The helmsman yawned, and I yawned. The Marian, close-hauled, was not making two knots an hour. We were headed about north-west, which was not nearly so close to the wind as the boat could lay. "We shall not get to Chicago in twenty-four hours at this rate," said Mr. Whippleton, when he had wasted all his vituperative rhetoric upon me. "Not in forty-eight, if you don't keep her a little closer to the wind," I replied. "Do you sail this boat, or do I?" he demanded. "Well, sir, you and that whiskey bottle appear to be doing it just now; and between you both you are not doing it very well." "None of your impudence! Perhaps you are conceited enough to think you could do it better." "I confess that I am." "You will mind your own business, Phil." "I haven't any to mind." "Go to sleep then!" "What time is it, sir?" "About half past twelve." "I will take my turn at the helm, if you like." "I won't trust you at the helm. You make too many blunders." "Then I will take a nap myself." "That will be the only sensible thing you have done to-night." I thought it would be sensible, at any rate, and as there was not much comfort in talking to a man as waspish as he was, I concluded to take his advice. I stretched myself on the cushions, on the lee side, out of the helmsman's way, covered myself with the blanket, and was soon asleep. Perhaps I am conceited: I will not say that I am not; but in the light of subsequent events, I must say it was the only blunder I made that night--going to sleep. I was tired enough to sleep soundly, and as the yacht was bound to Chicago, I had nothing more to worry me; so I did sleep soundly. If nothing had occurred to disturb me, doubtless I should have made up my six hours before morning. Unfortunately something did occur to disturb me--something sudden and violent. A heavy hand was laid upon me, and I awoke. I tried to gain my feet, but a desperate clutch was upon my throat. Mr. Whippleton was bending over me; his right hand was choking me, while his left grasped a rope. I tried to scream, but the hard hand choked me. I realized that I was in the power of my enemy, and I made a desperate struggle to free myself from his grasp. I thought I was succeeding, when a crushing blow fell upon my head; my brain sparkled as with a shower of stars. I remember no more of the affray. The first sensation that I experienced was a deadly sickness and faintness. My senses slowly came back to me, and I found myself lying upon the cushions of the standing-room, with Marian Collingsby leaning over me, bathing my brow. My head seemed to be bursting with pain and fulness. I tried to raise my hand to ascertain the extent of my injuries; but I found that my wrists were tied together behind me. [Illustration: PHIL A PRISONER. Page 282.] "O, Philip! Philip!" cried Marian, as I opened my eyes and realized my situation.