k, hoping that the last tow-line was in their hands. But it was not
until the steamer had given them three Manila and two steel hawsers,
four weak--too weak--mooring-chains, and a couple of old and frayed
warping-lines, that the coming up to the bow of an anchor-chain of
six-inch link told them that the end was near, that the steamer had
exhausted her supply of tow-lines, and that her presumably sane skipper
would not give them his last means of anchoring--the other chain.

They were right. Either for this reason or because of the proximity to
English bottom, the steamer ceased her coyness, and her crew watched
from the taffrail, while those implacable, purposeful men behind crept
up to them. It was slow, laborious work; for the small windlass would
not grip the heavy links of the chain, and they must needs climb out a
few fathoms, making fast messengers to heave on, while the idle half of
them gathered in the slackened links by hand.

On a calm, still night they finally unshipped the windlass-brakes and
looked up at the round, black stern of the steamer not fifty feet
ahead. They were surrounded by lights of outgoing and incoming craft,
and they knew by soundings taken that day, when the steamer had slowed
down for the same purpose, that they were within the hundred-fathom
curve, close to the mouth of the Channel, but not within the three-mile
limit. Rejoicing at the latter fact, they armed themselves to a man
with belaying-pins from their still intact pin-rails, and climbed out
on the cable, the whole eighteen of them, man following man, in close
climbing order.

"Now, look here," said a portly man with a gilt-bound cap to the leader
of the line, as he threw a leg over the taffrail, "what's the meaning,
may I ask, of this unreasonable conduct?"

"You may ask, of course," said the man,--it was Elisha,--"but we'd like
to ask something, too" (he was sparring for time until more should
arrive); "we'd like to ask why you drag us across the Atlantic Ocean
against our will?"

Another man climbed aboard, and said:

"Yes; we 'gree to steer you into New York. You's adrif' in de trough of
de sea, an' you got no chronometer, an' you can't navigate, an' we come
'long--under command, mind you--an' give you our tow-line, an' tell you
de road to port. Wha' you mean by dis?"

"Tut, tut, my colored friend!" answered the man of gilt. "You were
dismasted and helpless, and I gave you a tow. It was on the high seas,
and I chose the