Although I have never mentioned the lad’s name since relating the particulars of our second escape from North Foreland, I have not kept silence because we failed to think of him.
Hardly a day had passed but that we held converse regarding the French boy, speculating as to what might have been his fate after the soldiers discovered that he had led them on a wild-goose chase, and promising that whenever the fortunes of war should permit we would do our best at finding him.
Therefore it was we remained on deck when we might have been sleeping, even though there was not one chance in a thousand of seeing, or, if we did catch a glimpse of the lad, there could be no possibility of having speech with him.
We sighted no living thing along the entire shore of the North Foreland.
By aid of a glass it was possible to make out the barracks where the troops had been encamped; but they appeared to be deserted, and we had good reasons for believing that the famous descent upon Presque Isle was abandoned.
The British squadron was keeping out of sight also, and I, believing Commodore Perry would make immediate search for them, suddenly discovered cause for alarm.
“Suppose your brother sails either east or west with the hope of coming across Commodore Barclay, is he not leaving Presque Isle unprotected?” I asked of Alec, as if believing he could answer the question in a satisfactory manner. “Who shall say that the much-talked-of expedition is not near the town at this moment, having awaited just such an opportunity as has now been given?”
Old Silas passed at the moment I spoke, and, overhearing the question, took it upon himself to make reply:—
“Do you think our commander can be so stupid as you are tryin’ to make out? I’ll go bail that we look in at Presque Isle bay as often as once in every four-and-twenty hours so long as the wind serves, an’ while it holds calm there’s little chance the Britishers will land any very great shakes of an expedition.”
“That’s it, exactly!” Alec cried, apparently much relieved by this view of the matter. “I knew Oliver wouldn’t leave his base of supplies at the mercy of the enemy, yet didn’t see exactly how it might be guarded if we were to search for Commodore Barclay’s squadron. There’s no hope of our seeing the French lad, and we’d best take our trick below, Dicky Dobbins, before it expires.”