"Pretty soon; when I get these fellows fixed," replied the veteran, who had cut the rope nearest to his hands, and was securing the arms of the prisoners behind them.

"There is no fear of them now. We have got two revolvers apiece, and we can have it all our own way, if they show fight."

But Hapgood had bound the rebels by this time, and with tender care he lifted his wounded companion down into the standing room, and made him as comfortable as the circ.u.mstances would permit.

"Now, where are we, Hapgood?" asked Tom, who had been vainly peering ahead to discover some familiar object by which to steer. I can't see the first thing."

"I don't know where we are," replied Hapgood. "I never was much of a sailor, and I leave the navigating all to you."

"I can navigate well enough, if I knew where we were," added Tom, who had thus far been utterly unable to ascertain the "ship's position."

During the brief struggle for the possession of the schooner, she had drifted some distance, which had caused the new commander to lose his bearings. The sh.o.r.e they had just left had disappeared, as though it had been swallowed up by an earthquake. No lights were allowed on sh.o.r.e, where they could be seen from the river, for they afforded so many targets to the artillerymen in the rebel batteries. The more Tom tried to discover a familiar object to steer by, the more it seemed as though the land and everything else had been cut adrift, and emigrated to foreign parts. Those who have been in a boat in a very dark night, or in a dense fog, will be able to appreciate the bewilderment of the skipper of the captured schooner.

"Look out, Tom, that you don't run us into some of those rebel batteries,"

said Hapgood, after he had watched the rapid progress of the boat for a few moments. "A shot from a thirty-two pounder would be a pill we couldn't swallow."

"No danger of that, Hapgood," answered Tom, confidently.

"I don't know about that, my boy," answered the veteran, in a tone heavy with dire anxiety.

"I know it. The schooner was running with the wind on her starboard quarter when we boarded her. We are now close-hauled, and of course we can't make the sh.o.r.e on the other side while we are on this tack."

Well, I don't know much about it, Tom, but if you say its all right, I'm satisfied; that' all. I'd trust you just as far as I would General McClennon, and you know we all b'lieve in him."

"What are you going to do with us?" asked one of the rebels, who began to exhibit some interest in the fate of the schooner.

"I suppose you will find good quarters in Fort McHenry," replied Tom.

"Where do you belong?"

"In Baltimore."

"What are you doing here, then?"

"We go in for the South."

"Go in, then!" added Tom, laughing.

"You'll fetch up where all the rest of 'em do," said Hapgood.

"How's that fellow that was. .h.i.t?" asked Tom, pointing to the rebel who lay in the middle of the standing room.

"I guess it's all right with him," replied Hapgood, bending over the silent form. "No; he isn't dead."

"I have it!" shouted Tom, suddenly crowding the helm hard-a-lee.

"What, Tom?"

"I see where we are. We are running up the river. I see the land on the weather bow."

The schooner was put about, and after running with the wind amidships for ten or fifteen minutes, Tom discovered the outline of Mrs. Budd's house, which was directly under the guns of the Union battery.

"Stand by the fore halliards, Hapgood," said Tom, as the boat came about again. "Let go!"

The foresail came down, and Tom sprang upon the pier, as the schooner came up under its lee. In a moment the boat was made fast. By this time the pickets appeared.

"Who comes there?" demanded the soldier.

"Friends!" replied Tom.

"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."

"Little Mac," whispered the soldier boy in the ear of the sentinel.

"Who are you?"

"Co. K." answered Tom.

"What's the row? The long roll was beat just now, and the whole regiment is in line. What was that firing?"

"We have captured this boat, and five prisoners, one of them wounded, if not dead."

"Bully for you," replied the picket.

They were soon joined by a squad of men, and Fred Pemberton and the wounded rebel were conveyed to the hospital, while the four prisoners were conducted to a secure place. Hapgood and Tom then hastened to the parade, where the regiment was drawn up, and reported the events which had just transpired. It was unanimously voted by officers and privates that the picket guard had done "a big thing," and they were warmly and generously commended for their skill and bravery.

Hapgood and Tom requested permission to go to the hospital and see their companion. They found that the surgeon had already dressed his wound.

"Will he die?" asked Tom, full of solicitude for his friend.

"Die! no; it's a mere scratch. The ball ploughed into his cheek a little way," replied the surgeon. "It isn't a bad wound. He was more scared than hurt."

"I am glad it is no worse," said Captain Benson, who, with fatherly solicitude for his men, had come to the hospital as soon as the company was dismissed. "But what ails you, Tom? You look pale."

"Nothing, captain."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think I am badly hurt. I believe one of those pistol b.a.l.l.s grazed my side; but I hardly felt it."

"Let me see," said the surgeon.

The doctor opened Tom's coat, and his gray shirt was found to be saturated with blood.

"That's a worse wound than Pemberton's. Didn't you know it, Tom?"

"Well, of course I knew it; but I didn't think it was any thing," replied Tom, apologetically. "I knew it wouldn't do to drop down, or we should all be in Dixie in half an hour."

"You are my man for the present," said the doctor, as he proceeded to a further examination of the wound.