"Well, well, McCune," he said, shaking the man roughly; "asleep at your post, man! It will never do!"
The sentry drew himself up as best he could, and his musket snapped to a present. "Pardon me, Lieutenant," he said. "Do not report me, or I will get the lash." The poor fellow trembled as he spoke.
"Let it not occur again," said George, "and I will see."
"May the saints bless you, sir!" said the sentry thickly, as he watched the figure of his supposed officer disappearing about the corner. It was at this moment that Anderson and William were holding their talk at the tavern.
At eleven o'clock a small boat jumped about under the rafters at the end of Striker's wharf. A man with a boat-hook held it securely against the pier head.
"'Tis time he were coming," he said to another behind.
IN AN INSTANT THE BOAT SWEPT OUT INTO THE SWIRLING TIDE.
At that moment a soft hail was heard, and a young man bent over the edge of the timbers. In an instant he had lowered himself into the boat, the oars were manned, and it had swept out into the swirling tide of the river.
Hardly had it disappeared when another figure of the same size and general appearance came on a quick walk to the water's edge. He hailed softly, looking under the pier.