ber that the two vessels, pursuer and pursued, had not yet passed.
They were sailing diagonally toward each other at the first, and that
was the relative position they held when the privateer came about and
stood off on the other tack. If Captain Beardsley had understood his
business he might have had the after-gun cast loose and loaded with a
fifteen-second shell, and fired it at the chase as the stern of the
_Osprey_ swung around. Marcy thought this could have been done, but of
course he said nothing. His sympathies were entirely with the captain
who had determined to make a race of it.

"I do hope he'll get away," thought the boy, looking first at the canvas
of his own vessel to see how it was drawing, and then at the topsail
schooner which was making such gallant efforts to escape. "Suppose the
captain owns that craft, and that it is everything he has in the world
to depend on for a living for his family? It will be just awful to take
it away from him. Why don't Uncle Sam send some cruisers down here?"

While Marcy stood on the quarter-deck meditating, Tierney was working on
the forecastle, and now he called out:

"All ready for'ard, sir."

"Let her have it!" cried the captain; and then, seeing that Marcy Gray
was still holding fast to the halliards that kept the starry flag at the
peak, he shouted: "Why don't you haul that thing down and run aloft the
Stars and Bars? Are you asleep?"

"No, sir," replied the boy. "Waiting for orders, sir."

"Down with it then, and put our own flag up there," commanded the
captain. "Fire, Tierney!"

The howitzer once more belched forth a cloud of flame and smoke, and
Marcy stood on tiptoe and held his breath in suspense while he waited
for the result. He felt the cold chills creep along his spine when,
after an interval that seemed very short for the distance the shot had
to travel, he saw it strike the water in line with the schooner and
explode a second later almost at her side. There was no mistake about it
this time. A fifteen-second fuse was long enough, and the next shot,
with a single half-degree more of elevation, would surely strike her.
Her skipper saw it, and rather than allow his vessel to be shot to
pieces and his men killed before his eyes, he spilled his sails and gave
up the contest.

"Come on deck, you lubbers below, and cheer our first prize," shouted
the mate, who was almost beside himself with joy and excitement. "There
she is, laying to and waiting for y