a moment as the present, for reconciliation with God. I speak of my own feelings, and I believe that they were not far different from those of my men. Hour after hour we sat gazing stupidly at each other. The hot sun rose and scorched us as before, while the bright glare his rays cast on the smooth ocean almost blinded our eyes. Several times I tried to rouse myself to talk to my men, and to encourage them; but I own that I failed miserably in the attempt, and, from weakness, I was scarcely able to refrain from giving way to a flood of tears. It was some time past noon, when I saw Jack's countenance brighten up. "What is it?" I asked. He pointed eagerly to the southward. I turned round, and looked, and there I saw in the horizon a long, thin, well-defined, dark blue line, and in the centre of it a white speck. "A breeze! a breeze!" I cried. "Ay, and a sail, too," added Jack. "She is standing this way. Huzza! my lads." Jim and Sandy cheered faintly. They were the first words they had uttered for some hours. We now all found our tongues, a fillip had been given to our spirits, and we thought scarcely of our hunger or thirst. The dark blue line advanced, and grew wider and wider, till it spread itself over the ocean; and the white speck grew higher and higher, till the topsails of a vessel were seen rising out of the water. Oh! with what intense anxiety did we watch her, fearing every moment to see her alter her course, or pass by without noticing us. "Can she be the _Zerlina_?" said I to Jack. "I think when Mr Waller found that we were not following him, he would have put back to look for us." "No, sir; she has too wide a spread of canvas, to my mind, for the _Zerlina_," answered Jack. "I'm doubtful what she is." "Maybe she's the _Opossum_ hersel'," remarked Sandy. "I ken she ought to be found hereabouts." "No, no, my boy; that craft is a square-rigged schooner, and a big one too," said Jack, positively. Less than an hour showed us he was right, and a long, low, black, rakish-looking schooner, with a wide spread of canvas, everything set alow and aloft, to catch the breeze, came sweeping past us. "She's a slaver," I exclaimed, with dismay. "Ay, and has as wicked a look as I ever wish to see," said Jack. He was right in his description, and as she glided by us, a villainous set of ruffians of every shade of colour, of every variety of costume, appeared looking at us over her bulwarks. Still, ruffians as they might be, it appeared better to be taken off by them than to remain and perish where we were. We waved to them to come to us, and Jack and Jim Dore sung out, "_Misericordia_! _misericordia_!"