ere almost at a standstill.

"Mud-flat out here? Never heard of such a thing!"

So Paul exclaimed with a snort of unbelief, and, seizing an oar, shoved
it down over the side. And straight down it went till the water wet
his hand. There was no bottom! Then we were dumbfounded. The wind was
whistling by, and still the _Mist_ was moving ahead at a snail's
pace. There seemed something dead about her, and it was all I could do
at the tiller to keep her from swinging up into the wind.

"Listen!" I laid my hand on Paul's arm. We could hear the sound of
rowlocks, and saw the little white light bobbing up and down and now
very close to us. "There's your armed boat," I whispered in fun.
"Beat the crew to quarters and stand by to repel boarders!"

We both laughed, and were still laughing when a wild scream of rage came
out of the darkness, and the approaching boat shot under our stern.
By the light of the lantern it carried we could see the two men in it
distinctly. They were foreign-looking fellows with sun-bronzed faces,
and with knitted tam-o'-shanters perched seaman fashion on their heads.
Bright-colored woolen sashes were around their waists, and long
sea-boots covered their legs. I remember yet the cold chill which passed
along my backbone as I noted the tiny gold ear-rings in the ears of one.
For all the world they were like pirates stepped out of the pages of
romance. And, to make the picture complete, their faces were distorted
with anger, and each flourished a long knife. They were both shouting,
in high-pitched voices, some foreign jargon we could not understand.

One of them, the smaller of the two, and if anything the more
vicious-looking, put his hands on the rail of the _Mist_ and
started to come aboard. Quick as a flash Paul placed the end of the oar
against the man's chest and shoved him back into his boat. He fell in a
heap, but scrambled to his feet, waving the knife and shrieking:

"You break-a my net-a! You break-a my net-a!"

And he held forth in the jargon again, his companion joining him, and
both preparing to make another dash to come aboard the _Mist_.

"They're Italian fishermen," I cried, the facts of the case breaking in
upon me. "We've run over their smelt-net, and it's slipped along the
keel and fouled our rudder. We're anchored to it."

"Yes, and they're murderous chaps, too," Paul said, sparring at them
with the oar to make them keep their distance.

"Say, you fellows!" he called to them.