Finding that no notice was taken of his shouts to be released from the cabin, Breeze finally sat down on the transom beside the bunk in which Wolfe was now sleeping heavily, and tried to puzzle out the meaning of what had taken place. At first he thought it might be a sort of a practical joke, and perhaps the _Vixen_ was only being carried out in the bay to get a good position for an early start in the morning. In that case he did not doubt but he would be allowed to return to the city when she came to anchor. As time wore on, and the schooner still continued to move rapidly through the water, even this hope began to disappear. At last the motion of the vessel convinced him that she had passed out of the bay, and was now riding the long, regular swells of the open sea. He now remembered that the _Vixen_ had been fitting for a trip to the Grand Bank, and realized that she had really begun the long voyage that might last for months. If he could only have bidden his mother good-by, and told her where he was going! Now the thought of her distress at his unexplained absence completely overcame him. Throwing himself at full length on the hard transom, he buried his face in his hands and sobbed as though his heart would break. Finally, tired out by his long, hard day’s work, his recent excitement, and the strength of his emotions, he fell into a troubled sleep. Soon afterwards the companion-way slide was pushed back, and the skipper, Hank Hoffer, and another man entered the cabin and tumbled into their bunks, but without waking the prisoners. “Sleep sound enough, don’t they?” remarked the skipper. “Yes,” answered Hank Hoffer. “Drunken men always do.” It was broad daylight when Breeze awoke, cramped and stiff from lying so long on the bare boards of the transom. As he sat up and looked about him, his thoughts were in such confusion that he could not for a moment recall where he was. Seeing Wolfe Brady asleep in the bunk beside him brought back the events of the preceding evening with a rush, and starting up, he went on deck. There a single glance showed him that they were out of sight of land and heading to the eastward. A young man whose face looked somewhat familiar to him was at the wheel, though he could not recollect where he had seen it. “Hello!” exclaimed this individual. “Turned out, have yer? Feel any better than you did last night?” Breeze started at the sound of the voice. It was that of Wolfe Brady’s companion of the night before, of whose face he had not at any time obtained a good view, but whom he now recognized. “What do you mean,” he asked, stepping up to the young man, “by playing such a trick on me? How dared you lock us into that cabin and bring us off in this way?” “Ho, ho!” laughed the other, “I dare do almost anything. As for what I meant by it, I told you a while ago that I’d get even with you for laughing at me when that mackerel seine broke and pitched us all overboard. I’ve only kept my word.”