This information put us all in spirits, for we had begun almost to despair of catching the pirate after all. Not a moment was lost in getting under weigh, and in making all sail the schooner could carry. We had a fair wind, and nothing worthy of note occurred on the passage, till we made the entrance of Smyrna harbour, in the outer port of which we dropped anchor. Mr Vernon then dressed himself like the mate of a merchantman, and with one of our own people, and one of the crew of the _Helen_, prepared to leave the schooner's side in the dinghy. Just at the last moment I mustered courage to beg that he would let me accompany him. I had rigged myself in plain clothes, and might, I fancied, have been taken for a steward, or the captain's son. Mr Vernon considered for a moment. "Yes, come along, D'Arcy," said he. "You will not do us any harm in that dress, and your eyes and judgment may be of service." I was delighted at the permission I had gained, and eagerly jumped into the boat. Away we then pulled up the harbour, in the lazy fashion of a collier's crew. We scrutinised narrowly each vessel in our course, but none answered the description of the _William_. At last John Norris, the seaman from the _Helen_, exclaimed-- "There, sir, that's her; inside the barque there. See, she's got her fore-topsail loosed, and there's the name of the maker on it--the very thing which first let us know that she was the _William_." To make more sure that the man was not mistaken, we pulled up the harbour a little way, and then touching the shore, so as not to excite the suspicion of the pirates, should they by chance observe us, we passed close by the vessel on our return. There was, I thought, as I watched her, a dark, ill-boding look about her; but that might have been fancy. One man only was to be seen. He was walking the deck, with his hands in his pockets, and occasionally looking over the side. He caught sight of us as we pulled by, and seemed to be watching us narrowly. I felt almost sure that he suspected something was wrong; but probably he had got a habit of scrutinising everything which approached him, as a London pickpocket does when he knows that the police are aware of his course of life. As we dropped past the brig's quarter, I got a better view of his countenance, and I felt sure that I had seen it before. It was that of a man I supposed to have been hidden long ago, with all his crimes, beneath the waves--no other than Bill Myers. It was a countenance I could not readily forget, after our encounter in the cavern. Then, in spite of all probabilities, he had contrived to escape from the breakers of the Portland Race. I was afraid to look up again, lest he should also recognise me, and give the alarm to his shipmates; indeed, I was not at all satisfied that he had not already suspected our intentions. A small boat was floating astern of the brig. He watched