"She's gone, for sure," said Dan to the men around him, for every soul on board, even including old Chasselot called by the men "Cuss-a-lot"—our cook, was staring into the thick night; "and I wouldn't stake a noggin that her crew ain't cheated the old un at last an' gone down singing. It's mighty easy to die with your head full o' rum, but I don't go for to choose it meself, not particler."
Billy Eightbells, the second mate, was quite of Dan's opinion. The looks of the others told me then that they began to fear the adventure. Billy was the first really to give expression to the common sentiment.
"Making bold to speak," he said, "it were two years ago come Christmas as I met something like this afore, down Rio way——"
"Was it at eight bells, Billy?" asked Mary mischievously. She knew that all Billy's yarns began at eight bells.
"Well, I think it were, mum, but as I was saying——"
"Flash again," said the skipper, suddenly interrupting the harangue, and as the blue light flashed we saw right ahead of us the wanderer we sought; but she was bearing down upon us, and there was fear in the skipper's voice when he roared—
"For God's sake, hard a-starboard!"
The helm went over, and the yacht loomed up black, as our own light died away; and passed us within a cable's length. What lift of the night
