As soon as the brig headed towards them, they backed a stroke or two, showing that they intended to board us on the lee-side, as is usual. I kept the helm a little up, edging imperceptibly more off the wind, and they continued to back their paddles to keep clear of the advancing vessel. As the brig approached them, they began to paddle forward to run alongside, but at this moment I jammed the helm hard up, and the brig swung round and charged straight at the canoe. The terrified fishermen, howling with fear, backed frantically for their lives to escape the on-rushing bows that towered above them, and in the midst of their confusion, I spun the wheel round in the opposite direction, putting the helm hard down. The brig immediately came round on to her course, presenting her stern to the fishermen, who must now have grasped the object of the manœuvre, for they paddled furiously in a wild effort to get alongside. But they were too late. They were now dead astern of the brig and travelling only half as fast, and before I could fairly get my breath, the darkness had hidden them from view. All this time I had been conscious of confused noises and smothered mutterings from the companion hatch, and now the doors cautiously opened, revealing a huddle of heads standing black against the light that streamed up from the cabin. “Mother of God!” exclaimed a hushed and awestricken voice. “He’s steering the ship! and phwhere will we be bound for, I’d like to know?” Suddenly a loud familiar voice broke out from below: “Now, what’s all this damned nonsense you’re talking. Here, let me come.” And as the heads were withdrawn, the companion doors flew open and a bulky form arose from the hatch. Half-way up, however, it stopped abruptly, and I heard it hoarsely ejaculate: “Great snakes!” “Isn’t it the truth I was tellin’ ye, sorr?” asked a voice from below. There was silence for a moment, and then the man in the companion demanded in a stern but shaky voice-- “Who’s that at the wheel?” “Shoore anny fool can see who it is,” murmured the voice from below. “It’s I, Captain Bithery,” I replied. “Your old purser, Richard Englefield.” “Englefield!” exclaimed Bithery incredulously. “Then all I’ve got to say is that you’ve most damnably altered for the worse since I saw you last.” He emerged slowly from the companion and stepped sideways across the deck, keeping his face towards me, until he came to the lantern, which he picked up and held above his head, advancing towards me with the extremest caution and a singular scowl of terrified suspicion on his face. I gazed at him in blank amazement until it suddenly flashed upon me that I was still wearing my horned wig; when, with a shout of laughter, I untied the beard and, tearing off the hideous adornment, flung it down upon the deck.