“Ellen angry,” he said, “so she tell big lie. She tell my aunt big American devil Whitcomb follow us in woods, so we hide letters under big rock. Mark place so sometime she go get ’em. I say I show her rock sometime. She say letters not important now, right quick.” Joseph chuckled.

“My aunt bad woman,” he repeated. “She try send Ellen back to Albany again, with letters. Ellen say no. Ellen big fool. I say take letters, go see Captain Merrill. Ellen say No: she not do that way.” He sighed. “Ellen know nothing: she great fool. When she refuse, my aunt know Ellen find out something—maybe find out something from you. That’s why she take Ellen with army—so she not run away somewhere: not tell anybody something dangerous. My aunt no fool: she know Ellen angry: she know Ellen honest: always want do what right. My aunt know girl like that, she tell somebody something!”

There had been, Joseph said, no open break between his aunt and Ellen, until the Sacs had brought us back to Grand Isle after the battle. Then Lanaudiere had come to his aunt’s tent with Nathaniel in his arms, and had told her the Indians had also captured me.

“When he say that,” Joseph said, “my aunt look at Lanaudiere and Lanaudiere look at her. They say nothing; but Ellen know what they think. They think, ‘Here is chance to get rid of man we don’t like. Here is chance to put that man where he never bother us no more.’ ”

Thereupon Ellen had pleaded for us: had begged her aunt to have us treated as prisoners of war should be treated. She even threatened, if we were not so treated, to send word to the Americans so that they could retaliate on such British prisoners as were in American hands.

Marie de Sabrevois, Joseph said, had become powerful because of her relations with Burgoyne. Night after night, he said, she dined with him. Their intimacy was known to every high officer in the English army. She could do as she pleased, and it pleased her to run no risks from an American, or from a girl like Ellen Phipps. To keep Ellen quiet, she had promised her to protect me from the Indians, but within the hour the Indians had taken us away.

So Ellen knew at last that Marie de Sabrevois was as ruthless as she was beautiful, without virtue, without respect for her word of honor, without regard for human life.

There was apprehension in my next question. “You say Marie de Sabrevois would run no risks from me or Ellen, Joseph. Do you mean anything could happen to Ellen if she considered Ellen dangerous?”

For the third time Joseph said, “My aunt bad woman. She do anything.”