“We are in a pickle now surely!” groaned Henry. “I believe they are going to take us down the river.”
It was not until late at night when the anchor was hoisted and the sails of the sloop were set. Then the craft slipped by the island, and past Fort Frontenac, and stood boldly down the stream in the direction of the Thousand Islands.
CHAPTER X
IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY
The night passed slowly to the two prisoners confined in the narrow space of the sloop’s cuddy. No one came to speak to them, and as hour after hour went by first one and then the other dropped off to sleep.
When Henry awoke it was broad daylight, and the sloop was bounding along at a rapid rate of speed. Through the one narrow window of the cuddy he saw that they were passing a shore filled with waving grass and dotted here and there with low trees.
“We are going down the St. Lawrence, that is certain. But to where?”
In vain he asked the question of himself, and then of Silvers. The sharpshooter merely shrugged his shoulders.
“I know nothing of these parts, lad,” he said. “We must take what comes.”
At noon they received a scanty meal and a drink of lukewarm water. A sailor served this, and as he could talk French only they learned nothing from him.