"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 Washington's army, providing he could dodge the ships, 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 ship, 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 ship 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 warships 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 ship.

"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 ship. 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.

Another marine by his side was reloading his musket. A thought came--they had opened fire upon him; why not pay them in the same coin. Dropping the paddle, he raised the musket he had wrenched from the sentinel. The torch revealed the form of him who held it,--a man with weather-beaten features, hard and cold. He was so near that it would be easy to send a bullet through his heart. Should he do it? Why not? Had he not been down to death's door through brutal treatment from the redcoats? Why not take revenge? No, he could not quench life forever, bring sorrow, perchance, to some household far away; but he would put out that torch. He ran his eye along the gun-barrel, pulled the trigger, and sent the bullet through the upraised arm. The torch fell into the water, and all was dark.

"We are attacked! Beat to quarters," was the shout on the ship.

He heard the roll of drums. Men leaped from their hammocks. There was hurrying of feet, rattling of ropes, and shouting of orders. Again a musket flashed and a bullet pierced the canoe, reminding him he was near enough to the ship to be seen. A few strokes of the paddle and he was beyond their aim. Suddenly he discovered the canoe was filling with water through the hole made by the bullet. Several minutes pa.s.sed before he could find it, in the darkness; the canoe gradually sinking the while. When found, at last, he thrust in his finger and reflected what next to do. It was plain that the leak must be stopped, but how?

He could not sit with his finger in the hole and drift wherever the tide might take him. Removing his finger, he would soon be sinking.

"Ah! I have it," he said to himself. It was but the work of a moment to cut a bit of rope from the coil at his feet and thrust it into the opening, stopping the leak.

But the canoe was water-logged; how should he get rid of it? To scoop out with the paddle would attract attention and bring the whole patrol to the spot; there was a better way.

"I'll use my hat for a bucket," he said to himself.

He bailed the canoe and reloaded the musket, drifting the while. Where he was he could not determine. Suddenly a musket flashed, high up in the air, and a bullet fell into the water by his side. He could see the faint outline of topmasts and yard-arms, and the figure of a man upon the shrouds. He aimed as best he could and pulled the trigger.

"I'm shot!" were the words that came to him through the mist.

"Give 'em the six-pounder with grape," said a voice, followed by a blinding flash, a swish in the water, the roar of a cannon. It had been fired at random, and he was unharmed. Once more he used the paddle, wondering what next would happen.

What the meaning of that flash in the distance? What that plunge in the water not far away? What that deep, heavy roar reverberating along the sh.o.r.e? Surely it must be a shot from General Washington's cannon.

And now all around he heard voices, and boatswains' whistles. Soon the great guns of the warships were flashing; shot were plunging into the water, and sh.e.l.ls bursting in the air.

"I have kicked up a big racket," said Robert to himself as he listened to the uproar.

What should he do? The tide was beginning to ebb. Why not go with it down the harbor, reach one of the islands, wait till daylight, and then shape his course, instead of attempting to pa.s.s the pickets patrolling the river with everybody on the alert. While the cannon were flashing he drifted with the ebbing tide. Another dark object suddenly loomed before him, but no hail came from its deck. Plainly it was one of the transports. Another, and still no hail. The cannonade was dying away; suddenly, bells all around him were striking. He must be in the midst of the fleet of transports; it was four o'clock, the hour to change the watch. He heard once more the bell of the Old Brick,--he could tell it by its pitch. Wind, tide, and the meetinghouse bell enabled him to calculate his position: he could not be far from the Castle; he resolved to make for Dorchester Heights.

Day was breaking and the fog lifting. In the dawning light he shaped his course. No patrol challenged him. Through the rising mist he discerned the outline of the sh.o.r.e and heard the gentle ripple of waves upon the beach. To leave the canoe was like bidding good-by to a faithful friend, but with cartridge-box and musket he stepped ash.o.r.e and soon found himself upon the spot which he had scanned with the telescope from the Brandon home.

It was plain that he had not miscalculated its value as a military position,--that cannon planted there could plunge their b.a.l.l.s upon the great fleet of transports, or upon a vessel attempting to enter or depart from the harbor. He descended the western slope of the hill, reached a narrow path leading across the marsh land, and made his way to Roxbury, to be warmly welcomed by General Nathanael Greene.

"You must tell General Washington about Dorchester Heights. I am going to dine with him to-day, and you must go with me," said General Greene, who informed Robert that Lieutenant Robert Walden was supposed to have been killed about the same time that Doctor Warren fell.

"But I am here and ready to give an account of myself," Robert replied.

It was a pleasure to be in the saddle once more,--to ride with General Greene along the works which his troops had constructed. They dismounted at the house of Mr. Va.s.sall in Cambridge, where General Washington had established his headquarters. The commander-in-chief was pleased to welcome him and listen to his story.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Washington's Headquarters.]

"I think, General Washington, that if cannon could be planted there the British fleet could be driven from the harbor. It is a high hill and very commanding. Troops ascending it would do so in the face of a plunging fire from those on the summit. It occurred to me while standing there, that if hogsheads were to be filled with stones and sent rolling upon an a.s.saulting force, it would be an effective means of defense."

"You must dine with me to-day, Lieutenant Walden. I want Colonel Knox, who commands the artillery, and who is to be here with his estimable wife, to hear what you have to say."

It was a pleasure to meet Colonel Henry Knox and Mrs. Knox.

"We all thought you went down in the melee at Bunker Hill, and yet here you are," said Colonel Knox.

"Yes, and ready to do what I can to drive the redcoats into the sea."

Mrs. Knox was delighted to hear from her old-time a.s.sociate, Berinthia Brandon. She said that Tom was giving a good account of himself. There were tears in the eyes of all when he told them how Miss Ruth Newville had used her influence, she the daughter of a Tory, to save him.