"My lad, so would I—so would I!—I wish I had been dowered with your spirit!—I'm going with you!"
As soon as he had made this embarrassing resolution my master blew his nose and set his British jaws firmly together. I felt my own jaw drop.
"Have you as much as a Spanish real of your own?" I quoted.
"That I have, young sir, and some American notes, such as they are, and good English pounds, beside."
"And do you know how to reach the seaport?"
"Since I came that way I can return that way. You have youth, my lad, but I have brains and experience."
"It's plain what ails you, Doctor Chantry. And you might as well try to swim the Atlantic."
My poor master dropped his head on his breast, and I was ashamed of baiting him and began to argue tenderly. I told him he could not bear hardships; he was used to the soft life in De Chaumont's house; while my flesh had been made iron in the wilderness. I intended to take a boat from those hidden at our summer camp, to reach the head of Lake George. But from that point to the Hudson river—where the town of Luzerne now stands—it was necessary to follow a trail. I could carry the light canoe over the trail, but he could not even walk it.
The more I reasoned with him the more obstinate he became. There was a wonderful spring called Saratoga, which he had visited with De Chaumont a few years before as they came into the wilderness; he was convinced that the water would set him on foot for the rest of the journey.
"It is twenty-nine miles above Albany. We could soon reach it," he urged.