near this bridge; and he had reason to believe that some of the actors in it, were those whose blood flowed in his own young veins.  The extreme pain it seemed to give his parents, however, whenever allusion was made to the subject, had ever repressed inquiry, and all his knowledge of these events, was confined to what he had been enabled to glean from the aged Canadians.  That Sambo, who was a very old servant of the family, had more than hear-say acquaintance with the circumstances, he was almost certain; for he had frequently remarked, when after having had his imagination excited by the oft told tale, he felt desirous of visiting the spot, the negro obedient in all things else, ever found some excuse to avoid accompanying him, nor, within his own recollection, had he once approached the scene.  Certain vague allusions, of late date, by the old man, had moreover, confirmed him in his impression, and he now called forcibly to mind an observation made by his faithful attendant on the night of their pursuit of the younger Desborough, which, evidently referred to that period.  Even on the present occasion, he had been struck by the urgency with which he contended for a return to their own shore, without pursuing their course to the extreme end of the town; nor was his unwillingness to approach the bridge overcome, until Gerald told him it was the positive order of the Commodore, that they should embrace the whole of the American lines in their inspection, and even then, it was with a relaxed vigour of arm, that he obeyed the instruction to proceed.

Determined to sound him, as to his knowledge of the fact, Grantham stole gently from the bow to the stern of the canoe, and he was about to question him, when the other, grasping his arm with an expressive touch, pointed to a dark object moving across the road.  Gerald turned his head, and beheld the same figure that had so recently quitted the cabin of the merchantman.  Following its movements, he saw it noiselessly enter into the grounds of a cottage, opposite an old tannery, where it totally disappeared.

A new direction was now given to the curiosity of the sailor.  Expressing in a whisper to Sambo, his determination to follow, he desired him to make for the shore, near the tannery, beneath the shadow of which he might be secure, while he himself advanced, and traced the movements of the mysterious wanderer.

“Oh Massa Geral,” urged the old man in the same whisper—­his teeth chattering with fear—­“for Hebben’ sake e no go ashore.  All dis a place berry bad, and dat no a livin’ ting what e see yonder.  Do Massa Geral take poor nigger word, and not so dere affer e ghost.”

“Nay, Sambo, it is no ghost, but flesh and blood, for I saw it in the brig we were foul of just now, however be under no alarm.  Armed as, I am, I have nothing to fear from one individual, and if I am seen and pursued in my turn, it is but to spring in again, and before any one can put off in chase we shall have nearly reached the opposite shore—­You shall remain in the canoe it—­you please, but I most certainly will see where that figure went.”