De Catinat’s bunk was next to a port-hole, and it was his custom to keep this open, as the caboose was close to him in which the cooking was done for the crew, and the air was hot and heavy.  That night he found it impossible to sleep, and he lay tossing under his blanket, thinking over every possible means by which they might be able to get away from this cursed ship.  But even if they got away, where could they go to then?  All Canada was sealed to them.  The woods to the south were full of ferocious Indians.  The English settlements would, it was true, grant them freedom to use their own religion, but what would his wife and he do, without a friend, strangers among folk who spoke another tongue?  Had Amos Green remained true to them, then, indeed, all would have been well.  But he had deserted them.  Of course there was no reason why he should not.  He was no blood relation of theirs.  He had already benefited them many times.  His own people and the life that he loved were waiting for him at home.  Why should he linger here for the sake of folk whom he had known but a few months?  It was not to be expected, and yet De Catinat could not realise it, could not understand it.

But what was that?  Above the gentle lapping of the river he had suddenly heard a sharp clear “Hist!” Perhaps it was some passing boatman or Indian.  Then it came again, that eager, urgent summons.  He sat up and stared about him.  It certainly must have come from the open port-hole.  He looked out, but only to see the broad basin, with the loom of the shipping, and the distant twinkle from the lights on Point Levi.  As his head dropped back upon the pillow something fell upon his chest with a little tap, and rolling off, rattled along the boards.  He sprang up, caught a lantern from a hook, and flashed it upon the floor.  There was the missile which had struck him—­a little golden brooch.  As he lifted it up and looked closer at it, a thrill passed through him.  It had been his own, and he had given it to Amos Green upon the second day that he had met him, when they were starting together for Versailles.

This was a signal then, and Amos Green had not deserted them after all.  He dressed himself, all in a tremble with excitement, and went upon deck.  It was pitch dark, and he could see no one, but the sound of regular footfalls somewhere in the fore part of the ship showed that the sentinels were still there.  The guardsman walked over to the side and peered down into the darkness.  He could see the loom of a boat.

“Who is there?” he whispered.

“Is that you, De Catinat?

“Yes.”

“We have come for you.”

“God bless you, Amos.”

“Is your wife there?”

“No, but I can rouse her.”

“Good!  But first catch this cord.  Now pull up the ladder!”