Three seamen, with a pistol in one hand and a cutlass in the other, were directed to remain on board of the sloop; but the party had been disarmed, and their muskets were in the bottom of the cutter, and they were not likely to attempt any resistance.

The painter of the sloop was made fast to the stern of the Bronx's boat, and Mr.Pennant gave the order for the crew to give way.
It had been a battle on a small scale, but the victory had been won, and the cutter was towing her prize in the direction of the gunboat.

The lieutenant's first care was to attend to Hilton, the stroke oarsman who had been wounded in the affair.

He placed him in a comfortable position on the bottom of the boat, and then examined into his condition.
A bullet had struck him in the right side, and the blood was flowing freely from the wound.

Mr.Pennant did the best he could for his relief, and the man said he was comfortable.
"Sail ahead!" shouted the bow oarsman, looking behind him.
"What is it, Gorman ?" asked the lieutenant, standing up in his place.
"A steamer, sir," answered Gorman.
"I see her; it is the Bronx," added Mr.Pennant.
By this time it was broad daylight, and apparently the fog was not as dense as it had been earlier in the morning.