It must have been long past midnight when I came to an island looming in the dark ahead.  I sculled for it, stranding on a rocky beach, and alighted, hauling the log ashore.  The moon came out as I stood wringing my trouser legs.  I saw the island rose high and narrow and was thickly wooded.  I remember saying something to myself, when I heard a quick stir in the bushes near me.  Looking up, I saw a tall figure.  Then came a familiar voice:—­

“Thet you, Ray?  Judas Priest!”

I was filled with joy at the sight of D’ri, and put my arms about him and lifted him off his feet, and, faith!  I know my eyes were wet as my trousers.  Then, as we sat down, I told him how I had taken to the river.

“Lucky ye done it!” said he.  “Jerushy Jane!  It is terrible lucky!  They ’d ‘a’ tuk ye sartin.  Somebody see thet jack on the back o’ my hand, there ’n Cornwall, ‘n’ put ’em efter me.  But I was bound ‘n’ detarmined they ’d never tek me alive, never!  Ef I ever dew any fightin’, ‘t ain’t a-goin’ t’ be fer England, nut by a side o’ sole-leather.  I med up my mind I ‘d begin the war right then an’ there.”

“That fellow never knew what hit him,” I remarked.  “He did n’t get up for half a minute.”

“Must ‘a’ swatted ’im powerful,” said D’ri, as he felt his knuckles.  “Gol-dum ther picturs!  Go ‘n’ try t’ yank a man right off a boat like thet air when they hain’ no right t’ tech ’im.  Ef I ’d ‘a’ hed Ol’ Beeswax, some on ’em ’d ‘a’ got hurt.”

“How did you get here?” I inquired.

“Swum,” said he.  “Could n’t go nowheres else.  Current fetched me here.  Splits et the head o’ the island—­boun’ ter land ye right here.  Got t’ be movin’.  They ’ll be efter us, mebbe—­’s the fust place they ’d look.”

A few logs were stranded on the stony point of the island.  We withed three others to mine, setting sail with two bits of driftwood for paddles.  We pulled for the south shore, but the current carried us rapidly down-river.  In a bay some two miles below we found, to our joy, the two sections of the big raft undergoing repairs.  At daybreak D’ri put off in the woods for home.

“Don’t like the idee o’ goin’ int’ the British navy,” said he. “’D ruther chop wood ‘n’ ketch bears over ’n St. Lawrence County.  Good-by, Ray!  Tek care o’ yerself.”

Those were the last words he said to me, and soon I was on the raft again, floating toward the great city of my dreams.  I had a mighty fear the schooner would overhaul us, but saw nothing more of her.  I got new clothes in Montreal, presenting myself in good repair.  They gave me hearty welcome, those good friends of my mother, and I spent a full year in the college, although, to be frank, I was near being sent home more than once for fighting and other deviltry.