IN THE FOG
When Robert went into the fog and began to creep from stump to stump,
his imagination leaped up at once and put a foe at every point in
front of him. Perhaps he deserved more credit for courage and daring
than any of the others, because his vivid fancy foresaw all the
dangers and more. Tayoga was on his right and Willet on his left.
Daganoweda, who had all the eagerness of Black Rifle himself, was
farther down the line. Flashes of fire appeared now and then in the
fog ahead of them, and bullets hummed over their heads.
Robert, essentially humane, began to share, nevertheless, the zeal of
these hunters of men around him. The French and Canadians were seeking
their lives and they must strike back. He peered through the fog,
looking for a chance to fire, forgetting the wet ground, and the rain
which was fast soaking him through and through. He was concerned only
to keep his rifle and powder dry. Two flashes on his right showed that
the defenders were already replying.
"We cannot go much farther, Dagaeoga," whispered Tayoga, "or we will
be among them. I shall take this stump just ahead."
"And I the one beside it. I don't mind admitting that a thick stump
between you and your enemy is a good thing."
He sank down behind his chosen bulwark, and stared through the fog.
The flashes of fire continued, but they were on his right and left,
and nothing appeared directly in front of him. A cry came from a point
farther down the line. One of the defenders had been hit and presently
another fell. Robert again saw all the dangers and more, but his mind
was in complete command of his body and he watched with unfailing
vigilance. He saw Willet suddenly level his rifle across his
protecting stump and fire. No cry came in response, but he believed
that the hunter's bullet had found its target. Tayoga also pulled
trigger, but Robert did not yet see anything at which to aim,
although the sound of shots from the two hostile fronts was now almost
continuous.
The combat in the dim mists had a certain weird quality and Robert's
imaginative mind heightened its effect. It was almost like the blind
shooting at the blind. A pink dot would appear in the fog, expand a
little, and then go out. There would be a sharp report, the whistling
of a bullet, perhaps, and that was all. The white men fought in
silence, and, if there were any Indians with the French and Canadians
they imitated them.
Robert, at last, caught a glimpse of a dusky figure about thirty yards
in front of him, and, aiming his rifle, quickly fired. He had no
way of knowing that he had hit, save that no shot came in reply, but
Tayoga, who was once again ear to the ground, said that their foes
were drawing back a little.
"They find our fire hotter than they had expected," he said. "If they
can shoot in the fog so can we, and the Great Bear is more than a
match for them in such a contest."
The whole line crept forward and paused again behind another row of
stumps. A general volley met them and they found protection none too
soon. Bullets chipped little pieces off the stumps or struck in the
ground about them. But Robert knew that they had been fired largely
at random, or had been drawn perhaps by a slight noise. There was a
strong temptation to return the fire in a like manner, but he had the
strength of mind to withhold his aim for the present, and not shoot
until he had a sure target.
Yet the dim battle in the fog increased in volume. More skirmishers
from the forces of St. Luc came up, and the line of fire spread to
both left and right. A yell was heard now and then, and it was
evident that the Indians in large numbers were coming into the combat.
Willet's band was reënforced also from the camp, and his line extended
to meet that of the foe. Rifles cracked incessantly, the white fog
was sprinkled with pink dots, and, above the heads of the men, it was
darkened by the smoke that rose from the firing. At rare intervals a
deep cheer from a borderer replied to the savage war whoop.
A man four stumps from Robert was hit in the head and died without
a sound, but Willet, firing at the flash of the rifle that slew him,
avenged his loss. A bullet grazed Robert's head, cutting off two locks
of hair very neatly. Its passage took his breath for a moment or two,
and gave him a shock, but he recovered quickly, and, still controlling
his impulse to pull trigger in haste, looked for something at which to
aim.
The fog had not lifted at all, but by gazing into its heart a long
time, Robert was able to see a little distance. Now and then the
figure of an enemy, as he leaped from the shelter of one stump to
another, was outlined dimly, but invariably there was not enough time
for a shot. Soon he made out a large stump not very far ahead of him,
and he saw the flash of a rifle from it. He caught a glimpse only of
the hands that held the weapon, but he believed them to be a white
man's hands and he believed also that the man behind the stump was one
of the best French sharpshooters.
Robert resolved to bring down the Frenchman, who presently, when
firing once more, might then expose enough of himself for a target. He
waited patiently and the second shot came. He saw the hands again, the
arms, part of one shoulder and the side of the head, and taking quick
aim he pulled the trigger, though he was satisfied that his bullet had
missed.
But the flame of battle was lighted in Robert's soul. Hating nobody
and wishing good to all, he nevertheless sought to kill, because some
one was seeking to kill him, and because killing was the business of
those about him. What came to be known later as mass psychology took
hold of him. All his mental and physical powers were concentrated on
the single task of slaying an enemy. The affair now resolved itself
into a duel between single foes.
Deciding to await a third shot from his enemy, he made his position
behind the stump a little easier, poised, as it were, ready to throw
every faculty, physical and mental, into his reply to that expected
third shot. He was quite sure, too, that he would have a chance,
because the man had exposed so much more of himself at the second
shot than at the first, and his escape from the bullets would make him
expose yet more at the third. His heart began to throb hard, and his
pulses were beating fast. The battle was still going on about him, but
he forgot all the rest of it, the shots, the shouts, the flashes, and
remembered only his own part. He judged that in another minute the man
would show himself. So believing, he laid his rifle across his stump,
cocked it, and was ready to take aim and fire in a few seconds.
His foe's head appeared, after just about the delay that he had
expected, and Robert's hand sprang to the trigger at the very moment
the man pulled his own. The bullet hummed by his cheek. His finger
contracted and then it loosened. A sudden acuteness of vision, or a
chance thinning of the fog at that point, enabled him to see the man's
face, and he recognized the French partisan, Charles Langlade, known
also to the Indians as the Owl, who, with his wife, the Dove, had once
held him in a captivity by no means unkind.
His humane instincts, his gratitude, his feeling for another flared
up even in that moment of battle and passion, when the man-hunting
impulse was so strong. His aim, quick as it was, had been sure and
deadly, but, deflecting the muzzle of the rifle a shade, his finger
contracted again. The spurt of fire leaped forth and the bullet sang
by the ear of Langlade, singing to him a little song of caution as it
passed, telling such a wary partisan as he that his stump was a very
exposed stump, dangerous to the last degree, and that it would be
better for him to find one somewhere else.
Robert did not see the Owl go away, but he was quite sure that he had
gone, because it was just the sort of thing that such a skilled forest
fighter would do. The fog thickened again, and, in a few more minutes,
both lines shifted somewhat. Then he had to watch new stumps at new
points, and his thoughts were once more in tune with those about him,
concentrated on the battle and the man-hunt.
A bullet tipped his ear, and he saw that it came from a stump hardly
visible in the fog. The sharpshooter was not likely to be Langlade
again, and, at once, it became Robert's ambition to put him out of
action. No consideration of mercy or humanity would restrain him now,
if he obtained a chance of a good shot, and he waited patiently for
it. Evidently this new sharpshooter had detected his presence also,
and the second duel was on.
The man fired again in a minute or two, and the bullet chipped very
close. He was so quick, too, that Robert did not get an opportunity to
return his fire, but he recognized the face and to his great surprise
saw that it was De Courcelles who had taken a place in line with the
skirmishers. Rage seized him at once. This was the man who had tried
to trick him to his death in that affair with the bully, Boucher, at
Quebec. He was shaken with righteous anger. All the kindliness and
mercy that he had felt toward Langlade disappeared. He was sure, too,
that De Courcelles knew him and was trying his best to kill him.
Robert peered over his stump and sought eagerly for a shot. He
could play at that game as well as De Courcelles, but his enemy was
cautious. It was some time before he risked another bullet, and then
Robert's, in reply, missed, though he also had been untouched. His
anger increased. Although he had little hate in his composition he
could not forget that this man De Courcelles had been a party to an
infamous attempt upon his life, and even now, in what amounted to a
duel, was seeking to kill him. His own impulses, under such a spur,
and for the moment, were those of the slayer. He used all the skill
that he had learned in the forest to secure an opportunity for the
taking of his foe's life.
Robert sought to draw De Courcelles' fire again, meanwhile having
reloaded his own rifle, and he raised his cap a little above the edge
of the stump. But the trick was too old for the Frenchman and he did
not yield to it. Taking the chance, he thrust up his face, dropping
back immediately as De Courcelles' bullet sang over his head. Then he
sprang up and was in time to pull trigger at his enemy, who fell back.
Robert was able to tell in the single glimpse through the fog that De
Courcelles was not killed. The bullet had struck him in the shoulder,
inflicting a wound, certainly painful but probably not dangerous,
although it was likely to feed the man's hate of Robert. Even so,
young Lennox was glad now that he had not killed him, that his death
was not upon his hands; it was enough to disable him and to drive him
out of the battle.
The fighting grew once more in volume and fury. Rifles cracked
continuously up and down the line. The war whoop of the Indians was
incessant, and the deep cheer of the borderers replied to it. But
Robert saw that the end of the combat was near; not that the rage of
man was abated, but because nature, as if tired of so much strife, was
putting in between a veil that would hide the hostile forces from each
other. The fog suddenly began to thicken rapidly, rolling up from the
lake in great, white waves that made figures dim and shadowy, even a
few paces away.
If the fighting went on it would be impossible to tell friend from
foe, and Willet at once sent forth a sharp call which was repeated up
and down the line. The French leaders took like action, and, by mutual
consent, the two forces fell apart. The firing and the shouts ceased
abruptly and a slow withdrawal was begun. The fog had conquered.
"Is Dagaeoga hurt?" asked Tayoga.
"Untouched," replied Robert.
"I saw that you and the Frenchman, De Courcelles, were engaged in a
battle of your own. I might have helped you, but if I know you, you
did not wish my aid."
"No, Tayoga. It was man to man. I confess that while our duel was on
I was filled with rage against him, and tried my best to kill, but now
I'm glad I gave him only a wound."
"Your hate flows away as De Courcelles' blood flows out."
"If you want to put it that way. But do you hear anything of the
enemy, Tayoga? Fog seems to be a conductor of sound now and then."
"Nothing except the light noises of withdrawal. The retreating
footsteps become fainter and fainter, and I think we shall have peace
for to-day. They might fire bullets at random against the camp, but
St. Luc will not let them waste lead in such a manner. No, Dagaeoga,
we will lie quiet now and dress our wounds."
He was right, as the firing was not renewed, though the pickets,
stationed at short intervals, kept as sharp a watch as they could in
the fog, while the others lay by the fires which were now built higher
than usual. Colden was hopeful that St. Luc would draw off, but Tayoga
and Black Rifle, who went out again into the fog, reported no sign of
it. Beyond a doubt, he was prepared to maintain a long siege.
"We must get help," said Willet. "We're supposed to control Lake
George and we know that forces of ours are at the south end, where
they've advanced since the taking of Fort William Henry. We'll have to
send messengers."
"Who are they to be?" asked Colden.
"Robert and Tayoga are most fit. You have plenty of boats. They can
take a light one and leave at once, while the fog holds."
Colden agreed. Young Lennox and the Onondaga were more than willing,
and, in a half hour, everything was ready for the start. A strong
canoe with paddles for two was chosen and they put in it their rifles,
plenty of ammunition and some food.
"A year from now, if the war is still going on, I'll be going with you
on such errands," said Grosvenor confidently.
"Red Coat speaks the truth. He learns fast," said Tayoga.
"I won't tell you lads to be careful, because you don't need any
advice," said Willet.
Many were at the water's edge, when they pushed off, and Robert knew
that they were followed by the best of wishes, not only for their
success but for themselves also. A few strokes of the paddles and the
whole camp, save a luminous glow through the fog, was gone. A few more
strokes and the luminous glow too departed. The two were alone once
more in the wilderness, and they had little but instinct to guide them
in their perilous journey upon the waters. But they were not afraid.
Robert, instead, felt a curious exaltation of the spirit. He was
supremely confident that he and Tayoga would carry out their mission,
in spite of everything.
"It is odd how quickly the camp sank from sight," he said.
"It is because we are in the heart of a great fog," said Tayoga.
"Since it was thick enough to hide the battle it is thick enough
also to hide the camp and us from each other. But, Dagaeoga, it is a
friendly fog, as it conceals us from our enemies also."
"That's so, Tayoga, but I'm thinking this fog will hold dangers for us
too. St. Luc is not likely to neglect the lake, and he'll surmise that
we'll send for help. We've had experience on the water in fogs before,
and you'll have to use your ears as you did then."
"So I will, Dagaeoga. Suppose we stop now, and listen."
But nothing of a hostile nature came to them through the mists and
vapors, and, resuming the paddles again, they bore more toward the
center of the lake, where they thought they would be likely to escape
the cruising canoes of the enemy, if any should be sent out by St.
Luc. They expected too that the fog would thin there, but it did not
do so, seeming to spread over the full extent of Andiatarocte.
"How long do you think the fog will last?" asked Robert.
"All day, I fear," replied Tayoga.
"That's bad. If any of our friends should be on the shore we won't be
able to see 'em."
"But we have to make the best of it, Dagaeoga. We may be able to hear
them."
The fog was the greatest they had ever seen on Andiatarocte,
seeming to ooze up from the depths of the waters, and to spread over
everything. The keenest eyes, like those of Robert and Tayoga, could
penetrate it only a few yards, and it hung in heavy, wet folds over
their faces. It was difficult even to tell direction and they paddled
very slowly in a direction that they surmised led to the south. After
a while they stopped again that Tayoga might establish a new listening
post upon the water, though nothing alarming yet came to those
marvelous ears of his. But it was evident that he expected peril, and
Robert also anticipated it.
"A force as large as St. Luc's is sure to have brought canoes
overland," said young Lennox, "and in a fog like this he'll have them
launched on the lake."
"It is so," said Tayoga, using his favorite expression, "and I think
they will come soon."
They moved on once more a few hundred yards, and then, when the
Onondaga listened a long time, he announced that the hostile canoes
were on the lake, cruising about in the fog.
"I hear one to the right of us, another to the left, and several
directly ahead," he said. "Sharp Sword brought plenty of canoes with
him and he is using them. I think they have formed a line across the
lake, surmising that we would send a message to the south. Sharp Sword
is a great leader, and he forgets nothing."
"They can't draw a line that we won't pass."
Now they began to use their paddles very slowly and gently, the canoe
barely creeping along, and Tayoga listening with all his powers. But
the Onondaga was aware that his were not the only keen ears on the
lake, and that, gentle as was the movement of the paddies that he and
Robert held, it might be heard.
"The canoe on our right is coming in a little closer to us," he
whispered. "It is a very large canoe, because it holds four paddles.
I can trace the four separate sounds. They try to soften their strokes
lest the hidden messenger whom they want to catch may hear them, but
they cannot destroy the sound altogether. Now, the one on the left is
bearing in toward us also. I think they have made a chain across the
lake, and hope to keep anything from passing."
"Can you hear those ahead of us?"
"Very slightly, and only now and then, but it is enough to tell us
that they are still there. But, Dagaeoga, we must go ahead even if
they are before us; we cannot think of turning back."
"No such thought entered my head, Tayoga. We'll run this gauntlet."
"That was what I knew you would say. The canoes from both right and
left still approach. I think they carry on a patrol in the fog, and
move back and forth, always keeping in touch. Now, we must go forward
a little, or they will be upon us, but be ever so gentle with the
paddle, Dagaeoga. That is it! We make so little sound that it is no
sound at all, and they cannot hear us. Now, we are well beyond them,
and the two canoes are meeting in the fog. The men in them talk
together. You hear them very well yourself, Dagaeoga. Their exact
words do not come to our ears, but we know they are telling one
another that no messenger from the beleaguered camp has yet passed.
Now, they part and go back on their beat. We can afford to forget
them, Dagaeoga, and think of those ahead. We still have the real
gauntlet to run. Be very gentle with the paddle again.
"I hear the canoes ahead of us very clearly now. One of them is large
also with four paddles in it, and two of the men are Frenchmen. I
cannot understand what they say, but I hear the French accent; the
sound is not at all like that the warriors make. One of the Frenchmen
is giving instructions, as I can tell by his tone of command, and I
think the canoes are going to spread out more. Yes, they are moving
away to both right and left. They must feel sure that we are here
somewhere in the fog, trying to get by them, but the big canoe with
the Frenchmen in it keeps its place. Bear a little to the left,
Dagaeoga, and we can pass it unseen."
It was the most delicate of tasks to paddle the canoe, and cause
scarcely a ripple in the water, but they were so skillful they were
able to do it, and make no sound that Robert himself could hear.
Although his nerves were steady his excitement was intense. A
situation so extraordinary put every power of his imagination into
play. His fancy fairly peopled the water with hostile canoes; they
were in a triple ring about him and Tayoga. All his pulses were
beating hard, yet his will, as usual, was master of his nerves, and
the hand that held the paddle never shook.
"A canoe on the outer line, and from the left, is now bearing in
toward us," whispered Tayoga.
"There are two men in it, as the strokes of the paddles show. They are
coming toward us. Some evil spirit must have whispered to them that we
are here. Ah, they have stopped! What does it mean, Dagaeoga? Listen!
Did you not hear a little splash? They think to surprise us! They keep
the paddles silent and try a new trick! Hold the canoe here, Dagaeoga,
and I will meet the warrior who comes!"
The Onondaga dropped his rifle, hunting shirt and belt with his pistol
in it, into the bottom of the canoe, and then, his knife in his teeth,
he was over the side so quickly that Robert did not have time to
protest. In an instant he was gone in the fog, and the youth in
the canoe could do nothing but wait, a prey to the most terrible
apprehensions.
Robert, with an occasional motion of the paddle, held the canoe steady
on the water, and tried to pierce the fog with his eyes. He knew that
he must stay just where he was, or Tayoga, when he came back, might
never find him. If he came back! If--He listened with all his ears for
some sound, however slight, that might tell him what was happening.
Out of the fog came a faint splash, and then a sigh that was almost
a groan. Young Lennox shuddered, and the hair on his head stood up a
little. He knew that sound was made by a soul passing, but whose soul?
Once more he realized to the full that his lot was cast in wild and
perilous places.
A swimming face appeared in the fog, close to the canoe, and then his
heart fell from his throat to its usual place. Tayoga climbed lightly
into the canoe, no easy feat in such a situation, put on his belt and
replaced the knife in the sheath. Robert asked him nothing, he had
no need to do so. The sigh that was almost a groan had told the full
tale.
"Now we will bear to the right again, Dagaeoga," said Tayoga, calmly,
as the water dripped from him. Robert shivered once more. His fertile
fancy reproduced that brief, fierce struggle in the water, but he said
nothing, promptly following the suggestion of Tayoga, and sending the
canoe to the right. The position was too perilous, though, for them
to continue on one course long, and at the end of forty or fifty yards
they stopped, both listening intently.
"Some of them are talking with one another now," whispered Tayoga.
"The warrior who swam does not come back to his canoe, and they wonder
why he stays in the water so long. Soon they will know that he is
never coming out of the water. Now I hear a voice raised somewhat
above the others. It is a French voice. It is not that of St. Luc,
because he must remain on shore to direct his army. It is not that of
De Courcelles, because you wounded him, and he must be lying in camp
nursing his hurts. So I conclude that it is Jumonville, who is next
in rank and who therefore would be likely to command on this important
service. I am sure it is Jumonville, and his raised voice indicates
that he is giving orders. He realizes that the swimmer will not
return and that we must be near. Perhaps he knows or guesses that the
messengers are you and I, because he has learned long since that we
are fitted for just such service, and that we have done such deeds.
For instance, our journey to Quebec, on which we first met him."
"Then he'll think Dave is here too, because he was with us then."
"No, he will be quite sure the Great Bear is not here. He knows that
he is too important in the defense of the camp, that, while Captain
Colden commands, it is the Great Bear who suggests and really directs
everything. His sharp orders signify some sudden, new plan. They have
a fleet of canoes, and I think they are making a chain, with the links
connected so closely that we cannot pass. It is a real gauntlet for us
to run, Dagaeoga."
"And how are we to run it?"
"We must pass as warriors, as men of their own."
"I do not look like a warrior."
"But you can make yourself look like one, in the fog at least, enough,
perhaps, to go by. Your hair is a little long; take off your hunting
shirt, and the other shirt beneath it, bare yourself to the waist, and
in such a fog as this it would take the keenest of eyes, only a few
yards away, to tell that you are white. Quick, Dagaeoga! Lay the
garments on the bottom of the canoe. Bend well upon your paddle and
appear to be searching the water everywhere for the messengers who try
to escape. I will do the same. Ah, that is well. You look and act so
much like a warrior of the woods, Dagaeoga, that even I, in the same
canoe, could well take you for a Huron. Now we will whisper no more
for a while, because they come, and they will soon be upon us."
Robert bent over his paddle. His upper clothing lay in the bottom of
the canoe, with his rifle and Tayoga's upon the garments, ready to be
snatched up in an instant, if need should come. The cold, wet fog beat
upon his bare shoulders and chest, but he did not feel it. Instead his
blood was hot in every vein, and the great pulses in his temples beat
so hard that they made a roaring in his ears.
Distinct sounds now came from both left and right, the swish of
paddles, the ripple of water against the side of a canoe, men talking.
They were coming to the chain that had been stretched in front of
them, and their fate would soon be decided. Now, they must be not only
brave to the uttermost, but they must be consummate actors too.
Figures began to form themselves in the fog, the outline of a canoe
with two men in it appeared on their right, another showed just ahead,
and two more on the left. Robert from his lowered eyes, bent over the
paddle, caught a glimpse of the one ahead, a great canoe, or rather
boat, containing five men, one of whom wielded no paddle, but who sat
in its center, issuing orders. Through the fog came a slight gleam
of metal from his epaulets and belt, and, although the face was
indistinct, Robert knew that it was Jumonville.
The officer was telling the canoes to keep close watch, not to let
the chain be broken, that the messengers were close at hand, that
they would soon be taken, and that their comrade who did not come
back would be avenged. Robert bent a little lower over his paddle. His
whole body prickled, and the roaring in his ears increased.
Tayoga suddenly struck him a smart blow across his bowed back,
and spoke to him fiercely in harsh, guttural Huron. Robert did not
understand the words, but they sounded like a stern rebuke for poor
work with the paddle. The blow and the words stimulated him, keyed him
to a supreme effort as an actor. All his histrionic temperament flared
up at once. He made a poor stroke with the paddle, threw up much
surplus water, and, as he cowered away from Tayoga, he corrected
himself hastily. Tayoga uttered a sharp rebuke again, but did not
strike a second time. That would have been too much. Robert's next
stroke was fine and sweeping, and he heard Jumonville say in French
which many of the Indians understood:
"Go more toward the center of the lake and take a place in the line."
Tayoga and Robert obeyed dumbly, passing Jumonville's boat at a range
of five or six yards, going a little beyond the line, and, turning
about as if to make a curve that would keep them from striking any
other canoe. Again Robert made a false stroke with the paddle, causing
the canoe to rock dangerously, and now, Tayoga, fully justified by
the fierce code of the forest in striking him again, snatched his own
paddle out of the water and gave him a smart rap with the flat of it
across the back, at the same time upbraiding him fiercely in Huron.
"Dolt! Fool!" he exclaimed. "Will you never learn how to hold your
paddle? Will you never know the stroke? Will you tip us both into the
water at such a time, when the messengers of the enemy are seeking
to steal through? Do better with the paddle or you shall stay at home
with the old women, and work for the warriors!"
Robert snarled in reply, but he did not repay the blow. He made
another awkward sweep that sent them farther on the outward curve, and
he heard Jumonville's harsh laugh. He was still the superb actor. His
excitement was real, and he counterfeited a nervousness and jerkiness
that appeared real also. One more wild stroke, and they shot farther
out. Jumonville angrily ordered them to return, but Robert seemed to
be possessed by a spell of awkwardness, and Tayoga craftily aided him.
"Come back!" roared Jumonville.
Robert and Tayoga were fifteen yards away, and the great blanket of
fog was enclosing them.
"Now! Now, Dagaeoga!" whispered the Onondaga tensely. "We paddle with
all our might straight toward the south!"
Two paddles wielded by skillful and powerful arms flashed in the
water, and the canoe sped on its way. A shout of anger rose behind
them, and Robert distinctly heard Jumonville say in French:
"After them! After them! It was the messengers who stole by! They have
tricked us!"
Those words were sweet in the ears of young Lennox. He had played the
actor, and the reward, the saving of their lives, had been paid. It
was one of their greatest triumphs and the savor of it would endure
long. The very thought gave fresh power to his arm and back, and he
swept his paddle with a strength that he had never known before. The
canoe skimmed the water like a bird and fairly flew in their chosen
course.
Robert's own faculties became marvelously acute. He heard behind them
the repeated and angry orders of Jumonville, the hurried strokes of
many paddles, the splashing of canoes turned quickly about, a hum
of excited voices, and then he felt a great swell of confidence. The
roaring in his ears was gone, his nerves became amazingly steady, and
every stroke with his paddle was long and finished, a work of art.
Four or five minutes of such toil, and Tayoga rested on his paddle.
Robert imitated him.
"Now we will take our ease and listen," said the Onondaga. "The fog
is still our friend, and they will think we have turned to one side in
it, because that is the natural thing to do. But you and I, Dagaeoga,
will not turn just yet."
"I can't hear anything, Tayoga, can you?"
"I cannot, Dagaeoga, but we will not have long to wait. Now, I catch
the light swish of a paddle. They are feeling about in the fog. There
goes another paddle--and more. They come closer, but we still bide
here a little. I hear the voice of Jumonville. He is very angry. But
why should he be more angry at any other than at himself? He saw us
with his own eyes. He shouts many sharp orders, and some of them are
foolish. They must be so, because no man could shout orders so fast,
and in such a confused way, and have them all good. He sends more
canoes to both right and left to seek us. You and I can afford to
laugh, Dagaeoga."
Sitting at rest in their canoe they laughed. With Robert it was not so
much a laugh of amusement as a laugh of relief after such tremendous
tension. He felt that they were now sure to escape, and with Tayoga he
waited calmly.