The fog was as dense as ever, and we could not see more than a ship's length ahead. Ben Bowman was on the top-gallant forecastle, and Buck Lingley on the fore-yard, keeping the lookout. We were driving the steamer in spite of the fog, and I had some hope that we might soon get a sight of the chase, or at least hear the sound of her whistle.



CHAPTER VIII.

A PORT IN A STORM.

"Washburn, you have a long head; can you make anything of the situation, for I suppose you know all about it?" I asked, as I joined the mate on the forecastle.

"I know what I have heard about the pilot-house and on the forecastle," replied Washburn.

"I have not been able to make anything out of it, so far," I continued.

"I can't believe that the captain of the Islander means to run away with her. I don't believe this is a trial trip, as you suggested, for the captain would not have come out into this fog on such an errand," added Washburn. "On the whole, I must believe it is a blunder on the part of the captain of the consort. But I think we are not likely to find out anything definite about the case until we overhaul the Islander. All we have to do is to keep moving to the southward, and keep a sharp lookout for the chase. It is useless to bother one's brains over questions that cannot be answered."

"When I saw the Islander, she was well in shore," I added. "If she takes a notion to come about, and run back to the St. Johns, we may miss her."

"And she may drop into St. Augustine," said the mate.

"I don't see any reason why she should," I replied. "Captain Blastblow knows that the party are bound up the Mississippi River. He knows the Sylvania is, at any rate; and he would not have headed to the southward if he had not intended to make the same trip, always supposing he has misunderstood his instructions."

"By six o'clock to-night, if everything holds as it is, we ought to overhaul the Islander, if we don't miss her in the fog, and Captain Blastblow don't do any better in her than any one else has ever done," continued Washburn. "But the wind is freshening, Captain Alick."

"Yes; and the barometer indicates that we are to have a bad day of it," I replied, looking at the white caps that rolled up to windward of the steamer.

The wind was gusty and savage. The steamer heeled well over to port under the heavy press of sail we were carrying. But I did not care much how hard it blew, if it would only carry off the fog, as I believed it would do soon.

By half-past ten I found it necessary to take in the fore square-sail and the fore top-gallant sail, for I was afraid the heavy weight of canvas would strain the foremast. This relieved the steamer for a time; but the wind had increased to a gale, and had hauled more to the southward. Half an hour later we took in the fore topsail and the main gaff-topsail, so that nothing but our fore and aft sails remained. The log at eleven indicated that we were making twelve knots, and it was about time for us to be up with St. Augustine light, but we could not see it in the fog. Suddenly we heard a fog-horn on our starboard bow.

I rushed into the pilot-house and rang the gong. The engineer immediately stopped the engine, and the roar of escaping steam followed. I was afraid we might run down some of the small craft that go in and out of St. Augustine.

"Sail, ho!" shouted Ben Bowman, on the top-gallant forecastle. "I see her; she is a pilot-boat."

A moment later I saw a sail-boat, in which were three men. There was a number on her sail, which indicated that she was a pilot-boat. She had evidently heard our whistle, and had came out in the rough sea to take us into St. Augustine, if we were bound into that port. I directed the wheel man to port the helm, so as to throw the Sylvania up into the wind under the stern of the pilot-boat.

"How came you up there, captain?" demanded one of the men in the boat, and all of them looked amazed.

"We are bound to the southward, coming down from St. Johns bar," I replied. "How does St. Augustine bear from here?"

"Due east," answered the spokesman of the trio.

"Look out for your reckoning, Washburn," I added, turning to the mate.

"Twenty minutes of twelve," added Washburn, consulting the chronometer. "This is exactly where we ought to be at this time," and he made the entry on the log-slate.

"Haven't you been over this course before to-day?" asked the spokesman of the pilot.

"Not to-day," I answered, perceiving what it was that bewildered the pilots. They had evidently seen the Islander, and supposed the Sylvania was the same steamer.

"We came out here after a steamer we heard whistling in the fog," continued the speaker. "We got near enough to hail her; and if this is not the same steamer, she is as near like the other as one pea is like another."

"She is the twin sister of this vessel. Did you see who was on board of her?" I inquired.

"I saw no one but the captain, and he said he was bound south, and was not going into St. Augustine."

"Did he tell you where he was bound?"

"He didn't say a word about it, but kept on his course."

"Good-day," I added, as I told Hop to ring the speed-bell.

We filled away again, and were soon going through the water at our former speed. The pilot-boat was almost swamped in the heavy sea, and I have no doubt her crew were a little out of sorts after coming out for a vessel and getting nothing for their pains.

"That's good as far as it goes," said Washburn, when we were on our course again. "We are sure now that the Islander has not gone into port."

"And we are sure the Islander is not a great way ahead of us," I added.

"Just seven miles," replied the mate, glancing at the log-slate. "I could stick a pin in the chart at exactly the point where she is."

"But it may be that Captain Blastblow has not blown his blast entirely in vain, and may have been able to get more speed out of the Islander than anybody else has," I suggested.

"But the pilots said she was only half an hour or so ahead of us. She got off at least an hour ahead of us; and if we have not been gaining on her, she ought to be about ten miles ahead," argued Washburn. I was willing to accept his logic, for we had been over the reasoning times enough to understand the case in precisely the same way.

"The fog is lifting, sir," reported the second engineer, who was doing voluntary duty on the top-gallant forecastle.

This was agreeable news, and all hands directed their gaze to the point where the Islander was believed to be. The gale was increasing in force every moment. Though I had no fears for the safety of the vessel, I knew how fearfully so small a steamer as the Sylvania leaped and rolled in a heavy gale, and I was not a little concerned about the comfort of my passengers. We had had a very thorough trial of her pitching and rolling in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and I did not like to subject the Shepards and the Tiffanys to any unnecessary discomfort.

"We are going to have a regular muzzler, Washburn," I said, after glancing at the barometer again.

"There isn't any doubt about that," he replied, laughing. "I wish we had no ladies on board."

"I was thinking of that myself, and I will go down into the cabin, and talk the matter over with our passengers," I replied. "Of course if we give up the chase of the Islander, we are not likely to come near her again. But Colonel Shepard and his family may decide that question."

I left the pilot-house and went aft. Though we were but a few miles from the land, there was a tremendous sea raging, and the Sylvania was pitching violently. I went down into the cabin and found the passengers trying to keep their places on the transoms. They were all exceedingly good-natured about the situation. Owen was making jokes, and the young ladies were laughing at them. Cobbington and Tom Sands had put the guards on the table, and were doing what they could to prepare for dinner.

"Why do you shake up the Sylvania so fiercely, Alick?" asked Owen.

"She is behaving very prettily just now; but I came down to tell you that it is likely to blow, and kick up an uncomfortable sea," I replied, looking at Mrs. Shepard, who seemed to be the most tried by the situation.

"But I had an idea that it was blowing already," added Owen.

"So it is, in a mild way," I answered.

"If this is only in a mild way, what will it be when it blows harder?" asked Mrs. Shepard, nervously.

"It will be worse than it is now," I replied.

"Do you think we are in any danger, Captain Alick," inquired the lady, looking very anxiously into my face.

"I do not think we are in any danger," I added. "But it is going to blow a great deal harder than it does now."

"What will it do then, Captain Alick?" asked Miss Edith.

"The Sylvania is small, and she will pitch and roll a great deal more than she does now. Mr. Garningham has been in her during a very heavy gale, and he can tell you something about it."

"She stands up straight, and rolls quite over, so that we shall all be pitched against the ceiling of the cabin," added Owen, maliciously. "Then she goes down under the brine, quite out of sight of any one supposed to be on the top of the waves. The water may come down into this cabin like a young Niagara."

"Then there must be very great danger," said Mrs. Shepard.

"No great danger, madam, but I fear you will be very uncomfortable," I answered.

"But can't we stop till the weather is better?"

"We shall find no port it will be safe to enter in this weather, madam," I replied. "If it were fine weather, we might run into Mosquito Inlet; but that is seven hours' run from here."

"We shall all have our brains knocked out if we go on in this way," groaned Mrs. Shepard. "Can't you do something to make us more comfortable, Captain Alick?"

"I can make you all quite comfortable in less than an hour," I answered. "But our business just now is to overtake the Islander; and if we delay the voyage we may never see her again."

"Plague on the Islander!" exclaimed the lady.

"I don't think there is any particular danger, ladies," interposed my father. "It is altogether a matter of comfort."

"I don't want to have my brains knocked out," added Miss Edith.

"If we keep on we may know who has brains and who has not," laughed Owen.

"I'm sure those who want to be thumped about in this manner haven't any brains," continued Mrs. Shepard. "What can you do, Captain Alick?"

"We have just passed the entrance to St. Augustine harbor. We could run back, and make a port there," I replied.

"Then do it, for mercy's sake," said the lady, as a heavy sea rolled the steamer down to her gunwale.

"I should certainly have suggested doing so, if we had not been in chase of the Islander."

"That need not make any difference, Captain Alick."

"The gale may last all night as well as all day, Alick," added my father. "We are sailing for pleasure, and there is no pleasure in being beaten about in this manner. I think you had better put about and get us into smooth water."

I went on deck rather disappointed at the result of the conference, for I was interested in the chase. I ordered the jib and mainsail to be taken in, and the helm to be put down. The fog had lifted to the northward and westward of us, so that I could see St. Augustine light and the pilot-boat. We took up one of the pilots, and in less than half an hour we were anchored under the lee of the town, where the water was as smooth as that of a mill-pond.

Our party were not inclined to land, and we spent a pleasant afternoon on board, in spite of the storm. We could see that it was blowing almost a hurricane outside, and were quite contented to be at anchor.



CHAPTER IX.

A VISIT FROM AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.

I could not help thinking of the Islander as we lay at anchor off the pier in St. Augustine. As I looked at the angry billows outside, I understood what kind of a time Captain Blastblow was having. But if he handled his vessel well, and kept out of the breakers, I had no doubt he would come out of the trial all right. The wind had hauled still more to the southward, and even to the east of south. I was confident that the Islander, having the wind nearly dead ahead, would not make much headway against such a fierce wind.

About two o'clock in the afternoon, when we had finished our dinners, both in the after and the forward cabin, I saw a boat put off from the shore. The person in the stern sheets had a familiar look, though I did not recognize him till he came on deck.

"I hope you are quite well, Captain Garningham," said he, advancing towards me with extended hand.

It was Cornwood, who had been with us up the St. Johns in the double capacity of guide and pilot, to say nothing of a third capacity as conspirator. While I could not prove it, I was satisfied that he was employed by Captain Boomsby to get me out of the way in some mild manner. He had caused a drunken mulatto to be employed as a waiter in the fore-cabin, who was another of the conspirators. But both of them had been foiled; though, if my father had not arrived at the scene of action when he did, I might not have been privileged to tell my story. The waiter had been sentenced to a term as a convict, though Cornwood had been his counsel.

I thought it was rather impudent of Cornwood to come on board of the Sylvania after what had happened; but brass and impudence were the principal elements of his stock-in-trade. He seemed to have as much assurance as though his relations had been entirely pleasant with me. He was a man of decided ability, though not as a lawyer. He knew more about Florida than any other man I had met; and I had never known him, in the month of my intimacy with him, to be ignorant of any subject, from the navigation of an interior lake or river to the scientific name of a plant or animal. In spite of the harm he had intended to do me, through his agent, I had a great respect for his ability.

"You found it rough outside, Captain Garningham," said Cornwood, when he had disposed of the commonplace introductories.

"Too rough for the ladies; and I came in here to find a smoother sea," I replied.

"The storm won't last long, as it comes from the southward," he added.

"When did you leave Jacksonville, Mr. Cornwood?" I asked, for I thought I had seen him in the street the day before.

"I came up in the morning boat," he replied. "It is getting to be very dull in Jacksonville, and I thought I might find something to do here, for fishing and hunting parties often come to St. Augustine without stopping at the city."

"We had some thought of trying the fish at Indian River as we went along; but circumstances do not allow us to stop, and we shall run direct for Key West. Was there anything new in regard to the robbery of the bank messenger this morning?"

"I heard nothing. But your friend, Captain Boomsby, is in great trouble," said Cornwood, smiling, as though the saloon-keeper's trouble, whatever it was, could not produce a deep impression on his late employe.

"What is the matter with the captain?" I asked, with interest.

"His son Nick has disappeared."

"Nick disappeared!" I exclaimed, not a little astonished.

"He cannot be found, though his father searched from six o'clock this morning till the time I left."

"When did his father first miss him?"

"It appears that Nick tended bar till after midnight. The old man was too full to sit up any longer, and he left Nick to close the bar. The captain says his son did not sleep in the house last night, and he has no idea when or where he went."

"Very likely he left in the first train this morning," I suggested, recalling all that had passed between Nick and me the day before.

"No, he didn't, for his father went to the station, and passed through the train just before it started. He did not leave by railroad, or come up the river in the Hampton, or I should have seen him."

"Nick has something like sharpness, and he knew he could not get off on the morning train. But he could have walked to Baldwin between the time he closed the bar and nine o'clock, and taken the train there," I added.

"I don't believe Nick walked twenty miles: he is too lazy to do anything of the kind," added Cornwood, with a smile of incredulity. "But he is not a great loss to his father; and he may make his way when he is thrown on his own resources. There was another piece of news in Jacksonville this morning."

"What was that?" I inquired.

"But I suppose you know more about this matter than any one in the city. It was said that Colonel Shepard's yacht, in which he was going to New Orleans, left without him or his family. Is that a fact?"

"It is true, to the letter," I replied. "I took the colonel and his family on board of the Sylvania, and they are in the cabin now."

"That's very odd—that Captain Blastblow should leave without his passengers," added Cornwood. "What does it mean?"

"That is more than any one on board of the Sylvania can explain."

"Was there any money on board of the yacht—I forget her name, though I have heard you mention it several times?"

"The Islander: she is the twin-sister of the Sylvania, and as near like her as one pin is like another," I answered. "I am not aware that there was any money on board of her; and I should say there was not, for the passengers had not sent their baggage on board."

"Does any one know where she is gone?"

"She is bound to the south, for we saw her off St. Johns' bar headed in that direction. The pilots off the St. Augustine light saw her to-day noon. We were chasing her when our passengers desired to get out of the heavy sea."

"I should think Colonel Shepard would have some idea of the motives of Captain Blastblow."

"He has no more idea than I have, and I have none. We are inclined to believe that the captain misunderstood his orders, for Colonel Shepard was in doubt whether or not he should be able to go up the Mississippi with us. When the mail got in yesterday afternoon, he wrote a card with his instructions to Captain Blastblow on it, and sent it off to the Islander by Nick Boomsby, who happened to be talking to me in the post-office at the time."

"Sent it off by Nick Boomsby," repeated Cornwood; but he did not appear to be astonished. "How came Nick to be about at that time?"

I told my late guide and pilot all that passed between me and the son of my ancient enemy, to which he listened with deep interest. He seemed to be engaged in earnest thought all the time, as though Nick's movements had some meaning to him, though not a particle to me. I told him I was in Captain Boomsby's saloon to say good-by to him at the time the robbery of the messenger occurred. He questioned me very minutely in regard to the affair, and I told him all I knew about it.

"Buckner sent for me to act as his counsel; but I thought I could make more by coming down here," added Cornwood. "I lost one case a few days ago, and I don't care to lose another yet awhile."

Cornwood laughed as he alluded to his defence of Griffin Leeds, the mulatto employed by him to do his bidding on our excursion to the interior.

"Have you any doubt that Buckner is the man who robbed the messenger of the four thousand dollars?" I asked, rather to bring him out than because I valued his opinion in a detective case.

"Not the slightest in the world; but I should not be surprised to learn that he gave Nick a hundred dollars, or something of that sort, to clear out at just this time," replied Cornwood, easily.

"I don't see how that could have been," I protested. "Nick could not have seen Buckner after the money was stolen, unless he visited him in the lock-up."

"That was easily enough done."

"But some officer would have heard what passed between them. Besides, Buckner had no money, for none was found upon him when he was arrested."

"Buckner hid the money, but he stowed away enough to see him through the trial. As the case now stands, they can't convict the man, for Nick was the most important witness. He saw Buckner take the money. I have no doubt Buckner will be discharged to-day," said Cornwood, confidently.

"Was that the reason you would not act as his counsel?" I asked, for the late pilot's statements seemed to be contradictory.

"What you have told me, Captain Garningham, entirely changes my opinion. You were present, and you have told me exactly how the affair happened. I supposed Peverell saw Buckner take the package. That makes all the difference in the world in a court of law. No one saw Buckner take the money, according to your evidence, except Nick. The supposed robber was arrested down the wharf; he was searched, all the holes and corners, including the river, were searched for the package, but it could not be found. What evidence is there that Buckner took it?"

"I don't see any, except that of Nick Boomsby; and he don't tell his story twice alike," I replied. "But, if Buckner did not take the money, I can't see who did take it. I saw the messenger lay the package on the counter; and the next thing I saw was Nick leaping over the counter."

"I don't say that Buckner did not take the package; on the contrary, I believe he did take it; only there is not evidence enough to convict him without Nick," argued Cornwood. "If I had known that Nick was to be out of the way, I certainly should have taken the case, for a man who has stolen four thousand dollars can afford to pay the lawyer well who gets him out of the scrape."

I was disgusted with this logic, though it was perfectly consistent with all I knew of the man. I did not care to say anything more about the case.

"After hearing your version of the affair, Captain Garningham, I am inclined to return to Jacksonville this afternoon, and offer my services to the prisoner. When he gets out of jail he will have money enough to pay me handsomely," chuckled the lawyer; "but perhaps I can do something better if I can recover Colonel Shepard's lost steam-yacht."

"Do you think you can recover it?" I asked, curiously.

"I am quite confident I can. I suppose you will sail as soon as the weather will permit?" continued Cornwood.

"We shall. As I said, I am convinced that Captain Blastblow has simply misunderstood his orders. I think he will proceed directly to New Orleans, possibly touching at Key West."

"He will certainly put in at Key West; but he will probably be from ten to twenty hours ahead of the Sylvania, and he will not wait for you. I should like to see Colonel Shepard."

I called the colonel up from the cabin, and as it was raining in torrents, I conducted him and the lawyer to my stateroom.

"For two hundred dollars—I can't work for nothing, and find myself, though I should be glad to do so for Colonel Shepard—I will recover and return your yacht to you at Key West, or at some point this side of there; half down to pay my expenses, and half when the Islander is delivered to you," said Cornwood.

"I haven't much confidence in you, Mr. Cornwood, and I don't care to advance any money to you," replied the owner of the lost steamer.

"Quite natural, colonel. I will do it without any advance. But in half an hour it will be too late to do anything," replied Cornwood, not at all repelled by the colonel's lack of confidence in him. "I must be in Cedar Keys to-morrow night; and I must be in Jacksonville this evening in order to do it. I shall get to Key West Sunday morning, and find the Islander there."

The plan was considered at length, and finally the colonel assented to it, and wrote the instructions for Cornwood. He hastened on shore.



CHAPTER X.

INTELLIGENCE OF THE ISLANDER.

It rained very hard all the rest of the day and all night, and it continued to blow heavily until the next morning. It was not till noon that the ocean looked quiet enough to induce us to take ladies to sea again, after the experience of the day before. We had lost twenty-four hours, and if the Islander had not put in at some inlet, or made a lee under Cape Canaveral, was half way to Key West. It was useless to think of overtaking her on the passage, unless she had spent a day in Mosquito Inlet.

Colonel Shepard's letter was addressed to Captain Blastblow, though it was an open one, directing him to await the arrival of the Sylvania at Key West. I had no faith in Cornwood; but I was willing to believe he thought he could intercept the Islander at Key West, or he would not have gone on a "wild-goose chase" at his own expense. If he recovered the steam-yacht he would get two hundred dollars for his services; if he failed, he would get nothing. So far as I could see, no risk was incurred by the colonel in allowing the Floridian to go on this mission.

The weather was delightful after we got outside of the harbor of St. Augustine. The wind was west, and the air was as balmy as summer. We placed easy-chairs on the quarter-deck for the ladies. The long swells of the ocean gave a steady and regular roll to the vessel. The party declared that the sail was "perfectly delightful," and they did not see how the sea could be so angry and savage as it had been the day before.

The mate noted the departure from St. Augustine light at half-past twelve. I had a chart laid out on my table in the stateroom, on which I had marked the route of the vessel to Key West, with the courses and distances, in red ink. It was our rule to heave the lead every hour, though the Sylvania made a regular average of ten knots an hour when she was not hurried. When we came to a point of land, or any opening in the coast, we could tell what it was.

According to the Coast Pilot, which was always kept on the shelf, by the side of the binnacle, it was eighty-five miles to Cape Canaveral. In just eight hours and a half, if we made our ordinary speed, we should be abreast of this cape. We kept as close to the coast as the depth of water would permit, for there were no shoals or other dangers to fear. If we went out far enough, we should have the current of the Gulf Stream against us.

As soon as we were fairly on our course I began to think over the mission of Cornwood. I had no doubt that he was a rascal. I considered whether or not it would be possible for him to do me or Colonel Shepard any harm, on the one hand, or any good on the other. He had received no money, and was to receive none until he earned it.

He was to arrive at Key West on Sunday morning. The Sylvania would not be likely to reach the same port before Sunday noon. If the Islander had kept on her course during the twenty-four hours we had been at anchor, she would be likely to reach Key West on Saturday afternoon. I did not know that she had any occasion to put in there at all; if she had, she was not likely to remain there many hours. If the Islander had not put in at any port during the storm, Cornwood would not arrive at his destination until after she had departed.

The interesting question was whether she had or had not made a port in the storm. If I had had no ladies on board, I should not have thought of such a thing as going into St. Augustine on account of the bad weather. Captain Blastblow, according to his own statement, was a thorough seaman, and, judging by my own feelings, it was not probable that he had made a port.

But I was not quite satisfied on this point, and I had not so much confidence in the captain of the Islander as he seemed to have in himself. Our chart indicated only one port where he could have gone in, and that was Mosquito Inlet, which had hardly water enough at high tide to allow the Islander to run through the narrow passage that leads from Hillsboro River out into the ocean. The inlet is sixty-five miles from St. Augustine light.

The town of New Smyrna is two or three miles up Hillsboro River, between which and St. Augustine and Jacksonville a small steamer plies regularly. I had about made up my mind to run up the inlet as far as the depth of water would permit, and see if I could find any one who could give me any information in regard to the Islander. I had hardly reached this conclusion when I was called to dinner. I was to dine in the cabin, and I told the party what I intended to do.

"I don't care to have you delay your voyage for me, Captain Alick," replied Colonel Shepard.

"We started out to catch the Islander, and I am as anxious to do it as you are," I added.

"I suppose you wish to get rid of us," interposed Miss Edith.

"Not at all; after I invited you to make the trip with us, and was anxious to have your company, I shall not be in haste to get rid of you. On the contrary, it must be that you wish to get rid of me, or you would not have chosen to go in the Islander."

"Forgive me, Captain Alick; I did not mean it," replied the fair maiden. "But we are so comfortable and so happy that we shall be in no haste to get out of the Sylvania."

"Isn't there danger in going into such a place, Alick," asked my father.

"I think not, sir," I answered. "I have a chart with the soundings on it, and I am sure I can run into the inlet in the day-time; and it will not be dark at seven, when we get there."

No further objection was raised to my plan. Just before the time set for reaching the point off the inlet, all hands were on the lookout for it. From my chart I learned that the inlet, on account of the shifting sand, had moved to the southward about a quarter of a mile. For a considerable distance on each side of the narrow channel leading into the inlet and river, there were breakers, such as we had seen on the coast of North Carolina, and at various points south of it.

Washburn was the first to discover the opening, and point it out to me. I looked on the shore for a couple of wrecks whose positions were laid down on the chart; but I could not find them. The shoals were caused by the sand brought out of the inlet by the current of the river. The bar changed with every storm; but I could plainly see the channel, for its waters were less disturbed and broken by the rollers from the sea.

"It looks a little risky," said Washburn, shaking his head.

"I think not; the tide will be high in about an hour, and that will give about eight feet and a half on the shoalest places," I replied. "I don't think we are drawing over eight feet now."

"Eight and a half, sure. We might scrape over the bottom an hour from now; but we shall stick as sure as we run into that narrow channel. The worst place is just on the edge of the breakers."

"Sail on the port bow, sir," said Ben Bowman.

It was a small schooner, which I thought might be a fisherman. She was headed directly for the narrow channel. As we were nearly up with the opening, I rang for the engineer to stop and back her. But the little schooner had to beat up, and as she was still about two miles off, I was soon tired of waiting for her. I rang to go ahead again, and headed the Sylvania in a direction to intercept the schooner. A few minutes brought us within hail of her.

"Schooner ahoy!" shouted Washburn.



"On board of the steamer!" replied the skipper of the craft.

"Where are you bound?" demanded the mate.

"Into New Smyrna. We have been out fishing."

"When did you leave the town?"

"This morning, at four o'clock. Be you the steamer that tried to get into the inlet yesterday?" asked the skipper, as we were now within easy talking distance of him.

"Did a steamer try to get in yesterday?"

"Of course, or I wouldn't say so. But it was not full tide by two hours, and she stuck in the sand about as soon as she got in between the shoals."

"What did she do then?"

"She waited till the tide lifted her and then she backed out, and hooked it to the southward as fast as she could. We were at anchor inside of the inlet, and saw the whole of it. She looked just like this craft. Plenty of fresh fish on board?"

At my request Cobbington bought a considerable quantity of sheeps-head and cavallo. The only fish we had on board was shad, and we had eaten that so much during the past month that we were tired of it. These fresh fish were therefore a great treat, as we found next morning.

We started the engine again, satisfied that the Islander had not gone into Mosquito Inlet. I gave the information to Colonel Shepard.

"Then Mr. Cornwood will not be likely to intercept the Islander at Key West," said he.

"Not unless she put in at some other port, though I know of none where she could have made a harbor until after the storm was over. But she may stop over at Key West a day or two," I replied. "It all depends upon what Captain Blastblow understands his instructions to be."

"Cornwood took the train at Jacksonville for Cedar Keys this morning, and will be there this afternoon. He will reach Key West on Sunday morning," added the colonel.

"We shall be there only a few hours later; and if the weather is favorable we may get there as soon as the messenger you sent."

"I do not see that we can help the matter. If Cornwood don't get to Key West in season to intercept the Islander, he will lose his two hundred dollars, and my runaway craft will continue on her way to New Orleans."

This was all that either of us could make of it, and all we could do was to wait till we got to Key West for further information. If the Islander was twenty-four hours ahead of us, it was useless to attempt to overhaul her. The Sylvania was a great deal more comfortable for the passengers when she went along at her ordinary rate than when she was forced up to twelve knots an hour; and I was not disposed to hurry her on a useless mission. My passengers appeared to be enjoying themselves all the time. I could not see how they could help being happy.

Some of them were reading books from the library I had started at Detroit, and replenished in several places on the route to the South. Others were playing various games. Mr. Tiffany and my father could play chess all day long, and most of the night. The meals were served as elaborately as at a first-class hotel, and we had everything from the market that could be supplied in the summer in the northern states. I was decidedly of the opinion that our passengers had nothing to worry about, unless Colonel Shepard could be excused for worrying about his steamer.

At eight o'clock the first watch went on duty, in charge of Washburn, who was as competent to handle the vessel as I was. He had the chart, with the courses and distances marked on it. When I left the pilot-house, Cape Canaveral, or rather the light on it, was in sight. At nine o'clock we were just abreast of it, which proved that our dead reckoning was correct. From this point the course was south by east, one hundred and five miles.

As soon as the Sylvania was on her new course, I left the pilot-house, where I had gone at nine, and turned in. I had slept all the night before, and the laughter of the younger of the passengers on the hurricane-deck above me did not permit me to sleep. But I heard Colonel Shepard call his daughter away at ten, and then I went to sleep. I could not tell how long I had slept when the stopping of the steamer waked me.

"What schooner is that?" shouted Washburn, from the pilot-house.

I was on deck soon enough to hear the reply.

"The Violet, New Orleans to New York," came from the vessel hailed.

"Did you see a small steamer about the size of this one?" asked Washburn.

"We passed one about three hours ago. She looked enough like you to be the same vessel."

"Thanks," shouted Washburn, as he rang the bell to go ahead.

I looked at my watch, and found it wanted but a few minutes of twelve, and I went into the pilot-house.



CHAPTER XI.

DIFFICULT NAVIGATION.

"Three hours ago, which means that the Islander is about thirty miles ahead of us," said Washburn, when I went into the pilot-house.

"She must have put in somewhere, and it was not at Mosquito Inlet," I replied. "I don't quite understand it."

"I think I do," added Washburn, as he called in Buck Lingley and gave him the wheel.

He led the way to the chart on the shelf, upon which a light was cast from the binnacle. He pointed out Matanzas Inlet, at the southern point of Anastasia Island, and fifteen miles south of St. Augustine.

"She went into that inlet," said Washburn.

"But there isn't water enough in it to float the Islander," I replied.

"I think she did not go in far, if at all. The wind was off shore yesterday, and under the lee of the land there is no sea of any consequence, except what is caused by the rollers. If the captain of that schooner has given the time correctly, it shows that the Islander went to sea about an hour and half before we did. That will put her thirty miles ahead of us," Washburn explained; and his reasoning seemed to be correct.

"The Islander put in somewhere, or she would have been two hundred and forty miles farther on the way to Key West than we are," I added. "She did not stand off to sea, as there was not the least need of that, for the wind has been off shore since we came out of the St. Johns."

"I am confident we are right. Now the question is, shall we chase her?" asked Washburn. "She is thirty miles ahead of us; and we have nearly three hundred and fifty miles to make to reach Key West."

"There is no wind to-night to help us, and it will take as much coal to get the two extra knots out of the Sylvania as it will to make the ordinary and regular ten knots an hour, to say nothing of the wear and tear of boiler and machinery," I replied, musing.

"But the Islander will get to Key West before Cornwood does, if she puts in there, and we may miss her altogether."

"I should like to get near enough to her to watch her movements," I added. "I think if we crowd the Sylvania for six or seven hours we shall get a sight of her. I am inclined to hurry her."

"I am decidedly in favor of it, for she may escape her owner altogether if we don't follow her up."

"Eight bells! All the port watch!" called Buck Lingley, who had been relieved at the wheel.

I went on deck, and when Ben Bowman came up I told him I wanted him to give the vessel all the steam she would carry. There was a light breeze from the westward, but not enough to help the speed of the steamer, and we did not put on any sail. I took my place at the wheel while Hop Tossford was the lookout on the topgallant forecastle.

In a short time the screw began to buzz, and when Buck and Dyer Perkins went below, after heaving the lead, the Sylvania was making eleven knots. I expected her to do better than this. At four o'clock in the morning, when the starboard watch were called, we were off Indian River Inlet. Nothing had been said about trying the fish since we left Jacksonville. There was not water enough in Indian River to float the steamer, and I gave up all thought of renewing the exciting sport we had had in these waters when we came over from the St. Johns. At four o'clock I turned in and slept till eight.

I found the barometer had been dropping again, and the wind came from the eastward, which was not a good way to have the wind while we were off the coast. While I was eating my breakfast, the Sylvania came up with Jupiter Inlet, where Washburn changed the course to south, three-quarters east. The log-slate showed that we had made eleven and a half knots. I figured up the distances, and concluded that the Islander must be about twelve miles ahead of us. I did not give the other steamer the credit of making more than ten knots an hour.

The wind had freshened considerably since I left the deck early in the morning, and I ordered all sail to be set. Soon after the log showed that we were making twelve knots, which was about the best speed we had ever made. We kept her going at this rate till noon, and I had the wheel during the time. In the course of the forenoon we had visits from all the passengers, but the wind was raw and cold, and they did not remain long on deck.

"Sail, ho!" shouted Hop Tossford, from the topgallant forecastle.

"Where away?" I asked, looking ahead, though as it was not clear I saw nothing distinctly.

"Sharp on the weather bow," replied the lookout.

I looked in the direction indicated, and could just make out a sail. I examined it through the glass, and was satisfied it was the Islander. I had calculated that we ought to be up with her by noon; but it was evident to me that her captain had been hurrying her, as I did not anticipate he would do. I soon assured myself that she was not on the same course as the Sylvania. She was headed at least a point more to the westward. We had on all the sail it was prudent to carry, and Ben Bowman declared the engine was doing its best.

"We have been gaining on her every hour," I said to the mate. "If we keep on we shall overtake her in a few hours, though she is making her best speed."

"But she is going more to the westward than we are," added Washburn, looking at the chase through the glass.

"I think she is making a mistake, for I should not care to be mixed up among those shoals if it comes on bad weather; and it looks like it now."

"The wind is hauling more to the southward, and I shall look for a fog before night."

We kept on our course as laid down in the Coast-pilot, without regard to the Islander. I called the passengers at two in the afternoon, when we again changed our course to south, quarter west, to show them the Islander. She was still headed a point farther to the westward than we were. As our course from this point to Key West was on the circumference of a quarter-circle, I supposed Captain Blastblow only intended to take the shortest way by keeping inside of us, and I did not alter anything. But I was confident that he would have to run outside again in order to avoid the shoals of Virginia and Biscayne Keys. I had studied the chart carefully every day, and had found places where there was not more than four, or even more than two, feet of water at low tide, as it was at this time.

At four o'clock the Islander was not more than a mile to the south of us, though she was two miles nearer shore than we were. We were abreast of the light-house at Cape Florida, and I expected to intercept the Islander when she came out from the dangerous shoals, rendered doubly dangerous by the threatening weather. But the other steamer gave no indications of changing her course, and I soon saw her close to the light-house.

"She seems to be behaving very strangely, Captain Alick," said the mate, as we were watching her from the pilot-house.

"It seems to me that she is losing time. There are shoals and rocks just to the southward of her," I replied.

"There she goes about!" exclaimed Washburn, as she pointed her bow to the eastward. "I think we had better take in all the sail we carry, for we have only a mile of southing to make while the other steamer makes two miles of easting."

All hands were called for this duty, for the wind was coming heavier and heavier every minute. The mate and the four men made quick work of it. The Islander carried no sail, though her people must have seen the Sylvania two hours before.

"I am glad Captain Blastblow has come to his senses, and is standing out from the shore," I added. "About five miles to the eastward of the line of Keys, which form part of a circle, from Cape Florida to Pickle Reef, more than forty miles, is a series of reefs and rocks. There is a passage between the reefs and the Keys, through which vessels of light draught may pass. But I believe in having plenty of sea room when the weather looks as it does now."

When we were abreast of Cape Florida the Islander suddenly put up her helm, and stood off to the south-west. This movement indicated that she had no intention of coming any nearer to the Sylvania. I was perplexed at this change of course, because I could hardly conceive of such a thing as Captain Blastblow taking the inside route in that threatening weather. There was nothing to protect his vessel from the heavy seas, and in some places he would have hardly water enough to float the Islander.

In about another hour Fowey Rocks were between the two vessels. There was no way of getting out of the inside passage except that by which he went in, or at the southerly end of the series of reefs.

"It looks to me just as though the Islander wanted to keep out of our way," said Washburn, when we had settled the question as to what the Islander intended to do.

"That had not occurred to me before," I replied. "Why should she try to avoid us?"

"That's what bothers me. I can't see the least reason for such conduct on the part of her captain," added the mate.

"It looks to me like very risky business to go into such a place as that with a south-east gale threatening," I continued, as I went to the shelf to find a chart of the Florida reefs, which I had carefully studied. "There is one place where the Islander will have only six feet of water at low tide, perhaps seven and a half or eight at this time of tide. I think she will have to get in behind one of the Keys, and anchor to wait for the tide to rise."

"I hope nothing will happen to the Islander. I suppose Captain Blastblow knows what he is about, and probably has a pilot for the inside of the reefs," said Washburn.

"If it was good weather, it would be another thing, and I should not have hesitated to follow him, for we have the Coast Pilot, and the best charts of the Coast Survey."

"It is getting to be very rough out here," added Washburn, as the Sylvania began to roll heavily in the billows that swept in from the open sea. Our passengers were taking their afternoon naps, but they soon found out that we were in an angry sea. I went into the cabin to comfort them. Mrs. Shepard wanted to know if we could not put in at some port, as we had done on Thursday.

"There is no port we can enter before we reach Key West, madam. With the wind as it is now, and blowing hard, I am afraid to go any nearer the reefs than we are now."

"I hear that a great many vessels are wrecked on the Florida Reefs," added the lady.

"That is quite true, Mrs. Shepard; and for that reason I shall not approach them any nearer than we are now. As long as we have plenty of sea room, I do not apprehend any particular danger."

The rain began to fall about six, and the weather was so thick we could no longer see the Islander. The last time we had seen her she must have been some miles farther to the northward than the Sylvania, and I was satisfied that Captain Blastblow had not gained anything by going inside of the reefs. As I made it out from the chart, he had twice been obliged to go to the eastward over two miles, in order to keep in the deepest water. I suspected that he had been aground, and had to wait for the tide; for at dark, when we saw the steamer for the last time, we were at least five miles farther south.

"We will keep her going as briskly as the heavy sea will permit, until about midnight; and then we will ease off till daylight. Then I think we shall get another sight of the Islander," I said to the mate, as he was about to turn in at eight.

"I don't think there is any danger of her getting ahead faster than we do," replied the mate, with a yawn. "I believe I shall sleep well, if I don't get pitched out of my berth."

He was leaving the pilot-house, when the distant report of a gun came to our ears. I concluded at once that the Islander was in trouble.



CHAPTER XII.

THE CALAMITY ON FRENCH REEF.

I jumped to the conclusion that the Islander had struck on one of the shoals I had noticed on the chart, and the heavy sea was pounding her on the bottom. It could be only a question of time when she would knock a hole in her bottom and go to pieces. Washburn was wide awake as soon as he heard the gun, and giving him the wheel, I proceeded to examine the chart.

According to the dead-reckoning we ought to be a little to the southward of French Shoal. While I was satisfying myself in regard to our position, another gun sounded over the troubled sea.

"That can't be the Islander's gun," said Washburn. "She has nothing on board but a little yacht gun, and the piece we heard is a six, if not a twelve pounder."

"I think you are right, Bob. The sound came from the leeward. I have no doubt it is some vessel in distress; and we must do something for her. Call all hands," I continued, as I took the wheel, and headed the Sylvania due west by the compass.

Though it was not foggy, the air was thick, and I could see nothing ahead. We had a very strong wind on our port quarter, and it was extremely dangerous to approach the reefs from the windward. In a moment all hands were on deck, except Moses Brickland, who was required to take the engine whenever all hands were called on an emergency. I directed Hop Tossford to take the wheel, and keep her due west. I asked the mate to fire our little yacht gun, in answer to the signals we had heard. The moment the report sounded through the vessel I heard Mrs. Shepard scream.

I told the chief engineer to give the steamer about half speed, and hastened into the cabin to satisfy the passengers that nothing had happened to us, and explain what we were doing. Mrs. Shepard assured us that we should all be lost; but I told her we would be extremely careful.

I asked my father, Colonel Shepard, and Owen to come on deck, leaving Mr. Tiffany and Gus Shepard to take charge of the ladies. I explained the situation to them, and while we were talking about it another gun was heard to leeward. It sounded heavier and nearer than before, and I was sure the signal was not given by the Islander.

"It is plain enough that a vessel has gone ashore on one of these reefs," I said. "I can see nothing ahead, but the gun sounds in this direction."

Before the words were fairly out of my mouth, a sky rocket flashed up directly over our bow. We had rockets on board, and I directed Ben to discharge one of them. It was followed by another from the vessel in distress. Then some Bengola lights were fired, and they illuminated the sea for a mile at least around her. Buck Lingley was sounding, and reporting no bottom. I told the engineer to give her more steam, for I feared the people on the unfortunate vessel might be drowning, and a minute might save a life, if not more. As long as the bright Bengola light burned, I kept the steamer going at full speed. Most of the dangerous reefs were marked by beacons, or at least the outer range of the reef was so marked.

The sea was very heavy, and Buck Lingley still reported no bottom. He used a hand lead, which measures twenty fathoms of depth. The Bengola light soon burned out, and I rang the speed-bell. This reduced our rate one half. But it seemed to me that we were going altogether too fast, as the strong south-east gale was driving us towards the reefs. I rang the gong, and the vessel stopped.

"And a half seventeen!" shouted Buck.

"The water is shoaling," said the mate.

"By the mark ten!" called the leadsman.

"Get out some rockets and Bengola lights, Washburn," I continued, nervously. "The people on the wreck don't even give us a light to steer by."

"And a half seven!" shouted the leadsman.

I rang to back her, for she shoaled too rapidly for my nerves. I told the mate to light a Bengola on the heel of the bowsprit. When he did so the brilliant light enabled me to see the wreck very distinctly, and less than a hundred yards from the Sylvania. She was a large bark, with all her sails furled. Her captain had probably taken in all sail as soon as the vessel struck the reef.

The chart informed me there were rocks only a few feet below the surface of the water. The wreck was headed to the south-west, but this could not have been the direction in which she was sailing when she struck the reef. On that course she would have got into trouble before.

"By the deep seven!" said the leadsman, in loud and shrill tones.

I rang to go ahead again, and at the same time told the mate to keep the Bengola lights burning. Ben Bowman was stationed at the end of the bowsprit that the light might not blind his eyes. I had purchased a plentiful supply of fireworks in New York for festive occasions, and we were in no danger of exhausting them, as they had evidently done on the wreck.

"Give her about ten turns a minute, Moses!" I called to the engineer through the speaking-tube.

"Ten turns a minute!" he replied, to make sure that I had been understood.

"Steady, as she is, Hop!" I said to the wheel-man. "If you see anything like a buoy, stop and back her as quick as you can."

"Ay, ay, sir," replied the wheelman.

I went on the hurricane-deck to get a better view of the wreck. It was hard to stand up in that part of the vessel, for she pitched and rolled very badly, while she was making so little headway. By holding on at the railing, I got to a point where I could hug the foremast. The wreck was very low down, and I concluded that she was full of water.

"And a half six!" said Buck.

This was thirty-nine feet of water, and we were in no danger yet. The waves were beating over the deck of the bark. It was clear enough that she must go to pieces before morning. Her bulwarks were stove on the weather side of her; and while I was looking at her the foremast went by the board. I saw that the step of the mast must have been torn away by grinding upon the rocks.

We were within a hundred feet of her stern, and the billows were too savage to permit of going any nearer. I hastened down to the pilothouse, rang to stop her, and then to back her. I intended to be sure that we had full control of the steamer before we went any nearer. I found that the Sylvania backed well against the head sea, and then I stopped her screw.

In an instant I found that the steamer was driving towards the wreck. I rang to back her again, and readily checked her.

I saw that the only way I could approach the unfortunate vessel was to get under her lee. The sea was altogether too rough for our little quarter boats, though both of them were life-boats. By occasionally backing the screw, we ran within fifty feet of the wreck, and I could hear the roar of the gale through the standing rigging of the bark, and the heavy pounding of the billows against her side.

"Steamer ahoy!" shouted a man on the taffrail of the vessel.

"On board the bark!" replied Washburn, on the topgallant forecastle. "What is the condition of the vessel?"

"Our forefoot is gone, and we are stove through forward. She is full of water," replied the man. "She is grinding on the reef, and will go to pieces in a few hours."

"How much water have you under your lee?" I shouted.

"From one to three fathoms," replied the captain of the bark, as we judged that he was.

With the utmost care I ran the Sylvania under the lee of the bark; and I think it must have taken all the tact of Moses Brickland to handle the engine in accordance with the bells I rang. But as soon as the bow of the steamer was under the lee of the bark it was in comparatively smooth water. From the statement of the captain, and the depth of water he reported, I concluded that one of the sharp spurs of rock was sticking through her bottom near where her forefoot had been, and that she was held in this position by the reef. Buck kept on sounding, and reported four fathoms at the stern of the wreck. Cobbington was now in charge of the Bengolas, and Washburn was getting the hawsers ready to make fast to the bark. We put out our fenders, and the mate heaved a line into the waist of the wreck. Ben Bowman did the same, throwing his line over the stern. The lines were caught by the seamen on board, and made fast.

Though the water was fairly still at the leeward of the bark, I found that the vessel was rolling badly, and greatly endangering the safety of the Sylvania. The gale was driving the wreck farther on the reef, and I feared that the mainmast would go by the board and fall on the steamer.

"All aboard that are going!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, as I stood at the wheel, ready to do whatever an emergency might require. The two vessels were grinding their sides together, and nothing but our fenders saved our planks from being torn off.

The men on board the bark were very slow in seeking safety, and I was about to repeat my former call, when I saw two women appear on the rail by the mizzen rigging. Our hands hastened to their assistance, and as the bark was so low in the water they had no difficulty in getting them on our hurricane-deck. As soon as they were safely on board, the men poured in upon us without further delay. There was not one among them that would leave the wreck until the women were safe. The officers and seamen brought with them whatever they could carry of their personal property. One of them returned and cast off the hawsers.

As soon as the fasts were cast off, I rang to back her; and, bringing the Sylvania's head up to the wind, I wore her gradually around till she was headed to the eastward. The sea was white with foam from the raging billows, and the little steamer leaped like an antelope as she went ahead on her course. It was impossible to stand up in any part of her. I ran out about four miles to the eastward, where the steamer was when we heard the signal-gun from the wreck. We had been absent on our run to the reef about two hours. We laid our course as before, and I gave the wheel to Hop Tossford, that I might attend to the wants of the shipwrecked guests on board.

The Sylvania was rolling on her new course at a frightful rate, and our deck was deluged with water every moment. The gale seemed to be increasing rather than diminishing, and I was not sure how long we could stand such a tumbling about as we were getting. With no little difficulty and exertion we got a reefed foresail up, which steadied her very much. I went down into the cabin, where I had sent the ladies from the wreck. I found our passengers propped up in such ways as they could devise to keep from being hurled across the cabin floor at each roll of the vessel. The strangers seemed to be quite at home, and were relating their adventures to the other ladies, who were listening with so much interest that they appeared to have forgotten the Sylvania was laboring in a very heavy sea. I saw that I was not wanted there. I went on deck, and found that the sailors from the wreck were stowed away in the dryest places they could find.

I invited them all down into the forward cabin, and assigned the mate to the spare berth there. The others must sleep on the floor, for we could do nothing better for them.

"Mr. Mate, where is your captain?" I asked.

"I don't think he came below, sir. He is feeling very badly about the loss of his vessel," replied the mate. "I will try to find him."

He went on deck with me, and we found him coiled away under the topgallant forecastle. I invited him to come into the pilot-house, and he followed me thither.

"I am sorry for your misfortune, Captain," I said, when he had seated himself abaft the wheel.

"It is a sorry night for me. My vessel is lost, and I have not the least idea how it happened," he replied, very sadly.

I did my best to comfort him. I saw that he was quite as much exhausted by his mental sufferings as by his physical exertions. I conducted him to my state-room, and gave him my berth. In a short time he was asleep.



CHAPTER XIII.

A NIGHT LOST IN THE STORM.

At eleven o'clock we changed the course of the Sylvania to south-west half-west, which brought the gale nearly on the beam. The wind was blowing but little, if anything, short of a hurricane. The great billows struck against the side of the vessel and the house on deck with tremendous force. It seemed just as though immense boulders were hurled against the planking that enclosed my state-room, the galley, and the engine-room. The sea swept over the hurricane-deck, and struck heavily upon the planks overhead.

Suddenly I heard a noise over my head, as I stood at the wheel, which sounded like the report of a heavy cannon. I thought the sea had broken a hole through. In another instant the steamer was rolling with double the violence of a few minutes before.

"What was that noise, Hop?" I asked, when I saw that no water was pouring down upon us.

"It was the foresail, sir; it has been blown out of the bolt-ropes," replied Hop, coolly; and he seemed to be incapable of anything like fear. "We have lost the reefed foresail, and that is what makes her roll so much worse than she did five minutes ago."

Undoubtedly he was right. The sail had steadied her more than we could have imagined; and now she rolled like a log in a mill-race. The sea struck the side of my state-room as though a rock weighing a ton had been cast against it by some giant of the sea or the storm. I was afraid our house on deck would be carried away by the tempest.

On board of a large vessel, the loss of a house on deck was a matter of no serious consequences. It was entirely different with the Sylvania, for the loss of it would open the hold to the entrance of the sea. The deluge of water would put out the fire in the furnaces, disabling the engine. The result must be the loss of the vessel and all on board of her. I trembled when I thought of it. Another mountain billow struck the house a little farther aft. I was not willing to wait for another sea to strike her in what I regarded as her weakest point, and we put the helm down. We must give up our course for the safety of the vessel.

The steamer made a terrible plunge as we shifted the helm, but we soon got her across the sea. Now she pitched instead of rolling. I called to the engineer, through the speaking-tube, to give her but about half speed, for it made her labor more heavily to drive her into the seas. I calculated that this rate of speed would keep her about stationary on the water. I soon found that she was falling astern. I directed the engineer to give her more steam. I soon gauged it so that she had headway enough to keep her up to the seas without forcing her through them. A sort of equilibrium was established, which gave her an easier position, though it was by no means an easy one. Her bow rose so that the deck must have been at an angle of forty-five degrees, and then she dived down from the top of a big wave at about the same angle.

Our port and starboard, as well as the masthead light were burning, and we had closed in the pilot-house, so that we could see nothing ahead. But I found the steamer was manageable when I had got her head to the sea, and I sent Hop Tossford to call the mate and Buck Lingley. I could not tell what might happen, and I felt that all hands should be on deck. I wondered they had not put in an appearance before. But they were all used to this sort of thing, for we had been through a tempest almost as bad in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and several milder ones at other times.

The water swashed fore and aft, but no longer pounded against the house on deck. It poured over the bow, so that it was not safe to put a man on the lookout there. The only thing we had to fear while we were lying-to in this manner was a collision with some other vessel. The water poured into the pilot-house so that we could not keep the windows open. I sent Buck to the hurricane-deck, with directions to lash himself to the foremast, and keep under the shelter of the dome of the pilot-house. When I had done this, and heard Buck on the deck over me, I felt that I had met the last and most imminent danger of the hour.

Though the steamer was still laboring heavily against the tremendous head seas, she appeared to be holding her position in safety. I gave the helm to Washburn and Ben Bowman, for it required two to move the wheel promptly in that violent sea, and went to pay a visit to the cabin, for I supposed the passengers were enduring torments of suspense and terror.

On the way I looked into my state-room. The captain of the wrecked bark appeared to be still asleep, and I did not disturb him. Following one of the life-lines we always bent on in a gale, I reached the after companion-way. Like everything in the shape of an opening on deck, it was securely fastened. But I had a key, and descended the cabin-stairs, locking the door behind me. Most of the passengers were still up. Some had retired to their berths, though probably not to sleep.

My father and Mr. Tiffany were playing chess, and did not seem to be at all disturbed by the war of the elements. Colonel Shepard was holding his wife upon a sofa, and Owen and Gus were skylarking in the after-part of the cabin.

"Isn't it terrible, Captain Alick?" asked Mrs. Shepard, in trembling tones.

"I must say it was about as bad as anything I ever was out in, though we had it about as bad once on Lake Superior," I replied, as cheerfully as the occasion required.

"Do you think there is any danger?"

"I don't think there is just now," I answered. "The steamer is working very well at present, much better than she was an hour ago."

"I thought the water would break through upon us at one time," added the nervous lady.

"I was afraid it would. We had our foresail blown out of the bolt-ropes, and she made bad work of it after that. But we have laid her to now, and she is behaving as well as any vessel of this size can in such a sea."

"When do you suppose it will be over?" asked the lady, anxiously.

"It is a south-east gale, or rather hurricane, and probably it will not last long. I shall look for better weather by sunrise, if not before," I replied, as I left the cabin.

On my way back to the pilot-house I stopped in at the engine-room. I found Moses Brickland, seated on his leather-cushioned divan, watching the movements of the engine. Notwithstanding the uneasy movement of the vessel the machinery seemed to be working very regularly.

"How does she go, Moses?" I asked.

"She has done very well since you headed her up to the sea," he answered, without taking his gaze from the engine. "At one time I thought the sea would break in upon us and swamp the fires. It would have been all up with us then."

"I felt so myself, and I headed her up to the sea when I saw that it was no longer safe to keep her on her course. But I suppose you want to turn in, Moses."

"I, no; I am perfectly satisfied to keep my place here till morning," he replied.

"I want Ben Bowman at the wheel, with Washburn. She steers so hard in this sea that we need to change hands every hour. But I hope we shall soon be able to relieve you," I added.

"I don't have very hard work, and I can stand it very well till morning."

I returned to the wheel-house. It was about two bells, or one in the morning. The tempest had not increased in the last hour, and I hoped we had seen the worst of it. We were working the engine just enough to keep the steamer's head up to the sea. The Sylvania behaved so well in her present position that I dismissed the port watch at two in the morning; but I could not think of turning in myself while there was any possibility of trouble ahead. I remained in the pilot-house with Washburn, while Buck Lingley was on the lookout on the hurricane-deck. We held our position till about four in the morning, when it was evident that the gale was breaking, though the sea was still very heavy.

"Light on the port quarter," said Buck, at one of the small windows of the pilot-house in front of his station.

I rushed over to the port side, but the windows were so covered with water that I could see nothing. It was raining hard, as it had been since midnight. I went on deck, grasping a life-line to keep me from being knocked over by the flood of water that flowed down from the forecastle. I reached the ladder and went up to the hurricane-deck.

I supposed the light the lookout had seen was on some vessel. It was at least ten miles distant; and after a time I satisfied myself that it was a revolving light. It also flashed, and I was confident it was eight or ten miles distant. I was rather bewildered, for I had not expected to find a light in that direction. I hastened down to the pilot-house to consult the Coast Pilot. I reviewed the course we had followed after leaving the wrecked bark. By our reckoning we were about twenty miles to the southward of Carysfort Light when we headed the steamer to the eastward.

We had kept the screw turning all the time, and I supposed we had been making some headway during the five hours we had been on this tack. What was the light, then?

We were headed directly into the Bahama Islands, and I knew we had not gone far enough to place any light in those islands on our port quarter. The description in the book of Carysfort Light corresponded with what I had made out by observation.

"We are about ten miles to the south-east of Carysfort Light," I said to Washburn, when I had satisfied myself of the fact.

"Impossible! That would put us about where we were when you called all hands last night!" exclaimed the mate.

"The Light is about where it was when we began to go to the southward at ten last evening," I replied.

"But we have been going to the southward and eastward for the last five hours."

"It does not appear that we have gone at all," I continued, looking over the pages of the book. "We have been drifting all the time. The steamer is in the Gulf Stream, and that, with the fierce wind, has carried her a long distance from where I supposed she was. I find that in a strong easterly wind the Gulf Stream sets to the westward, and runs in among the Keys. I have no doubt now that this is the reason why the bark struck last night on the rocks to the southward of French Reef."

"It appears from what you say that we have not carried steam enough to prevent us from being drifted to the westward as well as to the northward," added Washburn.

"That is the fact: we have been drifting about north-northwest. In a few hours more we should have been on the reef. Ring the speed-bell."

It was plain enough by this time, when it was almost broad daylight, that the force of the gale was spent. In less than an hour the wind subsided entirely, and the wind whirled to the south, then to the west, and finally settled in the north-west. We made our course to the southward. The clouds rolled away, and the sun rose bright and beautiful after one of the hardest nights I had ever known.

The wind began to freshen from the north-west, and at six o'clock we had all sail on her. We all wondered what had become of the Islander. Captain Blastblow was evidently well acquainted with the navigation of the Florida Reefs, or he would not have taken his vessel through the dangerous channel he had chosen. But I was too tired to talk much, and I slept an hour in Washburn's berth until breakfast-time. When I waked, I found the captain of the bark sitting in a chair in the state-room.



CHAPTER XIV.

LOOKING FOR THE ISLANDER.

The captain of the bark was a man of about fifty. He was bald, and his hair and whiskers were sprinkled with gray. I had no doubt that the violent storm had made an end of his vessel, for the wreck was exposed to the full fury of the sea, tenfold more violent after we left it than before.

"Good morning, Captain; I hope you are quite well this morning," I began.

"I am well enough, thank you; but I cannot forget that I have lost my ship," he replied. "You had a rough night of it on deck; and I don't think I ever knew a vessel to pitch and roll so badly as this one did."

"It was a terrible blow, and this is a very small vessel, though she is as strong as wood and iron could make her. If she had not been well built, the sea would have taken the house off this deck."

"I thought it was going to do so as it was. I think she was exceedingly well handled, or she would have gone to the bottom," continued the captain. "I have no doubt there are scores of wrecks along the Keys this morning, and many a good fellow may miss his mess after this."

I gave him a full account of the storm, and of our being carried so far out of our course by the wind and the current. I told him that we had been delayed so long by the wreck and the storm that we probably should not reach Key West till three or four in the afternoon.

"I suppose we shall be lucky to get there at all after all that has happened to us," replied the captain. "What you say about drifting so far out of your course strikes me as being a little strange."

"What was the name of your vessel, Captain?—I have not even learned your name," I continued. I intended to point out to him the way in which the bark had been lost; but I wanted to know something more about the voyage of the unfortunate vessel.

"Captain Mayfield; and the bark was the Olive, of New York, from New Orleans, with a cargo of cotton from the latter port," replied the captain. "I owned a third of her myself; but she is well insured, and so is her cargo. My wife and daughter were with me, and are now in the after cabin."

"I think you were fortunate to escape with your lives," I added.

"I know we were, Captain—I don't know your name any better than you did mine; and it strikes me that you are a very young fellow to be in command of a steamer, though she is a very small one."

"My name is Alexander Garningham, and I am generally called Captain Alick. I have been on the water most of the time since I was ten years old, either on the sea or on the great lakes. I have had as rough a time on Lake Superior as we had last night, if not a rougher." I told my story as briefly as I could.

"Your education has not been neglected, Captain Alick," continued Captain Mayfield. "If you had not managed the Sylvania so well last night, most of us must have perished; for I have no doubt that the Olive went to pieces before midnight. She was a well-built vessel, but rather old. The gale kept forcing her up to the sharp coral rocks, and she was grinding off her timbers at a very rapid rate when we left her. If there had been any chance for her I would not have left her. I had reduced sail at dark, when it began to freshen into a gale. We had the wind on the beam, and the bark was behaving very well."

"It began to blow the heaviest about six bells," I added.

"We did not get the worst of it. We had the foretop-mast staysail, fore and main topsails, and the spanker set. The Gulf Stream was with us, and we were making not less than ten knots an hour. I expected soon to see Carysfort Light. Our course was north, a quarter east, and I had no doubt I was making it good."

"I am afraid not."

"Of course I know now that I did not make it good; but I can't see any reason why I did not."

"I can," I interposed. "It was for the same reason that we were drifted so far to the northward and westward. When the wind comes strong from an easterly direction the current of the Gulf Stream is partly turned to the westward."

"I have read that in the Coast Pilot; but I have been through these waters so many times without noticing anything of the kind, that I did not think of it last night. The first hint I had that anything was wrong was when the Olive struck on the rocks. I knew from the sound of the crash that she had stove a hole in her bow. She flew back, and then the wind jammed her on again. I sent hands aloft to furl the topsails, and others to haul down the jib and take in the spanker. But she drove on the rocks all the same; and I knew that would be the end of her."

I invited the captain to visit the cabin, for I thought he would wish to see his wife and daughter. Our passengers were all at breakfast, and engaged in talking over the events of the night. Captain Mayfield was invited to join them, and I advised him to do so, while I went back to the deck to attend to the wants of the rest of the ship's company of the Olive. The sailors were all on deck, and the mate was in the pilot-house with Washburn. Gopher had made provision for feeding the addition to our passengers. I invited the two mates of the Olive down into the fore-cabin to breakfast, while the cook and steward were supplying the sailors on the forecastle. I found that Gopher had been liberal in his supplies, both as to quantity and quality, for the wrecked people.

By eight o'clock breakfast had been served to all on board. I had not slept above four hours in two nights, though my short nap had refreshed me a little. Washburn and all the rest of the crew had been on duty most of the night, and they were very much fatigued. Moses Brickland had served a double watch, and Ben Bowman had worked like a trooper most of the night. I decided, as it was pleasant and plain sailing, to send all hands to their berths, and take the helm myself, with Ben at the engine; for he declared that he could stand it with only two hours' sleep a week. Captain Mayfield and his two mates soon joined me in the pilot-house. I was so sleepy myself that I could not help gaping and yawning.

"You've had a hard night of it, Captain Alick, while I have had a whole night below," said Captain Mayfield. "Myself and my mates have all seen service in a steamer, and we should be very glad to relieve you."

"Thank you, Captain. I acknowledge that I am rather worn out; but a little steamer like the Sylvania has her ways, and is peculiar," I replied.

"Let Beach take the wheel, and you shall see whether he can handle her," persisted Captain Mayfield.

Beach was the second mate, and I assented. I gave him the course, and he kept her steady to it. I lay down on the bench abaft the wheel, and before I knew it I didn't know anything. But I slept only a few minutes, and when I waked I found the first mate at the wheel. He was simply trying his hand at it. A little while after the captain took his turn. We could see the Keys, the spindles and buoys on the reefs, and it was hardly possible for any mishap to occur on board.

I asked one of them to help me heave the log, as I had sent all my ship's company below to make up their sleep, except the second engineer. Captain Mayfield would not permit me to do anything about it. He called a couple of his seamen, and went aft to do it. He soon reported twelve knots, with the remark that he did not suppose the steamer to be capable of such a high rate of speed. He then begged me to turn in. He was perfectly familiar with the coast and the soundings. He sent two of his men on the topgallant forecastle to serve as lookouts, and declared that the mates should keep the wheel all the time. I was too sleepy to resist, and I turned in. I was soon fast asleep. The motion of the vessel was now quite steady, though she rose and fell upon the long seas.

It was two o'clock in the afternoon when I woke, for the new captain would not permit me to be called. Gopher had dined all on board but the crew, who had turned in before I did. Ben Bowman had waked himself, and gone to the engine-room to relieve Moses, at eleven. The attentive cook had a fresh dinner ready for me; and before I had finished it most of the other sleepers appeared.

I went to the pilot-house and looked at the log-slate. It had been faithfully kept during the absence of Washburn and myself. The last entry was American Shoal, with the time of passing it.

"Where are we now, Captain Mayfield?" I asked.

"Do you see that beacon with a big B on the vane?" he said, pointing to the beacon, which was within fifty yards of the steamer's bow. "That is the Eastern Sambo, about a dozen sea miles from Key West."

"You have been making time since I went to sleep."

"We have logged twelve knots every time," he replied. "We shall have a head wind after we have passed the Western Sambo, or soon after, and we must take in sail."

I directed Washburn to call all hands and take in sail, with the assistance at the sheets and halyards of the crew of the Olive.

"Where do you suppose the Islander is about this time?" I asked of Washburn, after he had taken in sail and squared the yards.

"She may be at the bottom," replied the mate.

Captain Mayfield asked me what I meant, and I told him all about the Islander.

"Her captain must have understood the navigation, or he would not have gone inside on such a night as last we had," added Captain Mayfield. "I don't think you will see the other steamer till you get to Key West, in little more than an hour."

"He may have gone to the bottom in the hurricane," I suggested.

"He could make a harbor in several places; at Tavernier, for instance. He may even have run through some opening to the other side of one of the Keys, and been entirely protected from the heavy sea. He had to be pretty well acquainted in there to do this. Do you know where he shipped his crew?"

"At Jacksonville, Florida," I replied.

"Then very likely he had one or more of the Conchs, or natives, who come from the Bahama Islands, on board. They are fishermen and wreckers, and know every inch of bottom all along the reefs. I think you will see the other steamer as soon as you get to Key West, for I have no doubt she has got there first, if she was going there at all. Western Sambo, three, five," continued Captain Mayfield. "Make a note of it, Mr. Dana."

After some further conversation with the captain, I was confident the Islander could not get by Key West without being seen by Cornwood, if the steamer in which he was to come to Cedar Keys had not been detained by the storm. Captain Mayfield did not believe the steamer with Jacksonville passengers on board had been detained, as she had an inside passage during all the worst of the hurricane. It was probable that the agent of Colonel Shepard had arrived in the fore-noon, if not in the morning.

Our pilot ran the Sylvania about two miles beyond the Western Sambo, and then headed the vessel to the north-west. He asked me the draught of the Sylvania, and I gave it to him as nine feet, which was her depth in the water when her coal-bunkers were full of anthracite coal. The course was varied considerably to avoid shoal places and reefs; but Captain Mayfield gave me the sailing directions as we went along, and I compared them with those in the Coast Pilot. All the passengers had come on deck when it was announced that we were close in to Key West. Colonel Shepard was very anxious about the Islander.

The city of Key West is located on the western end of an island of the same name. Near it is Fort Taylor, a vast structure built on an artificial island, and connected with Key West by a long bridge. On a hill is Whitehead Light, and on the north side of the island are several observatories. The town, consisting mostly of cottages, is near these towers.

When we were off Fort Taylor, we had a full view of the harbor, but the Islander was not to be seen.

"There she goes!" exclaimed Washburn, pointing to the north-west.

She carried no sail; but when I looked through the glass I made out her rig, though she was four miles away.



CHAPTER XV.

A PARTIAL SOLUTION OF THE MYSTERY.

"What does Captain Blastblow mean? Does he mean to run away with the Islander?" demanded Colonel Shepard, when he realized that his steam-yacht was again trying to elude him.

"He must have seen the Sylvania," I replied, very much perplexed by the conduct of the captain of the Islander. "If he stopped at Key West at all, he must have seen us before he started."

"Is it possible to overtake her, Captain Alick?" asked Colonel Shepard, nervously.

"As the case now stands, Captain Blastblow is running away from us. He has some object in view which we cannot comprehend. I have no doubt we can overtake her, for she can't run in behind any keys, or dodge into any unfamiliar channels."

"But I ought not to ask you to pursue her any farther," continued the owner of the runaway steam-yacht. "I know your party wish to stop here, and I will not compel them to go any farther."

"I think we can see all we want to of Key West from the deck," interposed my father. "At any rate, if we wish to spend any time in Key West, it will be easy enough to come back here, for we have the whole summer before us, and the winter, too, if the summer is not long enough."

"I have no desire to stop here, and Margie would much rather continue with her friend, Miss Edith, than stop at this place," added Mr. Tiffany. "We are all quite interested in solving the problem of the intentions of the captain of the Islander."

"We will leave the whole matter to Alick; and whatever he does we will not complain," said my father.

"You are very considerate and kind, gentlemen, and I am under very great obligations to you and to Captain Alick for all the favors you have extended to me," replied the colonel.

"If it is left to me we will chase the Islander," I added. "But we must land our shipwrecked passengers here, and that will take a little time; and I want a pilot, for I don't like to lose any time in those shoal waters and crooked channels."

"Get your boats all ready, Captain Alick, and it won't take five minutes to land me and my men, and I will put your steamer where you can get a pilot in two minutes," interposed Captain Mayfield. "I have no doubt we should have all perished if you had not come to the wreck at no small peril to your vessel; and I hope the time will come when I shall have a chance to do something for you."

"Oh, that's all right," I replied. "I hope I never shall be in a situation to need such help as we had a chance to give you, Captain Mayfield."

I gave the order to clear away the boats, the davits were swung out, and the falls manned ready to drop them into the water without a moment's delay. The ship's company of the Olive shook hands with me, and thanked me very warmly for what the Sylvania had done for them. I was sorry to part with them so hastily, but the anxiety of the colonel seemed to admit of no other course. Captain Mayfield ran the steamer within a hundred yards of the shore by Tift's observatory. He rang to back her, and as soon as she had lost her headway, the two boats were dropped into the water, with two hands in each. They were then brought up to the gangway steps, which had been rigged out for the use of the ladies, who were all ready to embark.

We assisted Mrs. Mayfield and her daughter into the stern-sheets of one, and the captain joined them. The boat shoved off, when the mate and four of the sailors had stowed themselves away. The captain and the ladies waved their adieus as soon as Dyer and Hop began to pull. Before the port boat was off the second mate and the rest of the seamen had piled into the starboard boat, and both were off at nearly the same time.

I saw the seamen in both boats assisting the oarsmen, and the boats went through the water at a lively rate. Not more than two minutes had elapsed before the party were all on shore. Several men hastened up to Captain Mayfield, and I saw him select one of them, who immediately jumped into the port boat. It was hardly a minute more before the boats were under the falls. They were rapidly hoisted up, and swung inboard. The men leaped out of them, and Washburn rang to back the boat into deeper water. The men secured the boats, and the person sent off went into the pilot-house.

I looked at the clock and found we had lost less than ten minutes in landing the wrecked party, during which time the Islander had made over a mile. Moses Brickland had been attending to the furnaces while the boats were absent with the two firemen, and I was sure that he had a good head of steam on. The pilot was a swarthy person, with long black hair, and I had no doubt he was a Conch, as Captain Mayfield had described them to me. He was well dressed in seaman's blue clothes. I rather liked the looks of the man, and began to feel confidence in him as soon as I saw him.

"I am glad to see you, Mr. Pilot," I said, giving him my hand, when I went into the pilot-house after assuring myself that the boats were well secured.

"Thank you, Captain Alick," he replied with a smile.

"As you seem to know my name, it is no more than fair that I should know yours," I replied, as good-naturedly as he had spoken.

"I am called Captain Cayo, but my name is Cazador, which is the Spanish for 'Hunter.' But it don't make much difference what you call me. Cayo is Spanish for Key, and people here are so used to the word that they have given it me for a name. Where are you bound, Captain Alick?"

"To New Orleans, or rather we are bound to overhaul the little steamer, just like this one, which left here not more than half an hour before we arrived," I replied.

"I should have thought it was the same steamer if I had seen both of them at the same time," replied Captain Cayo, who had taken the wheel when he first came into the pilot-house, for he had been engaged to take the Sylvania through the North-West Channel, as it is called. "You wish to overhaul the Islander, do you?"

"Her owner is on board of this steamer, and he is very anxious to get on board of her," I answered.

"Very well; if the Sylvania has the speed we will overhaul her, Captain Alick," added the pilot.

"Where did you learn my name, Captain Cayo, for you called me by it before any one had used it on board; and those who came off in the boat with you invariably call me Captain Garningham?" I inquired, taking up one of the points which had attracted my attention from the first.

"I heard you called so by a gentleman who arrived here by the morning steamer from Cedar Keys."

"Who was the gentleman?" I asked, with interest.

"I don't remember his name, if I heard it at all."

"What time did the Islander get to Key West?"

"Not more than two hours before the Sylvania. I went on board of her to offer my services as pilot. The captain did not want a pilot, for he had a Conch on board who used to live in the city."

"Then this man is now piloting the Islander through this channel?"

"I suppose he is; but I don't think he is a pilot, for he is taking the steamer a long way to the eastward of the bar-buoy. She went pretty near a shoal with only five feet of water on it. I shall make one sea-mile in going five compared with the course of the Islander."

"I am very glad to hear it. What sort of a looking-person was it that came in the morning-boat from Cedar Keys?" I asked.

The pilot described Cornwood as though he were a novelist. Of course I had no difficulty in supposing it was he. In order to get the most reliable intelligence from the pilot, I told him all about the abrupt departure of the Islander from Jacksonville without her owner and his family. I stated my belief that Captain Blastblow was avoiding us, and that he had put to sea as soon as he discovered the Sylvania headed in for Key West. I told him the sudden departure of the other steamer was a great mystery to her owner and all the rest of us.

"I am sure I don't know anything about the matter, Captain Alick. I don't believe the Islander intended to stop at the city, for the man from Cedar Keys——"

"His name is Cornwood," I interposed.

"Cornwood went off in a boat and hailed the Islander. She would not stop till he flourished a letter. I was out in my boat looking for any craft that wanted a pilot, and I was close aboard of her. When she stopped I climbed aboard on one side while Cornwood got aboard on the other side. Instead of delivering the letter to the captain, he said it was for a person supposed to be on board. The captain indulged in strong talk; but Cornwood made some statement I did not hear, which seemed to satisfy him. The steamer came to anchor just outside of Fort Taylor. When the captain told me he did not want a pilot, I left the steamer. As I pulled away, I saw that a sharp lookout was kept over the stern of the Islander, which I can understand now, if I could not then."

"You don't know whether or not Cornwood delivered any letter to the captain of the Islander?" I inquired, with deep interest.

"Very likely he did, but not while I was on board. I pulled up the harbor, and landed the other side of the Lazaretto. Before I reached the shore I saw Cornwood and a swellish-looking fellow rowing to the same landing-place. Cornwood was talking very earnestly to the swell, and continued to do so after they got ashore."

"What did the swell look like?" I asked, wondering who he could be, for I had seen all the crew of the Islander, and could remember no one that looked like a swell.

Captain Cayo gave a minute description of the person; but it would have applied as well to one swell as to another.

"Did you see anything more of Cornwood and this swell?" I asked, somewhat excited over the narrative, and hoping to get some clue to the conspiracy for running off the Islander.

"Cornwood and the young fellow took a seat on a bench near the landing-place, and talked for a full hour. Before they got through I had a sight of this steamer coming up by the West Sambo. I passed quite near them, on my way up the hill to the lighthouse, to see if I could make out your steamer. As I did so, I heard Cornwood call the other fellow Nick."

"Nick!" I exclaimed, looking at Washburn.

"That explains it all," added the mate.

"What does it explain?" asked the pilot, who seemed to be quite as much interested in the case as Washburn and myself were.

"It explains another story I have not told, and which I did not suppose had anything to do with this matter of the running off of the Islander."

I related the affair of the robbery of the messenger of the bank, giving all the details of the case, including the unexplained disappearance of Nick Boomsby. The case looked as plain as day to Washburn and myself. Nick had taken possession of the package of money, and concealed it somewhere under the counter; and doubtless there were holes and corners enough there where it could be put without its being seen by his father. He wanted to get out of Jacksonville as soon as possible after the robbery. He had applied to me, with his pathetic story about being compelled to sell whiskey, and wanted to be taken as a passenger in the Sylvania.

"Nick had the card written by Colonel Shepard, which he delivered the night before we sailed," said Washburn.

"I should like to know what was written on that card," I added.

"Probably it was nothing more than an intimation from the colonel that he should be ready to sail the next morning. He had not room enough on a card to go into the particulars," answered Washburn. "You saw him write the card, Alick."

"There was not more than a line or two on it, for it was done in half a minute, signature and all."

"Captain Blastblow had steam up in the morning, as directed," continued Washburn. "Nick observed the writing closely, and wrote a letter such as he wanted for use the next morning. Captain Blastblow is not to blame, unless it is for letting Nick deceive him."

The case looked plain enough now.



CHAPTER XVI.

ACROSS THE GULF OF MEXICO.

We had arrived at only a partial solution of the mystery, though we had done enough to relieve Captain Blastblow from any evil intentions in the premises. What Cornwood's connection with the affair was did not yet appear. He could not have known that Nick Boomsby was on board of the Islander, for he had gone to St. Augustine, where we had put in on account of stress of weather. He could not have known that we intended to put into St. Augustine, for we had no intention to do so when we left Jacksonville.

Possibly Cornwood had put one thing and another together until he believed Nick had taken the four thousand dollars, and had made his escape in the Islander. It looked as though Cornwood had some connection with the robbery, for the Islander had hurried on her way to New Orleans, if she was bound there, as soon as the Sylvania came in sight. If he had delivered the letter to Captain Blastblow, the latter would have remained in Key West until the arrival of her owner, as instructed by the written message.

"Cornwood and Nick did a good deal of talking, it appears, while the Islander was here," said Washburn, "though we don't know what it was all about."

"I have no doubt Cornwood took the management of the case at this point," I replied. "Nick must have forged one letter to induce Captain Blastblow to start the Islander without her owner and his family; and I have no doubt Cornwood forged another to make him continue the voyage."

"I hope we shall know all about the matter in a few hours more," said Washburn.

"You understand the entire situation now, Captain Cayo, and see why we want to overhaul the Islander," I continued.

"I see the whole of it, and I will do the best I can to outsail the other steamer; but that depends more on your vessel than on me," replied the pilot. "Will you let your men heave the log?"

We had been driving the Sylvania to her utmost, and Ben Bowman reported that we were making eleven and a half knots, which was doing exceedingly well in the teeth of a fresh north-west wind. Captain Cayo went to the westward of the bar-buoy, while the Islander had gone to the eastward of it more than a mile. I saw that we had gained a mile by this course, and the Islander was not more than four miles ahead of us.

I gave the pilot my views of the relative speed of the two vessels, though I told him that Captain Blastblow might get a higher rate of speed out of her than any one had done before.

"We shall soon see which sails fastest," said Captain Cayo. "The Islander has laid her course for the South-west Pass of the Mississippi. All you have to do is to follow her. There is our pilot-boat; and this is as far as we usually take vessels."

"But I don't care to have you leave us here, Captain Cayo," I replied. "It is clear enough that the Islander intends to keep out of our way. She may run in among the Dry Tortugas, and having a pilot on board, she could easily elude us."

"She might do that when she finds you are gaining on her, as I see you are, for we have made half a knot on her since we came out of the channel. But if we leave the pilot-boat behind, I can't get off the steamer when you don't want me any longer. Besides, it looks like a change of weather, and pilots are in demand when it is foggy or blows, at this season of the year."