It had been brought by an Oneida runner to Albany, and was sent thence by post to New York.
Wilton wrote that time would pass rather heavily with them in the little fortress, if the hostile Indians allowed it.

Small bands now infested that region, and the soldiers were continually making marches against them.

The strange man, whom they called Black Rifle, was of vast help, guiding them and saving them from ambush.
Wilton wrote that he missed Philadelphia, which was certainly the finest city outside of Europe, but he hoped to go back to it, seasoned and improved by life in the woods.

New York, where he supposed Robert now to be, was an attractive town, in truth, a great port, but it had not the wealth and cultivation of Philadelphia, as he hoped to show Robert some day.

Meanwhile he wished him well.
Robert smiled.