Leopold had hauled down his jib, and thrown the sloop up into the wind, in preparation for anchoring; but he concluded not to do so, in view of the peril of being run down by the stranger. On the contrary he hoisted his jib, and filled away again, so as to be in condition to avoid a collision. Resuming his place at the helm, he stood out towards the fog-hidden vessel. The hail was repeated again and again, and Leopold as often answered it. In a few moments more he discovered what appeared to him to be the jib of a schooner. Her bow was of shining black, with a richly gilded figure-head under the bowsprit. A moment later he discovered the two masts of the vessel. The mainsail was set, but the foresail was furled, and she was apparently feeling her way with great care into the bay. A sailor in uniform was heaving the lead near the fore rigging.
Leopold saw, as soon as he obtained a full view of the vessel, that she was a yacht of at least a hundred tons and as beautiful a craft as ever gladdened the heart of a sailor. There were a dozen men on her forecastle, and as the Rosabel approached her, a procession of gentlemen, closely muffled in heavy garments and rubber coats, filed up the companion-way, doubtless attracted to the deck by the incident of hailing another craft.
"Schooner, ahoy!" shouted Leopold, as soon as he had made out the vessel.
"On board the sloop!" replied the voice which resembled the tones of the fog-horn.
"Where you bound?" demanded the skipper of the Rosabel.
"Belfast."
"You are a long way off your course, then," added Leopold, with emphasis.
"Will you come on board?" asked the speaker from the yacht.
"Ay, ay, sir, if you wish it," answered Leopold.
"Hard down the helm!" shouted the hoarse voice, which we may as well say in advance of a nearer introduction, belonged to Captain Bounce, the sailing-master of the yacht.