Chapter XII: Shows How Ezra and the Adventurer Won by the British Fleet

The night was moonless and without stars; a fresh breeze was blowing from the landward; this, together with the strong strokes of the rowers, drove the dory forward at a good rate of speed.

Two tall ranges of lights were visible directly ahead and the oarsmen headed to pass in the thick murk between them. And this they would have safely done had it not been for the unforeseen. The little craft was driving along in fine style, when suddenly out of the darkness loomed the towering bulk of a ship without lights. Before they could prevent it, the dory fouled the chains; Scarlett was thrown from his seat amid a clatter of oars.

A sharp outcry came from the ship’s deck. Feet were heard running forward and lights began to flash.

“Quick!” breathed Ezra, dragging the discomfited adventurer into his seat. “To your oars before they make us out.”

Scarlett had just recovered his stroke and pushed the boat away from the ship’s bow, when a solid shot, directed by the owner of a pair of sharp eyes, fell into the water beside them. Had they delayed another moment, it would have dropped into the boat, stove in the bottom and sunk them.

But they not only escaped this by their quick recovery, but also escaped the lights that were lowered over the side.

“It was a clever trick,” spoke Scarlett, guardedly. “They kept no lights burning, for the purpose of entrapping any one that should attempt to steal by.”

They pulled noiselessly away, out into the harbor and into the thick of the British ships. They heard the creaking of blocks as boats were lowered from the vessel with which they had collided; then they heard the splash of their oars. But they continued their strong, regular tugging at the sweeps, and gradually left the sounds behind. One by one they passed the ships; once, indeed, there came a doubtful hail; but they rested upon their oars for a full ten minutes and it was not repeated. Finally, as far as they could make out, they were free of all obstacles and fell to the sweeps with a will.

In a little while again, they stepped the mast and hoisted the lug-sail. The breeze caught and filled this, and away the boat swept into the darkness, like a night-bird skimming the surface of the sea.

After a good hour’s running they began to beat to and fro; but when the first glimmer of dawn struck the water they found themselves between Spectacle and Castle Islands; sighting Dorchester Point, they put for it with the lug full of wind, for several small sail of a suspicious nature were in plain view toward Thompson’s Island.

As the dory neared the point, the American sentinels sighted it; there was a three-gun battery planted at no great distance, and this was trained upon the flying little craft. Some difficulty was had in getting ashore, and when they had scrambled to solid ground, they found a file of men, ununiformed, but armed with long-barreled rifles and in charge of a youthful lieutenant.

“You will please give an account of yourselves,” announced this latter in a businesslike tone of voice.

Scarlett sat down, drew off his boots and emptied the water from them. Ezra, however, gave his attention to the lieutenant.

“Sir,” said he, “we are sympathizers of the colonies who have just made our way out of Boston through the fleet.”

The young officer, who wore a new, spick and span blue uniform turned up with red, regarded them suspiciously.

“That,” said he, with a glance out at the ominous black hulks that were now plainly showing through a faint early morning mist, “would be a hard thing to do.”

“It was,” smiled Ezra, “and good fortune alone enabled us to accomplish it.”

The young lieutenant, proud of his new trappings and his new office, saw fit to regard the two with great suspicion.

“My orders are to apprehend any one coming from the seaward,” spoke he, importantly. “So it will be my duty to hold you until the colonel arrives to inspect this post.”

“And when will that be?” asked Gilbert Scarlett.

“Toward noon, or perhaps somewhat later,” replied the lieutenant.

The soldier of fortune drew on his wet boots and stood up.

“Sir,” observed he, his legs wide apart and his thumbs hooked in his belt, “you seem to have very little notion as to the value of time. We have but a few hours to go about the business of saving the colonial army.”

The youthful officer started at this. But there was that in the hectoring tone of Gilbert Scarlett which he did not like. So he frowned and said sharply:

“If you have anything to impart my commission, issued by the Provincial Congress, makes me a proper person to hear it.”

That the speaker was right, even though unnecessarily stubborn, Ezra saw at once. But with the hot-headed adventurer it was a different matter.

Without more ado, he whipped out his long sword, and addressed the lieutenant with careless superiority.

“Step to one side,” directed he, “and have your fellows do the same, or I’ll contrive a piece of work for you that none of you will forget.”

The lieutenant spoke swiftly to his men. They threw forward their rifles; and Ezra had just sprung between them and Scarlett when there came a quiet, chuckling voice, saying:

“Hot work, Master Prentiss! Hot work, upon my word!”

All eyes went toward the point from where the voice proceeded; and all, even to the angry Scarlett and the stubborn lieutenant, burst into a laugh.

Upon a large flat stone, at no great distance, sat a dwarfish figure. The short legs were crossed Turkish fashion, and the huge head, with its stiff crest of hair, was bent forward, the chin resting upon his palms.

“What!” said Ezra, astonished. “Is it you, Porcupine?”

The imp grinned, showing his strong white teeth.

“It is no one else,” answered he, arising. “I had just come down this way to look about me before the others were awake. And,” with a look at Scarlett, “it’s a good thing that I have. Your friend there seems to want to get himself into mischief.”

Scarlett sheathed his sword with a flourish.

“I crave the pardon of your assured smallness,” said he with a sweep of his feathered hat. “It is a trick of the temper that lasts but a moment. I also,” turning to the lieutenant, “ask pardon of you, sir.”

The young officer nodded stiffly and gestured the long rifles away. Then he turned and gave ear to the dwarf, who claimed his attention.

“Porcupine, you call him?” said Scarlett, his eyes traveling over the stunted body. “And a very good name it is, indeed. Was there ever such a stiff crest of hair upon a human before? Have you known him long?”

“He rode with myself and some friends from Philadelphia last fall,” replied Ezra, “and proved himself of value to us all. He is faithful, watchful, shrewd and has uncommon courage.”

“Excellent!” cried the soldier of fortune, with high admiration. “In those you have some beautiful qualities for so small a youth.”

At the Porcupine’s low-spoken words, the face of the American lieutenant changed in expression.

“If Master Brewster and his friends will vouch for these gentlemen,” said he, “that will be enough for me.”

“I will fetch them at once,” said the dwarf.

Ezra advanced a step or two eagerly.

“You don’t mean to say that Nat is hereabouts!” said he.

The Porcupine grinned and replied:

“Not only Nat, but Ben and George as well. We all rode this way yesterday, after a journey which we had been on for Dr. Warren to the lower counties.”

“Then make haste and tell them of this,” said Ezra, delighted. “Tell them that it is of great importance that they should come at once.”

“I’m off,” said the Porcupine. And away he darted, his short legs twinkling at a most marvelous speed.

“It will all be arranged without difficulty in a little time now,” said Ezra to the adventurer.

“Fortune favors us in spite of my bad temper,” replied Scarlett. Then he added, after the fashion of a philosopher: “Never allow your dependence upon your sword to become your greatest asset. It is a mistake. The wise man always waits until the end before he takes matters into his own keeping. For at the last moment, Fortune may fling her rarest gifts at his feet.”

The lieutenant now spoke.

“In these days, gentlemen,” said he, “one cannot be too careful. I am dangerously placed here, and with but few men. I can, therefore, afford to trust nobody.”

“Sir,” said Scarlett promptly and with a wave of the hand, “say no more about it. You are young and unaccustomed to your work; but you have done well for all.”

The lieutenant was fully as old as the speaker; and he was regarding Scarlett with a puzzled look, when there came a clatter of hoofs upon the road and up clashed Ben Cooper, George Prentiss and Nat Brewster, the latter bearing the dwarf before him in the saddle.

With one accord they leaped to the ground and clustered about Ezra with cries of welcome and delight.

“Why, it’s a good month since you left us,” cried Ben.

“We’d all but given you up for dead,” said George, gravely.

“But we’re glad to have you back,” spoke Nat Brewster, quietly. “The cause would be the poorer for the loss of Ezra Prentiss.”

“Master Brewster,” and the lieutenant addressed Nat, whose grave manner always caused him to be selected from the group upon occasions like this, “these gentlemen but a short time ago landed here in a boat. They claim to have come from Boston, and this one,” indicating Ezra, “claims to be acquainted with you.”

“I can vouch for him,” cried Nat, his strong hand upon Ezra’s shoulder, “and,” with a quick look at Scarlett, “if this gentleman is a friend of his, I can vouch for him also.”

“While my acquaintance with him is something less than two months’ duration,” said Ezra, “I can safely say that he is a friend in everything that the term implies.”

Nat shook Scarlett by the hand, and Ben, George and the Porcupine followed in their turn; and as they did so, Ezra told the adventurer their names.

“I have heard of you all many times,” said Scarlett with vast satisfaction. “And I have listened to some of your experiences of nights at our inn, the ‘Jolly Rover.’ After hearing them, and seeing you, I can say that it all affords me much pleasure.”

“I recall Ezra telling us of you after his return from Chelmsford some time since,” said Nat. “He said that you appeared to be a gentleman of parts.”

The adventurer assumed his favorite attitude.

“If experience makes for quality, I am to be pardoned if I claim it,” said he. “I was younger than the youngest of you when I fought my first field, and since then I have seen service under many flags.” All the time he spoke, and in fact before he began, his eyes went alternately from Ezra to George and back again. Now he broke off his remarks and addressed the latter: “Your name, sir, is——?”

“George Prentiss,” replied the boy.

Scarlett turned to Ezra.

“Your grandfather called you George,” said he, shrewdly.

“Because of a mistake,” said Ezra, his face flushed as he called to mind the fact that the mistake was not corrected.

The soldier of fortune seemed to divine this feeling; he slapped Ezra upon the back.

“No,” said he, “never be ashamed that you did not undeceive him. What you did was for the best.” Then, with another look at George, “I scarcely blame the old gentleman for his blunder. Your brother is most marvelously like you.”

Here George said eagerly to Ezra:

“You have seen grandfather?”

“Twice while in Boston. He is well.”

“But as staunch for the King as ever?”

“Yes.”

They had left the guard and were making their way along a narrow road, the horses, under care of the Porcupine, following. Nat now spoke.

“That you have been in Boston,” said he to Ezra, “is astonishing news. But that you have slipped out again seems almost impossible.”

“Yet here we are,” smiled Ezra.

“But tell us about it,” urged Ben Cooper, his round, good-natured face full of expectancy. “We are all but gaping to hear it.”

So with that, as they walked along, Ezra related how on that April night at Charlestown, he had been seized with a desire to venture toward the “Indian’s Head.” Then how he met with the spy Pennington, and also, for the second time, with Scarlett. From the experiences at the inn, he went to the crossing of the river, the interview with his grandfather and General Gage and the long stay at the “Jolly Rover” in Ship Street. But when the latter part of the story was told, the eyes of Nat, George and Ben opened widely; the Porcupine, back with the horses, executed a caper in the road.

“An attack!” said Nat, his face all alight.

“At last!” cried George, with an involuntary tug at his belt.

“We’ll make them run as we did before,” declared Ben Cooper.

But, as was usual, Nat’s was the practical mind.

“It is good news,” said he, “and we are all glad of it. But the next move, I think, is to get it to the ears of General Ward.”

A chorus of assent followed this. In a few minutes they reached an encampment of colonists; to a gray-haired captain, a veteran of the Louisburg, Nat represented the case as far as he saw fit and asked that two mounts be loaned them.

“We haven’t horses enough for our own use,” said the captain. “But if it is, as you say, a matter of great importance, why of course you must be accommodated.”

Accordingly the nags were brought forward and saddled. Then all six, with the dwarf riding with Nat, mounted and rode off at a smart canter, heading for Cambridge and General Ward.