The sailors were scattered about the ship in groups. Some had ascended to the tops with a faint hope of finding more air; some were lying flat on their faces on the forecastle; others had sought those places which were under the sails where the occasional flap of the broad canvas sent down a slight current of air. The Captain was standing on the quarter-deck, while Brandon was seated on a stool near the wheel. He had been treated by the Captain with unbounded hospitality, and supplied with every thing that he could wish. “The fact is,” said the Captain, who had been conversing with Brandon, “I don’t like calms any where, still less calms with fogs, and least of all, calms off these infernal islands.” “Why?” “Because to the north’ard is the Strait of Sunda, and the Malay pirates are always cruising about, often as far as this. Did you ever happen to hear of Zangorri?” “Yes.” “Well, all I can say is, if you hadn’t been wrecked, you’d have probably had your throat cut by that devil.” “Can’t any body catch him?” “They don’t catch him at any rate. Whether they can or not is another question.” “Have you arms?” “Yes. I’ve got enough to give Zangorri a pleasanter reception than he usually gets from a merchant-ship; and my lads are the boys that can use them.” “I wonder what has become of that other ship that passed me on the island,” said Brandon, after a pause. “She can’t be very far away from us,” replied the Captain, “and we may come up with her before we get to the Cape.” A silence followed. Suddenly the Captain’s attention was arrested by something. He raised his hand to his ear and listened very attentively. “Do you hear that?” he asked, quickly. Brandon arose and walked to where the Captain was. Then both listened. And over the sea there came unmistakable sounds. The regular movement of oars! Oars out on the Indian Ocean! Yet the sound was unmistakable. “It must be some poor devils that have escaped from shipwreck,” said the Captain, half to himself. “Well, fire a gun.” “No,” said the Captain, cautiously, after a pause. “It may be somebody else. Wait a bit.” So they waited a little while. Suddenly there came a cry of human voices--a volley of guns! Shrieks, yells of defiance, shouts of triumph, howls of rage or of pain, all softened by the distance, and all in their unison sounding appallingly as they were borne through the gloom of the fog. Instantly every man in the ship bounded to his feet. They had not heard the first sounds, but these they heard, and in that superstition which is natural to the sailor, each man’s first thought was that the noises came from the sky, and so each looked with a stupefied countenance at his neighbor. But the Captain did not share the common feeling. “I knew it!” he cried. “I expected it, and blow my old eyes out if I don’t catch ‘em this time!” “What?” cried Brandon.