On the passage I told Grace and Ned Skotchley what had transpired during the time I had been on shore; and both of them agreed with me that it was disgraceful to allow boys to fight. Grace even had the courage to say that her father ought to have compelled the Toppletonians to leave the island, rather than encourage such outrageous conduct. “What are you going to do now?” asked Skotchley. “I’m going to recapture Tommy.” “I thought you were a non-combatant,” laughed he. “So I am; but I’m not going to leave Tommy in the hands of those fellows. I’m afraid the Wimps will abuse him when they have time to attend to his case.” “Don’t let them hurt him,” pleaded Grace. “I will not. Tommy is as brave as a lion; if he had been as prudent as Waddie, he would not have been captured,” I replied. By this time we were within hail of the boat in which the prisoner of war was held. His guards did not know the Grace, as she was a new craft on the lake, and did not expect any mischief from her. They sat on each side of the vanquished little major, whose hands were tied together so that he could do no harm. I ran the yacht up into the wind so that her bowsprit was over the boat. “What are you about? You will run into us!” shouted one of the sentinels. “We won’t hurt you,” replied Tom Walton, as he hooked on to the boat. I ran forward, and Tom and I dropped into the boat, while Joe Poole held the painter, which I threw up to him to avoid accidents. “Wolf Penniman!” exclaimed Baxter, one of the guards, when he recognized me. “What do you want?” “I want Major Tommy,” I replied, cutting that young gentleman’s fetters, while Tom Walton stood between me and the astonished sentinels. “You can’t have him! He is a prisoner,” retorted Baxter, picking up his musket. “He was a prisoner, but he isn’t now,” I added. “You are free, Tommy. Jump aboard as quick as you can.” But Raymond, the sentinel in the bow of the boat, presented his bayonet, while Tom Walton, with an oar in his hand, was checking a forward movement on the part of Baxter. It is not easy to walk over a bayonet in the hands of a stout fellow who has been trained to use it skilfully, and the prospect before me was not very encouraging. However, Joe Poole turned the fortunes of the day in our favor, by fastening to the back of Raymond’s collar with the boat-hook, and pulling him over backwards into the bottom of the boat. I seized his musket, and wrenched it from his grasp, so that the obstacle to Major Tommy’s escape was removed.