forward again, the sailors keeping close behind, as if they were in fear
lest the figure prove to be supernatural.

"Who are you?" called the young officer.

"Robert Lennox, of Albany, the Province of New York, and the
wilderness," replied Robert. "Welcome to my island."

His sense of drama was still strong upon him, and he replied in his
fullest and clearest voice. The officer stared, and then said:

"You've saved the ship and all our lives."

"I think that's what I was here for, though it's likely that you've
saved me, too. What ship it that?"

"His Majesty's sloop of war, _Hawk_, Captain Stuart Whyte, from
Bridgetown in the Barbadoes, for Boston."

Robert thrilled when he heard the word "Boston." It was not New York,
but it was a port for home, nevertheless.

"Who are you?" continued the officer, on fire with curiosity. "You've
told me your name, but what are you? and where are the other people of
the island?"

"There are no other people. It's my island. I'm sole lord of the isle,
and you're most welcome."

"You heard our signal guns?"