As the midshipman crawled away from the tent of the French general, he adopted the precautions which James had suggested, and felt the ground carefully for twigs or sticks each time he moved.

The still-glowing embers of the campfires warned him where the Indians and Canadians were sleeping, and, carefully avoiding these, he made his way up beyond the limits of the camp.

There were no sentries posted here, for the French were perfectly safe from attack from that quarter, and, once fairly beyond the camp, the midshipman rose to his feet, and made his way to the edge of the slopes above the Saint Lawrence.

He walked for about a mile, and then paused, on the very edge of the sharp declivity, and whistled as agreed upon.
A hundred yards further, he repeated the signal.

The fourth time he whistled he heard, just below him, the answer, and a minute later James Walsham stood beside him.
"You young scamp, what are you doing here ?" "It was not my fault, Captain Walsham, it wasn't indeed; but I should have been tomahawked if I had stayed there a moment longer." "What do you mean by 'you would have been tomahawked,'" James asked angrily, for he was convinced that the midshipman had made up his mind, all along, to accompany him.
"The pilot of the Sutherland swam ashore, with the news that you had been taken prisoner on purpose, and were really a spy." "But how on earth did he know that ?" James asked.