The first faint pallor of the coming dawn was insidiously extending along the horizon ahead as H. M. gun-brig Shark—the latest addition to the slave-squadron—slowly surged ahead over the almost oil-smooth sea, under the influence of a languid air breathing out from the south-east. She was heading in for the mouth of the Congo, which was about forty miles distant, according to the master’s reckoning. The night had been somewhat squally, and the royals and topgallant-sails were stowed; but the weather was now clearing, and as “three bells” chimed out musically upon the clammy morning air, Mr Seaton, the first lieutenant, who was the officer of the watch, having first scanned the heavens attentively, gave orders to loose and set again the light upper canvas.