BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT AT FORT DETROIT
The month elapsed since Donald left Detroit had been to the imprisoned
garrison of that important post a period of gloom and incessant
anxiety. Although, after the first outbreak, no general attack had
been made on the place, the rigor of its siege had not for a moment
been relaxed. It was seldom that an Indian was to be seen; but if a
soldier exposed himself above the walls or at a loop-hole, the venomous
hiss of a bullet instantly warned him of his peril, and of the tireless
vigilance of the unseen foe. Provisions became so scarce that every
ounce of food was carefully collected in one place, kept under guard,
and sparingly doled out each morning. The faces of men and women grew
wan and pinched with hunger, while the children clamored incessantly
for food. If it had not been for the brave aid of a French farmer,
dwelling across the river, who occasionally, on dark nights, smuggled
scanty supplies to the beleaguered garrison, they would have been
forced by starvation to a surrender.
In all this time no man slept, save in his clothes, and with a gun by
his side. Night alarms were frequent, and only incessant watchfulness
averted the destruction of the place by fire, from arrows tipped with
blazing tow, that fell at all hours, with greater or less frequency, on
the thatched roofs within the palisades.
With all this, there was no thought of yielding in the minds of Gladwyn
or his men. The red cross of St. George still floated proudly above
them, and each evening the sullen boom of the sunset gun echoed
defiantly across the waters of the broad river.
While the Indians could not be induced to attempt a general assault
upon the slight defences, in spite of its prospects of almost certain
success, Pontiac so skilfully disposed his forces that not only was the
fort under constant watch, but no one could approach it in any
direction without discovery. They, too, collected all the provisions
within their reach, purchasing quantities from the Canadians, and
gathering them in the commodious house that still held Major Hester a
prisoner-guest. Eagerly as the besieged watched for reinforcements and
supplies, the Indians were no less keenly on the lookout for the same
things.
Knowing that Cuyler's expedition must have started from Fort Niagara,
Major Gladwyn despatched the schooner that bore his name down the lake,
to intercept, warn, and hasten it. The _Gladwyn_ narrowly escaped
capture by a great fleet of canoes, as she lay becalmed at the mouth of
the river, and was only saved by the springing up of a timely breeze.
She failed to discover the object of her search, and finally reached
the Niagara without having delivered her warning.
It was now time for her return, while Cuyler should have arrived long
since; and day after day were the eyes of the weary garrison directed
down the shining river, in efforts to detect the first glint of sails
or flash of oars.
While matters stood thus, there came, late one afternoon, a loud cry,
announcing joyful tidings, from the sentinel on one of the river
bastions. His shout was taken up and repeated by all who happened to
be on the water front, and in a minute the whole place was astir. The
inhabitants poured into the narrow streets and hastened to the river's
edge, their haggard faces lighted with a new hope and their eager
voices exchanging the welcome news. The long-expected reinforcements
had come at last. The boats were in sight. They had escaped the
perils of their journey and were safely arrived. Now the danger was
over, and all would again be well with Detroit.
As the motley throng of soldiers, in soiled uniforms, traders,
voyageurs, pale-faced women, and wondering children, streamed to the
narrow beach beyond the water gate, all could see the approaching boats
as, in long-extended line and with flashing oars, one after another
rounded the last wooded point and advanced slowly up the river.
From the stern of the foremost boat flew the red flag of England. As
it drew near, cheer after cheer broke from the excited garrison, while
from the rampart above them a loud-voiced cannon boomed forth it
assurance that the fort still held out.
Alas, for the high hopes of the stout defenders! Their joy was quickly
quenched; for when the long column of eighteen boats was in full view,
and the rejoicing was at its height, dark, naked figures suddenly
leaped up, with brandished weapons and exulting yells, in every boat.
The fierce war-whoop came quavering over the water, and in a moment the
dreadful truth was known. The entire convoy had been captured, and was
in the enemy's hands.
As the mournful procession of boats moved past, though well over toward
the opposite bank of the river, the disheartened garrison saw that each
was rowed by two or more white captives, who were guarded and forced to
their labor by armed savages. As the heavy-hearted spectators were
about to turn away from this distressing sight, a thrilling incident
absorbed their attention, and held them spellbound.
The last boat contained four white men and but three Indians. One of
the former was Donald Hester, and he it was who steered. Although he
had been well treated by his captors, after the mystic marking on his
arm to which the Zebra attracted their attention had saved him from an
awful death, he was still held a close prisoner, and was still
uncertain as to the fate reserved for him. This, however, concerned
him little. Nothing could be worse than the mental suffering he had
already undergone, and his present anxiety was only for his sister
Edith. What had become of her? Where was she, and by what perils was
she surrounded? He became frantic as he reflected upon her
helplessness and the restraints that prevented him from flying to her
assistance. He had learned from his fellow-captives that nothing had
been seen of her nor of her companion after the attack on Cuyler's
camp, and also that two boats, containing many fugitives, had effected
an escape. She must then be in one of those, and if she were, what
might she not be suffering, without food or shelter, and liable at any
moment to fall into the hands of some roving band of savages? For her
sake, he must regain his freedom. Yes, he must, and he would. Why not
strike for it at that very moment? Would he ever have a better chance?
As the last boat came abreast of the schooner _Beaver_, surging at her
cables not more than a quarter of a mile away, Donald called out in
English to the rowers in his boat that each should seize one of the
Indian guards and throw him overboard, while he would stand ready to
aid any one, or all of them, in the undertaking.
The soldier nearest him replied that he feared he had not the requisite
strength.
"Very well," said Donald; "pretend exhaustion and change places with
me."
As this order was obeyed and the young ensign stepped forward, as
though to take his comrade's place, he suddenly seized hold of an
unsuspecting Indian, lifted him bodily, and flung him into the river.
At the same moment the savage clutched his assailant's clothing, and as
he cleared the boat dragged Donald after him over its side. The two
remaining Indians, seized with a panic, leaped overboard and struck out
for shore, while the three soldiers, bending to their oars, directed
their craft with desperate energy toward the schooner, followed by a
storm of bullets and a dozen canoes.
In the meantime, Donald and his antagonist, swept away by the current,
were engaged in a frightful struggle for life and death, now rising
gasping to the surface, then sinking to unknown depths, but always
grappling, and clutching at each other's throat.
At length, when it seemed to the white lad that he had spent an
eternity in the cruel green depths, when his ears were bursting and his
eyes starting from their sockets, he found himself once more at the
surface, breathing in great gulps of the blessed air, and alone. For a
moment he could not believe it, but gazed wildly about him, expecting
each instant to feel the awful clutch that should again drag him under.
He was nearly exhausted, and so weak that had not a floating oar come
within his reach he must quickly have sunk, to rise no more.
Clinging feebly to that Heaven-sent bit of wood, he kept his face above
the water while his spent strength was gradually restored.
At the boom of a cannon, he lifted his head a little higher, and looked
back. A cloud of blue smoke was drifting away from the now distant
schooner, a boat was alongside, and a fleet of canoes was scurrying out
of range. His recent companions had then escaped, and pursuit of them
had so attracted the attention of the Indians that none had given him a
thought. They doubtless never questioned but what that death grapple
in the water had resulted fatally to both contestants. So much the
better for him. No search would be made, and he might escape, after
all. And dear Edith! At length he was free to go in search of her.
With this thought the lad took a new hold on life, grasped his friendly
oar more firmly, and tried to plan some course of action.
Making no motion that might attract hostile attention, he drifted
passively, until the sun had set in a flood of glory, and the stars
peeped timidly down at him from their limitless heights. By this time
he was some miles below the fort, and near the eastern bank of the
river. Though he had seen many canoes pass up stream, at a distance so
great that he was not noticed, there was now neither sign nor sound of
human presence, and very gently the young soldier began to swim toward
land. How blessed it was to touch bottom again, then to drag himself
cautiously and wearily into a clump of tall sedges, and lie once more
on the substantial bosom of mother earth. For an hour or more he
slept, and then, greatly refreshed, he awoke to renewed activity.