Boom! It made more noise than a modern six-inch. They could see the long lead go skipping under the bow of the trader's jack. "Heave to!" roared Leary, "or the next one goes aboard." No question but they could hear him now. "Heave her to, I say! Ay, that's right. Load the old lady again, Tim. And now"--his voice rose high again--"you'd better all heave to, and stand aside, for this one's bound out, and 'll come blessed handy to cuttin' in two whatever gets in her way." And they luffed, twenty-odd sail of them, with six to eight men aboard each, and stood to attention while the _Ligonier_, with her crew's inquisitive, grinning faces poked above her rail, came tearing up and by. "And now let be your batteries, Tim, and run the ensign to the peak." Which was done; and passed on in glory did the _Ligonier_, the old six-pounder adorning one rail, a swish of white foam burying the other, the colors aloft, and Sam Leary singing war-songs to the wheel. And perfectly happy would he have been only the snow was thickening and no Bess in sight. But maybe she had got safely home. Maybe. And just then came from aloft: "There's a little white sloop--an' some one in it--at Shark's Fin Ledge a'most." "Break out that gaff tops'l, fellows--and you, Tim, go aloft and point the way--and hurry, afore the snow comes." "Point the way to what, Sammie?" "For a little white sloop with a girl in it." "Ho-oh--that's it, is it?" IV Bess had curled herself up and was falling asleep; and her last sleep it would have been but for the boom of a small gun and the hail of a familiar voice. She stood up. Again a hail. And through the curtain of white it came almost atop of her, the grandest schooner ever was! The long lines of her seemed familiar. Then a clearer glimpse. Ay, she'd know her anywhere--by the rust on her jumbo she would--the _Ligonier_. And then it swept on by--ay, sailing as a wild gull. Out of sight it went in the snow-squall, but leaving a voice in its trail. "Bessie! Bessie!" it called. And now no schooner at all. Gone it was. And she remembered that that was the way of it--the beautiful picture afore they went at last. But soon again the sweep of the great white sails and the black body beneath. And the beautiful handling of her! "Seamen, them!" said Bess admiringly, and then alongside it came--beautiful, beautiful. Then two arms scooped down and swept her over the rail of the lovely big American schooner. A strong arm and a voice. "Oh, Bessie! Bessie! and the big, warm, foolish heart of you!" said the voice, and the arms carried her below and wrapped her in blankets and poured hot coffee, mugs of it, down her throat, and laid her in a bunk, while he sat on the locker and looked--just looked at her. "Ah-h, Sammie!" murmured Bess blissfully. "An' now you'll bring me home, Sammie?" "Ay, home, Bess." "Ah-h! An' my mother'll no ha' to cry for me, arter all. An' father, too, he'll ha' no cause to--Ah-h, God love you, Sammie."