As for the man on the lookout, he was notorious for his somnolent powers. He made no pretence of an effort to keep awake. There was no reason, he argued, why he should. It was a fine night, as light as day; there was nothing in sight but the brig ahead, and, although the _Aurora_ was clearly gaining on her, there was no likelihood of her running over her in _his_ watch; therefore to keep a lookout just then was quite a useless formality. Besides, there was the officer of the watch, who would keep all the lookout required on such a brilliantly fine night. And, arguing thus, he settled himself comfortably into the position vacated by his predecessor, and, folding his arms across his breast, tranquilly composed himself to sleep. The remainder of the watch had settled down to sleep, as a matter of course; _they_ had not the lookout; and they were within call of the officer of the watch, should their services be required; that, they considered, was all that was just then expected of them; and they closed their eyes, and yielded to their feelings of drowsiness without a shadow of compunction. Thus, by half-past ten o'clock that night, the entire ship's company of the _Aurora_, fore and aft, were fast asleep. Whilst all hands were thus wrapped in peaceful oblivion a small object gradually merged into view immediately ahead of the _Aurora_. Had the lookout man been broad awake--instead of fast asleep, as he was--he would certainly not have noticed this object until it was within a mile of the ship--unless his gaze had happened to have been attracted by an occasional momentary flashing gleam of silvery light--because its colour so artfully matched the delicate steely blue grey of the gently-rippled sea that it was absolutely invisible beyond that distance. Even at the distance of _half_ a mile a cursory careless glance ahead might have easily missed it. But when a quarter of a mile only intervened between it and the barque the look out man, had he been wide-awake and with all his wits about him, would suddenly have become conscious that a large boat, painted grey, and full of men, was pulling swiftly and noiselessly toward the ship. On she swept, silently as a dream; not a word was uttered on board her; there was no warning roll and rattle of the oars in the rowlocks to apprise the sleeping crew of the approach of danger; there was not even the plashing sound of the oar-blades dipping into the water, they rose and fell silently as the misty oars of a phantom boat; and when at length she swept up alongside the _Aurora_, a _sign_ was all that was needed to convey the orders of the officer in charge to his crew: his right hand was gently raised, the oars were noiselessly lifted from the rowlocks and laid in without a sound upon the padded thwarts, the boat sheered alongside, without absolutely touching, the painter was made fast to the _Aurora's_ fore-chains, and sixteen armed figures