A short time before the _North Land_, gliding noiselessly at about fifty-five turns (less than half speed) through the still waters of the canal, reached the vicinity of Buzzards Bay village, (which is at the farther end of it as you go from Boston) Mr. Pentecost had left the pilot house in the manner described to you a moment ago, gone below to the hurricane deck, and hurried aft on the starboard outside passageway until he reached the fantail deck at the stern. Alfred was waiting for him there in the dark. He had fixed a knotted rope so that it hung over the stern rail nearly to the water, the upper end made fast to a stanchion. The two waited silently in the gloom until they could hear the raucous clanging of the warning bell on the drawbridge, which commenced its clatter when the great draw swung up into the air, and kept it going until it was down in place again. This was the Bourne highway bridge and in a couple of minutes the steamer was passing through. A moment after that, while the bell was still ringing and the passengers on the decks above watching the draw slowly descend, Pentecost, who had hold of the rope, clambered over the rail and lowered himself to the level of the main deck, which was the next one below. This deck was closed in at the stern, but he got a foothold on the ribbon piece and from there let himself down into the water without the least noise. It was so quiet, with the steamer slipping along at scarcely more than steerage way, that a splash might have attracted attention if the bell on the draw should stop ringing. The overhang of the counter made him safe from the propellers, and the water kicked up by them amounted to very little. He was whirled around two or three times, but it didn’t even duck him. A few strokes brought him to shore. But he didn’t come up on the banks till the _North Land_ was going through the draw of the railroad bridge, a little further on, for there were lights along the shore of the canal, and he wasn’t taking any chances. Coming up on the low flat that bordered the waterway at this place, he quickly found the marks of an old road through it, and followed this with the aid of his flashlight which he quickly undid from its waterproof wrappings. He hardly needed it though, as of course he’d been over every inch of the ground. Coming to the embankment of the bridge approach, he still kept to the cart tracks which turned along the side of the embankment and then climbed it, bringing him out on the Bourne Road at a point nearly opposite the Soldier’s Monument.