“Yes; it must have got pushed together somehow while I was asleep, and I can’t get it open again.” “And a good job, too,” said Wolfe. “Now we’ll have no excuse for rowing this day, and I’m glad; for my back’s broke thinking of it.” “But don’t you want to get to Nova Scotia?” “Indeed, I do not! An out-of-the-way place like that? I’d prefer to be picked up where we are by some craft that’ll take us into New York, or Boston, or maybe Gloucester itself.” An hour later the sun rose, and under its cheerful influence the last trace of fog disappeared, and a perfect spring morning broke over the sparkling waters of the Grand Bank. It was just such a morning as would cause the New England birds to break forth in an ecstasy of song, and Breeze almost expected to hear them as he sat up in the dory and looked around. His ears were not greeted by the songs of birds, but his eyes were gladdened by a sight so welcome that his first joyful exclamation was choked by his emotion. Wolfe sprang up in alarm at the sound, only to see his friend pointing with trembling finger to the southward. There, not more than half a mile from them, he saw a square-rigged, deeply laden vessel, rising and falling gracefully on the long swells. The next moment Breeze had cut the line that held them to their drag with a blow from his sheath-knife, and, under the impulse of two pairs of oars, dory No. 6 was surging over the calm waters as it had never before been driven in all its storm-tossed career. The dorymates spoke no word to each other, nor looked around, until they paused, breathless and panting, close beside the vessel. Although there was not a breath of wind, they had feared that somehow she might sail away and leave them. Now that there was no danger of that, they sat in their boat and gazed at her curiously. Her bottom was covered with sea-grass and barnacles, and she was weather-beaten to the last degree, though her spars were all in place and she still looked stanch and seaworthy. Not a human being was to be seen on board of her, nor did their hail receive any answer. The strangest feature of the brigantine, for such she was, lay in her sails and rigging. Instead of showing a cloud of light canvas, as would naturally be expected in such weather, she was under a double-reefed main-sail, single-reefed fore-topsail, and fore-staysail only. Her fore-course was clewed up but not stowed, and the royal was furled; but the topgallant-sail seemed to have been blown away, judging from the few streamers of tattered canvas that still hung from the yard. Her running rigging was either hanging at loose ends, or tangled in the greatest confusion. To crown all, a ragged American ensign drooped at half-mast, and union down, from her main-peak. [Illustration: NOT A HUMAN BEING WAS TO BE SEEN ON BOARD OF HER, NOR DID THEIR HAIL RECEIVE ANY ANSWER.]