"Where are we?" she exclaimed, and bent her head to gaze at me, on which she recollected herself. "Poor boy!" she said, taking my hand, "I have kept you supporting my weight. You were more tired than I. But it is your turn now. Rest your head on my shoulder." "No, it is still your turn," I answered, "and you shall sleep again presently. But since you are awake, I will try to find out where we are. You shall hold the lamp for me while I make my calculations and examine the chart." Saying which, I drew out my sextant and got across the thwarts to the mast, which I stood up alongside of to lean on, for the swell, though moderate enough to pass without notice on a big vessel, lifted and sunk the boat in such a way as to make it difficult to stand steady. I was in the act of raising the sextant to my eye, when the boatswain suddenly cried, "Mr. Royle, listen!" "What do you hear?" I exclaimed. "Hush! listen now!" he answered, in a breathless voice. I strained my ear, but nothing was audible to me but the wash of the water against the boat's side. "Don't you hear it, Mr. Royle?" he cried, in a kind of agony, holding up his finger. "Miss Robertson, don't you hear something?" There was another interval of silence, and Mary answered, "I hear a kind of throbbing!" "It is so!" I exclaimed. "I hear it now! it is the engines of a steamer!" "A steamer! Yes! I heard it! where is she?" shouted the boatswain, and he jumped on to the thwart on which I stood. We strained our ears again. That throbbing sound, as Mary had accurately described it, closely resembling the rythmical running of a locomotive engine heard in the country on a silent night at a long distance, was now distinctly audible; but so smooth was the water, so breathless the night, that it was impossible to tell how far away the vessel might be; for so fine and delicate a vehicle of sound is the ocean in a calm, that, though the hull of a steamship might be below the horizon, yet the thumping of her engines would be heard. Once more we inclined our ears, holding our breath as we listened. "It grows louder!" cries the boatswain. "Mr. Royle, bend your bull's-eye lamp to the end o' one o' the oars and swing it about whilst I dip this mast-head lantern." Very different was his manner now from what it had been that morning when the Russian hove in sight. I lashed the lamp by the ring of it to an oar and waved it to and fro. Meanwhile the boatswain had got hold of the mast-head halliards, and was running the big ship's lantern up and down the mast. "Mary," I exclaimed, "lift up the seat behind you, and in the left-hand corner you will find a pistol." "I have it," she answered, in a few moments. "Point it over the stern and fire!" I cried. She levelled the little weapon and pulled the trigger, the white flame leapt, and a smart report followed. "Listen now!" I said.