Barclugh was taken aboard and informed that he could bunk in the cuddy until morning. Then the fishermen hoisted sail and cast off the moorings. He gladly accepted the offer, for he had been well fed by the Swede’s wife, and what he most needed was rest.
A long bag full of marsh grass was in the bunk to lie upon, and a dunnage bag made his pillow. The cuddy was as neat and clean as one could expect aboard a fisherman’s craft. When the water went swishing by on the sloop’s planking, Barclugh fell into a sound sleep.
The two Swedes were brothers. One was married, and the other was his partner in the fishing trade. The lad was a nephew that had come from Sweden to live with his uncles. They plied their occupation between Little Egg Harbor inlet and Philadelphia, and sold their catch to Sven Svenson. In the summer season they took out enough ice each trip to keep their fish until their return, and when Barclugh boarded their sloop they were in a hurry to get to Philadelphia in the shortest time possible.
The wind was light when the sun went down, but with the rising of the moon the wind freshened and carried them down the coast at eight knots an hour.
Nothing disturbed the serenity of the trip. When everything was sailing smoothly, the older one crawled into the cuddy and occupied the bunk opposite Barclugh. He slept soundly until after midnight, when he relieved his brother and let him turn in.
At sunrise Barclugh arose and after freshening up with a good wash, he looked around to see where they were. He saw the sloop heading northwest, and a low-lying point of land astern.
“Where are we now?” he asked, as he took a good long breath of fresh air.
“Wee aare finfe hoors sail fram Pheeladalpheea, Meester,” was the reply of the Swede at the tiller.
The younger one was busy at the cooking of the morning meal. Barclugh discouraged talk and the Swedes knew what they had been given the guineas for.
The British spy took a seat forward and began to swell with exultation when he pondered over his journey to New York, his interview with General Clinton, and his participation in the capture of the Holker. Now he was speeding to the conclusion of his journey,—the sloop skimmed over the rolling waves of the Atlantic, as his enthusiasm grew apace, and he thought of the subjugation of West Point by intrigue.