The “Terror” lay at the end of a short cable. As well as I could judge, she was long and slim, shaped like a spindle, without chimney, without masts, without rigging, such a shape as had been described when she was seen on the coast of New England. I returned to my place, with my men in the shelter of the ravine; and we looked to our revolvers, which might well prove of service. Five minutes had passed since the men reached the woods, and we expected their return at any moment. After that, we must wait at least an hour before we made our attack; so that both the Captain and his comrades might be deep in sleep. It was important that they should have not a moment either to send their craft darting out upon the waters of Lake Erie, or to plunge it beneath the waves where we would have been entrapped with it. In all my career I have never felt such impatience. It seemed to me that the two men must have been detained in the woods. Something had barred their return. Suddenly a loud noise was heard, the tumult of run-away horses, galloping furiously along the shore! They were our own, which, frightened, and perhaps neglected by the driver, had broken away from the clearing, and now came rushing along the bank. At the same moment, the two men reappeared, and this time they were running with all speed. Doubtless they had discovered our encampment, and had at once suspected that there were police hidden in the woods. They realized that they were watched, they were followed, they would be seized. So they dashed recklessly down the ravine, and after loosening the cable, they would doubtless endeavor to leap aboard. The “Terror” would disappear with the speed of a meteor, and our attempt would be wholly defeated! “Forward,” I cried. And we scrambled down the sides of the ravine to cut off the retreat of the two men. They saw us and, on the instant, throwing down their bundles, fired at us with revolvers, hitting John Hart in the leg. We fired in our turn, but less successfully. The men neither fell nor faltered in their course. Reaching the edge of the creek, without stopping to unloose the cable, they plunged overboard, and in a moment were clinging to the deck of the “Terror.” Their captain, springing forward, revolver in hand, fired. The ball grazed Wells. Nab Walker and I seizing the cable, pulled the black mass of the boat toward shore. Could they cut the rope in time to escape us? Suddenly the grappling-iron was torn violently from the rocks. One of its hooks caught in my belt, while Walker was knocked down by the flying cable. I was entangled by the iron and the rope and dragged forward— The “Terror,” driven by all the power of her engines, made a single bound and darted out across Black Rock Creek. XIII. ON BOARD THE TERROR