This plan met a hearty reception; and someone forthwith proposed that Captain Ben be made leader, which was just as heartily agreed to.
It was four miles across to Long Cove, and nearly seven miles down the Beach to where the schooner lay. They took with them such provisions as could be secured, and as soon as twilight had wholly faded, pulled across the Bay. It was past nine o’clock when they made the start, for the days were then at their longest.
They struck the Beach a little east of Long Cove, but followed it up, entered the Cove, and drew their boats up.
“We’ve got plenty o’ time,” said Captain Ben, “an’ we’d better take a bite o’ what we’ve got afore we start. There’s no knowin’ when we’ll get the next chance.”
Standing around the boats or sitting on the gunwales, the men ate and drank and talked. Shortly after midnight they shouldered their arms, crossed the Beach, and began the march westward along the surf shore.
The inner side of the Beach is covered with marshes and meadows, indented most irregularly by the Bay. But along the ocean side there is a smooth piece of strand, six or eight rods wide, and flanked all along by steep sand-hills, which sometimes rise thirty feet high. Along this piece of strand lay their line of march. It was hard travelling, for the sand, unless wet, is not firm, but yields under the foot, and gives forth at every step a creaking note, doubtless caused by the particles of salt that are commingled with the sand. The sounds coming from so many footsteps made one continuous creaking, very much like the sound of a loaded wagon drawn over a snow-packed road.
The surf boomed and pounded, rushed and seethed and swirled, so that thirty rods from the group the noise of their footsteps was swallowed up. The men, though, heard the creaking continually, and it apparently grew louder and more distinct. It seemed to them to be giving the alarm of their coming to the whole Beach.
“I’m goin’ to take to the wet sand,” said a man in the middle of the group. “I’ve had enough of this everlastin’ creak, creak, creak.”
The tide was half-way down, and as he struck for the wet sand, he was followed by the rest of the company. They found the sand firmer, and the walking easier. Now and then a wave would lap up and wet their feet. They were used to wet feet, all of them; but creaking sand at every footstep on a midnight march they could not endure.