"Jacobs and I, as well as the other hand, hung over the boom together for a little to loose the flying-jib, then out of pure weariness, till I sent Jacobs to take the wheel and steer by my signals; for the Indiaman had the full force of current and breeze astern of her, carrying her fast toward the bar, as I guessed; while the second mate let her yaw dreadfully, from fear of going wrong. As for the schooner, we could make out her lights through the fog, the wind bringing us the sound of her cutwater--though probably they couldn't know whereabouts we were; so I hoped she might perhaps go past us in the dark, if she were actually in chase of the Indiaman, as I feared. "However, the moment the cheep of our flying-jib hanks on the stay was heard as the sail was hoisted, a sharp hail came along the water. '_Hola!_' sang out the creaking voice of the little French skipper, who had bamboozled me so at sea. None of us answered, and I ran down the spar to be ready for what might happen, when '_Hola! où êtes-vous?_' shouted he again. 'Hullo! the _Seringapatam_, ahoy!' roared our chief officer himself; to which no sooner had Macleod replied, than we caught three hearty English cheers, and next minute the schooner's canvas was looming up from the yellow glimmer of her lanterns a few fathoms on our starboard quarter--the foam hissing off her sharp bright bows, while she raced up with us. Everyone of us started at the jovial sound of old Rollock the planter's voice, shouting, 'All's right, my boys!' as if he had risen from the dead out of the sea--the schooner slipping easily by, abreast of our high bulwarks; and the crowd of heads from stem to stern, English, French, and Kroomen, gliding past below, for all the world like a dream to most of us, with the light from the lanterns flaring up red under hats, caps, and tarpaulins, and the black shadow of their figures and small-arms thrown high in two clusters on the broad glare over her fore and main boom-sails. 'Have ye actually taken the blackguards, sir?' hailed the Scotch mate; at which a shout of laughter ran from one end of her to the other; while one of the cadets seemingly half-drunk, could be seen staggering aft to the stern as she forged swiftly ahead, just in order to call out, 'Macleod, my old cock, _comment vous portez-vous_?' The little French master jumped up on the schooner's taffrail, waving his hand politely: '_J'aurai l'honneur pour vous conduire en débouchant, Messieurs!_' shouted he; 'follow de light een my starn!'