“I’m thinkin’ we shall have to do a bit of tongue-waggin’ in this ’ere case whether he wants a pilot or not,” Abel Grant said apprehensively, and then added quickly to the prisoner, who had discarded his military coat and stock because of the heat, “Perhaps you had better get into the cuddy, Seth, an’ lay low, for if any aboard that ship should happen to get a bit of your cockney speech, they’d allow you was a deserter, an’ you couldn’t persuade ’em we’d picked you out of the king’s fleet as a prisoner.” “I’m thinkin’ you wouldn’t spend overly much time tryin’ to do that,” the Britisher said with a laugh, and then went obediently below. Half an hour later we were so near the ship as to hear distinctly the hail which came from her, and when Abel replied to it with his lazy drawl, the question was asked: “Where do you hail from?” “Montauk Point.” “Do you know the water about Sandy Hook?” “Nothing more than that there’s plenty of it. We wouldn’t be up the coast so far if it hadn’t been for losin’ our way in the fog.” “Have you got any fresh fish aboard?” “One of the king’s vessels took from us all the clams we had for bait, and we was makin’ our way back to port when we got mixed in with this smother.” I was literally trembling with apprehension lest the next words should be an order for us to come alongside and show ourselves, therefore was the disappointment a happy one when he who had hailed us turned squarely about and resumed his pacing of the quarter-deck, as if thinking us not of sufficient consequence to spend any more time with. We were too near the British vessel to give words to the joy which was ours at escaping thus easily, and during the half-hour we were forced to remain within hail no conversation was indulged in, lest we should let slip inadvertently some word which might excite the curiosity of the enemy. Before nightfall we rounded Montauk Point; every trace of the fog had disappeared, and we had the wind abeam, with plenty of it for a run up the sound, which, as can well be imagined, was much to our liking. The marine had come out of the cabin long since, and we four laughed and chatted gleefully, even the prisoner seeming to be overjoyed because now was the time when it seemed positive we should make New York without hindrance unless, peradventure, the British fleet had anchored directly off the city. The cruise was not to be ended so soon, however, although we came to learn that all danger, save it might be from Tories, had been passed. The wind flattened down into a dead calm before midnight, and it was not until the afternoon of the fifth day that we came within sight of that town we so ardently desired to reach. “We will be off Bowlin’ Green within two hours after sunset,” Abel Grant announced confidently, and then, turning to our prisoner, he asked abruptly, “Well, Seth, what do you allow? That you’ll go into prison?”