the islet first seen. When it was nearly abeam of the brig he gave his
orders, and Wasub hurried off to the main deck. The helm was put down,
the yards on the main came slowly square and the wet canvas of the
main-topsail clung suddenly to the mast after a single heavy flap. The
dazzling streak of the ship's wake vanished. The vessel lost her way
and began to dip her bows into the quick succession of the running head
seas. And at every slow plunge of the craft, the song of the wind would
swell louder amongst the waving spars, with a wild and mournful note.

Just as the brig's boat had been swung out, ready for lowering, the
yacht's gig hauled up by its line appeared tossing and splashing on
the lee quarter. Carter stood up in the stern sheets balancing himself
cleverly to the disordered motion of his cockleshell. He hailed the brig
twice to know what was the matter, not being able from below and in the
darkness to make out what that confused group of men on the poop were
about. He got no answer, though he could see the shape of a man standing
by himself aft, and apparently watching him. He was going to repeat his
hail for the third time when he heard the rattling of tackles followed
by a heavy splash, a burst of voices, scrambling hollow sounds--and a
dark mass detaching itself from the brig's side swept past him on the
crest of a passing wave. For less than a second he could see on the
shimmer of the night sky the shape of a boat, the heads of men, the
blades of oars pointing upward while being got out hurriedly. Then
all this sank out of sight, reappeared once more far off and hardly
discernible, before vanishing for good.

"Why, they've lowered a boat!" exclaimed Carter, falling back in his
seat. He remembered that he had seen only a few hours ago three native
praus lurking amongst those very islands. For a moment he had the idea
of casting off to go in chase of that boat, so as to find out. . . .