A moment later I saw a sail-boat, in which were three men. There was a number on her sail, which indicated that she was a pilot-boat. She had evidently heard our whistle, and had came out in the rough sea to take us into St. Augustine, if we were bound into that port. I directed the wheel man to port the helm, so as to throw the Sylvania up into the wind under the stern of the pilot-boat. "How came you up there, captain?" demanded one of the men in the boat, and all of them looked amazed. "We are bound to the southward, coming down from St. Johns bar," I replied. "How does St. Augustine bear from here?" "Due east," answered the spokesman of the trio. "Look out for your reckoning, Washburn," I added, turning to the mate. "Twenty minutes of twelve," added Washburn, consulting the chronometer. "This is exactly where we ought to be at this time," and he made the entry on the log-slate. "Haven't you been over this course before to-day?" asked the spokesman of the pilot. "Not to-day," I answered, perceiving what it was that bewildered the pilots. They had evidently seen the Islander, and supposed the Sylvania was the same steamer. "We came out here after a steamer we heard whistling in the fog," continued the speaker. "We got near enough to hail her; and if this is not the same steamer, she is as near like the other as one pea is like another." "She is the twin sister of this vessel. Did you see who was on board of her?" I inquired. "I saw no one but the captain, and he said he was bound south, and was not going into St. Augustine." "Did he tell you where he was bound?" "He didn't say a word about it, but kept on his course." "Good-day," I added, as I told Hop to ring the speed-bell. We filled away again, and were soon going through the water at our former speed. The pilot-boat was almost swamped in the heavy sea, and I have no doubt her crew were a little out of sorts after coming out for a vessel and getting nothing for their pains. "That's good as far as it goes," said Washburn, when we were on our course again. "We are sure now that the Islander has not gone into port." "And we are sure the Islander is not a great way ahead of us," I added. "Just seven miles," replied the mate, glancing at the log-slate. "I could stick a pin in the chart at exactly the point where she is." "But it may be that Captain Blastblow has not blown his blast entirely in vain, and may have been able to get more speed out of the Islander than anybody else has," I suggested. "But the pilots said she was only half an hour or so ahead of us. She got off at least an hour ahead of us; and if we have not been gaining on her, she ought to be about ten miles ahead," argued Washburn. I was willing to accept his logic, for we had been over the reasoning times enough to understand the case in precisely the same way. "The fog is lifting, sir," reported the second engineer, who was doing voluntary duty on the top-gallant forecastle.