Light came at last, piercing the white fog in which they lay; and in a short time they were back in the wide river, close to the sea, dejected, weary, and wondering that they could have been so confused in the darkness.
“Nice wigging we shall have, Vandean,” said the lieutenant; “the skipper will sarcastically tell me he had better have sent one of the ship’s boys in command. But there, I did my best. Ugh! how chilly it feels!”
An hour later they were alongside the Nautilus, which lay at the edge of a bank of mist which covered the sea, while shoreward all was now growing clear from a gentle breeze springing up.
The lieutenant was a true prophet, for the captain almost used his officer’s words.
“Then you haven’t seen a sign of the schooner?”
“No, sir; but we smelt it.”
“What!” cried the captain.
“Sail ho!” shouted the man at the look-out, and in a moment all was excitement, for, about a mile away, down what looked like a clear lane through the white fog, was a two-masted vessel, crowded with sail; and as rapidly as possible the boats were hoisted up, and the Nautilus was in pursuit.
But hardly had she careened over under the press of sail than the fog shut the vessel from their sight, and for the next two hours she was invisible, while the captain of the Nautilus had to lie to, for fear of some slippery trick on the part of what was undoubtedly the slaver, since she was more likely to make for the shelter of a creek than to risk safety in flight.
But the wind was not favourable for this manoeuvre, and toward mid-day the sea grew clear, and there was the slaver plainly visible miles away, sailing out west, while the Nautilus crowded on every stitch of canvas in pursuit.