Though Conrad was not allowed to go to Schoharie with his father and the other deputies, he was allowed to see them on their way. The evening following the council at which their plans were made, the moon rose late, a fact which suited their purposes.
"We can slip away in the darkness, and still have the moon to light our journey," said John Conrad. "It may be that they are watching us. There will be two boats, and these must be brought back, since we may find a shorter path through the forest when we return."
Conrad's blue eyes lifted to his father's in appeal.
"Let me go with you and bring the boats back. I can row well and I will be very careful."
John Conrad consulted with his friends. When they said "yes," Conrad rushed to get ready.
The journey to Albany consumed three days. Here and there, where the banks of the river were low, the travelers saw fine farms which they longed to possess. They did not dare to stop, however, to inspect the land, since it seemed to them that they could hear on every breeze the sound of pursuers, bidding them return to the slavery which was worse than death. There were no villages and they passed but few boats. If they were hailed, Conrad answered in the best English he could muster.
Albany was only a small settlement, but here was stationed the garrison of soldiers from which the company had been sent to subdue the Germans, and therefore recognition and arrest were easily possible. The two boats were beached late in the afternoon below the town, and here the deputies hid until nightfall.
When darkness came Conrad, rowing one boat and towing the other, dropped quietly downstream with the current. In a thick wood to which his father had pointed him on the upward journey, he stayed alone during the warm September night. He was tired, but it was a long time before he could go to sleep. He heard a gentle wind moving the treetops; he heard a twig snap near by, as though some wild creature were coming closer and closer with sinister intent. Several times he sprang to his feet. When the dim landscape appeared unchanged and without living inhabitants, he lay down once more.
Still he could not sleep. His thoughts traveled to Livingston Manor with its cruel disappointments, to the long ocean journey, to Blackheath, even to Gross Anspach. What vague, splendid dreams he had had of the future and of the new land! He had dreamed of becoming rich and powerful and important, and all he had succeeded in doing was gathering a few pine knots! Remembering that childish service, he laughed bitterly. If his father had given him his way he might have done better, but his father would not believe that he was a man. Then, before more dreary thoughts came to depress him, he fell asleep, his head pillowed on his arm, his weary body finding the hard ground a downy bed.
Early in the morning he continued his journey down the river, his eyes watching carefully for enemies. But no emissaries of an angry Governor came to meet him. The Germans were, it was plainly evident, wholly abandoned to their misery. Past the tall cliffs, past the open farmlands, where some day would be pleasant villages and towns, he floated. He was hungry, but he had been hungry many times; he was tired, but he did not mind weariness.