Some little time had elapsed since the setting of the moon had hidden my enemies from my sight, when a faint sound from astern made me prick up my ears. Presently it was repeated, and I now clearly distinguished voices--probably raised in altercation, but too distant to be intelligible. Clearly the canoe was overhauling me, and I listened intently to try if I could make out the thud of the paddles. It was not yet audible, and the voices had now died away; but even as I was listening, I was startled by a new sound that broke out loud and clear in the stillness of the dark sea--a sound that instantly revived my drooping hopes. It was an accordion, raucously blurting out the rollicking air of “Finnigan’s Wake.” I peered about me in astonishment, but the darkness around was impenetrable, until I lifted the boom and looked out under the foot of the sail; then my heart bounded with joy, for out of the obscurity shone a bright red light that sent a wavering thread of reflection along the surface of the water. A sailing vessel was approaching me on the opposite tack and the glimmer of her port light must have been visible for some time (for she was quite near now) but had been hidden from me by my sail; and but for that unmelodious instrument I might not have seen her until she had passed out of hail. I instantly put up my helm and sheered down towards her, and as the light shone straight over my bows, I raised my voice in a mighty shout. “Oh! the ship ahoy!” The accordion stopped abruptly and I listened for an answer, but, as none came, I hailed again. “Ship ahoy!” “Hallo!” shouted a voice in return. “Heave-to and pick us up,” I sang out. “Who are you?” demanded the invisible speaker. “Shipwrecked seaman!” I bellowed at the top of my voice. “Where away?” inquired the other. “On your port bow,” I replied; and immediately I heard the voice--presumably that of the look-out--repeating my answer to the officer of the watch. In a few seconds a new voice hailed me. “Boat ahoy!” “Hallo!” I roared. “I’m going to heave-to. Come alongside as sharp as you can.” “Aye, aye, sir,” I answered, and I certainly felt no temptation to dawdle under the circumstances. The red light grew rapidly brighter, and soon there loomed above it in the darkness a great shape of deeper shade, which, as I approached, took on the definite outline of the masts and sails of a brig. She was hove-to with the fore-topsail aback, but was moving slowly forward. I lowered my sail and ran alongside just as a rope ladder was tumbled over about amidships, and to the rope side of this I immediately made fast my painter with a “fisherman’s bend” so that the canoe should not pull adrift. “He’s alongside, sir,” a voice reported to the officer, who immediately sang out-- “Swing the yards and sheet home the foresail.” There was a tramp of feet followed by the squeak of parrel and sheave, and the flapping of canvas, and then the voice of the officer sounded from above: