Tom did not stop, in the midst of the exciting enterprise, to determine the particular reason of his success, as we, his humble biographer, have done.  He was on the enemy’s ground, and confronting the enemy’s forces, and logic was as much out of place as rebellion in a free republican country.  He was closely followed by Hapgood, and at a later period by Fred Pemberton.  The nerves of the latter were not remarkably steady, and as he stepped on board the schooner, he neglected to take the painter with him; and the consequence was, that the boat went adrift.  It is good generalship to keep the line of retreat open; and Fred’s neglect had deprived them of all means of retiring from the scene of action.  The only alternative was to fight their way through, and find safety in success.

To Tom’s reply, that the party were Massachusetts soldiers, the rebel who had acted as spokesman for the crew, uttered a volley of oaths, expressive of his indignation and disgust at the sudden check which had been given to their prosperous voyage.

“Surrender!” repeated Tom, in energetic tones.

Two of the rebels at the stern discharged their pistols in answer to the summons—­a piece of impudence which our Massachusetts soldiers could not tolerate; and they returned the fire.  The secessionists evidently carried revolvers; and a turn of the barrel enabled them to fire a second volley, which the soldiers were unable to do, for they had no time to load their guns.

“O!” groaned Fred, as he sunk down upon the half-deck.  “I’m hit.”

“We can’t stand this, Hapgood,” said Tom, fiercely, as he leaped into the midst of the party in the standing room.  “Let’s give them the bayonet.”

“Give it to ’em, Tom!” replied the veteran, as he placed himself by the side of his young companion.

“Will you surrender?” demanded Tom, as he thrust vigorously with his bayonet.

“We surrender,” replied one of the men; but it was not the one who had spoken before, for he had dropped off his seat upon the bottom of the boat.

“Give up your pistols, then,” added Hapgood.  “You look out for the boat, Tom, and I will take care of these fellows.”

Tom sprang to the position which had been occupied by the spokesman of the party, and grasping the foresheet and the tiller of the boat, he soon brought her up to the wind.  Seating himself in the stern, he assumed the management of the schooner, while Hapgood busied himself in taking the pistols from the hands of the rebels, and exploring their pockets, in search of other dangerous weapons.

“How are you, Fred?” shouted Tom, when the pressing business of the moment had been disposed of.  “Are you much hurt?”

“I’m afraid my time’s most up,” replied he, faintly.

“Where are you hit?”

“In the face; the ball went through my head, I suppose,” he added, in tones that were hardly audible, in the warring of the December blast.