CHAPTER II.

The following evening, an armed schooner was lying at
anchor in the roadstead of Buffalo, at the southern
extremity of Lake Erie, and within a mile of the American
shore. It was past midnight--and although the lake was
calm and unbroken as the face of a mirror, a dense fog
had arisen which prevented objects at the head of the
vessel from being seen from the stern. Two men only were
visible upon the after deck; the one lay reclining upon
an arm chest, muffled up in a dread-nought pea jacket,
the other paced up and down hurriedly, and with an air
of deep pre-occupation. At intervals he would stop and
lean over the gang-way, apparently endeavouring to pierce
through the fog and catch a glimpse of the adjacent shore,
and, on these occasions, a profound sigh would burst from
his chest. Then again he would resume his rapid walk,
with the air of one who has resolved to conquer a weakness,
and substitute determination in its stead. Altogether
his manner was that of a man ill at ease from his own
thoughts.

"Sambo," he at length exclaimed, addressing the man in
the pea jacket for the first time, "I shall retire to my
cabin, but fail not to call me an hour before day-break.
Our friends being all landed, there can be nothing further
to detain us here, we will therefore make the best of
our way back to Amherstburg in the morning,"