Paying round, the whaler wore, and slowly handling her loftier canvas, her huge hull came rolling along, heading straight for the raft, her crew shortening sail as they came on. Slowly she neared it, and a score or more of men might be seen clustering in her rigging, or gazing over her bulwarks at the strange sight presented by the spars drifting along on the waves of the ocean. "Raft, ahoy!" shouted a man, who was holding on in the mizen rigging of the ship, "what raft is that?" "The wreck of the brig `Halcyon,' lost in the late gale," replied the mate, using his two hands as a trumpet. "What was the meaning of the firing?" again shouted Captain Hawkins, master of the whaler the "Dolphin," still misdoubting, for in those days pirates were not unknown off the coast of Madagascar. "Mutiny and murder," returned the mate, at the top of his voice, for all reply. "Avast, there! Mr Lowe," grumbled Forest. "Remember what ye promised us, sir." "I'll heave-to and send a boat," was the shout that came across the waters, and the next moment the necessary orders were given, and so close were the ship and raft, that the words of command were heard distinctly on board the latter, as the "Dolphin" came to the wind, and under her two topsails, jib, and spanker, lay hove-to. A boat was lowered, and half an hour later the mate of the "Halcyon" was telling his sad tale in the cabin of the "Dolphin." Her late crew were in irons forward, her passengers cared for, the ship working her way for Port Natal, and the deserted raft, stripped to the spars themselves, floating miles astern. The evil time at last seemed to have ended, for that afternoon the westerly breeze died away, and the "Dolphin," with a fair wind, lay her course, dropping her anchor in the almost land-locked harbour, without an accident, landing her passengers and prisoners, and sailing again on her whaling voyage. Six weeks had elapsed since her departure. The Bishop of Cape Town, who had chanced to be at Durban at the time, had, at the missionary's request, again performed the marriage ceremony, which had so hastily been solemnised on board the sinking brig. The remains of the tough British seaman, Captain Weber, had been buried with all honour in the cemetery of the town, and the same slab covered him, his carpenter Morris, and old Adams. Mr Lowe, in charge of the gold dust, had left for England, as second officer of the barque "The Flying Fish," which had put into Port Natal disabled by the gale which had so ill-treated the unfortunate "Halcyon." One afternoon, about six weeks after the sailing of the "Dolphin," a small party of three stood on the beach at Port Natal. A large steamer, with the blue peter flying at the fore, the union jack at her mizen peak, and a cloud of dense black smoke rising from her funnel, could be seen off the bar, while a boat, manned by four powerful men, rose and fell on the rollers close by the beach.