Daylight increased; and as the sun, like a vast ball of fire, rose slowly above the horizon, the mist lifted as if it had been a curtain from off the surface of the water, rolling away in huge wreaths of vapour before the breeze.  The wind had once more hauled round to the southward, and then away to the westward, when, beneath an arch of clouds, we saw two vessels alongside each other.  One was a schooner, a fine, rakish-looking craft; the other a large brig.  The latter had her royals and top-gallant-sails flying loose, her topsails were on the caps, her courses were hauled up, her yards were braced here and there; indeed, she presented a picture of most complete confusion.  Her appearance would too plainly have told us that something wrong had taken place, even had we not heard the cries in the night.  In vain we looked round on every side for the dinghy; she was nowhere to be seen.  We examined the vessels through a spy-glass we had with us.  She was not visible alongside either of them.  Again and again we swept the horizon, but not a speck could we discover that might be her.  "What is to be done?" exclaimed Jerry in a tone of deep grief.  I too felt very sorry for fear harm had happened to Cousin Silas; nor did I forget Ben and the Sandwich islander.  "Hallo! hallo!  Look there! what is happening now?" Jerry added.  We looked.  The schooner had parted a little distance from the brig, and the latter vessel, after rolling once or twice to starboard and port, seemed to dip her bows into the sea.  We gazed earnestly with a sickening feeling.  Her bowsprit did not rise again. Down, down she went, slowly and calmly, as if making a voluntary plunge to the depths of the ocean.  The water closed over her decks, her lower masts disappeared, her topmasts followed, and the loose sails for a moment floated above the spot where she had been, and then sank also, drawn down by the halliards beneath the waters.