, pilot?" "The point of Tamea and the rocks of Kamich are all under water at sundown, and that is the sign of a terrible storm." "That is all superstition and old women's tales!" exclaimed Williams. The pilot gave him a look out of his piercing green eyes, shrugged his shoulders, and smiled. When the man smiled, I felt as though I had the nightmare, or an oppressive dream, for I recognised the sharp, white, pointed teeth of the pirate with whom I had struggled hand to hand when the yacht had been attacked. My astonishment was so great, that I strode forward and stared at the pilot in a state of stupefaction; but he withstood my gaze with perfect indifference, and it was I who lowered my eyes, all abashed by the calm, unconcerned look he gave me. Williams, who was impatient at the pilot's silence, and had noticed my astonishment, said to him, "But then, what do you propose to do?"