Seth Hartley bent forward to grasp the strange object, and I was literally stricken dumb with astonishment when Abel Grant’s face, the hair hanging over it in snake-like wisps, was before me. Neither he nor Seth spoke, but our marine, guiding him to the stern of the skiff, set about assisting the poor fellow inboard, while I moved here or there as was necessary to prevent the light craft from oversetting. When this had been done Seth touched my lips with his wet fingers in token that I was to hold my peace, and then took up the oars, swinging the skiff around until she was headed for the ghostly sail in the distance. I never shall be able to tell how fervent was the hymn of thanksgiving in my heart, or how nearly overpowering the astonishment that Abel had come upon us thus unseen, and as a means of letting off some of the excitement and triumph I pulled at the oars as never before, sending the skiff ahead with a gurgling of water under the bow that sounded like sweetest music. Abraham and Sam saw when we turned the craft, and bore down upon us supposing we had tired of the vigil, with never a suspicion that the work had been accomplished successfully, while Abel Grant sat in the stern-sheets swaying his body to and fro to mark the time for our stroke, as if he had just come aboard after a season of pleasuring. We were alongside the sloop and made fast before Abraham realized that we in the skiff numbered three, and then he cried: “Where did----” “Not a whisper!” Seth Hartley said hoarsely, and instantly he clambered over the rail the helm was in his keeping, the sloop being headed due south. Not until we were fully two miles away was a word spoken, though Abel Grant continued to shake each of us by the hand with a grip which would have been painful but for our intense joy, and then Seth said, speaking cautiously even though we were so far away: “Now I’m thinkin’ Abel Grant had better tell his story, for I’m achin’ to know how he could have come upon the skiff so secretly while I was keepin’ watch as I never did before.” “Go ahead, Abel!” I added, “for until I hear your voice I shan’t feel really certain that you are here, even though my arm is lame through your efforts to wring my hand from it.” “I reckon you can figger it all out, needin’ no words of mine,” our “admiral” said with a low laugh of satisfaction. “Barin’ our marine here, that Barney Nelson is the most decent Britisher I ever came across. He laid out the plan an’ asked if I was willin’ to try it. Willin’? I’d have agreed if the water of the sea had been boilin’ hot, for anythin’ was better than the stayin’ there, with that whelp of a Luther Stedman crowin’ over me----” “Luther Stedman is in the cuddy tied hand an’ foot, so after tellin’ your story you can go below an’ crow over him,” Sam cried in glee. “That Tory on board this craft?” Abel asked, and would have showered us with questions but that I said sharply: