nd 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 shore.
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 w