“Keep her away, Burgess! If the ragged end of that spar hits us it may send us to the bottom. Slack away the fore-sheet! Stand by, everybody, and don’t let him go by for your lives! He looks as though he couldn’t hold on another minute.”

It was Egan who issued these hurried orders. He was standing on the weather-rail of Mr. Shelby’s yacht, the Idlewild, which was sailing as near into the wind’s eye as she could be made to go, now and then buoying her nose in a tremendous billow that broke into a miniature cataract on her forecastle and deluged her deck with water. He was drenched to the skin, and so were the boys who were stationed along the rail below him, trembling all over with excitement, and watching with anxious faces one of the most thrilling scenes it had ever been their lot to witness.

There had been a terrible storm along the coast. It was over now, the clouds had disappeared and the sun was shining brightly; but the wind was still blowing half a gale, there was a heavy sea running, and the waves seemed to be trying their best to complete the work of destruction that had been commenced by the storm. Two points off the weather-bow there had been, a few minutes before, a little water-logged sloop, over which the waves made a clean breach; but she was gone now. All on a sudden her bow arose in the air, her stern settled deep in the water, and the yacht, which had set sail from Newport a few days before with a merry party of excursionists on board, went down to the bottom of the bay. Broad on the Idlewild’s beam was the Sylph, the deserters working like beavers to rescue the crew of the sunken yacht, heedless or ignorant of the fact that they were in jeopardy themselves, their vessel being so badly handled by the frightened and inexperienced boy at her wheel, that she was in imminent danger of broaching to. Tossed about by the waves which rolled between the Idlewild and the Sylph was a broken spar to which a student, with a pale but determined face, clung desperately with one arm, while in the other he supported the inanimate form of a little boy. The student was Enoch Williams, and the boy was Mr. Packard’s nephew.

The last time we saw the Sylph she was hiding in the creek a short distance below Mayville. That was a week ago, and her persevering and determined pursuers had but just come up with her. During the day the deserters purchased a small supply of provisions from the neighboring farmers, fished a little, slept a good deal, and when darkness came to conceal their movements they got under way again, and stood down the river, taking the stolen dory with them. At daylight they found another hiding-place, and before dawn the next morning they ran by Oxford, a bustling little city situated at the mouth of the river. If they were pursued they did not know it. They made cautious inquiries as often as they had opportunity, but no one could give them any information, because Captain Mack and his men had escaped observation by going from Bridgeport to Oxford on the cars.

When the Sylph ran out into the bay, the deserters began to feel perfectly safe. They shouted and sung themselves hoarse, and told one another that they were seeing no end of sport; but in their hearts they knew better. How was their cruise going to end? was the unwelcome question that forced itself into their minds every hour in the day, and none of them could answer it satisfactorily. It might be a daring exploit to run off with a private yacht, but they didn’t think so now that the mischief was done, and there was not one among them who did not wish that he had taken some other way to get out of the academy. Enoch very soon became disgusted. The wind being brisk he was obliged to be at the wheel nearly all the time, and he couldn’t see the fun of working so steadily while the rest of the band were lying around doing nothing.

“I’ll tell you what’s a fact,” said he to Jones, one day. “There’s too much of a sameness about this thing to suit me. I have the best notion in the world to desert the yacht the next time we go ashore, and strike a straight course for home.”

“I have been thinking seriously of the same thing,” answered Jones.

“It’s a cowardly thing to do,” continued Enoch, “but when I fall to thinking of the settlement that’s coming, I can’t sleep, it troubles me so. Suppose the man who owns this yacht is one who can’t take a joke! Do you know that we have rendered ourselves liable to something worse than expulsion from the academy?”

“I didn’t think of that until it was too late,” said Jones.

“Neither did I; nor did I think to ask myself what my father would say and do about it. I believe our best plan would be to go back and put the schooner in her berth. It will take us four or five days to do that, and during that time each fellow can decide for himself how he will act when we get to Bridgeport—whether he will go home, or return to the academy and face the music.”

“That’s a good idea,” exclaimed Jones. “I know what I shall do. I shall get into camp, if I can, without being caught, and report for duty. Let’s all do that, and if we return the schooner in as good order as she was when we found her, we shall escape the disgrace of being sent down, and at the same time have the satisfaction of knowing that we have done something that no other crowd ever attempted. After we get home we can tell our fathers that we don’t want to come back to school, and perhaps we can induce them to listen to us. That fight with the mob will be in our favor, for after our folks have had time to think it over calmly, they’ll not willingly put us in the way of getting into another. That’s the best plan, and you may depend upon it.”

“I think so myself,” said Enoch. “Call the boys aft and ask them what they think about it.”

It is hardly necessary to say that the runaways were delighted with the prospect of escaping the consequences of their folly. Their cruise among the islands of the bay had been almost entirely devoid of interest. It is true that they had raided a few melon-patches and corn-fields, and that a little momentary excitement had been occasioned by the discovery of suspicious sails behind them; but their foraging had been accomplished with small difficulty and without detection, and the sails belonged to coasters which held their course without paying any attention to the schooner. Without giving Jones, who did the talking, time to enter fully into an explanation, the deserters broke into cheers, and some of them urged the captain to turn the schooner’s bow toward Oxford at once.

“I am afraid to do it,” said Enoch, as soon as he could make himself heard. “Just turn your eyes in that direction for a moment.”

The boys looked, and saw a milk-white cloud, followed by one as black as midnight, rapidly rising into view above the horizon. Underneath, the sea was dark and threatening.

“There’s wind in those clouds, and plenty of it, too,” continued the captain. “If we are caught in it we are gone deserters. Our only chance for safety is to make the lee of that island you see ahead of us.”

The runaways watched the clouds with a good deal of anxiety. Up to this time the wind had been fair and the weather all they could have desired; but now it looked as though the Storm King were about to show them what he could do when he got into a rage. The clouds came up with startling rapidity; the lightning began playing around their ragged edges, the mutterings of distant thunder came to their ears, and their haven of refuge seemed far away; but fortunately the breeze held out, and just a few minutes before the wind changed with a roar and a rush, and the storm burst forth in all its fury, the Sylph dropped her spare anchor in a sheltered nook under the lee of the island, and with everything made snug, was prepared to ride it out. The rain fell in torrents, driving the boys below and keeping them there until long after midnight. The wind blew as they had never heard it blow before, but the anchor held, and shortly before daylight the thunder died away in the distance, and finally the sun arose in unclouded splendor. The runaways were all hungry, for they had had no supper, and as their provisions were all exhausted, some of them began to talk of laying violent hands upon those in the lockers.

“There’s no need of doing that,” said Enoch, after he had taken a look around. “All hands stand by to get ship under way. It doesn’t blow to hurt anything, and we’ll take the back track without any delay. After a glorious spin over these waves, we’ll stop for breakfast at the island where we robbed our last corn-field. It’s only a few miles away, and it will make the Sylph laugh to run down there with such a breeze as this.”

The deserters had become accustomed to yield prompt and unquestioning obedience to Enoch’s orders, but there were some among them who did not at all like the idea of going out of the cove to face the white caps that were running in the bay. If there had been any one to propose it and to direct their movements afterward, a few of them would have refused duty; but the majority, having confidence in Enoch’s skill and caution, went to work to get the chain around the little windlass which served the Sylph in lieu of a capstan, and when they shipped the handspikes, the timid ones took hold and helped run the vessel up to her anchor. She was got under way without difficulty, and as long as she remained behind the island where the wind was light and the sea comparatively smooth, she made such good weather of it that Lester Brigham and those like him, began to take courage; and they even struck up: “Here let my home be, in the waters wide,” to show how happy they were, and how much they enjoyed the rapid motion. But their song ceased very suddenly when they rounded the promontory at the foot of the island, and saw what there was before them. In front, behind and on both sides of them were tumbling, white-capped billows, whose tops were much higher than the schooner’s rail, and which came rolling slowly and majestically toward them, but with dreadful force and power. It seemed as if every one of them were higher than its predecessor, and that nothing could save the Sylph, which bounded onward with increased speed.

“This is something like a sail!” shouted Enoch, who was all excitement now. “This is what puts life into a fellow. I wish some other schooner would show up, so that we could have a race with her. How she flies!”

“Look out or you’ll tip us over,” whined Lester, who was holding on for life.

“No fear of that,” replied Enoch. “The Sylph is no ‘skimming-dish.’ She’s deep as well as wide, and being built for safety instead of speed, I couldn’t capsize her if I should try.”

“There’s the boat you were wishing for,” said Jones, suddenly. “Now you can have a race if you want it.”

Enoch looked around, and was surprised as well as startled to see a handsome little yacht scarcely more than a mile distant from them and following in their wake. She was carrying an immense spread of canvas, considering the breeze that was blowing and the sea that was running, but that her captain was not satisfied with the speed she was making was evident from the fact that while the deserters looked at her, they saw a couple of her crew mount to the cross-trees to shake out the gaff-topsails.

“That’s the most suspicious-looking fellow we have seen yet,” remarked Enoch, after he had taken a good look at the stranger. “He don’t crack on in that style for nothing. Hallo! what’s the matter with you?” he added, as Jones gave a sudden start and came very near dropping the spy-glass which he had leveled at the yacht.

“They’re after us, as sure as the world,” exclaimed Jones, in great excitement. “Those fellows who are going aloft are dressed in uniform.”

“Then we’re as good as captured,” said Enoch, spitefully. “There isn’t a single boy in the band who can go up and loosen the topsails, or whom I dare trust at the wheel while I do it. If I had as good a crew as he has, I’d beat him or carry something away; but what can I do with a lot of haymakers.”

“There’s another boat right ahead of us,” said one of the deserters.

Enoch was not a little astonished as well as frightened by the sight that met his gaze when he turned his eyes from the pursuing yacht to the boat in advance of them. He expected to find that she also was full of students; but instead of that she was a complete wreck. Her mast had gone by the board and was now dragging alongside, pounding the doomed yacht with fearful violence every time a wave rose and fell beneath it. There was no small boat to be seen, and Enoch thought at first that the sloop had been abandoned; but when she was lifted on the crest of a billow and he obtained a better view of her, he was horrified to discover that there were three men and a woman lashed to the rigging. The sight was a most unexpected one, and for a minute or two Enoch could not speak. He stood as if he had grown fast to the deck, and then all the manhood there was in him came to the surface. Those helpless people must be taken off that wreck at all hazards. He looked at the pursuing yacht, and then he looked at the sloop. The former was coming up hand over hand, but she was still far away, and the sloop might go to the bottom at any moment. Probably she was kept afloat by water-tight compartments. The spar that was towing alongside would very soon smash them in, and then she would go down like a piece of lead, being heavily ballasted and having no buoyant cargo to sustain her.

“Jones,” said Enoch, speaking rapidly but calmly, “you have stood by me like a good fellow so far, and you mustn’t go back on me now. Come here and take the wheel. I am going to save that lady or go to the bottom while trying.”

“Are you going off in the dory?” faltered Jones, as he laid his hands upon the wheel.

“Of course. There’s nothing else I can do.”

“Then you will go to the bottom, sure enough.”

“I can’t help it if I do,” said Enoch, desperately. “I will throw the yacht up into the wind before I go, and all you’ve got to do is to hold the wheel steady and keep her there till I get back—if I ever do. I say, fellows,” he added, addressing the frightened boys who were gathered around him, “I am going off in the dory after that lady, and I want one of you to go with me. Who’ll volunteer?”

The deserters were so astonished that there was no immediate response. The dory was small, the waves were high, and it looked like certain death to venture out among them. After a moment’s indecision one of them stepped forward and prepared himself for the ordeal by discarding his coat and hat and kicking off his boots. Who do you suppose it was? It was Lester Brigham. The boy who had hidden his head under the bed-clothes when he thought that the rioters were coming to attack the academy, now showed, to the surprise of everybody, that he was not a coward after all. Enoch could not have picked out an abler assistant. He was a good oarsman, he could swim like a duck, and, better than all, his courage never faltered when he found himself in the dory battling with the waves. His companions, who dared not go on so perilous a mission themselves, cheered him loudly as he stepped forward, and Enoch shook him warmly by the hand, saying in a low tone:

“We said we would give the academy boys something to talk about, and now we’re going to do it.”

The schooner ran on by the wreck, whose crew, seeing that an attempt was to be made to rescue them, cheered faintly, but made no effort to free themselves from their lashings. The reason was because they were utterly exhausted, and they were afraid that if they loosed their bonds, the first wave that broke over the sloop’s deck would carry them into the sea.

As soon as the Sylph had been thrown up into the wind, Enoch and Lester, whose faces were white but resolute, scrambled down into the dory, and the struggle began. The waves tossed their little craft about like an egg-shell, but they kept manfully on, and in ten minutes more, they were alongside the wreck. The lady, who was insensible from fright or exposure, was the first to be released and placed in the boat, and then the men were taken care of, one after the other. As Enoch approached the last one, he saw that the man carried in his arms a bundle that was wrapped up in a blanket. He held fast to it, too, in spite of the boy’s efforts to take it from him; but as Enoch assisted him toward the dory, a wave, higher than the rest, knocked them both off their feet, and as the man was hauled into the boat Enoch missed the frantic grasp he made at a life-line, and the water rushing across the deck carried him overboard. Close in front of him was the bundle which had slipped from the grasp of the rescued man when he lost his footing. As the wave hurried it across the deck toward an opening in the bulwarks the blanket fell off, revealing to Enoch’s astonished gaze the handsome features of a little four-year-old boy, who turned his blue eyes pleadingly toward him for an instant, and then disappeared over the side. Enoch made a desperate clutch at the golden curls, and when he arose to the surface, he brought his prize with him; but he had to go down again the next moment to escape destruction from the spar, which the next wave brought toward him broadside on. It had been torn from its fastenings at last, but it had done its deadly work. There was a great hole in the sloop’s side, and the water was pouring into it.

“I say, Lester!” shouted Enoch, as he came up on the other side of the spar, shook the water from his face and held the boy aloft so that he could breathe. “Get away from there.”

“Oh, my boy!” cried one of the men in the dory, who now discovered that he had lost the precious burden to which he had so lovingly clung through long hours of exposure and suffering.

“He’s all right,” shouted Enoch, encouragingly. “I’ve got a good grip on him. Lester, I tell you to get away from there! Hold the dory head on to the waves, and she’ll ride them without shipping a drop of water. If the Sylph doesn’t make stem-way enough to pick you up, the other yacht will take care of you.”

Not knowing just how much of a swirl the sloop would make when she went to the bottom, Enoch exerted all his powers as a swimmer to get himself and his burden out of reach of it. He succeeded in his object, and when the wreck had sunk out of sight and he thought it safe to do so, he swam back to the spar and laid hold of it. Then he looked around for the dory. She had been hauled alongside the Sylph by aid of the line that one of the crew had been thoughtful enough to throw to her, and the sloop’s crew were being hoisted over the rail one after the other.

“Hard a starboard! Stand by, everybody,” shouted a voice above him.

The pursuing yacht came gracefully up into the wind, and as the bold swimmer was lifted on the crest of a wave strong hands grasped his arms, and he and his prize were lifted out of the water and over the rail to the Idlewild’s deck.