Mr. Pennant had time now to look over the craft he had captured, and the men on board of her. It was simply a large sailboat, and those on board of her wore plain clothes. They did not appear to be soldiers or sailors, though there was a number of bayonets scattered about the standing room. The seamen from the cutter had leaped on board of the sloop, with cutlasses in their belts; but there was not space enough to permit the use of the weapon, and they had seized each of the men by the collar and put a pistol to his head. "How many men have you on board, Captain Flanger?" demanded the third lieutenant, still standing up in the boat abreast of the person he addressed. "Count them for yourself!" exclaimed Captain Flanger in brutal tones. "All right: I will count you first," added Mr. Pennant, as he reached over and seized the leader of the party by the collar with his right hand. [Illustration: Colonel Homer Passford Visits the Bronx.--Page 219.] Flanger attempted to shake off his grasp, but the lieutenant was a very powerful man, and he dragged him into the boat in the twinkling of an eye. He tossed him into the bottom of the boat, five of the boat's crew being still in their seats, trailing their oars, for only seven of them had been able to get on board of the Magnolia for the want of space. "Tie his hands behind him," added Mr. Pennant to the men, who fell upon Flanger the moment he lighted in the bottom of the cutter. The prisoner was disposed to make further resistance, but two men fell upon him and made him fast to one of the thwarts. The leader of the party, as he appeared to be from the first, could do no further mischief, and the lieutenant gave his attention to the others on board of the sloop. The dignified gentleman, who was dressed in black clothes, though they had suffered not a little from contact with grease and tar, had seated himself in the standing room. He looked like a man of many sorrows, and his expression indicated that he was suffering from some cause not apparent. There were nine men left in the standing room, including the gentleman in black; they were coarse and rough-looking persons, and not one of them appeared to be the social peer of him who had condemned the firing upon the boat. The skipper remained at the tiller of the boat, and he looked as though he might have negro blood in his veins, though he was not black, and probably was an octoroon. He said nothing and did nothing, and had not used a musket when the others fired. He behaved as though he intended to be entirely neutral. A few drops of negro blood in his veins was enough to condemn him to inferiority with the rude fellows on board of the sloop, though his complexion was lighter than that of any of his companions. "Vincent, pass one half of the men on board of the cutter," said Mr. Pennant, when he had looked over the boat and the men on board of it.