en he was awakened
by the entrance of the skipper, who came blundering into the darkness
from his stateroom, vociferating loudly and nervously.

"Ay, ay!" said Joe, starting up.

"Where's the lights?" said the skipper. "What's the time? I dreamt I'd
overslept myself. What's the time?"

"Plenty o' time," said the mate vaguely, as he stifled a yawn.

"Ha'-past ten," said the skipper, as he struck a match, "You've been
asleep," he added severely.

"I ain't," said the mate stoutly, as he followed the other on deck.
"I've been thinking. I think better in the dark."

"It's about time our chaps was aboard," said the skipper, as he looked
round the deserted deck. "I hope they won't be late."

"Sam's with 'em," said the mate confidently, as he went on to the side;
"there ain't no festivities going on aboard the Good Intent, neither."

"There will be," said his worthy skipper, with a grin, as he looked
across the intervening brig at the rival craft; "there will be."

He walked round the deck to see that everything was snug and ship-shape,
and got back to the mate just as a howl of surprising weirdness was
heard proceeding from the neighbouring stairs.

"I'm s'prised at Berrow allowing his men to make that noise," said the
skipper waggishly. "Our chaps are there too, I think. I can hear Sam's
voice."

"So can I," said the mate, with emphasis.

"Seems to be talking rather loud," said the master of the Thistle,
knitting his brows.

"Sounds as though he's trying to sing," said the mate, as, after some
delay, a heavily-laden boat put off from the stairs and made slowly for
them. "No, he ain't; he's screaming."

There was no longer any doubt about it. The respectable and
greatly-trusted Sam was letting off a series of wild howls which would
have done credit to a penny-gaff Zulu, and was evidently very much out
of temper about something.

"Ahoy, Thistle! Ahoy!" bellowed the waterman, as he neared the schooner.
"Chuck us a rope?-quick!"

The mate threw him one, and the boat came alongside. It was then seen
that another waterman, using impatient and deplorable language, was
forcibly holding Sam down in the boat.

"What's he done? What's the row?" demanded the mate.

"Done?" said the waterman, in disgust. "Done? He's 'ad a small lemon,
an' it's got into his silly old head. He's making all this fuss 'cos
he wanted to set the pub on fire, an' they wouldn't let him. Man ashore
told us they belonged to the Good Intent, b