“Look here, Master Boyd,” I said, seized by a sudden idea, “why should you not take this matter in hand? You can make a success where we would meet only with failure.” “I’m not minded to dirty my hands more than is necessary,” the old man replied emphatically. “If traitors are to be turned loose instead of hanged, let some one else work the traverse.” There was little thought in my mind that I might be able to convince Silas Boyd it was his duty to help us yet further than had been promised; but, having nothing better to do, I set about the task, and by virtue of soft words, mingled with much flattery, I finally succeeded so far that he said, as if angry because of having yielded:-- “I’ll make a try for it, lad, though it’s hard lines when a man at my time of life sets about lendin’ traitors a helpin’ hand. Get into the boat, an’ see that Alec is with you, for if it so be I succeed, we’ll need to get away in a hurry.” Then the old gunner went below, and I walked aft where my comrade was standing near the head of the companionway, hoping, most likely, that his brother might come on deck to offer some suggestion. An exclamation of relief and joy burst from his lips when I repeated what had passed between Master Boyd and myself, and it can readily be fancied that we lost no time in taking our places in the little craft, which had been borrowed from one of the gunboats, as I afterward learned. During fully an hour we remained silent and motionless, alternately hoping old Silas would succeed, and fearing lest he had been discovered, and then two dark forms appeared on the rail above us. I would have called aloud in order to make certain who they were, but that Alec prevented any such indiscretion by placing his hand firmly over my mouth, and while I was thus powerless to speak the gunner and the traitor descended. Old Silas cast off the painter, giving the light skiff a vigorous push which sent her far away from the brig’s side, and when we were swallowed up by the gloom Alec and I plied the oars. “Where shall we land?” my comrade asked, when we were midway between the brig and the shore. “It makes little difference,” Master Boyd replied sulkily, as if angry with himself because of having taken part in such business. “So that we gain the mainland, one place is as good as another.” No other word was spoken until the skiff’s bow grated upon the sand, and our prisoner arose to his feet. Then he said in a low tone, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion:-- “I shall never forget what has been done this night. The word of one like me is not counted for much by those who hold true to their country, yet I ask you to believe it. I have come to realize fully the enormity of my crime, although until taken prisoner I believed myself justified in the course pursued. From this moment it shall be my earnest endeavor to repair the wrongs committed against my countrymen.”