He chose the
less tedious, though more audacious alternative of facing the guard.
He could not employ in this case the method used in passing the shore
patrol, or that adopted in crossing the line of sentinels above the
town; for here the road was the only open way through, it was flanked
by a guardhouse, it was lighted by a lantern that hung above the door,
and the sentinels were disciplined men. Philip gathered these facts in
a single glance, as he approached by slinking along the side of the
road, into which he had crawled, through a rail fence, from an
adjoining field.
He was close upon the sentinels who paced before the guardhouse, ere
he was discovered. For the third time that night, he heard the
challenge and saw the threatening movement.
"All's well," he replied. "I'll give an account of myself." And he
stepped forward, grasping one of his pistols, not by the breech, but
by the barrel.
"Stop where you are!" said the sentry, menacingly.
Philip stood still, raised the pistol, flung it at the lantern, and
instantly dropped to his knees. The sentinel's musket flashed and
cracked. Total darkness ensued. Philip glided forward between the two
men, his footfalls drowned by the sound of their curses. When past
them, he hurled his remaining pistol back over his shoulder toward a
mass of bushes on the further side of the sentinels. Its descent
through the brush had some sound of a man's leap, and would, he hoped,
lead the enemy to think he might have escaped in that direction.
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