They still continued to row with all their might in that direction, their hearts filled with the joyful emotions of unexpected hope. Although they had no breath with which to express it, the thought that it was the brig on her way back to look for them had entered both their minds. Breeze saw visions of his father and Wolfe and home, with the mother who awaited him there; while Nimbus revelled in thoughts of his beloved camboose, and of all the good things he would cook and eat as soon as he once more got into it. A backward glance soon showed them both the sailing-lights of the vessel, and told them that her course had been altered so that she was headed in their direction. Then they began to shout, and at last heard the welcome answering hail. Finally the ghostly outline of sails and spars became visible. It was a schooner. [Illustration: “BLESS MY SOUL, IF IT ISN’T BREEZE McCLOUD!”] They could hardly believe it at first, so convinced had they become that it must be the brig, but as she drew near they saw that she was indeed a schooner, and a regular Gloucester Banker at that. Five minutes later they stood on her deck, and as the light of a lantern shone on his face, Breeze was seized by the hand, and a well-known voice exclaimed, “Bless my soul if it isn’t Breeze McCloud!” CHAPTER XVIII. NEWS FROM HOME. The voice that greeted Breeze so heartily was that of Captain Ezra Coffin, and the schooner he had just boarded was the _Fish-hawk_. The boy could hardly believe his senses. Could it be that he had again fallen in with friends on the high seas? Was this really the schooner he had left in Gloucester more than a month before? It did not seem possible, and yet here was Captain Coffin shaking his hand, old Mateo dancing about and trying for a chance to embrace him, and other familiar faces, seen dimly by the lantern-light, crowding forward to greet him. Mateo, the cook, could not contain his joy, but danced and shouted extravagantly, “We found ’em! we found ’em! Me tella you fader we finda you, Breeza. Where zat rasca, Nimba, zat Guinea boy? You bringa him, eh, Breeza?” “Here I,” cried Nimbus, who had stood back unnoticed as the crew crowded around Breeze. “Who callin’ me rask? Wot he mean? Ware he?” At the sound of this voice old Mateo, who had just succeeded in embracing Breeze, left him, made one bound to where the black man stood, and seizing him by his wonderful ears, began to shake his head violently, exclaiming, “You no a raska, eh? you black pickaninny! Ole Mateo teacha you! He pulla you ear many time! you forgetta him, eh?”