So there would still be some little
shipping, and its accessories, at the wharves.
Though the British occupation had greatly changed the aspect of the
town by daylight, it had not altered the topography of that part which
Philip had to traverse, and the darkness that served as his shield was
to him no impediment. Many a time, in the old days, we had chased and
fled through those streets and alleys, in make-believe deer-hunts or
mimic Indian warfare. So, without a collision or a stumble, he made
his way swiftly to the mouth of a street that gave upon the
water-front, by the Faringfield warehouse where so many busy days of
his boyhood and youth had passed, and opposite the wharves.
He paused here, lacking knowledge whether the river front was guarded
or not. He saw no human being, but could not be sure whether or not
some dark form might emerge from the dimness when he should cross to
the wharves. These, like the street and the roofs, were snow-covered.
Aloft beyond them, but close, two or three faint lights, tiny yellow
islets in a sea of gloom, revealed the presence of the shipping on
which he had counted. He could hear the slap of the inky water against
the piles, but scarce another sound, save his own breathing.
He formed the intention of making a noiseless dash across the
waterside street, with body bent low, to the part of the wharf where a
small boat was most like to be.
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