On the morning of the twenty-ninth day of the "Aphrodite’s" detention a native boat, manned by half a dozen blacks, was observed to have managed to cross the bar and was bearing down towards the vessel. In the stern was a European, a sallow-faced man dressed in dirty white clothes and a broad sun-hat. As soon as the boat came alongside the bowman dexterously threw a rope, and when this was made fast the white man, without waiting for an accommodation ladder to be shipped, swarmed up on deck. "Me pilot," he explained, with a deep bow and a flourish of his hat. "Me pilot ’pointed by Republic. Me take you in." "Is it safe to cross the bar?" asked Captain Restronguet eagerly. "Yes, senhor; me take you in for so many milreis," and he held up the fingers of both hands four times. It was a matter of nearly nine pounds--thrice the amount the Portuguese expected to receive. It was part of his nature to make allowances for being beaten down. "I’ll make it gold to the value of eighty milreis if you put me inside the bar to-night," said Captain Restronguet. "Me take you up to Marromea--that am de port--for dat," exclaimed the pilot gleefully. "How much you draw?" "Twelve feet," replied Captain Restronguet. The Portuguese had no need to make a calculation to arrive at the depth in "bracas," since the British fathom is almost identical with the Portuguese "braca." "Too ver’ much," he exclaimed, shaking his head. "I can reduce it to seven feet." "How can do? You no throw cargo oberboard?" asked the astonished Portuguese. Without replying, Captain Restronguet gave an order for the emergency tanks to be emptied, and still greater was the pilot’s amazement to find the vessel rising higher and higher out of the water. Suddenly it occurred to his slow-witted brain that the craft he had boarded was a submarine, and since the only submarine he had heard of was the "Vorwartz," that had made the passage under cover of night, he came to the startling conclusion that he had boarded the pirate vessel. His olivine features turned a sickly yellow till there was hardly any contrast between his face and the whites of his eyes, and turning, he made a rush for the side. "Steady, my worthy friend!" exclaimed Captain Restronguet, as Devoran and Kenwyn caught the Portuguese by the shoulders. "A contract is a contract. You’ve got to pilot my vessel over the bar." "Mercy, senhor!" whined the fellow falling on his knees. "Get up, you idiot!" said Captain Restronguet sharply, but all to no purpose; the pilot maintained his entreaties at the top of his voice. "I believe he imagines he’s on board the ’Vorwartz’," suggested Hythe. "Perhaps," agreed the captain, then addressing the pilot he told him that he was in no danger, and that he was on the "Aphrodite."