Captain Hendrick Van Zouten looked up with some anxiety at his sails, through which the wind was now whistling, and, after a consultation with his mate, decided to draw into a convenient cove and anchor for the night.
"I'm sorry," he said to Willet, "that our voyage to New York will be delayed, but there'll be nasty weather on the river, and I don't like to risk the sloop in it.

But I didn't promise you that I'd get you to the city at any particular time." "We don't blame wind, weather and water upon you, Captain Van Zouten," laughed Willet, "and although I'm no seaman if you'd have consulted me I too would have suggested shelter for the night." Captain Van Zouten breathed his relief.
"If my passengers are satisfied," he said, "then so am I." All the sails were furled, the sloop was anchored securely in a cove where she could not injure herself, no matter how fiercely the wind might beat, and Robert and Tayoga, wrapped in their fur cloaks, stood on her deck, watching the advance of the fierce winter storm, and remembering those other storms they had passed through on Lake Champlain, although there was no danger of Indians here.
It began to snow heavily, and a fierce wind whistled among the mountains behind them, lashing the river also into high waves, but the sloop was a tight, strong craft, and it rocked but little in its snug cove.

Despite snow, wind and darkness Robert, Tayoga and the hunter remained a long, time on deck.

The Onondaga's feather headdress had been replaced by a fur cap, similar to those now worn by Robert and Willet, and all three were wrapped in heavy cloaks of furs.
Robert was still thinking of New York, a town that he knew to some extent, and yet he was traveling toward it with a feeling akin to that with which he had approached Quebec.

It was in a way and for its time a great port, in which many languages were spoken and to which many ships came.