ther; but the matter was finally settled by the
skipper, who took his place at the helm and turned the Sweepstakes
toward the island. It was plain to them all that their cruise was ended
at last. Their vessel had served them faithfully, but she could be of no
further use to them now. They must run her ashore and take to the woods.

The Storm King still followed close at the heels of the flying
schooner. She seemed to glance over the waves without touching them;
but, fast as she went, the tugs, which were following a course at right
angles with her own, gained rapidly, rolling the smoke in dense volumes
from their chimneys, and lashing the water furiously with their wheels.
For a time it seemed that they would cut the schooner off from the
island altogether; but Tom gradually changed his course as he approached
them, and ran into a little bay in the island, just as the nearest tug,
which was scarcely fifty yards distant, stopped and began to use her
lead-line.

"Hold on, Tom Newcombe!" yelled the major, as the schooner dashed by the
tug. "You're my prisoner. Stop, I tell you! Captain, why _don't_ you go
on? Can't you see that yacht coming?"

"Yes, I see her," replied the master of the tug, "and I know she will
capture the schooner. But I can't help it, for I can't run my vessel
without plenty of water. There's a bar across the mouth of that bay, and
I can't pass it."

At this moment Spencer's tug came up, and stopped near the other; and,
while the impatient young officers and their men were crowding about the
captains, and urging them to go ahead, whether there was water enough to
float the tugs or not, the Storm King swept by like the wind. There was
no noise or confusion on her deck. The young tars were all at their
stations; a party of boarders, under the command of Harry Green, stood
on the forecastle; Captain Steele, a little pale with excitement, but
quite self-possessed and confident, was perched on the rail, holding
fast to the shrouds, and as his vessel bounded past the tugs he lifted
his cap to his discomfited rivals. Five minutes afterward the yacht's
canvas was lying on her deck; her bowsprit was lashed fast to the
schooner's foremast; Harry Green's boarders had released Johnny Harding
and the jolly-boat's crew, and made prisoners of Friday and Xury just as
they were on the point of leaping overboard; Johnny had secured the
valise, snatched an empty pistol from a sailor, opened the hatchway that
led into