There was a cackle of surprise and laughter among the steamer’s officers, in which Frank and some of the passengers joined; and the saucy little “fishing-boat” came steadily on in the wake of her gigantic tide.

“This is grand for us,” remarked Dab Kinzer to Ford, as he kept his eyes on the after-lantern of the “Prudhomme.”  “They pay all our pilot-fees.”

“But they’re going to New York.”

“So are we, if to-morrow doesn’t come out clear, and with a good wind to go home by.”

“It’s better than crossing the Atlantic in the dark, anyhow.  But what a steep price we got for those fish!”

“They’re always ready to pay well for such things at the end of a voyage,” said Dab.  “I expected, though, they’d try and beat us down a peg.  They generally do.  We didn’t get much more than the fair market price, after all, only we got rid of our whole catch at one sale.”

That was a good deal better than fishermen are apt to do.

Hour followed hour; and “The Swallow” followed the steamer, and the fog followed them both so closely, that sometimes even Dick Lee’s keen eyes could with difficulty make out the “Prudhomme’s” light.  And now Ford Foster ventured to take a bit of a nap, so sure did he feel that all the danger was over, and that Captain Kinzer was equal to what Dick Lee called the “nagivation” of that yacht How long he had slept, he could not have guessed but he was awakened by a great cry from out the mist beyond them, and by the loud exclamation of Captain Kinzer, still at the tiller,—­

“I believe she’s run ashore!”

It was a loud cry, indeed, and there was good reason for it.  Well was it for all on board the great steamer, that she was running no faster at the time and that there was no hurricane of a gale to make things worse for her.  Pilot and captain had both together missed their reckoning,—­neither of them could ever afterward tell how,—­and there they were, stuck fast in the sand, with the noise of breakers ahead of them, and the dense fog all around.

Frank Harley peered anxiously over the rail again but he could not have complained that he was “wrecked in sight of shore,” for the steamer was any thing but a wreck as yet, and there was no shore in sight.

“It’s an hour to sunrise,” said Dab to Ford, after the latter had managed to comprehend the situation.  “We may as well run farther in, and see what we can see.”

It must have been aggravating to the people on board the steamer, to see that little cockle-shell of a yacht dancing safely along over the shoal on which their “leviathan” had struck, and to hear Ford Foster sing out, “If we’d known you meant to run in here, we’d have followed some other pilot.”

“They’re in no danger at all,” said Dab, “If their own boats don’t take ’em all ashore, the coast-wreckers will.”

“The government life-savers, I s’pose you mean.”

“Yes:  they’re all alongshore, here, everywhere.  Hark! there goes the distress-gun.  Bang away!  It sounds a good deal more mad than scared.”