"She's no fisherman!" Mark cried, becoming perplexed as he observed the truth of what Susan had said. "So many people never could work on a craft of that size."
"But what else can she be?" Luke asked, curiously, "I don't know as it makes much difference to us, though, so long as she carries a crew of white people. Why don't we pull out to her, Mark? Look, she's coming to anchor, and if her crew lands without knowing of the Abenakis, they will all be killed!"
"There are the Indians!" Susan cried, as three canoes, filled with savages, were seen putting out from the shore.
"They are going to make an attack on the vessel, and we can do nothing to help the poor people!" Mistress Pemberton cried, in an agony of grief, while an expression of terror overspread Mark's face as he began to have an inkling of the true situation.
"Can't you boys do something to aid the men?" Mistress Harding asked, and Mark replied:
"It isn't likely they're needing any help. Those on the vessel outnumber the Abenakis three to one, and I'm afraid they won't have any trouble in taking care of themselves."
No one save Susan gave any particular heed to Mark's words, but watched with feverish interest as the canoes approached the vessel, and then, when the Indians clambered aboard without any attempt being made to prevent them, the expression of the face of the spectators changed from that of sympathy to perplexity.
"The Abenakis seem to know the fishermen," Mistress Pemberton said to herself, and Mark replied, bitterly:
"Ay, mother, that they do, and now, instead of being called upon to defend ourselves against Indians only, we shall have that crowd of Frenchmen against us!"
"God forbid that white people could attack women and children!" Mistress Harding cried fervently, and Mark added: