"You mean that you're here alone?" "Exactly that. But tell me, before we go any further, Captain, what month this is." "May." "And the year?" "1759." "I wanted to be sure. I see that I've been on the island eight or nine months, but I lost all count of time, and, now and then it seemed like eight or nine years. As I've already told Lieutenant Lanham, I'm Robert Lennox, of Albany, the Province of New York, and the wilderness. I was kidnapped at Albany and carried down the Hudson and out to sea by a slaver and pirate." "'Tis an extraordinary tale, Mr. Lennox." "But a true one, Captain Whyte." "I meant no insinuation that it wasn't. Extraordinary things happen in the world, and have been happening in these seas, ever since Columbus first came into them." "Still mine is such an unusual story that it needs proof, and I give it. Did you not last autumn pretend that yours was a merchant ship, have a sailor play the violin on deck while others danced about, and lure under your guns a pirate with the black flag at her masthead?" Captain Whyte stared in astonishment. "How do you know that?" he exclaimed. "Did you not shatter the pirate ship with your broadsides but lose her afterwards in a great storm that came up suddenly?" "Aye, so I did, and I've been looking for her many a time since then." "You'll never find her, Captain. Your guns were aimed well enough, and they took the life out of her. She couldn't weather the storm. Of all the people who were aboard her then I'm the only survivor. Her captain escaped with me to this island, but he died of wounds and I buried him. I can show you his grave." "How do I know that you, too, are not one of the pirates?" "By taking me back on your ship to the colonies, and proving my tale. If you don't find that every word I tell you is true you can hang me to your own yardarm." Captain Whyte laughed. It was a fair and frank offer, but he was a reader of men, and he felt quite sure that the strange youth was telling the absolute truth. "He's given me, sir, quite correct accounts of events that happened in the colonies last year," said Lanham. "He was at Ticonderoga and his narrative of the battle agrees fully with the accounts that we received." And just at that moment coincidence stretched out her long arm again, as she does so often. "I had a cousin at Ticonderoga," said Captain Whyte. "A splendid young fellow, name of Grosvenor. I've seen a letter from him in which he says 'twas a terrible fight, but that we threw away our chances before we went upon the field." "Grosvenor! Grosvenor!" exclaimed Robert eagerly. "Why, I knew him! He was a friend of mine! We were in the forest together, in combat and escape. His first name was Alfred. Did he say nothing in his letter of Robert Lennox?"