The moon climbed higher and higher in the heavens, and soon there came to the ears of the watchers by the church the plash of oars. Larry bent forward, and his keen eyes detected a small black speck on the surface of the river. At the same time the sound of rapid footsteps was heard, and the two boys hastily entered the church and stumbling through the dark entry felt their way along the aisle and crouched down in one of the pews. Meantime, a man closely wrapped in a military cloak had taken their place in front of the church and stood looking out on the water. He, too, saw the dark object. Raising his fingers to his lips he gave a shrill whistle, which was promptly answered from the river, and in a short time eleven men, armed with muskets, came creeping stealthily up the hill, single file. “We are late, Captain Sullivan,” called out a gay voice, “but His Majesty has several devoted subjects hereabouts, and we did not dare venture within range of their prying eyes until after dark.” “Peace, Scammel, or that merry voice of yours will be starting some of these same good folks from their firesides,” returned Sullivan. “My trusty men!” there was a triumphant ring in his voice as he greeted them each by name--“Captain Winborn Adams, Eleazer Bennett, Ebenezer Thompson, John Demeritt, Alpheus Chesley, Jonathan Chesley, John Spenser, Micah Davis, Isaac Small, Benjamin Small, Alexander Scammel--thank God! not one of you is missing. And now, is everything ready yonder?” He pointed to the church. “See for yourself, Captain,” answered one of the men; and opening the door he paused to light a lantern which stood in the little entry. The eleven men followed him, their heavy boots clattering on the bare floor--down the aisle, to the pulpit. Here he stopped, and held the lantern high above his head. By the dim light they saw the deep pit, the loosened boards, and the pile of earth standing ready for filling in again. “’Tis well planned,” said the Captain, nodding approvingly. “It is the last place the British will think of searching for their lost powder. When Paul Revere came riding in hot haste into Portsmouth town last night, bearing despatches from the Massachusetts Committee of Safety saying the king had ordered the seizure of all the powder and arms in the provinces, and that two of Gage’s regiments were on their way to garrison Portsmouth and Fort William and Mary here in Piscataqua harbor, I made up my mind that what was done must be done quickly. For if England forces us to fight--and it looks that way now--’twere well to have something to fight with.” “In good sooth, Captain Sullivan,” returned Scammel, “we should have to fight with the butt-end of our muskets, for powder and bullets are as scarce as roses at Christmas.”