“Royal Americans, sir,” responded Silvers, touching his forelock, while Henry did the same. “We were captured by the French and Indians about a week ago and made our escape last night.”
“If you are Royal Americans where do you belong? Certainly not in General Wolfe’s camp.”
“We belong to the army that was under General Prideaux. But he is dead, and Sir William Johnson took command.”
“Prideaux—at Fort Niagara? That is a long distance from here.”
“We were on our way to Oswego when we were taken. The French brought us across the lake, and then marched us down the river road to a prison near Sillery Cove.”
The captain of the brig listened to their tale with much interest.
“If you have been among the French you ought to be able to tell General Wolfe something worth listening to,” he said, when they had finished. “Some of the men on board are bound for his camp, and you may go along if you wish.”
“Where is his camp?” asked Henry.
“On the upper bank of this river, just below the Falls of Montmorenci. The general has been sick, but I heard this morning that he is now somewhat better.”
“May I ask if you have been in a fight with the French?” came from the young soldier curiously.