The captain questioned him about the boat more particularly; but the fugitive gave such answers as he pleased. Though the skipper was very rough and savage to the two men who formed his crew, he treated his passenger at first with much consideration. The little cabin of the schooner was a nasty hole, and if Clyde had not been very sleepy, he could hardly have closed his eyes there; but before the vessel was out of sight of Copenhagen, his slumber was deep and heavy.
The shout of the fugitive when he was in danger of being run down had been heard by the officer on the quarter-deck of the Young America. He saw the collision, and discovered the cutter when it went astern of the vessel; but he did not suspect that it belonged to the ship. The schooner filled away on her course again, after she had luffed up, and the boat was adrift. He deemed it his duty to secure it before it was stove by some early steamer from Malmö, or elsewhere, and calling the two seamen, he directed them to lower the fourth cutter. But the fourth cutter was already lowered, and the officer began to think that the boat adrift was the missing one. The third cutter, therefore, was used, and when the two seamen had pulled off in her, the officer went below and called Peaks.
The boatswain took his lantern, and went to the brig, as soon as he was told that the fourth cutter was adrift. The bird had flown. The door was secure, and all the slats were apparently in their place; but the appearance of a small quantity of saw-dust indicated where the breach had been made. A little pressure forced in the sawn slat, and Peaks understood why the prisoner had only desired to be left alone.
“Were you all asleep on deck?” asked Peaks of the officer.
“No, sir; I have not been asleep on duty,” replied Beckwith, the officer.
“Didn’t you see him lower the boat?”
“Of course I did not.”
“I don’t see how it was done, then,” added Peaks. “But where is the prisoner?”
“I don’t know. I suppose he went on board that small schooner that run down the cutter.”
“Where is she?”