"How under the sun are you going to carry molasses, Washington? I guess you will have to take your coffee black and without sweetening."
"Never was such a musser at guessing," murmured Washington, as he turned into the galley. He soon reappeared with the rations, four oilskin jackets, and a coffee pot. They divided the food and each bundled up his supply in an oil skin and tied the package on his back. They were now ready to begin their journey, and one by one they silently slipped over the side and dropped into the boat below.
"Washington, you take the tiller," said Harry. "You know the way."
"Yas, sah."
"Do you know where to make a landing in the dark?"
"George Wash Jenks knows every inch of the coast hereabouts with him eyes shut."
"All right then. You get up in the bow, Midget, and keep a lookout ahead. Bert and I will row. It's not more than three hundred feet to the shore."
The boys bent to the oars and the little boat shot across the narrow streak of starlit water into the shadow of the rugged shore.
"Stop!" whispered Mason quickly, when they were within a few feet of the beach. The boys backed water and brought the boat up within her own length.
"What is it?" asked Harry, anxiously.