"Excuse me, Sir!" I whispered, clutching the priest's elbow. "You're Father Holland and are to go north in my boats. Come out with me for a moment."
Thinking me tipsy, he gave me a droll glance. "'Pon my soul! Strapping fellows like you shouldn't need last rites——"
"Please say nothing! Come quickly!" and I gripped his arm.
"Bless us! It's a touch of the head, or the heart!" and he rose and followed me from the hall.
In the fresh air, dizziness left me. Sitting down on the bench, where I had lain the night before, I told him my perplexing mission. At first, I am sure he was convinced that I was drunk or raving, but my story had the directness of truth. He saw at once how easily he could leave the fort at that late hour without arousing suspicion, and finally offered to come with me to the river bank, where we might intercept Hamilton.
"But we must have a boat, a light cockle-shell thing, so we can dart out whenever the brigade appears," declared the priest, casting about in his mind for means to forward our object.
"The canoes are all locked up. Can't you borrow one from the Indians? Don't you know any of them?" I asked with a sudden sinking of heart.
"And have the whole pack of them sneaking after us? No—no—that won't do. Where are your wits, boy! Arrah! Me hearty, but what was that?"
We both heard the shutter above our heads suddenly thrown open, but darkness hid anyone who might have been listening.
"Hm!" said the priest. "Overheard! Fine conspirators we are! Some eavesdropper!"