But this had no effect, nor were they to be frightened into
surrendering even when he fired several shots dangerously close to
them. It was too much to expect him to shoot unarmed men, and this
they knew as well as we did; so they continued to pull doggedly
round and round the ship.

"We'll run them down, then!" Charley exclaimed. "We'll wear them
out and wind them!"

So the chase continued. Twenty times more we ran them around the
Lancashire Queen, and at last we could see that even their iron
muscles were giving out. They were nearly exhausted, and it was
only a matter of a few more circuits, when the game took on a new
feature. On the row to windward they always gained on us, so that
they were half-way down the ship's side on the row to leeward when
we were passing the bow. But this last time, as we passed the bow,
we saw them escaping up the ship's gangway, which had been suddenly
lowered. It was an organized move on the part of the sailors,
evidently countenanced by the captain; for by the time we arrived
where the gangway had been, it was being hoisted up, and the skiff,
slung in the ship's davits, was likewise flying aloft out of reach.

The parley that followed with the captain was short and snappy. He
absolutely forbade us to board the Lancashire Queen, and as
absolutely refused to give up the two men. By this time Charley
was as enraged as the Greek. Not only had he been foiled in a long
and ridiculous chase, but he had been knocked senseless into the
bottom of his boat by the men who had escaped him.

"Knock off my head with little apples," he declared emphatically,