Tom, after the boat containing the girl and the two friendly fishermen had pulled away in the direction of the schooner, detailed two of his men to lead the horses to a point some miles below on the shores of the bay. Then he and the others placed themselves under the orders of Captain Deering and his first mate, who was in command of the second boat. “Now, lads,” spoke the skipper of the Defence, “I guess there’s no use telling you that you are bound on a dangerous cruise--not a very long one, but such a one as will need us to keep the starboard and larboard watch both on deck all the time.” “Douse the lantern!” said the mate, gruffly. He was a thick-set, hardy looking man, about his captain’s age; he had an eye like a hawk and a way of casting it about every now and then that at once dubbed him sailor. The captain instantly blew out the lantern. “Anything moving, Mr. Jackson?” asked he. “I heard a creaking of blocks from the hulks,” returned the mate. “They are lowering the boat, skipper, I think.” “Then we’d best be afloat!” exclaimed Captain Deering. “Tumble in, my hearties, and push off.” The sailors of the Defence and the swamp-riders were soon evenly distributed between the gig and the pinnace; the former was under the command of Captain Deering in person, and in the bows sat Tom and Cole; Nat and David Collins were in the mate’s boat; all were silent as the boats shoved off from the beach; the lapping of the water against their sides and the long, soft strokes of the oars were the only sounds that could be heard. “They’ve launched a boat,” said the mate in a low tone. The gig and pinnace still pulled side by side, a double length of oar between them. “Yes, and there goes another one, and another.” “Stiff work,” growled the captain, as he strove to follow the mate’s pointing finger. “I can just about make them out, Mr. Jackson, and they seem to be full of men.” “Let’s hope they’re mostly prisoners,” said the mate. “Have your cutlasses ready, men,” said Captain Deering, softly. “We can’t use the pistol until we’re sure of where we are firing.” The three boats had pushed off from the hulk by this time; one was a galley, pulled by at least a dozen men and carrying as many marines in her bow, another was a small jolly-boat, and the last a ship’s gig in the stern of which were to be seen several officers. “Don’t bother the galley,” said Uncle Dick. “It holds only a guard. The prisoners are in the gig or the small boat.” “There seem to be only three of them,” said Tom, straining his eyes through the darkness. “But I can’t make out my father among them.” “He’s there, fast enough,” said the captain, encouragingly.