WHAT BEFELL HENRY
LET us now return to Henry, and see what happened to him during the time
that Dave was making his escape to Fort Oswego.
As we already know, Henry had attacked one of the Indians with his
hunting knife. In a moment more both were struggling on the ground, in a
close embrace which was truly desperate.
Henry was strong for his age and during his life had been in more than
one close encounter with both red men and wild animals. He felt that he
was fighting for his life and he did not intend to give the Indian the
slightest advantage.
The young soldier felt the red man’s hand creeping toward his throat,
but he caught the wrist and bent it backward, until the Indian had to
squirm to one side to prevent that member from being broken. But then
the Indian made another twist and got his arm over Henry’s neck,
pressing him closer and closer.
There was but one way left in which to throw the Indian off, and this
the young solder used without delay. Drawing up his knee he set it
against the enemy’s chest and forced it forward, at the same time
holding the red man across the back by one hand and by the leg with the
other.
The awful pressure thus brought to bear was more than the Indian could
stand. Fearful of having his ribs crushed in, he released Henry’s
throat. At once the youth threw up the leg he was holding and the red
man went spinning over on his back.
By this time other Indians were at hand, and an arrow hit Henry in the
fleshy part of the arm. Raising his hunting knife, he struck at one of
the newcomers, piercing his shoulder. Then he made a leap up the rock
and another to the bushes beyond, and with the swiftness of a wild
animal disappeared into the forest.
The blood of the Indian who had been struck was now aroused, as was also
the anger of the one who had been thrown down, and the pair made after
the young soldier, followed by two other warriors.
Through the forest went pursued and pursuers, until, having run in
something of a semicircle, Henry came out on the lake front, at a spot
some distance above where the two rowboats had been drawn up. Here he
espied an Indian canoe, and, leaping in, began to paddle out into the
lake with all speed.
The first intimation he had of the closeness of his enemies was when an
arrow flew by the canoe, to land in the water beyond. Other arrows
followed, and then came the report of a gun, but he remained untouched.
The Indians were now running along shore, and soon they came upon the
two Frenchmen already mentioned in these pages. They belonged to the
Canadian militia and their uniforms were such in name only. They had
come to the south shore of the lake for information, having been
promised a good reward by the Governor-General of Canada if they
succeeded in bringing back news of importance.
Under the directions of the Frenchmen four of the Indians set off in one
of the rowboats after Henry, who was still paddling westward with all
the speed at his command. The red men were ordered to capture the young
soldier alive if possible, but if not, to kill him.
It was not long before Henry discovered how the pursuit had been
renewed. He had now reached a good-sized inlet and was still some
distance from the shore. He turned in with all speed, knowing that a
fight of four to one on the water could only end in his defeat.
“If I only had my musket,” he said, half aloud, but the firearm had been
left on the ground at the camp, after the first hand-to-hand struggle.
The shore was almost reached, when the Indians set up a yell, and while
two of them continued to row the other two rose up and fixed arrows in
their bows.
“White soldier stop!” cried one, in bad English. “Stop, or be killed!”
“I reckon you’ll kill me anyway,” muttered Henry, and as the canoe
grated on the shore, he dropped the paddle, caught up his hunting knife,
and leaped to land.
It is barely possible that the youth might have escaped to the forest
once more. But as he ran for the trees, two Indians suddenly appeared
before him. One carried a stout stick, and without warning he struck
Henry a heavy blow on the head. The young soldier uttered a moan,
staggered from side to side, and then fell senseless.
In a moment more, and just as the Indian who had struck the blow was
bending over the unconscious youth to scalp him, the Indians in the
rowboat came up.
“Rising Moon must stop,” called one of the number. “He must not scalp
the pale face.” He spoke in his native tongue.
“Why does Falling Waters speak thus?” demanded the other. “It was Rising
Moon’s hand who laid the English soldier boy low.”
“Rising Moon has earned the scalp,” went on the first Indian. “But
Falling Waters has orders to bring the soldier back alive.”
At this Rising Moon’s face took on a sour look.
“Who gave the order?”
“The Frenchman, Jacques Volnier. He is here with another. They seek news
of importance from the English. We have sworn to stand by them, and we
must obey,” added Falling Waters.
A long and angry discussion arose, but in the end Falling Waters carried
his point, and Henry was taken to a rendezvous which the Canadian
Indians had once occupied on the south shore of Lake Ontario.
The fight had by this time terminated, and the Frenchmen and the Indians
had come out on the lake in a flat-bottomed boat. With his arms bound
behind him, Henry, who was just recovering from the blow he had
received, was made to march down to the boat. Here he found Silvers also
a prisoner, and suffering from several arrow wounds.
“Hullo, are you a prisoner?” cried the leader of the expedition, when
one of the Frenchmen arose and clapped a hand over his mouth.
“Ze prisonair must not talk now,” he said, in broken English. “Ze
prisonair can talk when we haf left ze shore.”
“All right,” muttered Silvers, and glad that the Frenchmen had compelled
the Indians to spare his life, he relapsed into silence.
As for poor Henry, his head was in a whirl and ached as if ready to
split open. More than this, he felt stiff and sore all over, and he sat
in the bow of the boat only with the greatest of difficulty.
As Shamer had told Dave, the boat contained six Indians, besides the two
Frenchmen and the prisoners, so it was heavily loaded. The red men were
at the oars, and they rowed with a steadiness that showed they had had
practice in this art as well as with a paddle. The boat shot forward
with good speed, and soon the south shore of the lake became a dim,
uncertain line in the distance.
“Now ze prisonairs can tell us who za air,” said one of the Frenchmen,
evidently the leader of the party.
“I am not ashamed of that,” answered Silvers. “My name is Louis
Silvers.”
“Ah, Louis—zat ees a good name. And you?” went on the Frenchman, turning
to the young soldier.
“I am Henry Morris.”
“You belong to ze soldiers at Fort Oswego, not so?”
“We do not,” answered Silvers.
“Zen where from you come?”
“We have been up at Fort Niagara.”
“Ah, I see—you help at ze capture of zat place, eh?”
“Yes.”
The Frenchman shook his head thoughtfully.
“Zat was von bad work—zat fight. I no haf been dair, but I hear, yes, I
hear it all.”
“Who are you?” asked Henry boldly.
“Me? Ah, I am not much, my bold little troopair, I am plain Jacques
Volnier, a hunter and trappair.”
“Then why have you captured us?” went on Henry curiously.
At this the Frenchman shrugged his shoulders.
“Because—yes, because we want ze company,” he answered, with a smile.
Henry frowned, and so did Silvers, and at this both Frenchmen laughed at
what they thought was a good joke. Then they talked to each other in
their own tongue, leaving the prisoners to themselves.
“What do you think they will do with us?” asked Henry, in a low voice.
“Throw us into a French prison, more than likely,” answered Silvers
gloomily.
“What did you do with Sir William’s message?”
“Hush! I threw it overboard,” said the other, in a still lower voice.
The strong sun was now beginning to tell upon Henry, and he said no
more. He wanted to keep his senses, but presently all seemed to fade
from him. He felt himself pitch into Silvers’ arms, and then he knew no
more for the time being.
“Poor lad,” murmured Silvers.
“What is ze mattair?” demanded Jacques Volnier.
“He has fainted. Won’t you untie me so that I can do something for him?”
“_Oui! oui!_” was the answer, and in a moment more Silvers was free. He
untied Henry and bathed his forehead, and presently the young soldier
opened his eyes. But it was not until long after sundown that Henry felt
anything like himself again, and even then he was almost too weak to
stand.
The two prisoners wondered where they were being taken, but could get
nothing from either the Frenchmen or the Indians. The rowboat was headed
to the northeast, and this showed that the general direction was for the
mouth of the St. Lawrence. On and on swept the craft, through the dismal
night and still on when the morning came.
“They are going quite a distance,” said Henry, after he had swallowed a
piece of bread that had been given to him. “Can it be that they mean to
move right down the river?”
“It is possible,” answered Silvers. “Montreal, you know, is not so very
far away.”
At last the boat turned to the eastward, and that evening a landing was
made near what is to-day Wolfe Island. There had been a small settlement
here, but this was abandoned, the inhabitants having withdrawn to a fort
on the mainland.
At the island the Indians left the party and some other Frenchmen
appeared, one owning a fair-sized sloop, which boasted a small swivel
gun. The prisoners were made to board the sloop, and now their hands
were chained behind them. The sloop had a small cuddy and into this they
were forced, the door being closed and locked after them.
“We are in a pickle now surely!” groaned Henry. “I believe they are
going to take us down the river.”
It was not until late at night when the anchor was hoisted and the sails
of the sloop were set. Then the craft slipped by the island, and past
Fort Frontenac, and stood boldly down the stream in the direction of the
Thousand Islands.
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