"All right; fix things to suit yourself!" replied Chuck, as mad as his superior in rank. "I have had about enough of this thing, if I am to be snubbed like a school-boy." As he spoke, he spitefully threw down the rope in his hand, apparently forgetting that it was the painter of the tender which contained his chief and the prisoner. A swashing wave at that moment took the boat, and swept it far from the schooner. Then Chuck realized what he had done, and he made a spring to recover the rope. He saw the end of it drag over the bulwarks, and drop into the boiling waters. "What are you about, Chuck?" demanded Angy, overwhelmed by the consequences of his subordinate's wrath. "You have turned me adrift." Chuck understood this as well as his leader, and he had done his best to recover the painter; but he was as powerless to do any thing more, as though he had been on the top of Bluff Point. "I did not mean to let go the painter," shouted he; but this honest declaration did no good at all. Angy was alone in the tender with the prisoner. He did not blame his own unreasonableness in trying to make his companion do an impossible thing, but he charged all the fault upon his mutinous subordinate. But there he was, and his associates on board of the La Motte could not do a thing to assist him. The fierce wind was driving the boat away from the vessel, and the chief must act at once if ever. He seized the oars with a sort of desperation, as the serious nature of the situation impressed itself on his mind. He seated himself on the after thwart, and shipped the oars. The tender had begun to drift stern foremost; and she had already whirled round once, as the waves lifted her almost out of the water. The boat was too wide to permit one to row two-handed with ease, and he had to do his work under a decided disadvantage. His first effort was to get the boat head to the sea, and he had nearly swamped her in his struggle to do so. But he succeeded in the end, though the tender was half full of water when he got her about. Then he began to pull with all his might. He certainly made a plucky and determined attempt to get the better of the elements, though the result could not be foreseen. The weather was warm and muggy in spite of the gale, which some experienced skippers on the lake called a hurricane; and the perspiration poured in great drops from the face of the desperate burglar. The rain still fell in sheets, and in a short time the cloud would cover the water so that he could not see the vessel or the island. Angy worked as though his salvation in this world and the next depended upon his success.