Part 45 (1/2)

”March!”

Again he obeyed, taking the regulation step as if at drill, Robert following a short distance, then halting while the soldier continued the march. With the musket and cartridge box well filled, Robert seated himself in the canoe. He knew the Boyne with seventy guns, Preston with fifty, Phoenix, Lively, Scarborough, Empress of Russia, and several other smaller vessels of the fleet were anch.o.r.ed at different points. He had noted their positions during the day, but in the darkness and fog could make no calculations in regard to them. The flowing tide would be his only guide. By drifting with it, he would be borne to the Cambridge sh.o.r.e of the Charles, to General Was.h.i.+ngton's army, providing he could dodge the s.h.i.+ps, floating batteries, and picket boats. Using the paddle, he struck out from the wharf, peering into the mist, his ears open to catch the faintest sound.

”Boat ahoy!”

The startling shout seemed to come from the sky. Looking up he saw the great black hull of the Boyne, recognizing the vessel by her triple tier of guns. He was almost beneath the bowsprit.

”Round to under the stern or I'll fire,” said the voice.

”Aye, aye, sir!” Robert replied.

While drifting past the s.h.i.+p, so near that he could touch the hull with his hands, he was deciding what to do. Reaching the stern, with a stroke of the paddle the canoe whirled under it, then shot up the other side of the s.h.i.+p into the teeth of the tide, back once more to the stern, and while the puzzled sentinels on the deck were wondering what had become of the canoe he was disappearing in the fog, the success of his strategy giving zest to his enterprise. He had kept his bearings as best he could, but was not quite certain of his position, as he drifted once more.

”Boat ahoy! Who goes there?”

The challenge came, not from overhead, but from the fog before him. A backward stroke arrested his movement. Again the hail and no reply.

”Up with the anchor! Out with your oars!”

Evidently he had drifted upon one of the boats anch.o.r.ed in the ferry-way. Paddling away, he suddenly heard the swash of waves, and found himself approaching a wharf, but on which side the river he could not say.

”Boat ahoy! Halt, or I'll fire,” the hail that came to him.

Peering into the mist, he saw the dim outline of a soldier raising his musket.

”Hold on. Don't fire. Please point me in the direction of the Boyne,”

said Robert.

The sentinel lowered his musket as if saying to himself, ”This must be one of the officers of the frigate who has been on sh.o.r.e having a good time.”

”The Boyne is right out in that direction,” said the sentinel, pointing with his musket, ”but my orders are not to let any one pa.s.s along the wharf after ten o'clock without they give the countersign.”

”All right; always obey orders. I'll come to the wharf.”

Robert could hear the dip of oars in the fog, and knew it must be the patrol boat pursuing him. He paddled towards the wharf as if to give the countersign, but the next moment shot under it as the other boat approached.

”Boat ahoy!” he heard the sentinel shout.

”Ahoy yourself! We are the patrol. Have you seen a canoe?”

”Yes, and the man inquired where the Boyne was lying, and disappeared quicker than greased lightning when he heard you coming.”

Robert was making his way, the while, amid the piles of the wharf. He knew the tide must be near its full flood, for he had to crouch low in the canoe, and the barnacles upon the piles were nearly covered with the water. He doubted if the patrol could follow him. Should he remain secreted? No. They might light a torch and discover him. Noiselessly he paddled amid the piles to the farther side of the wharf, and then glided from its shelter along the sh.o.r.e, screened from the patrol by the projecting timbers, and was once more in the stream. He could no longer be guided by the tide or drift with it. The wind had died away.

It was blowing from the east when he started, but now only by waving his hand could he ascertain its direction. Whether it had changed he could not know. It was a welcome sound that came to his ears--the clock on the Old Brick Meetinghouse striking the hour. He thought of Ruth, asleep in her white-curtained chamber so near the bell, and of her goodness, her brave heart, that bade him go. The tones came to him over his right shoulder, when they ought to be over the left. He must be headed in the wrong direction. It was not easy for him to reason it out; yet, if he would reach Cambridge, he must turn squarely round. It was plain that he had not made much progress. He knew that several wars.h.i.+ps and floating batteries and picket boats must be lying between his position and the Americans, but he must go on. Suddenly a dark object loomed before him, and a hail as before came from the deck of a s.h.i.+p.

”Come alongside, or I'll fire.”

What should he do? He saw a blinding flash. A bullet whizzed over his head, and the report of the musket awoke the echoes along the sh.o.r.e.

It was from the stern of the s.h.i.+p. Again, a flash from the bow, and a bullet pattered into the water. Suddenly the light of a torch brought into full view a marine holding it over the side of the vessel.