HENRY IS ATTACKED
The days to follow were full of hard work for the young soldiers. They
were detailed with the baggage corps, and had all they could do to bring
through the many things left in their care. Although Dave did not know
the truth, it was Lieutenant Naster who had much of this work piled on
the young soldier's shoulders.
The sail down Lake Oneida proved a period of rest, for which both Dave
and Henry were truly thankful. Both made the journey in a long and wide
batteau, commonly called to-day a flat-bottom boat. It was now the end
of June and the weather was hot. On one occasion the youths went in
bathing, but this time nothing molested them. They also went fishing and
brought out as nice a mess of fish as the clear waters of this lake
afforded.
"It's an ideal spot for a home," said Dave. "Puts me in mind of the
Kinotah."
"If the Kinotah is as good as this I wouldn't want anything better,"
replied Henry.
The batteau, of extra-large size, was filled with baggage, and besides
the boys there were ten rangers on board, including old Campwell. The
old man sat in the rear of the craft, eyeing the shore critically.
"My eyesight ain't none o' the best," he drawled, presently. "But onless
I'm in error, I jest see a number o' Injuns behind yonder skirt o'
bushes."
All looked in the direction, and presently one of the other rangers said
that he, too, saw at least two Indians. They appeared to be following up
the boats and at the same time did all they could to keep hidden.
"What do you make of that?" asked Henry of Barringford, who was pulling
an oar beside him.
The old frontiersman shrugged his shoulders. "Depends on whether they
are friends or enemies, Henry," he said. "If they are friends more'n
likely they'll jine us when we reach the river."
"And if not?"
"Then they ought to be captured, for if they ain't friends they are
spying for the French."
Evidently the Indians had not been discovered by those on the other
batteaux, and after a short talk the man in charge of that containing
our friends decided to report the case to his superior, in a boat some
distance ahead. Pulling with all strength, the clumsy craft was, in
quarter of an hour, brought alongside of Captain Mollett's boat.
"Indians, eh?" said the captain, reflectively. "Couldn't make them out
very well, could you?"
"No, captain."
"Hum! We'll have to investigate this."
Word was passed to several other batteaux, and soon after a boat turned
toward shore, having on board fifteen rangers, including Barringford and
Henry. Dave and Schnitzer wished to accompany the others but this was
not permitted.
"Good-by until we meet again!" cried Henry, on leaving.
"Take good care of yourself," returned Dave, and so with a wave of the
hand the two cousins parted.
It did not take the batteau long to reach the north shore of the lake,
and as soon as the craft grounded all leaped out. Fastening the boat to
a nearby tree, the rangers set out on a search for the Indians.
The party was under the command of George Harvey, well known as an old
Indian fighter of the Mohawk valley and a man who was as shrewd as he
was daring. He had brought the rangers ashore boldly, but once in the
shelter of the timber he halted his men to give them advice.
"We'll spread out in a straight line, due north," he said. "Each man
about thirty yards from the next. Then we can beat up the timber
thoroughly. Don't fire until you're sure of what you are doing, for to
kill a friendly Indian just now would be the worst thing we could do.
General Johnson would never forgive you for it. He had hard enough work
to make 'em come over to us."
It fell to Henry's lot to skirt the shore of the lake, with Barringford
next to him. The way was easy where the trail ran close to the water,
but at other points was exceedingly difficult, for big stones and thick
brushwood frequently blocked his progress.
"Phew! but this is no child's play!" he muttered to himself, as he came
out on a point of the shore where the sun blazed down fiercely. "A
fellow couldn't feel any hotter plowing corn or turning hay. I'd rather
go swimming than hunt up Indians, I must confess."
His soliloquy was broken by the flitting of something from one tree to
another, some distance ahead. The movement was so rapid, and the
distance so great, that he could not settle in his mind what the object
had been.
"Was that an Indian, or some big wild bird?" he asked himself. Drawing
back into the shelter of some bushes he held his gun ready for use, and
gazed ahead with much interest.
The sun was now well down in the west, so his shadow fell in front of
him as he gazed eastward. Of a sudden another shadow loomed up beside
his own. He turned, but before he could defend himself, he was hauled
back and his gun was wrenched from his grasp. He tried to cry out, but a
red hand was instantly clapped over his mouth.
Henry tried his best to free himself but it was useless. Two brawny
warriors had attacked him, and now one of the redmen flourished a long
hunting knife in his face, at the same time muttering some words of
warning in a guttural tone. Henry did not understand the language
spoken, but he knew what was meant--that he would be killed if he
attempted to either fight or cry out--and so for the time being he lay
still.
At a distance the young soldier heard the sounds of footsteps, and he
rightfully surmised that Barringford was continuing his journey forward,
with the rest of the rangers. Soon the sounds died away and all became
as silent as the grave.
But the Indians did not wish to take any chances and so the one with the
knife continued to stand over the young soldier until his companion was
certain the whites had gone on. Then he emitted a short and peculiar
bird-like whistle.
In less than two minutes fully a dozen warriors appeared on the scene,
crawling from behind logs and rocks and from holes among the tree roots.
All came forward and gazed curiously at the prisoner.
A parley lasting but a few minutes followed. Henry tried his best to
make out what was said, but this Indian dialect was entirely new to him.
He half suspected that these redmen had come down into New York from the
north shore of Lake Ontario and in this he was not mistaken. They were
spies, as it was long afterward proved, sent out by Saint Luc de la
Corne, the French officer in command at Isle Royal, afterward called
Chimney Island.
The coming ashore of the English had evidently disconcerted the Indians
and they hesitated over what should be their next move. But at last they
set off on a rapid march northward, taking Henry with them. The young
soldier's hands were bound behind him and he was given to understand
that if he did not move along as suited them he would be killed on the
spot.
"A nice pickle I'm in and no mistake," he mused, as the party toiled up
a long hill and through a dense patch of timber where the undergrowth
almost barred all progress. "These redskins won't give me the slightest
chance to get away, and where they are taking me is more than I can
guess. Wonder what Barringford will say when he finds I am missing?"
Some time after this a distant shot sounded out, at which all of the
Indians came to a halt. The shot was followed by several others, all
coming from the direction of the lake.
"Perhaps they are signals meant for me," thought Henry. "Oh, if only
Barringford and the others strike the right trail!"
The shots having come to an end, the forward march was resumed, and the
party did not halt again until long after nightfall. Henry was bound to
a tree and one of the Indians, who seemed less bloodthirsty than the
others, gave him a bit of meat, some corn cakes, and a drink of water.
The young soldier thanked the redskin and tried to engage him in
conversation, but the Indian merely shook his head and walked away.
When the Indians retired for the night Henry was tied to a short stake
driven deeply into the ground. This allowed him to rest on one side or
the other, but still kept his hands behind him--a most uncomfortable
position. But lying down, even like that, was better than standing
against the tree, and he was so tired he was soon fast asleep.
A kick in the ribs awoke him at early daybreak, and after a light
breakfast, the Indians resumed their journey. In a short time they
gained a small stream, and from a hiding place brought forth several
canoes. Henry was made to enter one of the canoes and the whole party
began to paddle down the stream swiftly and in the utmost silence.
The watercourse was less than five yards wide and in many places the
branches of the trees on the opposite banks intertwined, forming a long,
low bower, beneath which the sunlight was hardly able to penetrate.
Outside it was hot and dry, but on this stream it was deliciously cool,
and under other circumstances Henry would have enjoyed the canoe trip
greatly. Game was plentiful and frequently popped up within easy
shooting distance. The Indians did not use their guns, however, although
a number of birds and a deer were brought down by the aid of a bow and
arrows in the hands of an Indian in the front canoe.
Before the trip on the river came to an end Henry calculated that they
had covered at least sixteen miles. They went ashore just above a small
water-fall and now the Indians took their canoes with them. The party
turned westward, and Henry guessed that they were bound for the eastern
shore of Lake Ontario.
"If they once get me on the lake I'll be booked for Canada, that's
certain," he mused, dismally. "If only I had half a chance I'd run for
it, even though I'd risk being shot."