"Well, what do you think of him?" said Louison, turning to help her.
"Dieu! that he is very big and dreadful," said the other, soberly.
"I should think we had better be going."
These things move slowly on paper, but the greeting was to me painfully short, there being of it not more than a minuteful, I should say. On our way to the lights they plied me with whispered queries, and were in fear of more fighting. The prisoners were now in the coach, and our men—there were twelve—stood on every side of it, their pikes in hand. The boats were near, and we hurried to the river by a toteway. Our schooner lay some twenty rods off a point. A bateau and six canoes were waiting on the beach, and when we had come to the schooner I unbound the prisoners.
"You can get ashore with this bateau," I said. "You will find the horses tied to a tree."
"Wha' does thet mean?" said D'ri.
"That we have no right to hold them," was my answer. "Ronley was, in no way responsible for their coming."
Leaning over the side with a lantern, while one of our men held the bateau, I motioned to the coachman.
"Give that 'humberreller' to the butler, with my compliments," I whispered.
Our anchors up, our sails took the wind in a jiffy.
"Member how we used ye," D'ri called to the receding Britishers, "an' ef ye ever meet a Yankee try t' be p'lite tew 'im."