Stepping aft, the captain glanced at the compass. "Round in the weather-braces and sheets, Mr Lowe. Port, you may, Hutchins; keep her dead to the west." "Ay, ay, sir," replied the man, as the spokes flew through his fingers; and the ship's head falling off, the wind was brought nearly aft, the two vessels thus moving on almost parallel lines. "Can you make him out now?" asked the captain, as his mate rejoined him on the quarter-deck. Long and anxiously did the officer addressed peer into the night. The missionary joined the group, and was made acquainted with what was passing. "There she is," said the mate, "right on our quarter. Look! in go her sweeps, for she has made sail, and is standing on the same course as ourselves, keeping way with us under her foresail, mainsail, and jib. That craft could close with us any moment, sir. Shall I rouse the crew?" The captain did not speak; but stood, his elbows leaning on the weather bulwarks, looking in the direction of the schooner. "If it is the vessel you suppose, she knows we carry guns," remarked Wyzinski; "but does not know how many. She will wait for daylight." "You are quite right," replied the captain. "Leave the men quiet, Mr Lowe. We will keep the watch together, and may God send us wind," and here the old seaman reverently lifted his cap, "for yonder is a dreadful foe." The sound of the bell tolled out the hours, the wind, which had freshened, towards morning died away; but all night long the three anxious watchers paced the narrow limits of the brig's quarter-deck. Time after time did the captain turn to the compass and take the schooner's bearings. It was useless, for there, under easy sail, exactly where she had first been made out, on the brig's weather quarter, the white canvas of the pirate could be seen, never varying a point. It was evident she was waiting for daylight to close with her prey. Volume 2, Chapter VI. THE PIRATE SCHOONER. Day dawned slowly, the breeze having slightly freshened towards morning, but still the long, low line of the Madagascar coast lay astern. The ocean was quite calm. "Sail ho!" shouted one of the crew. On the quarter-deck, the captain, the mate, and Wyzinski still kept their anxious watch. "What do you make her out, Williams?" asked Captain Weber. "A schooner, sir, under easy sail, standing to the westward." Again the captain took the bearings of the dangerous-looking vessel, but with exactly the same result. There she was still on the brig's weather quarter, and apparently in no sort of a hurry. "The wicked-looking craft has the heels of us." remarked the mate; "but we shall have a cap full of wind before long, and then we may tell a different tale." "She sees it too; there goes her fore-topsail. She is making sail," said the captain; then, addressing a man who happened to be passing at the moment, "tell Captain Hughes and the foreign Don I should be glad to speak to them," he added.