The storm was almost over and the British commander cursed his bad luck in not having been able to hold on to his anchor. Here, he was in a bad predicament, held fast on the treacherous flats and obliged to wait for hours until the flood tide floated the schooner. The hated Yankees ashore would soon discover his plight and, perhaps, muster sufficient force to seize his vessel, making prisoners of all on board. The gloomy prospect affected Dunton’s nerves and he longed to vent his spleen on the pilot, but he had no evidence whatever that the latter had not acted in good faith. As the daylight got stronger a few men were observed on the beach. Hoppy knew that they were the forerunners of the crowd which would soon be on the scene. The tide was ebbing fast and the schooner would soon be high and dry on the flats. Then the pilot must strike the final blow on which he depended for victory. He was not afraid of the result. There had been no setback to his plans up to the present and he felt confident that within the hour Dunton and his men would be prisoners of war. The schooner, feeling the want of the supporting tide, heeled over. Dunton on the quarterdeck was dividing his attention between the increasing crowd on the beach and the movements of the pilot. The latter seemed to be examining the brass four pounder with great curiosity. To Dunton it looked as if Hoppy had it in his mind to train the piece on the beach, but that idea vanished quickly when he saw the bold Cape Codder deliberately spike the gun! “Treason, by G----!” he shouted as he made a rush forward. Hoppy gave the spike a clinching blow and turned on the officer. “Stand back there, Dunton!” he cried fiercely. “Stand back there! and keep a civil tongue in your mouth, you d--d swab!” Hoppy had snatched a boarding pike from the rack and Dunton paused irresolutely before the weapon. “Halt!” cried the American. Dunton faced him. The officer was no coward, but the suddenness of the whole thing was disconcerting and he was puzzled how to proceed. “This vessel is American property, Dunton; she now reverts to her rightful owners!” Dunton did not reply. He looked at Jenkins and the latter disappeared into the cabin. Hoppy laughed mockingly as the junior reappeared looking decidedly crestfallen. “Your pistols are not in your writing case, sir.” This was too much for Dunton. His features were distorted with passion and he hurled a volley of vile language at the American. “Avast there, you swab!” roared Hoppy; “another man so near death as you are would be saying his prayers instead of using filthy talk!” “All hands, ahoy!” screamed Dunton. “Aye, you may call them, my bold fellow, but they couldn’t hear even Gabriel’s trumpet now!”