dnight the four whale-boats which floated the
expedition pushed off from the little cove. Jack had gone to the landing
to say "good-by" to his father, his head buzzing with things that didn't
get to his tongue, and, curiously enough, he had slipped a heavy hatchet
under his coat.

"It's for you to be hero at home just now," was the Colonel's last word.
"Two years hence, if the struggle still goes on, my brave lad shall have
a chance to strike a blow."

Jack, whose conscience smote him sorely, mumbled something as his
father's boat moved out into the storm with muffled oars. But as the
last boat slid into deep water the boy gave a spring and landed in the
stern, light as a feather. "'Sh! Not a word," said he, in a low voice.
"I'm going if I have to swim."

The officer of the boat, an old farmer, who had seen service in the
French and Indian wars, scratched his gray poll in grave doubt. "Waal, I
like yer grit fust rate, and ye come by it naturally. I guess I'll hev
to see ye through, ef it is agin the Kurnel's orders. But ye ha'nt no
we'p'n?" Jack pulled out his hatchet, and the old chap laughed again to
himself. "Blessed ef breed don't tell ary time, when it's a bull-pup."

The _Tartar_ lay at anchor two miles off the point, and on such a blind
night, with its smother of snow, it was easy to miss the goal. Orders
had been strict that the boats should keep bunched together almost
within oar's-length. True, the men of the crews knew their waters so
well that they might have bragged they could smell their way to the
frigate over that smooth black pitch like hounds on the scent. But
cocksureness was tricky on such a night. They pulled with slow strokes,
straining to catch a sound or a glimpse. It had begun to get intensely
cold, and the spit of the snow stung their faces and stiffened their
fingers. Jack's young blood was proof against rigor of frost, for his
ears sang with a roaring music, as if a pair of sea-shells had been
clapped against the sides of his skull. His veins beat like
hammer-strokes. He thought he felt a new sensation. "Can it be I'm
afraid?" he repeated to himself.

No, Jack, fear never comes that way. Fear strikes the coward to a lump
of jelly. What you feel now quivering to your finger-tips is the thing
which gives fire and mettle to every gallant heart, and nerves the
muscles to greater strength. No fighter worth his salt ever failed of
this galloping music in his veins on the eve of action. Whisper