ked by
that flag falsely displayed. It is an English man-of-war. Put about.
We'll pilot no such vessel into Fairport."

Quick as thought the little boat had turned its head, and was making
towards the shore. The movement was not unperceived on board the
man-of-war, and its cause was at once understood. A boat, manned by a
dozen strong rowers, had been made ready for such an emergency. They
were quickly in pursuit of the retreating pilot. They gained rapidly
upon the boys, and were soon alongside, commanding Blair to surrender,
while half a dozen muskets were aimed at the brave lads.

"Fire! Do your worst! I am not afraid to die!" sprang to the lips of
Blair Robertson; but he thought of his mother, and was silent. He had no
right so to throw away the life of her only son.

"Surrender, or we shall fire," was again repeated.

"A couple of unarmed boys, decoyed within your reach, would be a worthy
mark for your treacherous British muskets," said Blair boldly. "I would
dare you to fire, but there are those at home who would miss us too
much. Do what you will with us; we are your prisoners."

The British tars handled their captives without ceremony, and hurried
them at once on board the man-of-war and presented them before its
impatient commander.

Not a little surprised at the grotesque appearance of the prisoners, he
exclaimed in astonishment, "Who and what are you?"

"I am a Yankee boy, the captain of the Fairport Guard," said Blair
frankly. "We had been parading, when your signal for a pilot called me
too suddenly away for me to have time to lay aside this dress, _this
coat_ which my grandfather wore at _Bunker Hill_."

A strong emphasis was laid on the last word of the sentence.

"You young rascal!" exclaimed the commander. "And who is this Tom-fool
of a companion?"

"It is my friend, and one of our company. He would not see me risking my
life on the water while he stood on the shore. Would that we had many
such 'Tom-fools,' with brave, strong hearts like his."

As Blair spoke, he took off his official cap and left his noble young
head bare. With another movement the precious coat was thrown over his
arm, and the stripling stood in his school-boy dress before the English
commander, who exclaimed, "A pretty pilot, you. Who sent you on this mad
errand?"

"My father has been for thirty years the pilot of Fairport. He is now
absent fighting for his country against her oppressors. I know the
channel well. No on