The members of the little party quietly took the places assigned them, and the scow swung off into the middle of the river and moved slowly down-stream. The only sounds to be heard were the moaning of the wind through the bare forests and the measured dip of oars. The trip was made for the most part in silence, the men bending eagerly over the oars too much engrossed with their thoughts to indulge in idle chat. As the scow approached Portsmouth and the lights of the town glimmered in the distance, Sullivan ordered the men to row slowly. “If discovered now,” said he, “all is lost.” In a few moments they rounded a little headland and found awaiting them in the cove beyond two gondolas and a small boat containing in all some eighteen men. These were under the leadership of Captain Pickering. “Let us be off!” exclaimed Sullivan impatiently. “We must cross Portsmouth harbor before the moon shows her face again.” They pulled out into the middle of the stream in the momentary darkness, and by the time the clouds had drifted away from the moon the little fleet was within a rod of the island on which stood Fort William and Mary. All was dark and still within, and the only sound outside was the wash of the waves on the narrow beach. After a whispered consultation the men disembarked at a signal from Sullivan. Wading through the icy water they arranged themselves in line at the rear of the fort, while Pickering with three others crept cautiously in the shadow of the wall and disappeared behind one of the bastions. In a moment more a sentinel’s challenge rang out sharp and clear: “Who goes there? Stand, and give the countersign!” Pickering seized the soldier’s gun and grasped him by the throat. “Not a word more or you are a dead man,” he whispered. The men then made their way to the commandant’s room. He looked up as Sullivan and Pickering entered, but his smile of recognition changed to a blank stare as the former said with much agitation: “Captain Cochran, you are our prisoner. Your little garrison has surrendered. You had better follow its example!” Cochran glanced at the resolute faces of his captors, then tendered his sword. He was left in charge of two of the men while the rest of the party proceeded to break open the magazine. In the course of an hour and a half the powder was safe in the gondolas and the little band left the fort and began the hard task of rowing up-stream. Absolute silence was maintained, and when they finally landed at the foot of meeting-house hill and found Larry with the oxen awaiting them, they took off their heavy, nailed shoes lest a spark from them should set fire to the powder. By dawn Larry was back in his room telling the wonderful story to Tony. One half of the king’s powder was buried deep beneath the pulpit of the meeting-house, and John Demeritt, with the other half snugly hidden under a load of straw, was on the road to Madbury driving along his oxen as unconcernedly as if nothing had happened.