e sort on these
here shoals?"

"Starboard, old boy, starboard hard, steady!" cried Bax.

With seaman-like promptitude the Captain obeyed, and thus escaped
tumbling off the end of the wharf at which they had arrived.

"Nancy, a-hoy!" cried Bax in a subdued shout.

A juvenile "Ay, ay, sir!" instantly came back in reply from the dark
obscurity that overhung the river. The sound of oars followed.

"Smart little fellow that nephew of yours; he'll do you credit some
day," said Bax, turning towards Bluenose, who, although close at his
side, was scarcely visible, so dark was the night.

The Captain's rejoinder was cut short by the boy in question sending the
bow of the boat crash against the wharf, an exploit which had the effect
of pitching him heels over head into the bottom of it.

"Why didn't you give us a hail, uncle?" remonstrated the boy, as he rose
and rubbed his elbows.

"Good practice, my lad, it's good practice," replied Bluenose,
chuckling, as he stepped in.

A few seconds sufficed to take them alongside of the "Nancy," in two
narrow berths of which the Captain and Guy were quickly stowed away and
sound asleep, while Bax paced the deck slowly overhead, having relieved
the watch and sent him below.

Just half an hour or so before dawn--that mysterious, unreal and solemn
period of the night or morning--Captain Bluenose came on deck minus his
coat and shoes, in order to have a look at "how things were getting
on,"--as if the general operations of nature had been committed to his
charge, and he were afraid lest the sun should not be able to rise
without his assistance.

"Light air, west-sou'-west," muttered the Captain as he stepped on deck,
cast a glance up at the vane on the mast-head, and then swept his eye
round the (imaginary) horizon.

There was not much to be seen, except the numerous lights of the
shipping, and the myriad lamps of the great city, whose mighty hum of
life had not yet begun to awaken. It was the deadest hour of night (if
we may use the expression), although advanced towards morning. The
latest of late sitters-up had gone to bed and got to sleep, and the
earliest of early risers had not yet been aroused. None save
night-workers and night-watchers were astir, and these did not disturb
in any appreciable degree the deep quiet of the hour.

While Bax and his friend were conversing in subdued tones near the
binnacle, they were startled by a piercing shriek, followed by a heavy
plun