"That's all wrong!" she exclaimed. "I hate to think of it. All revenge is wicked. It's awful to think of killing one man because somebody somewhere else killed another." "Now, Sally, that isn't it exactly," replied Tom. "What we mean is that all the spy hanging isn't to be done on one side o' this war. What's right for them is right for us." "No!" she said. "It isn't so! It's like so many red savages to talk in that way. We don't take scalps, just because they do, nor kill women and children. I'm a true American woman, and I believe in righting, but I don't want any stain left on our side." "There won't be any," said Tom. "I'm going ahead, if they do hang me. I'm running Nathan Hale's risk, all the while." "God protect you!" she said. "Do you feel sure you can creep through?" "I've done it before," he replied. "What I'm thinking of, the worst thing for me, is the new line of pickets along the river bank. I shall be fired at, pretty sure, before I can paddle on into the Hudson Narrows. There'll be some risk from our own pickets above Anthony's Nose. I guess they'll all miss me. I've one package, though; that's all weighted, ready to drop into the water if I'm exhausted. I'd make out to sink it, if I was dying. Now, give me some supper." "Oh, Tom!" she said, "God keep us!" CHAPTER IX. THE PICAROON. "Guert," said Vine Avery, as they stood together, with their backs against the main boom of the _Noank_, "what do you think of this?" "Think?" said Guert. "Well! It's the first time I ever saw summer in winter." "They're having good sleighing in New London," said Vine. "Skating, too." "Guess so," said Guert. "I wish my mother were here, and Rachel Tarns with her. They'd enjoy this." "My mother's made two West India trips," replied Vine. "She knows all about it. Likes it, too." "It's the laziest kind of cruising, though," said Guert. "We've dodged away from some sails, and we've run after some, but we haven't taken anything." "Our chances'll come, boys," put in Captain Avery himself, as he came strolling along the deck. "Not just 'bout here, maybe. Yonder on the easterly Bahamas. Not many British traders are likely to be met hereaway." "What are we here for, then, father?" asked Vine. "What's your notions?" "We had to," said the captain. "The Frenchman we spoke, told me the Florida Channel's alive with British cruisers. We sighted two of 'em, you know, and had to run for it." "Where next?" asked Vine. "We'll take a course toward Porto Rico," said his father; "then up the coast of Cuba. We'll try the Bahama Channel, and the Santaren, and the Nicholas. I want to send home some prizes, pretty soon, on British account."