“I’ll step the mast; you, Master Lancelot, go to the helm. Stand by to hoist the sail, Master Ben,” cried Tom; and in half a minute we had the mast stepped, the sail hoisted, and the sheet hauled aft, when, again getting out the oars, we glided rapidly through the water. We saw that our pursuers had no sail, or they would have hoisted it. This was satisfactory, though they were pulling harder than ever.

Should the wind hold, we had good hope that they would soon be left behind, still it would be folly to relax our efforts.

“Hurrah! we are distancing them,” cried Tom.

As he spoke, our pursuers fired two shots at us, but the bullets fell into the water astern.

“Blaze away as fast as you like!” cried Lancelot; “every shot you fire will help us to get ahead of you.”

The men in the boat had to throw in their oars to fire, while they . . . Read More