elayed her considerably,
and, when the new captain took his place at the wheel again, the yacht
was scarcely two hundred yards distant. During the remainder of the
night she kept close behind the schooner, and Sam, watching her
movements as the lightning revealed them to him, and noting the skill
with which she was handled, told himself more than once that he had been
sadly mistaken in the opinions he had formed concerning the students. He
had hailed the approach of the storm with delight, believing that the
young tars, rather than face it, would turn and run for the village; but
there they were, following close in his wake, and showing no disposition
to abandon the chase. The governor did not like to see so much
perseverance exhibited by the students. It showed that they were
determined to capture him.

And how fared it with the prisoners all this while, and how must they
have felt, tossed about in their bunks as the schooner labored through
the waves? They would have possessed wonderful courage, indeed, if they
had not been thoroughly alarmed at their situation. They passed the
long, dreary hours in listening to the roar of the wind, the washing of
the waves against the sides of the vessel, the despairing cries and
appeals that came from the store-room under the deck, the frantic blows
that resounded on the hatch, as the robbers made desperate but
ineffectual attempts to escape from their prison, and waiting, with all
the fortitude they could command, to feel the schooner sinking under
them, or to hear the crash that would tell them she had been driven
ashore in the darkness. How they struggled to free themselves from their
bonds, and how they shouted to attract the attention of the schooner's
crew, adding their cries to those of the robbers, and promising, if they
were released, to assist in navigating the vessel, and to make no
attempt at escape--promises that would have been faithfully kept, if the
governor had heard and listened to them. It was a night never to be
forgotten.

Daylight came at last, and, when objects in the cabin could be
discerned, Johnny Harding with difficulty rolled out of his bunk and
hobbled to one of the windows in the stern, and looked out. The waves
still ran high, but the storm had passed away, the sky was clear, and
the gale had subsided into a capital sailing wind. The headlands at the
entrance to Buzzard's Bay had just been passed, and the schooner was in
deep water. Close behind her