“No time to talk, fellows!” whispered Tom. “Don’t laugh till you are out of the woods. Come on, let’s be off.”
So saying, the grand commander, now as proud of his position as if he had been a brigadier-general, led the way toward the south side of the grounds, where a picket had been knocked off the fence the day before, to assist them in making their escape.
The Night-hawks were all astonished at their success, as well they might be. Not only had they thrown all their former exploits completely into the shade, but they had accomplished a feat that would be an interesting passage in the history of the Newport Military Academy, as long as that institution should stand. They pressed one another’s hands in silence as they walked along through the grounds, and more than one gave Tom a complimentary slap on the back, accompanied by the whispered exclamation:
“Newcombe, you are a jolly old brick! It takes you to manage such business as this!”
Tom easily found the place where the picket had been removed, and one after another of the boys squeezed themselves through the opening until they all stood in the road.
“Now, then,” said Tom; “I know we’re all right, but the faster we go, the more time we shall gain. Forward, double-quick.”
So elated were the deserters, that they could scarcely refrain from shouting; but, knowing that they were not yet safe, they gave vent to their exultant feelings by cutting astonishing capers as they ran along the road. Just before they arrived at the village, they separated into a half a dozen little parties, and, following different roads, bent their steps toward the creek where the Sweepstakes lay at her anchorage. In half an hour they were all assembled at the lumber-pile, where they were met by Johnny Harding and his four friends, in a state of considerable excitement.
“O, fellows,” whispered the fifth captain, wildly throwing his arms about, “we’re aground, and a thousand miles from water!”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed all the boys at once.