"We can't help ourselves! It's the hard fortune of war!" groaned the astounded Briton. "Do your worst!" "No harm to any of you," replied his captor. "We'll put you and your crew and passengers ashore on the first land we come to. This 'ere ship, though, is bound for New London." It was a time for little talk and for the swiftest kind of action, while the Belfast liner was made ready for her trip across the Atlantic. "I'm glad you find she has water and provisions enough, Vine," said his father, a little later. "You may have twenty-five of the rescued men. They are prime fellows. I'd go under easy sail most o' the time. We won't take out a pound o' the cargo here. Make quick work of gettin' away, now! We're pretty nigh ready to cast loose." Vine and his exceedingly well-pleased two dozen or more of escaped prisoners of war took possession of the _Killarney_, and about all the risk before them was that of getting under the guns of some British cruiser. Captain Syme and his crew and passengers, transferred to the _Noank_ with their baggage, were a very disconsolate company, even when they were promised a quick trip to the Irish coast, as near Belfast as might be. "Hard luck for us," remarked Syme. "It's that sleepy corvette that's to blame. I believed I was getting away in good season." "So you were," replied Captain Avery. "You couldn't ha' suited us better. I like the _Syren_, too. She's gone over to our old anchorage by this time." He was mistaken there. The angry, disappointed British commander was putting on all sail, and his cruiser was bowling along the sea-road toward Belfast. No sail was in sight ahead of her, and he was fretted sadly by a suspicion of the truth, that the _Killarney_, with a prize crew on board, was already headed westward, while the dashing privateer he had missed was taking a northerly course, favored much by the fine topsail breeze that was blowing. CHAPTER XV. A COMING STORM. There had been a morning, not many days after the _Noank_ sailed away from Porto Rico, when the gunners of the seaward battery of Fort Griswold, New London, ran hastily to their cannon. They put in powder only, and quickly they were firing a salute of welcome, in response to the arrival guns of a handsome bark that was entering the harbor mouth. She was under full sail, she carried the American flag, and with it she also floated the well-known private signal of Captain Avery and the _Noank_. "Lyme's taken a big prize!" shouted voice after voice in the fort, while all the people within hearing of the guns understood that they were roaring good news only. Men in shops dropped their tools. Teamsters unhitched their horses from loaded sleighs, to mount and hurry into town. Fishermen pulled in their lines. Women put away their knitting or left their carding and their looms. Such a rousing announcement of stirring news from the sea could not be disregarded, and the excitement grew apace.