and shore. He rejoiced in the thought that it would cover all his
movements and hide him from observation. But upon reflection there was
another serious and disquieting aspect; how should he make his way and
by what objects could he mark out his course? Would he not run upon
the boats of the marine patrol and be hailed by the sentinels on the
Boyne, Somerset, and other vessels of the fleet? He must run the
chances and do the best he could.

The sentinels had been set along the wharves. The soldier guarding the
shipyard was pacing his beat immediately in front of Robert's
hiding-place. A thought came; why not seize his musket and have a
weapon of defense? Noiselessly Robert opened the door: stealthy his
step; one wrench, and the weapon was his, greatly to the astonishment
of the surprised and frightened soldier, who saw his own bayonet
pointed at his breast and heard the click of the gun-lock.

"Don't fire! Don't fire!" stammered the soldier.

"Take off that belt and cartridge box!"

The soldier obeyed the peremptory order.

"About face!"

Accustomed to obey orders, he faced as directed.

"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 anchored 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 shore 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