It will easily be comprehended therefore, that, as the
period approached when they might reasonably look for
the return of Francois, if he should return at all, the
nervous anxiety of the officers became more and more
developed. Upwards of a week had elapsed since the
departure of their friends; and already, for the last
day or two, their impatience had led them, at early dawn,
and with beating hearts, to that quarter of the rampart
which overlooked the eastern extremity of Hog Island.
Hitherto, however, their eager watching had been in vain.
As far as our recollection of the Canadian tradition of
this story serves us, it must have been on the fourth
night after the final discomfiture of the plans of Ponteac,
and the tenth from the departure of the adventurers, that
the officers were assembled in the mess-room, partaking
of the scanty and frugal supper to which their long
confinement had reduced them. The subject of their
conversation, as it was ever of their thoughts, was the
probable fate of their companions; and many and various,
although all equally melancholy, were the conjectures
offered as to the result.
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