“Stop her, of course.” replied Tom.
“That’s easy enough said, but not so easily done. We had better send word up to the battery, and let them open upon her,” suggested Fred.
“Open upon the man in the moon!” replied Tom, contemptuously. “Don’t you see she is under sail, and driving down like sixty? We must board her!”
Tom spoke in an emphatic whisper, and pointed to a small boat, which lay upon the shore. The craft approaching was a small schooner apparently about five tons burden. The secessionists of Baltimore or elsewhere had chosen this dark and tempestuous night to send over a mail and such supplies as could not be obtained, for love or money, on the other side of the Potomac. Of course, they expected to run the risk of a few shots from the Union pickets on the river; but on such a night, and in such a sea, there was very little danger of their hitting the mark.
Up the creek the water was comparatively smooth; but the little schooner was driving furiously down the stream, with the wind on her quarter, and the chances of making a safe and profitable run to the rebel line, those on board, no doubt, believed were all in their favor.
“We have no time to lose,” said Hapgood, with energy, as he pushed off the boat, which lay upon the beach. “Tumble in lively, and be sure your guns are in good order.”
“Mine is all right,” added Tom, as he examined the cap on his musket, and then jumped into the boat.
“So is mine,” said Fred; “but I don’t much like this business. Do you know how many men there are in the schooner?”
“Don’t know, and don’t care,” replied Tom.
“Of course they are armed. They have revolvers, I’ll bet my month’s pay.”