CHAPTER IV
OUT TO SEA
When Robert came back from the far country in which he had beendwelling, for a little space, he looked into a long face, with eyes setclose and a curved nose. He was dimly conscious that it was a familiarcountenance, but he could not yet remember where he had seen it before,because he could not concentrate his thoughts. His head was heavy andaching. He knew that he lived, but he did not know much more.
The staring face was distinctly unpleasant and menacing. He gazed intoit, trying to recall the owner, but the effort was still too great. Thenhe became conscious that he was lying upon his back and that he wasmoving. Trees on his right and trees on his left, some distance away,were filing past. Two men on each side were pulling hard on oars, andthen it slowly entered his mind that he was in a boat.
He made another and stronger effort to gather up his wandering facultiesand then he realized with a jerk that the face looking into his was thatof the slaver. Making a supreme effort he sat up. The slaver laughed.
"So, Peter Smith," he said, "you've decided to come back a second time.I knew that you couldn't stay away always from such a good, kind captainas I am. I saw the light of welcome in your eyes when we met sounexpectedly at the George Inn, and I decided that it was only aquestion of time until you came into my service again."
Robert stared at him. His mind, which would not work hitherto, recoveredits power with great suddenness. All his faculties were keen and alert,and they cooerdinated smoothly and perfectly. He had been trapped. He hadbeen struck from behind, while he pursued Garay with such eagerness. Hehad been careless, and once more he was in the power of the slaver. Andthere was the spy, too, in the prow of the boat, with his back to him,but that very back seemed to express insolent triumph. He felt a greatsinking of the heart, but in a few moments recalled his courage. His wasa spirit that could not be crushed. His head still ached and he was aprisoner, but his courage was invincible, and he put on a light manner.
"Yes, I've come back," he said. "You see, Captain, there are some thingsconcerning you of which I'm not sure, and I couldn't part from youpermanently until I learned them."
"I'm glad of it, Peter. You've an inquiring mind, I know, and you'llhave plenty of opportunity to learn everything about me. We're likely tobe together for quite a while."
Robert looked around. He was in a long boat, and there were fouroarsmen, stout fellows, rough of looks and with hangers and pistols intheir belts. Garay and the captain completed the party, and both theslaver and the spy were armed heavily. He saw that he had no earthlychance of escape at present, and he resigned himself for the moment. Theslaver read his look.
"I'm glad, Peter," he said, "that you've given up the thought of leavingus that was flitting around in your head a minute or two ago. You're ina better state of mind now, and it was not possible anyway. Nor willthere be any storm to send you away from me again. A chance like thatwouldn't happen once in a hundred times. I suppose you understand whereyou are."
"I'm in a boat a few miles above Albany, and I think that before longyou'll turn and go back down the stream."
"Why, Peter?"
"Because there's nothing for you to go to up the stream. If you kept onyou'd arrive in the Indian country, and I doubt whether that's any partof your plan."
"Clever, Peter, clever! and well reasoned. I see that your intellect'sas good as ever. You must rise above the place of a common seaman. Whenyou're a little older there's a mate's berth for you."
Garay turned for the first time, and his malignant look of triumph wasnot veiled at all.
"You and Willet and the Indian thought you were very clever there in theforest when you compelled me to tell where the paper was hid," he said,"but you forgot that I might make repayment. We've taken you out ofAlbany from the very center of your friends, and you'll never see themagain."
"Theatricals! theatricals!" said Robert, preserving his gay manner,though his heart was low within him. "A cat has nine lives, but I haveten. I've been twice a prisoner of the French, and my presence here isproof that I escaped both times. When I tire of your society and that ofthe captain I'll leave you."
"No quarreling! no quarreling!" said the slaver. "I never allow it amongmy men. And now, Peter, I must insure your silence for a little while."
Two of the men who were rowing dropped their oars, seized him, bound andgagged him. He struggled at first against the indignity, but, soonrealizing its futility, lay inert on the bottom of the boat.
"Good judgment, Peter," said the slaver, looking down at him. "It'snever wise to struggle against a certainty. You've the makings of a fineofficer in you."
The two resumed their oars, and the boat, turning abruptly, as Roberthad surmised it would, went down the stream. The men ceased to talk andthe lad on his back looked up at the sky in which but few starstwinkled. Heavy clouds floated past the moon, and the night wasdarkening rapidly. Once more his heart sank to the uttermost depths, andit had full cause to do so. For some reason he had been pursued withsingular malice and cunning, and now it seemed that his enemies weretriumphant. Tayoga could trail him anywhere on land, but water left notrail. He was sure that his captors would keep to the river.
The speed of the boat increased with the efforts of the rowers and thefavor of the current. Soon it was opposite Albany and then the men roweddirectly to a small schooner that lay at anchor, having come up thestream the day before. Robert was lifted on board and carried into thedepths of the vessel, where they took out the gag and put him on thefloor. The captain held a lantern over him and said:
"Garay is telling you good-bye, Peter. He's sorry he can't go with us,but he'll be having business on the Canadian frontier. He feels that thescore is about even with you for that business of the letter in theforest, and that later on he'll attend also to the hunter and theOnondaga."
"And I wish you a pleasant life on the West Indian plantations," saidGaray. "They still buy white labor there in both the French and Britishislands. It does not matter to me to which the captain sells you, for ineither case it means a life of hard labor in the sugar cane. Few everescape, and you never will."
Robert turned quite sick. So this was the plan. To sell him into slaveryin the West Indies. Kidnapping was not at all uncommon then in both theOld World and the New, and they seemed to have laid their plans well. Asthe slaver had said, there was not one chance in a hundred of anotherstorm. Again the captain read his mind.
"You don't like the prospect," he said, "and I'll admit myself that it'snot a cheerful one. I've changed my opinion of you, Peter. I thoughtyou'd make a fine sailor and that you might become a mate some day, butI've seen a light. You're not a good sailor at all. The stuff's not inyou. But you're strong and hearty and you'll do well in the sugar cane.If the sun's too hot and your back bends too much just reflect that fora white man it's not a long life and your troubles will be over, someday."
Robert's old indomitable spirit flamed up.
"I never expect to see a West Indian plantation, not on this journey, atleast," he said. "You and that miserable spy boast that you took me outof the very center of my friends, and I tell you in reply that if I haveenemies who follow me I also have friends who are truer in theirfriendship than you are in your hate, and they'll come for me."
"That's the spirit. I never heard another lad sling words in the noblefashion you do. You'll live a deal longer on the plantations than mostof 'em. Now, Garay, I think you can go. It will be the last farewell foryou two."
The exulting spy left the close little place, and Robert felt that abreath of hate went with him. His feet disappeared up a narrow littlestair, and the slaver cut the cords that bound Robert.
"You'll be locked in here," he said, "and it's not worth while to damagegood property by keeping it tied up too long."
"That's so," said Robert, trying to preserve a light manner. "You wantto keep me strong and active for the work on the plantations. A whiteslave like a black one ought to be in good health."
The capt
ain laughed. He was in high humor. Robert knew that he feltintense satisfaction because he was taking revenge for his mortificationwhen he was defeated in the duel with swords before his own men by amere boy. Evidently that would rankle long with one of the slaver'stype.
"I'm glad to see you recognize facts so well, Peter," he said. "I seethat you've an ambition to excel on the plantations, perhaps to be thebest worker. Now, Garay, telling me of that little adventure of his inthe forest with the hunter, the Indian and you, wanted me to be verycareful about your rations, to put you on a sparing diet, so to speak.He thought it would be best not to let you have anything to eat for twoor three days. His idea rather appealed to me, too, but, on the otherhand, I couldn't impair your value, and so I decided against him."
"I'm not hungry," said Robert.
"No, but you will be. You're young and strong, and that wound on yourhead where I had to hit you with the butt of my pistol doesn't amount tomuch."
Robert put up his hands, felt of the back of his head, where the achewas, and found that the hair was matted together by congealed blood. Buthe could tell that the hurt was not deep.
"I'll leave you now," said the slaver in the same satisfied tone, "and Ihope you'll enjoy the voyage down the river. There's a good wind blowingand we start in a half hour."
He went out, taking the lantern with him, and bolted the door heavilybehind him. Then Robert felt despair for a while. It was much worse tobe a prisoner on the ship than in the French camp or in the village ofthe partisan, Langlade. There he had been treated with consideration andthe fresh winds of heaven blew about him, but here he was shut up in aclose little hole, and his captors rejoiced in his misery.
It was quite dark in the tiny galley, and the only air that entered camefrom a small porthole high over a bunk. He stood upon the bank andbrought his face level with the opening. It was not more than fourinches across, but he was able to inhale a pure and invigorating breezethat blew from the north, and he felt better. The pain in his head wasdying down also, and his courage, according to its habit, rose fast. Ina character that nature had compounded of optimistic materials hope wasalways a predominant factor.
He could see nothing through the porthole save a dark blur, but he heardthe creaking of cordage and the slatting of sails. He did not doubt thatthe slaver had told the truth when he said the schooner would soonstart, and there was no possibility of escaping before then.Nevertheless, he tried the door, but could not shake it. Then he wentback to the porthole for the sake of the air, and, because, if he couldnot have freedom for himself, he could at least see a little way intothe open world.
The creaking of cordage and slatting of sails increased, he felt theschooner heave and roll beneath him, and then he knew that they wereleaving Albany. It was the bitterest moment of his life. To be carriedaway in that ignominious manner, from the very center of his friends,from a town in which he had lived, and that he knew so well was aterrible blow to his pride. For the moment apprehension about the futurewas drowned in mortification.
He heard heavy footsteps overhead, and the sound of commands, and theschooner began to move. He continued to stand on the bunk, with his eyesat the porthole. He was able to see a dark shore, moving past, slowly atfirst and then faster. The dim outlines of houses showed and he wouldhave shouted for help, but he knew that it was impossible to make anyone hear, and pride restrained.
The blurred outlines of the houses ceased and Albany was gone. Doubtlessthe schooner had appeared as an innocent trader with the properlicenses, and the slaver, having awaited its arrival, had come on aheadto the town. He was compelled to admit the thoroughness of the plan, andthe skill with which it had been carried out, but he wondered anew whyso much trouble had been taken in regard to him, a mere lad.
He stood at the porthole a long time, and the wind out of the north rosesteadily. He heard its whistle and he also heard the singing of menabove him. He knew that the schooner was making great speed down thestream and that Albany and his friends were now far behind. As the wisegenerally do, he resigned himself to inevitable fate, wasting nostrength in impossible struggles, but waiting patiently for a bettertime. There was a single blanket on the hard bunk, and, lying down onit, he fell asleep.
When he awoke, day shining through the porthole threw a slender bar oflight across the floor, which heaved and slanted, telling that the windout of the north still blew strong and true. An hour later the door wasopened and a sailor brought a rude breakfast on a tin plate. While hewas eating it, and hunger made everything good, the slaver came in.
"You'll see, Peter, that I did not put you on the diet suggested byGaray," he said. "I'm at least a kind man and you ought to thank me forall I'm doing for you."
"For any kindness of yours to me I'm grateful," said Robert. "We're aptto do unto people as they do unto us."
"Quite a young philosopher, I see. You'll find such a spirit useful onthe West India plantations. My heart really warms to you, Peter. I'd letyou go on deck as we're running through good scenery now, but it'sscarcely prudent. We'll have to wait for that until we pass New York andput out to sea. I hope you don't expect it of me, Peter?"
"No, I don't look for it. But if you don't mind I'd like to have alittle more breakfast."
"A fine, healthy young animal, so you are! And you shall have it, too."
He called the sailor who brought a second helping and Robert fell to. Hewas really very hungry and he was resolved also to put the best possibleface on the matter. He knew he would need every ounce of his strength,and he meant to nurse it sedulously.
"When do you expect to reach New York?" he asked.
"To-morrow some time, if the wind holds fair, but we won't stay therelong. A few hours only to comply with the port regulations, and then ho!for the West Indies! It's a grand voyage down! And splendid islands!Green mountains that seem to rise straight up out of the sea! Whileyou're working in the cane fields you can enjoy the beautiful scenery,Peter."
Robert was silent. The man's malice filled him with disgust. Undoubtedlythe slaver had felt intense chagrin because of his former failure andhis defeat in the duel of swords before his own men, but then one shouldnot exult over a foe who was beaten for the time. He felt a bitter andintense hatred of the slaver, and, his breakfast finished, he leanedback, closing his eyes.
"So you do not wish to talk, but would meditate," said the man. "Perhapsyou're right, but, at any rate, you'll have plenty of time for it."
When he went out Robert heard the heavy lock of the tiny room shove intoplace again, and he wasted no further effort in a new attempt upon it.Instead, he lay down on the bunk, closed his eyes and tried to reconcilehimself, body and mind, to his present situation. He knew that it wasbest to keep quiet, to restrain any mental flutterings or physicalquivers. Absolute calm, if he could command it, was good for the soul,placed as he was, and the mere act of lying still helped toward that. Itwas what Tayoga would do if he were in his place, and, spurred by anoble emulation, he resolved that he would not be inferior to theOnondaga.
An hour, two hours passed and he did not stir. His stillness made hishearing more acute. The trampling of feet over his head came to him withgreat distinctness. He heard the singing of wind at the porthole, and,now and then, the swish of waters as they swept past the schooner. Hewondered what Tayoga was doing and what would Willet think when he cameback to Albany and found him gone. It gave him a stab of agony. Hispride was hurt, too, that he had been trapped so thoroughly. Then hisresolution returned to his aid. Making a supreme effort of his will, hedismissed the thought, concentrating his mind on hope. Would Tayoga'sManitou help him? Would Tododaho on his remote star look down upon himwith kindness? The Onondaga in his place would put his faith in them,and the Manitou of the Indian after all was but another name for his ownChristian God. Resolving to hope he did hope. He refused to believe thatthe slaver could make him vanish from the face of the earth like a mistbefore the wind.
The air in the little cabin was dense and heavy already, but after a
while he felt it grow thicker and warmer. He was conscious, too, of acertain sultriness in it. The tokens were for a storm. He thought with aleap of the heart of the earlier storm that had rescued him, but thatwas at sea; this, if it came, would be on a river, and so shrewd acaptain as the slaver would not let himself be wrecked in the Hudson.
The heat and sultriness increased. Then he stood on the bunk and lookedthrough the porthole. He caught glimpses of lofty shores, trees at thesummit, and stretches of a dark and angry sky. Low thunder muttered,rolling up from the west. Then came flashes of lightning, and thethunder grew louder. By and by the wind blew heavily, making theschooner reel before it, and when it died somewhat rain fell in sheets.
Although he felt it rather than saw it, Robert really enjoyed the storm.It seemed a tonic to him, and the wilder it was the steadier grew hisown spirit. The breath of the rain as it entered the porthole wasrefreshing, and the air in the cabin became clear and cool again. Thenfollowed the dark, and his second night in the schooner.
A sailor brought him his supper, the slaver failing to reappear, andsoon afterward he fell asleep. He made no surmise where they were thenext morning, as he had no way of gauging their speed during the night,but he was allowed to go about under guard below decks for an hour ortwo. The slaver came down the ladder and gave him the greetings of theday.
"You will see, Peter," he said, "that I'm a much kinder man than Garay.He would restrict your food, but I not only give you plenty of it, Ialso allow you exercise, very necessary and refreshing to youth. I'msorry I'll have to shut you up again soon, but in the afternoon we'llreach New York, and I must keep you away from the temptations of thegreat town."
Robert would have given much to be allowed upon the deck and to look atthe high shores, but he could not sink his pride enough to ask for theprivilege, and, when the time came for him to return to his cell of acabin he made no protest.
He felt the schooner stop late in the afternoon and he was sure thatthey had reached New York. He heard the dropping of the anchor, and thenthe sounds became much dimmer. The light in the cabin was suddenly shutoff, and he realized that the porthole had been closed from the outside.They were taking no chances of a call for help, and he tried to resignhimself.
But will could not control feelings now. To know that he was in New Yorkand yet was absolutely helpless was more than he could bear. He hadnever really believed that the schooner could pass the port and put outto sea with him a prisoner. It had seemed incredible, one of the thingsnot to be contemplated, but here was the event coming to pass. Mind lostcontrol of the body. He threw himself upon the door, pulled at it, andbeat it. It did not move an inch. Then he shouted again and again forhelp. There was no response.
Gradually his panic passed, and ashamed of it he threw himself once moreupon the bunk, where he tried to consider whatever facts were in hisfavor. It was certain they were not trying to take his life; had theywished they could have done that long ago, and while one lived one wasnever wholly lost. It was a fact that he would remember througheverything and he would pin his faith to it.
He slept, after a while, and he always thought afterwards that the foul,dense air of the cabin added a kind of stupor to sleep. When he came outof it late the next day he was conscious of an immense heaviness in thehead and of a dull, apathetic feeling. He sat up slowly and painfully asif he were an old man. Then he noticed that the porthole was open again,but, judging from the quality of the air in the cabin, it had not beenopen long.
So the slaver had been successful. He had stopped in the port of NewYork and had then put out to sea. Doubtless he had done so without anytrouble. He was having his revenge in measure full and heaped over.Robert was bound to admit it, but he bore in mind that his own life wasstill in his body. He would never give up, he would never allow himselfto be crushed.
He stood upon the bunk and put his eyes to the porthole, catching a viewof blue water below and blue sky above, and the sea as it raced pastshowed that the vessel was moving swiftly. He heard, too, the hum of thestrong wind in the rigging and the groaning timbers. It was enough totell him that they were fast leaving New York behind, and that now thechances of his rescue upon a lone ocean were, in truth, very small. Butonce more he refused to despair.
He did not believe the slaver would keep him shut up in the cabin, sincethey were no longer where he could be seen by friends or those who mightsuspect, and his opinion was soon justified. In a half hour the door wasopened by the man himself, who stood upon the threshold, jaunty, assuredand triumphant.
"You can come on deck now, Peter," he said. "We've kept you below longenough, and, as I want to deliver you to the plantations strong andhearty, fresh air and exercise will do you good."
"I'll come willingly enough," said Robert, resolved to be jaunty too."Lead the way."
The captain went up the ladder just outside the door and Robert followedhim, standing at first in silence on the swaying deck and content tolook at sky and ocean. How beautiful they were! How beautiful the worldwas to one who had been shut up for days in a close little room! Howkeen and sweet was the wind! And what a pleasant song the creaking ofthe ropes and the slatting of the sails made!
It was a brilliant day. The sun shone with dazzling clearness. The seawas the bluest of the blue. The wind blew steady and strong. Far behindthem was a low line of land, showing but dimly on the horizon, andbefore them was the world of waters. Robert balanced himself on theswaying deck, and, for a minute or two, he enjoyed too much thesensation of at least qualified freedom to think of his own plight.While he stood there, breathing deeply, his lungs expanding and hisheart leaping, the slaver who had gone away, reappeared, saluting himwith much politeness.
"Look back, Peter," he said, "and you can get your last glimpse of yournative soil. The black line that just shows under the sky is Sandy Hook.We won't see any more land for days, and you'll have a fine,uninterrupted voyage with me and my crew."
Robert in this desperate crisis of his life resolved at once upon acourse of action. He would not show despair, he would not sulk, he wouldso bear himself and with such cheerfulness and easy good nature that thewatch upon him might be relaxed somewhat, and the conditions of hiscaptivity might become less hard. It was perhaps easier for him than foranother, with his highly optimistic nature and his disposition to befriendly. He kissed his hand to the black line on the horizon and said:
"I'm going now, but I'll come back. I always come back."
"That's the right spirit, Peter," said the slaver. "Be pleasant. Alwaysbe pleasant, say I, and you'll get along much better in the world.Things will just melt away before you."
Robert looked over the schooner. He did not know much about ships, butshe seemed to him a trim and strong craft, carrying, as he judged, aboutthirty men. A long eighteen-pound cannon was mounted in her stern, butthat was to be expected in war, and was common in peace also when onesailed into that nest of pirates, the West Indies. The slaver carriedpistol and dirk in his belt, and those of the crew whom he could seewere sturdy, hardy men. The slaver read his eyes:
"Yes, she's a fine craft," he said. "Able to fight anything of her sizewe're likely to meet, and fast enough to run away from them that's toobig for her. You can see as much of her as you want to. So long as we'veno neighbor on the ocean you've the run of the craft. But if you shouldwant to leave you needn't try to tempt any of my men to help you. Theywouldn't dare do it, and they wouldn't want to anyhow. All theirinterests are with me. I'm something of a deity to them."
The slaver went away and Robert walked about the narrow deck, standingat last by the rail, where he remained a long time. No one seemed to payany attention to him. He was free to come and go as he pleased withinthe narrow confines of the schooner. But he watched the black line ofland behind them until it was gone, and then it seemed to him that hewas cut off absolutely from all the life that he had lived. Tayoga,Willet, Master Jacobus, all the good friends of his youth haddisappeared over the horizon with the lost land.
It had been
so sudden, so complete that it seemed to him it must havebeen done with a purpose. To what end had he been wrenched away from thewar and sent upon the unknown ocean? His wilderness had been that of thewoods and not of the waters. He had imbibed much of Tayoga's philosophyand at times, at least, he believed that everything moved forward to anappointed end. What was it now?
He left the low rail at last, and finding a stool sat down upon thedeck. The schooner was going almost due south, and she was making greatspeed. The slaver's boast that she could run away from anything toostrong for her was probably true, and Robert judged also that shecarried plenty of arms besides the eighteen-pounder. Most of the crewseemed to him to be foreigners, that is, they were chiefly of the racesaround the Mediterranean. Dark of complexion, short and broad, some ofthem wore earrings, and, without exception, they carried dirks and nowand then both pistols and dirks in their belts. He sought among them forthe face of one who might be a friend, but found none. They were allhardened and sinister, and he believed that at the best they weresmugglers, at the worst pirates.
A heavy dark fellow whom Robert took to be a Spaniard was mate anddirected the task of working the vessel, the captain himself taking nopart in the commands, but casting an occasional keen glance at thesailors as he strolled about. Robert judged that he was an expert sailorand a leader of men. In truth, he had never doubted his ability from thefirst, only his scruples, or, rather, he felt sure that he had none atall.
The policy of ignoring the prisoner, evidently by order, was carried outby the men. For all save the captain he did not exist, apparently, andthe slaver himself took no further notice of him for several hours.Then, continuing his old vein, he spoke to him lightly, as if he were aguest rather than a captive.
"I see that you're improving in both mind and body, Peter," he said."You've a splendid color in your cheeks and you look fine and hearty.The sea air is good for anybody and it's better for you to be here thanin a town like Albany."
"Since I'm here," said Robert, "I'll enjoy myself as much as I can. Ialways try to make the best of everything."
"That's philosophical, and 'tis a surprisingly good policy for one soyoung."
Robert looked at him closely. His accent was that of an educated man,and he did not speak ungrammatically.
"I've never heard your name, captain," he said, "and as you know mine, Iought to know yours."
"We needn't mind about that now. Three-fourths of my men don't know myname, just calling me 'Captain.' And, at any rate, if I were to give itto you it wouldn't be the right one."
"I suspected as much. People who change their names usually do so forgood reasons."
Color came into the man's sun-browned cheeks.
"You're a bold lad, Peter," he said, "but I'll admit you're telling thetruth. I rather fancy you in some ways. If I felt sure of you I mighttake you with me on a voyage that will not be without profit, instead ofselling you to a plantation in the Indies. But to go with me I must haveyour absolute faith, and you must agree to share in all our perils andachievements."
His meaning was quite plain, and might have tempted many another,thinking, in any event, to use it as a plan for escape, but Robert neverfaltered for a moment. His own instincts were always for the right, andlong comradeship with Willet and Tayoga made his will to obey thoseinstincts all the stronger.
"Thank you, Captain," he replied, "but I judge that your cruises are alloutside the law, and I cannot go with you on them, at least, notwillingly."
The slaver shrugged his shoulder.
"'Tis just as well that you declined," he said. "'Twas but a passingwhim of mine, and ten minutes later I'd have been sorry for it had youaccepted."
He shrugged his shoulders again, took a turn about the deck and thenwent down to his cabin. Robert, notified by a sailor, the first man onthe schooner outside of the slaver to speak to him, ate supper with himthere. The food was good, but the captain was now silent, speaking onlya few times, and mostly in monosyllables. Near the end he said:
"You're to sleep in the room you've been occupying. The door will not bebolted on you, but I don't think you'll leave the ship. The nearest landis sixty or seventy miles away, and that's a long swim."
"I won't chance it," said Robert. "Just now I prefer solid timberbeneath my feet."
"A wise decision, Peter."
After supper the slaver went about his duties, whatever they were, andRobert, utterly free so far as the schooner was concerned, went on deck.It was quite dark and the wind was blowing strong, but the ship wassteady, and her swift keel cut the waters. All around him curved thedarkness, and the loneliness of the sea was immense at that moment. Itwas in very truth a long swim to the land, and just then the thought ofescape was far from him. He shivered, and going down to the little cabinthat had been a prison, he soon fell asleep.
The Sun of Quebec: A Story of a Great Crisis Page 6
