It seemed but a minute since he had closed his eyes when he was awakened by the entrance of the skipper, who came blundering into the darkness from his stateroom, vociferating loudly and nervously. “Ay, ay!” said Joe, starting up. “Where’s the lights?” said the skipper. “What’s the time? I dreamt I’d overslept myself. What’s the time?” “Plenty o’ time,” said the mate vaguely, as he stifled a yawn. “Ha’-past ten,” said the skipper, as he struck a match, “You’ve been asleep,” he added severely. “I ain’t,” said the mate stoutly, as he followed the other on deck. “I’ve been thinking. I think better in the dark.” “It’s about time our chaps was aboard,” said the skipper, as he looked round the deserted deck. “I hope they won’t be late.” “Sam’s with ’em,” said the mate confidently, as he went on to the side; “there ain’t no festivities going on aboard the _Good Intent_, neither.” “There will be,” said his worthy skipper, with a grin, as he looked across the intervening brig at the rival craft; “there will be.” He walked round the deck to see that everything was snug and ship-shape, and got back to the mate just as a howl of surprising weirdness was heard proceeding from the neighbouring stairs. “I’m s’prised at Berrow allowing his men to make that noise,” said the skipper waggishly. “Our chaps are there too, I think. I can hear Sam’s voice.” “So can I,” said the mate, with emphasis. “Seems to be talking rather loud,” said the master of the _Thistle_, knitting his brows. “Sounds as though he’s trying to sing,” said the mate, as, after some delay, a heavily-laden boat put off from the stairs and made slowly for them. “No, he ain’t; he’s screaming.” There was no longer any doubt about it. The respectable and greatly-trusted Sam was letting off a series of wild howls which would have done credit to a penny-gaff Zulu, and was evidently very much out of temper about something. “Ahoy, _Thistle!_ Ahoy!” bellowed the waterman, as he neared the schooner. “Chuck us a rope—quick!” The mate threw him one, and the boat came alongside. It was then seen that another waterman, using impatient and deplorable language, was forcibly holding Sam down in the boat. “What’s he done? What’s the row?” demanded the mate. “Done?” said the waterman, in disgust. “Done? He’s ’ad a small lemon, an’ it’s got into his silly old head. He’s making all this fuss ’cos he wanted to set the pub on fire, an’ they wouldn’t let him. Man ashore told us they belonged to the _Good Intent_, but I know they’re your men.” “Sam!” roared the skipper, with a sinking heart, as his glance fell on the recumbent figures in the boat; “come aboard at once, you drunken disgrace! D’ye hear?” “I can’t leave him,” said Sam, whimpering. “Leave who?” growled the skipper. “Him,” said Sam, placing his arms round the waterman’s neck. “Him an’ me’s like brothers.”