"They're in a nasty mood; I can
do nothing with them; they have not fired a shot."
"Mutiny?" Hamilton demanded.
"Not just that. They say they do not wish to fire on their kinsmen
and friends. They are all French, you know, and they see their
cousins, brothers, uncles and old acquaintances out there in
Clark's rabble. I can do nothing with them."
"Shoot the scoundrels, then!"
"It will be a toss up which of us will come out on top if we try
that. Besides, if we begin a fight inside, the Americans will make
short work of us."
"Well, what in hell are we to do, then?"
"Oh, fight, that's all," said Farnsworth apathetically turning to
a small loop-hole and leveling a field glass through it. "We might
make a rush from the gates and stampede them," he presently added.
Then he uttered an exclamation of great surprise.
"There's Lieutenant Beverley out there," he exclaimed.
"You're mistaken, you're excited," Hamilton half sneeringly
remarked, yet not without a shade of uneasiness in his expression.
"You forget, sir."
"Look for yourself, it's easily settled," and Farnsworth proffered
the glass. "He's there, to a certainty, sir."
"I saw Beverley an hour ago," said Helm. "I knew all the time that
he'd be on hand."
It was a white lie. Captain Helm was as much surprised as his
captors at what he heard; but he could not resist the temptation
to be annoying.
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