It was, perhaps, one hour after sunrise, when my agony was becoming almost insupportable, that I first noticed a wisp of smoke on the southern rim of the circle of sea which just then was all my world.  I never strained my eyes for anything as I did for that patch of grey against the cloudless blue!  It grew bigger and bigger—­I knew, of course, that it was some steamer, gradually approaching.  But it seemed ages before I could make out her funnels; ages before I saw the first bit of her black bulk show up above the level of the dancing waves.  Yet there she was at last—­coming bows on, straight in my direction.  My nerves must have given out at the sight—­I remember the tears rolling down my cheeks; I remember hearing myself make strange sounds, which I suppose were those of relief and thankfulness.  And then the horror of being unseen, of being left to endure more tortures of thirst, of the steamer changing her course, fell on me, and long before she was anywhere near me I was trying to balance myself on the grating, so that I could stand erect and attract her attention.

She was a very slow-going craft that—­not able to do more than nine or ten knots at best—­and another hour passed before she was anywhere near me.  But, thank God! she came within a mile of me, and I made shift to stand up on my raft and to wave to her.  And thereon she altered her course and lumbered over in my direction.  She was one of the ugliest vessels that ever left a shipyard, but I thought I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life as she looked in those moments, and I had certainly never been so thankful for anything as for her solid and dirty deck when willing and kindly hands helped me up on it.

Half an hour after that, with dry clothes on me, and hot coffee and rum inside me, I was closeted with the skipper in his cabin, telling him, under a strict pledge of secrecy, as much of my tale as I felt inclined to share with him.  He was a sympathetic and an understanding man, and he swore warmly and plentifully when he heard how treacherously I had been treated, intimating it as the—­just then—­dearest wish of his heart to have the handling of the man who had played me the trick.

“But you’ll be dealing with him yourself!” said he.  “Man!—­you’ll not spare him—­promise me you’ll not spare him!  And you’ll send me a newspaper with the full account of all that’s done to him when you’ve set the law to work—­dod!  I hope they’ll quarter him!  Them was grand days when there was more licence and liberty in punishing malefactors—­oh!  I’d like fine to see this man put into boiling oil, or something of that sort, the cold-hearted, murdering villain!  You’ll be sure to send me the newspaper?”

I laughed—­for the first time since—­when?  It seemed years since I had laughed—­and yet it was only a few hours, after all.

“Before I can set the law to work on him, I must get on dry land, captain,” I answered.  “Where are you going?”