“Where would you go?” cried Van Curter.
“Up the river, to trade,” replied Holmes.
“Strike and stay!” shouted the commandant, “or I will fire into you.”
“Fire and be hanged,” returned Holmes. “The river is mine as much as your own.”
Van Curter thought better of it, and did not fire. The sloop passed up the stream, and founded the post which afterward awakened the Dutchman’s ire to such an extent.
It was night when Joseph Van Zandt arrived at Good Hope, and he went at once to the cabin of Van Curter. He had not retired, but sat alone at a table, by a flaring lamp, writing a dispatch to the governor. He started up in great joy at the sight of the captain, and held out both hands to him.
“Sit thee down, lad. Thou art welcome. How go things in the Manhattoes?”
“Very fairly. Can you say as much of this colony?”
“No. The Yankees advance step by step, and the time is not far off when we shall be driven entirely away, unless we do something ourselves. But, I have a plan in my mind, Joseph—I have a plan; and, faith, it is a good one. How long have you been on the way?”
“Four days. I should have been here ere now, but my horse got his foot into a stocking on the road, and broke it. I was forced to shoot it and take to the sound and river.”