The night was dark and stormy; The bay was wild and wide; And, deftly weigh’d, each paddle-blade Like velvet stroked the tide. They near’d the English frigates, They heard their sentries’ feet, They heard a bell, and then “All’s well”[9] Re-echo’d through the fleet. They pull’d around a guard-boat[9]; They struck the land, and then Filed softly out, and moved about, Like shadows more than men. They split in three small parties[10]; And each stole softly round, A sentry near a guard-house here, And there a camping ground. At last the three were guarding The house on every side, With six or eight before the gate[13] They just had open’d wide. “Your countersign!” a sentry[11] Call’d out; and Barton said: “Have none to-night”;—his tone was light— “Have here deserters fled?” “Ah, from the boats?” the guard said. “Yes,” Barton hiss’d, “from one!” But as he hiss’d he clutch’d, nor miss’d, The sentry’s throat and gun. The sentry gasp’d and gave it; Lay gunless, gagg’d, and bound. Our men had pass’d the door, at last, Nor yet had roused a sound. The Quaker sat there reading[12] “What would you have?” he said; Then, when they ask’d for Prescott, cast His eyes up o’er his head. As whist as cats the captors Crept up each tell-tale stair,[13] And cross’d the floor to where a door Was lock’d, nor time to spare. Then one of them—Jack Sisson,[13] A burly, patriot black— Bent down his frame, and, taking aim, Burst through, and flung it back. They saw the general starting,[14] And bounding forth from bed, And seizing hold his watch of gold That hung beside his head. “Let darkness take you robbers From sword,” he cried, “and shot!” “No robber harms; put up those arms,” He heard, nor left the spot. “We came to take you captive, Alive,” he heard, “or dead. If you alarm the camp, the harm Will fall on you,” they said.[14] “Move on.”—“I dress,” he told them.[15] But they, in tones polite, Replied: “Not so. We came, you know, Without our wives to-night. “Your cloak is all you need now, The night is black and hot. Your last resort—our time too short!— Thank God you were not shot.” Down stairs they march’d their captive. But hark! In some far room A window crash’d—and Barton dash’d Out doors and through the gloom. No harm was done; for others Had swiftly caught and bound The general’s aid, just where he made A leap to reach the ground.[16] So now they held three captives; And these, by daggers led, They slipt about the camp and out, As needles flit with thread.