eing
prepared between canvas and steam, proof of which was given from the
gunboat by the dense clouds of black smoke rolling out of the funnel and
showing how hard the stokers were at work.

It was a busy time then; sail after sail filled out till the schooner
showed as a cloud of canvas gilded by the rising sun, while she
literally skimmed through the water dangerously near to a rocky coast.

But as the sun rose higher that danger passed away, for as if by magic
the wind dropped, leaving the sails flapping, the graceful vessel no
longer dipping her cut-water low-down into the surface and covering the
deck with spray.

Poole looked at his father and drew his breath hard, for he saw too
plainly the peril in which they stood. They were still gliding gently
through the water, but more slowly each minute, and riding now upon an
even keel, while the gunboat astern was tearing along, literally
ploughing her way, and sending a diverging foam-covered wave to
starboard and port.

"Pretty well all over, Burgess," he said, in a low hoarse voice, and
Fitz stole out his hand to grip Poole's wrist and give a warm
sympathetic pressure; and he did not draw it back, but stood holding on,
listening the while to the mate's slow, thoughtful reply.

"I don't know yet," said the latter, half closing his eyes and looking
towards the west. "The winds play rum games here sometimes, and you
hardly know where you are. They may go through one of their manoeuvres
now. This is just about the time, and I shouldn't wonder if we had a
sharp breeze from the west again, same as we did yesterday and the day
before."

"No such luck," said the skipper bitterly. "It won't be the wind off
shore; it will be the _Teal_ on. You'll have to make for the first
opening you see as soon as there's wind enough, and run her right in.
Don't hesitate a moment, Burgess; run her right ashore, and then we must
do the best we can with the boats, or swim for it."

"Run her right ashore!" said the mate grimly.

"Yes--so that she's a hopeless wreck, impossible to get off."

"Seems a pity," growled the mate; and his words found an echo in Fitz
Burnett's breast.

"Yes, but it would be a greater pity for my beautiful little schooner to
fall a prize to that wretched tea-kettle there; and I won't have my lads
treated as prisoners. I'd sooner we all had to take to the woods."

"All right, sir. You're skipper; I'm mate. It's you to give orders, me
to carry them o