With the exception, it may be, of the Mediterranean Sea, there is no other water whereupon so much history has been manufactured as on the British Channel. Away back beyond Cæsar's day and ever since, it has been cruised over by all sorts of vessels and fleets. Its first absolute rulers were the Norse-Saxon vikings. After them it has been Danish, Dutch, French, and English. One of the later Dutch admirals once carried a broom at his masthead in a boastful declaration that he had swept the Channel clean of every opposing force. Not a great while afterward, the British sea-captains fell heirs to the Hollander's broom. The _Noank_ had not lain long grappled to the disabled _Arran_. There was danger in every hour of delay. The plunder obtained, although valuable, was not excessively bulky, and was rapidly transferred and stowed away. There was no apparent danger but that the brig would speedily receive assistance, for there were other sails already in sight. Her first disability, as to any of these, was that she was no longer able to fire a signal-gun, and all her rockets and other explosives had been taken away. Her officers and crew were left to do whatever they could with flags in the daytime, or with lanterns by night. "We're off," thought Guert Ten Eyck, as the schooner swung away, all her sails going out as she did so. "Captain Avery says he must capture one more prize, if it's only to take off some of our men. Then we're to streak it for home! Don't I want to get there?" The cruise of the _Noank_ had indeed become a long one. There were several ship reasons why it would be good for her to go into dock and be overhauled for repairs. Her crew, also, were more than willing to see their homes and families. "My boy," said Groot, the Dutchman, as he came to sit down by his young friend, "you go home. I have no home. I must live on the sea. The land is not my place." "I'll be glad to get there," said Guert, "if it's my own land. Do you know if we're to run into Amsterdam?" "Not if the captain is wise," replied Groot. "There will be too many Englishmen looking after him, as soon as they hear of this affair." "Well, I guess they won't like it," laughed Guert. "Up-na-tan is homesick." The red man was standing within a few feet of them, and he answered as if he had been spoken to. "Ugh!" he said. "Ole chief want to know 'bout he island. Want see Manhattan. Mebbe all lobster get away. Up-na-tan go see ole place. Fish in Harlem River." That was what was the matter with him. Warrior he might be, sailor, pirate, or privateersman, but at that moment he was dreaming of the happiness of pulling in flounders and blackfish from the waters around his island. Guert, on his part, was thinking of his mother. He wondered if she still were living at the Avery farm-house, and if his prize-money had been duly paid over to her to make her comfortable.