low, black, and rakish-looking, could now be
seen from the brig's tops.

"Surely they must see us," said the captain.

"She's just the build of the Don Pedro we
took off this coast," said the second lieutenant,
from the maintop.

"I hope she will turn out a better prize,"
replied the captain.

The truth is, they had captured that same
Don Pedro, condemned her, and broken her
up. The captain and owners of her had
appealed; proved to the satisfaction of the
Admiralty that she was not engaged in the
slave trade; and, consequently, every man on
board the Semiramis who had assisted at her
capture, was obliged to cash up his quota of
"damages" instead of pocketing prize-money.
The Don Pedro, therefore, was a sore subject
on board the Semiramis.

Another hour elapsed: the hull of the
schooner began to be visible from the deck of
the cruiser. She was a wicked-looking craft;
and Jack slapped his pockets in anticipation
of the cash she would bring in to them.

"Well, it's odd she don't alter course,
anyhow," said the boatswain on the forecastle;
"may be she wants to throw us off the scent,
by pretending to be all right and proper, and
not to have a notion that we can be coming
after her."

"Show the colours," cried the captain on the
quarter-deck; " let's see what flag she sports."

The British ensign was soon floating from
the Semiramis; but the schooner at first
showed no colours in reply.

Presently the first lieutenant, who was
watching her through the glass, cried out,
"Brazilian, by Jove!"

There was a short pause. Every sort of
spy-glass in the ship was in requisition. Every
eye was strained to its utmost visual tension.
The captain broke the silence with " Holloa!
She's easing off; going to run for it at
last."

"She's a leetle too late," said the lieutenant.
"Before the wind these fore-and-aft schooners
are tubs, though on the wind they're clippers."

However, it was clear that the schooner had
at last resolved to run for her life. By going
off with the wind she got a good start of the
brig; and, although it was her worst point of
sailing, still the breeze was so light that, while
it suited her, it was insufficient to make the
heavier brig sail well.

For three hours the chase continued, and
neither vessel seemed to gain on the other;
but the breeze was now freshening, and the
Semiramis at length began to diminish the
distance between herself and the Brazilian.
Right a-head, in the course they were
pursuing, lay a point of land projecting far into
the sea, and the chart showed a tremendous
reef of rocks extending some three
miles beyond it. It was certain that neither
vessel could clear the reef, if they held the
course they were then steering.

"Keep her a little more to windward,"
cried the captain. "We shall have her;
she will be obliged to haul up in about an
hour's time, and then she can't escape, as we
shall be well to windward."

The hour went by; and still the schooner
showed no signs of altering her course. The
captain of the Semiramis again examined his
charts; but the reef was clearly laid down,
and it seemed utterly impossible that the
schooner could weather it by the course she
was then steering. Yet, either from
ignorance of the danger, or from the determination
to brave it, she tried; knowing that if
she escaped it and cleared the point, she would
have gained an immense advantage over her
pursuers.

It would be impossible to describe the
anxiety with which all on board the
Semiramis now watched the little Brazilian. She
was literally rushing into the jaws of
destruction; and, as she rose over each
successive wave, it seemed as if she must be
dashed on the treacherous reef at the next
dip. Still she stood bravely on; and, though
doubtless the lips of those on board her might
be quivering at that moment in the agony of
suspense, the little craft looked so beautiful,
and sailed so gaily, her white sails and slender
spars flashing in the sunlight, that even her
pursuers mentally prayed for her safety,
quite irrespective of the prize-money they
would lose by her destruction on the rocks.
Jack does not like to see a pretty craft run
ashore, at any price.

They began almost to think the schooner
"bore a charmed life; " for she seemed to be
floating over the very reef itself, and the
white foam of the breakers could be seen all
round her.

"Blessed, if I don't think she's the Flying
Dutchman," said one blue-jacket to another.

"Gammon, Bill—ain't we round the Cape?
and don't you know that's just where the
Flying Dutchman never could get to?"
replied his messmate.

The little schooner bounds onwards merrily
—suddenly she staggers, and every spar
shivers.

"She has struck! " cry twenty voices at
once.

Now she rises with a coming wave, and now
she settles down again with a violence that
brings her topmasts on the deck.

"Out with the boats," is the order on
board the Semiramis, and the men fly to
execute it.

Another wave lifts the schooner—another
fearful crash—she rolls over—her decks are
rent asunder—her crew are struggling in the
water—and with them (every man shudders
at the sight) hundreds of negroes, manacled
to each other and fettered to the lower deck,
are shot out into the foam.

Bravely pulled the seamen in the boats of
the Semiramis; but two strong swimmers,
who had fought their way through the boiling
surf, were all they saved. So slight was the