The boat came up the beach on a wave, the men sprang out, held it as the wave retreated, and then dragged it after them until it was beyond the reach of invading water. Robert meanwhile never stirred, and the great fire behind him enlarged his figure to heroic proportions.
The officer, young, handsome, in the British naval uniform, walked forward, with the four sailors following in a close group behind, but he stopped again, and looked at the strange figure before him. Evidently something in its pose, in its whole appearance, in truth, made an extraordinary impression upon him. He passed his hands before his eyes as if to make sure that it was no blur of the vision, and then he went forward again, the sailors keeping close behind, as if they were in fear lest the figure prove to be supernatural.
"Who are you?" called the young officer.
"Robert Lennox, of Albany, the Province of New York, and the wilderness," replied Robert. "Welcome to my island."
His sense of drama was still strong upon him, and he replied in his fullest and clearest voice. The officer stared, and then said:
"You've saved the ship and all our lives."
"I think that's what I was here for, though it's likely that you've saved me, too. What ship it that?"
"His Majesty's sloop of war, Hawk, Captain Stuart Whyte, from Bridgetown in the Barbadoes, for Boston."
Robert thrilled when he heard the word "Boston." It was not New York, but it was a port for home, nevertheless.
"Who are you?" continued the officer, on fire with curiosity. "You've told me your name, but what are you? and where are the other people of the island?"