They had managed to rig up a uniform that distinguished them from the every-day home boy. They had tents of their own, were under the orders of strict superiors, and did sentinel duty with their older comrades in the service. The boys fell into the new camp life as if they had been brought up to it. They were useful in many ways to the general service. Phil had not yet gone to Boston. It would have been a risky experiment, and, besides, he felt that his duty lay with the army, and he put off the visit from day to day. His folks had received the message sent by the carrier pigeons, so they were assured of his safety, and his volunteer chums had brought him messages from home when they came to join the army. One night Phil and Andy and their comrades came across a sailboat, evidently belonging to some Tories who had stolen across the river probably to exchange sentiments with emissaries from the interior. They were warmly commended in camp when they reported this prize moored near its river confines. Now for the second time they had made a successful foray. They had watched from ambush that afternoon a squad of redcoats cross the river in the big yawl they had just despoiled. The men had left the boat and had gone into the country to collect flour, horse feed and other supplies, paying for them in some instances, and in others intimidating the farmers into giving them the articles for nothing. The boys kept on the watch until dark, and saw the raiders load up the yawl with their plunder. Somewhere the Tories had got a supply of "fire water." They one and all congregated in a little copse near by to indulge in a free jollification before returning to camp. Phil and Andy had directed a cautious visit to the boat. The Musket Boys had taken prompt action. Every package aboard was dumped into the creek, and the despoilers had fled in safety just as the Britishers detected the trick that had been played upon them. "Some one to see you, Warrington," said a sentinel, as the party of young marauders passed into the camp. "That so?" returned Phil. "Who was it? Is he here now?" "Yes. About twenty new Boston recruits came in to-night. They've been two days coming by the Breed's Hill route. Forty started, but got blocked. This man is a neighbor of your family, and he had some message for you, I believe." "I hope there is no bad news," murmured Phil. He hurried to the little group of tents where the Musket Boys were encamped. There was one big tent where half-a-dozen of them bunked. There was a light in this, and Phil heard conversation within, pulled open the entrance flap, and noticed a man he knew seated among several of the boys. "How are you, Phil?" the newcomer said arising and greeting the boy with a hearty handshake. "You see, we are all moving into your camp gradually." "I am glad to see you, Mr. Monroe," replied Phil. "How are the folks?"