"What is this place?" spoke an English voice. "Let some one take his tinder-box and strike a light."
"Have care," warned another. "We are only half a score in number. Our errand was to kidnap Saint-Castin from his hold, not to get ourselves ambushed by the Abenaquis."
"We are too far from the sloop now," said a third. "We shall be cut off before we get back, if we have not a care."
"But he must be in here."
"There are naught but benches and walls to hide him. This must be an idolatrous chapel where the filthy savages congregate to worship images."
"Come out of the abomination, and let us make haste back to the boat.
He may be this moment marshaling all his Indians to surround us."
"Wait. Let a light first be made."
Saint-Castin and his companion heard the clicks of flint and steel; then an instant's blaze of tinder made cracks visible over their Heads. It died away, the hurried, wrangling men shuffling about. One kicked the platform.
"Here is a cover," he said; but darkness again enveloped them all.
"Nothing is to be gained by searching farther," decided the majority. "Did I not tell you this Saint-Castin will never be caught? The tide will turn, and we shall get stranded among the rocks of that bay. It is better to go back without Saint-Castin than to stay and be burnt by his Abenaquis."