True to the Old Flag by G. A. Henty (page 4)

Mrs. Wilson had long since gone to England, and her husband, having made arrangements for the disposal of his property, now determined to join her. Fortunately he possessed means, irrespective of his estate in America. This had come to him through his wife, and his own fortune and the money obtained by the sale of his commission had remained invested in English securities. While determined on this course for himself, he left it to his son to choose his own career. Harold was now nearly eighteen, and his life of adventure and responsibility had made a man of him. His father would have preferred that he should have returned with him to England, but Harold finally decided upon remaining. In war men’s passions become heated, the original cause of quarrel sinks into comparative insignificance, and the desire for victory, the determination to resist, and a feeling of something like individual hatred for the enemy become predominant motives of the strife.

This was especially the case in the American war. On both sides there were many circumstances which heightened the passions of the combatants. The loyalists in the English ranks had been ruined by the action of their opponents–many had been reduced from wealth to poverty, and each man felt a deep passion of resentment at what he regarded his personal grievance. Then, too, the persistent misrepresentations both of facts and motives on the part of the American writers and speakers added to the irritation. The loyalists felt that there were vast numbers throughout the colonies who agreed with them and regarded Congress as a tyrannical faction rather than the expression of the general will. In this, no doubt, they were to some extent mistaken, for by this time the vast majority of the people had joined heart and soul in the conflict. Men’s passions had become so stirred up that it was difficult for any to remain neutral; and although there were still large numbers of loyalists throughout the States, the vast bulk of the people had resolved that the only issue of the contest was complete and entire separation from the mother country.

Harold had now entered passionately into the struggle. He was in constant contact with men who had been ruined by the war. He heard only one side of the question, and he was determined, so long as England continued the struggle, to fight on for a cause which he considered sacred. He was unable to regard the prospects of success as hopeless; he saw the fine army which England had collected; he had been a witness of the defeat of the Americans whenever they ventured to stand the shock of the British battalions; and in spite of the unsatisfactory nature of the first campaign, he could not bring himself to believe that such an army could fail.

When the company was disbanded he decided to continue to serve as a scout, but, sharing in the general disgust in the army at the incapacity of General Howe, he determined to take ship again for Canada and take service under General Burgoyne, who was preparing with a well-appointed army to invade the States from that side.

When he communicated his determination to Peter Lambton the latter at once agreed to accompany him.

“I’ve gone into this business,” the hunter said, “and I mean to see it through. Settling down don’t suit me. I aint got any friends at New York, and I’d be miserable just loafing about all day doing nothing. No, I’ll see this business out to the end, and I’d much rather go with you than anyone else.”

Jake was of the same opinion. Accustomed all his life to obey orders and to the life on his master’s plantation, he would not have known what to do if left to his own devices. Captain Wilson pointed out to him that he could easily obtain work on the wharves of New York or as a laborer on a farm, but Jake would not listen to the proposal and was hurt at the thought that he could leave his young master’s side as long as Harold continued in the war.

Accordingly, the day after Captain Wilson sailed for England the three comrades embarked in a ship for Halifax, whence another vessel took them to Quebec. They then sailed up the river to Montreal and took service as scouts in General Burgoyne’s army.

For political reasons General Burgoyne had been appointed to the command of the expedition which had been, prepared, and General Carleton, naturally offended at being passed over, at once resigned the governorship. His long residence in Canada, his knowledge of the country, of the manners of its inhabitants and the extent of its resources, and his acquaintance with the character of the Indians, rendered him far more fit for command than was General Burgoyne. In military knowledge and experience, too, he was his superior, and had he retained a command the fate of the expedition would probably have been very different.

The army under General Burgoyne consisted of 7173 men, exclusive of artillerymen. Of these about half were Germans. The Canadians were called upon to furnish men sufficient to occupy the woods on the frontier and to provide men for the completion of the fortifications at Sorrel, St. John’s, Chamblee, and Isle-aux-Noix, to furnish horses and carts for carriage, and to make roads when necessary. A naval force was to go forward with him on the lake. The Indian question had again to be decided. Several tribes volunteered to join the British. General Burgoyne hesitated, as General Carleton had done before, to accept their services, and only did so finally on the certainty that if he refused their offers they would join the Americans. He resolved to use them as little as possible. He knew that their object in all wars was murder and destruction, and although he wished to conquer the Americans, he did not desire to exterminate them.

On June 16, 1777, General Burgoyne advanced from St. John’s. The naval force had preceded the army and opened a way for its advance. The troops were carried in a flotilla of boats, and under the protection of the fleet passed Lake Champlain and landed at Crown Point.

Harold and his companions had joined the army a fortnight previously, and as they crossed the lake with the fleet they could not but remember their last expedition there. At Crown Point they were joined by 1000 Indians, who marched round the lake, and at this place General Burgoyne gave them a great feast and afterward made a speech to them, exhorting them to abstain from all cruelty, to avoid any ill-treatment of unarmed combatants, and to take as prisoners all combatants who fell into their hands.

But while thus exhorting the Indians to behave with humanity and moderation, the general took a most ill-judged step, which not only did the English cause great harm, but was used by the Americans with much effect as a proof of the cruel way in which England warred against the colonists. He issued a proclamation threatening to punish with the utmost severity all who refused to attach themselves to the British cause, and at the same time he magnified the ferocity of the Indians; pointing out with great emphasis their eagerness to butcher those who continued hostile to the mother country, whose interests they had espoused.

This proclamation was naturally construed by the Americans as a threat to deliver over to the tender mercies of the Indians to slay, scalp, and destroy all who ventured to resist the authority of the king.

The Americans had fallen back on the approach of the British, and upon the landing being effected, the scouts were instantly sent forward.

Among the Indians who had joined at Crown Point were the Senecas–among them their old friend Deer Tail.

The scouts received no particular orders and were free to regulate their own movements. Their duty was to reconnoiter the country ahead and to bring in any information they might gather as to numbers and positions of the enemy.

Finding that Peter and his companions were about to start, Deer Tail said that, instead of waiting for the feast, he would take five of his warriors and accompany them.

It was at Ticonderoga that the Americans had prepared to make their first stand. The place lies on the western shore of the lake a few miles to the northward of the narrow inlet uniting Lake Champlain to Lake George. It was to reconnoiter the fort that the party now set out. News had been brought that the Americans had been executing great additional works, and the British general was anxious to learn the nature of these before he advanced.

It was certain that the enemy would on their side have sent out scouts to ascertain the movements of the royal army, and the party proceeded with the greatest care. They marched in the usual fashion–in Indian file; the Seneca chief led the way, followed by one of his braves; then came Peter, Harold, and Jake; the other Senecas marched in the rear.

When they came within a few miles of the fort their progress was marked with profound caution. Not a word was spoken, their tread was noiseless, and the greatest pains were taken to avoid stepping on a twig or dried stick. The three scouts when they left St. John’s had abandoned their boots and had taken to Indian moccasins. Several times slight murmurs were heard in the forest, and once a party of four American frontiersmen were seen in the wood. The party halted and crouched in the bushes. The Senecas turned toward Peter as if asking if an attack should be made, but the latter shook his head. A single shot would have been heard far away in the woods and their further progress would have been arrested. Their object now was not to fight, but to penetrate close to the American intrenchments.

When the enemy had passed on the party continued its way. As they neared the fort the caution observed increased. Several times they halted, while the Seneca, with one of his braves, crawled forward to see that all was clear. At last they stood on the edge of a great clearing. Before them, just within gunshot range, stood the fort of Ticonderoga. Peter Lambton was well acquainted with it, and beyond the fact that the space around had been cleared of all trees and the stockades and earthworks repaired, little change could be seen.

As he was gazing the Indian touched his shoulder and pointed to a high hill on the opposite side of the narrow straits. This had been cleared of trees and on the top a strong fort had been erected. Many cannon were to be seen along its crest, the roofs of huts, and a large number of men. Halfway up the hill was another battery and a third, still lower down, to sweep the landing.

“They’ve been working hard,” the hunter said, “and the army’ll have a mighty tough job before it. What do you think of that, Harold?”

“It is a very strong position,” Harold said, “and will cost us a tremendous number of men to take it. The fort cannot be attacked till that hill has been carried, for its guns completely command all this clearing.”

For some time they stood gazing at the works, standing well back among the trees, so as to be screened from all observation. At last Harold said:

“Look at that other hill behind. It is a good bit higher than that which they have fortified and must be within easy range both of it and the fort. I don’t see any works there–do you?”

Peter and the Seneca chief both gazed long and earnestly at the hill and agreed that they could see no fortification there.

“It won’t do to have any doubt about it,” Peter said. “We must go round and have a look at it.”

“We shall have to cross the river,” Harold remarked.

“Ay, cross it we must,” Peter said. “That hill’s got to be inspected.”

They withdrew into the wood again and made a circuitous deviation till they came down upon the river, two miles above Ticonderoga. They could not reach the water itself, as a road ran along parallel with it and the forest was cleared away for some distance. A number of men could be seen going backward and forward on the road.

Having made their observations, the scouts retired again into a thick part of the forest and waited till nightfall.

“How are we to get across?” Harold asked Peter. “It’s a good long swim, and we could not carry our muskets and ammunition across.”

“Easy enough,” the scout said. “Didn’t you notice down by the road a pile of planks? I suppose a wagon has broke down there, and the planks have been turned out and nobody has thought anything more about ’em. We’ll each take a plank, fasten our rifle and ammunition on it, and swim across; there won’t be any difficulty about that. Then, when we’ve seen what’s on the top of that ‘ere hill, we’ll tramp round to the other end of the lake. I heard that the army was to advance half on each side, so we’ll meet ’em coming.”

When it was perfectly dark they left their hiding place and crossed the clearing to the spot where Peter had seen the planks. Each took one of them and proceeded to the river side. Peter, Harold, and Jake divested themselves of some of their clothes and fastened these with their rifles and ammunition to the planks. To the Indians the question of getting wet was one of entire indifference, and they did not even take off their hunting shirts. Entering the water the party swam noiselessly across to the other side, pushing their planks before them. On getting out they carried the planks for some distance, as their appearance by the water’s edge might excite a suspicion on the part of the Americans that the works had been reconnoitered.

After hiding the planks in the bushes they made their way to Sugar Hill, as the eminence was called. The ascent was made with great circumspection, the Indians going on first. No signs of the enemy were met with, and at last the party stood on the summit of the hill. It was entirely unoccupied by the Americans.

“Well, my fine fellows,” laughed the scout, “I reckon ye’ve been doing a grist of work, and ye might jest as well have been sitting down quietly smoking yer pipes. What on arth possessed ye to leave this hill unguarded?”

In point of fact General St. Clair, who commanded the Americans, had perceived that his position was commanded from this spot. He had only 3000 men under him, and he considered this number too small to hold Ticonderoga, Mount Independence, and Sugar Hill. The two former posts could afford no assistance to the garrison of a fort placed on Sugar Hill, and that place must therefore fall if attacked by the British. On the other hand, he hoped that, should the attention of the English not be called to the importance of the position by the erection of works upon it, it might be overlooked, and that General Burgoyne on his arrival might at once attack the position which he had prepared with so much care.

Having ascertained that the hill was unoccupied, Peter proposed at once to continue the march. Harold suggested to him that it would be better to wait until morning, as from their lofty position they would be able to overlook the whole of the enemy’s lines of defense and might obtain information of vital importance to the general. Peter saw the advantage of the suggestion. Two of the Indians were placed on watch, and the rest of the party lay down to sleep. At daybreak they saw that the delay had been fully justified, for they had now a view of the water which separated Ticonderoga from Mount Independence, and perceived that the Americans had made a strong bridge of communication between these posts. Twenty-two piers had been sunk at equal distances, and between them boats were placed, fastened with chains to the piers. A strong bridge of planks connected the whole. On the Lake Champlain side of the bridge a boom, composed of great trees fastened together with double chains, had been placed. Thus, not only had communication been established across the stream, but an effectual barrier erected to the passage of the fleet. Fully satisfied with the result of their investigations, the party set out on their return.

CHAPTER XII.

THE SETTLER’S HUT.

Before starting they stood for a minute or two looking over the forest which they were to traverse. To Harold’s eyes all appeared quiet and still. Here and there were clearings where settlers had established themselves; but, with these exceptions, the forest stretched away like a green sea.

“Tarnation!” Peter exclaimed. “We’ll have all our work to get through safely; eh, chief?”

The Seneca nodded.

“What makes you say so?” Harold asked in surprise. “I see nothing.”

Peter looked at him reproachfully.

“I’m downright ashamed of ye, lad. You should have been long enough in the woods by this time to know smoke when you see it. Why, there it is curling up from the trees in a dozen–ay, in a score of places. There must be hundreds of men out scouting or camping in them woods.”

Harold looked fixedly again at the forests, but even now he could not detect the signs which were so plain to the scout.

“You may call me as blind as a bat, Peter,” he said with a laugh, “but I can see nothing. Looking hard I imagine I can see a light mist here and there, but I believe it is nothing but fancy.”

“It’s clear enough to me, lad, and to the redskins. What do you say, chief?”

“Too much men,” the Seneca replied sententiously.

For another minute or two he and Peter stood watching the forest, and then in a few words consulted together as to the best line to follow to avoid meeting the foe who, to their eyes, swarmed in the forest.

“It’s mighty lucky,” the hunter said as they turned to descend the hill, which was covered with trees to its very summit, “that they’re white men and not redskins out in the woods, there. I don’t say that there’s not many frontiersmen who know the way of the woods as well as the redskins. I do myself, and when it comes to fighting we can lick ’em on their own ground; but in scouting we aint nowhere–not the best of us. The redskin seems to have an instinct more like that of an animal than a man. I don’t say as he can smell a man a mile off as a dog can do, but he seems to know when the enemy’s about; his ears can hear noises which we can’t; his eyes see marks on the ground when the keenest-sighted white man sees nothing. If that wood was as full of redskins as it is of whites to-day, our sculps wouldn’t be worth a charge of powder.”

“You are not going to follow the shores of the lake, I suppose?” Harold asked.

“No,” Peter said. “They’ll be as thick as peas down there, watching for the first sight of our fleet. No, we must just keep through the woods and be as still and as silent as if the trees had ears. You’d best look to the priming of yer piece before we goes further, for it’s likely enough you’ll have to use it before the day’s done, and a miss-fire might cost you yer life. Tell that nigger of yourn that he’s not to open his mouth again till I gives him leave.”

With a long stealthy tread the party descended the mountain and took their way through the woods. Every hundred yards or so they stopped and listened intently. When any noise, even of the slightest kind, was heard, all dropped to the ground until the chief had scouted round and discovered the way was clear. Once or twice they heard the sound of men’s voices and a distant laugh, but they passed on without seeing those who uttered them.

Presently they again heard voices, this time raised as if in angry dispute. The Seneca would, as before, have made a long _detour_ to avoid them, but Peter said.

“Let’s have a squint at what’s going on, chief.”

With redoubled caution they again advanced until they stood at the edge of the clearing. It was a patch of land some hundred yards wide, and extending from the shore of the lake nearly a quarter of a mile inland. In the center stood a log hut, neatly and carefully built. A few flowers grew around the house, and the whole bore signs of greater neatness and comfort than was usual in the cabins of the backwood settlers.

The point where the party had reached the edge of the wood was immediately opposite the house. Near it stood a group of some twenty men, one of whom, apparently their leader, was gesticulating angrily as he addressed a man who stood facing him.

“I tell ye, ye’re a darned royalist–ye’re a traitor to the country, and I’ve a mind to hang ye and all belonging to ye to the nearest bough.”

“I tell you,” the man answered calmly, but in the still air every word he said could be heard by those at the edge of the forest, “I hae naething to do with the trouble ane way or the ither. I am a quiet settler, whose business only is to mak a hame for my wife and bairn; but, if you ask me to drink success to the Congress and confusion to the king’s troops, I tell you I willna do it; not even if you are brutal enough, but this I canna believe possible, to carry your threats into execution. I hae served my time in a king’s regiment. With the bounty I received instead o’ pension on my discharge I settled here wi’ my wife and bairn, and no one shall say that Duncan Cameron was a traitor to his king. We do no harm to anyone; we tak no part for or against you; we only ask to be allowed to live in peace.”

“That ye shall not,” the man said. “The king’s troops have got Injuns with ’em, and they’re going to burn and kill all those who won’t take part with ’em. It’s time we should show ’em as we can play at that game, too. Now ye’ve either got to swear to be faithful to the States of America or up you go.”

“I canna swear,” the settler said firmly. “You may kill me if you will, but, if you are men, you will nae harm my wife and girl.”

“We’ll just do to you as the redskins’ll do to our people,” the man said. “We’ll make a sweep of the hull lot of you. Here, you fellows, fetch the woman and girl out of the house and then set a light to it.”

Four or five men entered the house. A minute later screams were heard and a woman and child were dragged out. The settler sprang toward them, but three or four men seized him.

“Now,” the man said, stepping toward the house, “we’ll show ’em a bonfire.”

As he neared the door a crack of a rifle was heard and the ruffian fell dead in his tracks. A yell of astonishment and rage broke from his followers.

“Jerusalem, youngster! you’ve got us into a nice fix. Howsomever, since you’ve begun it, here goes.”

And the rifle of the hunter brought down another of the Americans. These, following the first impulse of a frontiersman when attacked, fled for shelter to the house, leaving the settler, with his wife and daughter, standing alone.

“Ye’d best get out of the way,” Peter shouted, “or ye may get a bit of lead that wasn’t intended for ye.”

Catching up his child, Cameron ran toward the forest, making for the side on which his unknown friends were placed, but keeping down toward the lake, so as to be out of their line of fire.

“Make down to ’em, Harold,” Peter said. “Tell ’em they’d best go to some neighbor’s and stop there for a day or two. The army’ll be here to-morrow or next day. Be quick about it, and come back as fast as ye can. I tell ye we’re in a hornets’ nest, and it’ll be as much as we can do to get out of it.”

A scattering fire was now being exchanged between the redskins behind the shelter of the trees and the Americans firing from the windows of the log house. Harold was but two or three minutes absent.

“All right, Peter!” he exclaimed, as he rejoined them.

“Come along, then,” the hunter said. “Now, chief, let’s make up round the top of this clearing and then foot it.”

The chief at once put himself at the head of the party, and the nine men strode away again through the forest. It was no longer silent. Behind them the occupants of the hut were still keeping up a brisk fire toward the trees, while from several quarters shouts could be heard, and more than once the Indian war-whoop rose in the forest.

“That’s just what I was afeared of,” Peter muttered. “There’s some of those darned varmint with ’em. We might have found our way through the whites, but the redskins’ll pick up our trail as sartin as if we were driving a wagon through the woods.”

Going along at a swinging, noiseless trot the party made their way through the forest. Presently a prolonged Indian whoop was heard in the direction from which they had come. Then there were loud shouts and the firing ceased.

“One of the red reptiles has found our trail,” Peter said. “He’s with a party of whites, and they’ve shouted the news to the gang in the clearing. Waal, we may, calculate we’ve got thirty on our trail, and, as we can hear them all round, it’ll be a sarcumstance if we git out with our sculps.”

As they ran they heard shouts from those behind, answered by others on both flanks. Shots, too, were fired as signals to call the attention of other parties. Several times the Seneca chief stopped and listened attentively, and then changed his course as he heard suspicious noises ahead. Those behind them were coming up, although still at some distance in the rear. They could hear the sound of breaking trees and bushes as their pursuers followed them in a body.

“Ef it was only the fellows behind,” Peter said, “we could leave them easy enough, but the wood seems alive with the varmint.”

It was evident the alarm had spread through the forest, and that the bands scattered here and there were aware that an enemy was in their midst. The dropping fire, which the pursuers kept up, afforded an indication as to the direction in which they were making, and the ringing war-whoop of the hostile Indians conveyed the intelligence still more surely.

Presently there was a shout a short distance ahead, followed by the sound of a rifle ball as it whizzed close to Harold’s head and buried itself in a tree that he was passing. In a moment each of the party had sheltered behind a tree.

“It’s of no use, chief,” Peter said. “We’ll have the hull pack from behind upon us in five minutes. We must run for it and take our chances of being hit.”

Swerving somewhat from their former line, they again ran on; bullets whisked round them, but they did not pause to fire a shot in return.

“Tarnation!” Peter exclaimed, as the trees in front of them opened and they found themselves on the edge of another clearing. It was considerably larger than that which they had lately left, being three hundred yards across, and extending back from the lake fully half a mile. As in the previous case, a log hut stood in the center, some two hundred yards back from the lake.

“There’s nothing for it, chief,” Peter said. “We must take to the house and fight it out there. There’s a hull gang of fellows in the forest ahead, and they’ll shoot us down if we cross the clearing.”

Without a moment’s hesitation the party rushed across the clearing to the hut. Several shots were fired as they dashed across the open, but they gained the place of refuge in safety. The hut was deserted. It had probably belonged to royalists, for its rough furniture lay broken on the ground; boxes and cupboards had been forced open, and the floor was strewn with broken crockery and portions of wearing apparel.

Harold looked round. Several of the party were bleeding from slight wounds.

“Now to the windows,” Peter said as he barred the door. “Pile up bedding and anything else that ye can find against the shutters, and keep yerselves well under cover. Don’t throw away a shot; we’ll want all our powder, I can tell ye. Quickly, now–there aint no time to be lost.”

While some began carrying out his instructions below, others bounded upstairs and scattered themselves through the upper rooms. There were two windows on each side of the house–one at each end. Disregarding the latter, Peter and Harold took post at the windows looking toward the forest from which they had just come. The chief and another Indian posted themselves to watch the other side. At first no one was to be seen. The party who had fired at them as they ran across the open had waited for the coming up of the strong band who were following, before venturing to show themselves. The arrival of the pursuers was heralded by the opening of a heavy fire toward the house. As the assailants kept themselves behind trees, no reply was made, and the defenders occupied themselves by piling the bedding against the shutters, which they had hastily closed. Loop-holes had been left in the walls when the hut was first built; the moss with which they were filled up was torn out, and each man took his post at one of these. As no answering shot came from the house the assailants became bolder, and one or two ventured to show themselves from, behind shelter. In a moment Harold and Peter, whose rifles would carry more truly and much further than those of the Indians, fired.

“Two wiped out!” Peter said, as the men fell, and shouts of anger arose from the woods. “That’ll make them careful.”

This proof of the accuracy of the aim of the besieged checked their assailants, and for some time they were very careful not to expose themselves. From both sides of the forest a steady fire was maintained. Occasionally an answering shot flashed out from the house when one of the enemy incautiously showed an arm or a part of his body from behind the trees, and it was seldom the rifles were fired in vain. Four or five of the Americans were shot through the head as they leaned forward to fire, and after an hour’s exchange of bullets the attack ceased.

“What are they going to do now?” Harold asked.

“I expect they’re going to wait till nightfall,” Peter said. “There’s no moon, and they’ll be able to work up all round the house. Then they’ll make a rush at the door and lower windows. We’ll shoot down a good many on ’em, and then they’ll burst their way in or set fire to the hut, and there’ll be an end of it. That’s what’ll happen.”

“And you think there is no way of making our way out?” Harold asked.

“It’s a mighty poor chance, if there’s one at all,” the hunter replied. “I should say by the fire there must be nigh a hundred of ’em now, and it’s likely that, by nightfall, there’ll be three times as many. As soon as it gets dusk they’ll creep out from the woods and form a circle round the house and gradually work up to it. Now let’s cook some vittles; we’ve had nothing to eat this morning yet, and it must be nigh eleven o’clock. I don’t see why we should be starved, even if we have got to be killed to-night.”

One of the party was left on watch on each side of the house, and the others gathered in the room below, where a fire was lit and the strips of dried deer flesh which they carried were soon frying over it. Harold admired the air of indifference with which his companions set about preparing the meat. Everyone was aware of the desperate nature of the position, but no allusion was made to it. The negro had caught the spirit of his companions, but his natural loquacity prevented his imitating their habitual silence.

“Dis bad affair, Massa Harold,” he said. “We jess like so many coons up in tree, wid a whole pack ob dogs round us, and de hunters in de distance coming up wid de guns. Dis chile reckon dat some ob dem hunters will get hit hard before dey get us. Jake don’t care one bit for himself, massa, but he bery sorry to see you in such a fix.”

“It can’t be helped, Jake,” Harold said as cheerfully as he could. “It was my firing that shot which got us into it, and yet I cannot blame myself. We could not stand by and see those ruffians murder a woman and child.”

“Dat’s so, Massa Harold; dere was no possinbility of seeing dat. I reckon dat when dose rascals come to climb de stairs dey’ll find it are bery hard work.”

“I don’t think they will try, Jake. They are more likely to heap brushwood against the door and windows and set it alight, and then shoot us down as we rush out. This hut is not like the one I had to defend against the Iroquois. That was built to repel Indians’ attacks; this is a mere squatter’s hut.”

After the meal was over Peter and the Seneca chief went upstairs, looked through the loop-holes, and talked long and earnestly together; then they rejoined the party below.

“The chief and I are of opinion,” Peter said to Harold, “that it are of no manner of use our waiting to be attacked here. They’d burn us out to a sartinty; we should have no show of a fight at all. Anything’s better than that. Now, what we propose is that, directly it gets fairly dark, we’ll all creep out and make for the lake. Even if they have formed their circle round us, they aint likely to be as thick there as they are on the other side. What they’ll try to do, in course, is to prevent our taking to the forest; and there’ll be such a grist of ’em that I don’t believe one of us would get through alive if we tried it. Now they’ll not be so strong toward the lake, and we might break through to the water. I don’t say as there’s much chance of our getting away, for I tell you fairly that I don’t believe that there’s any chance at all; but the chief, here, and his braves don’t want their sculps to hang in the wigwams of the Chippewas, and I myself, ef I had the choice, would rather be drownded than shot down. It don’t make much difference; but, of the two, I had rather. Ef we can reach the lake, we can swim out of gunshot range. I know you can swim like a fish, and so can Jake, and the Indians swim as a matter of course. Ef we dive at first we may get off; it’ll be so dark they won’t see us with any sartainty beyond fifty yards. When we’re once fairly out in the lake we can take our chance.”

“And is there a chance, Peter? Although, if there is none, I quite agree with you that I would rather be drowned than shot down. If one were sure of being killed by the first shot that would be the easiest death; but if we were only wounded they would probably hang us in the morning.”

“That’s so,” the hunter said. “Waal, I can hardly say that there’s a chance, and yet I can’t say as how there aint. In the first place, they may have some canoes and come out after us; there’s pretty safe to be some along the shore here. The settlers would have had ’em for fishing.”

“But what chance will that give us?” Harold asked.

“Waal,” the hunter replied, “I reckon in that case as our chance is a fair one. Ef we dive and come up close alongside we may manage to upset one of ’em, and, in that case, we might get off. That’s one chance. Then ef they don’t come out in canoes, we might swim three or four miles down the lake and take to land. They couldn’t tell which way to go and would have to scatter over a long line. It’s just possible as we might land without being seen. Once in the woods and we’d be safe. So you see, we have two chances. In course we must throw away our rifles and ammunition before we come to the water.”

“At any rate,” Harold said, “the plan is a hopeful one, and I agree with you that it is a thousand times better to try it than it is to stop here with the certainty of being shot down before morning.”

The afternoon passed quietly. A few shots were fired occasionally from the wood, and taunting shouts were heard of the fate which awaited them when night approached.

A vigilant watch was kept from the upper windows, but Peter thought that it was certain the enemy would make no move until it became perfectly dark, although they would establish a strong cordon all round the clearing in case the besieged should try and break out. Harold trembled with impatience to be off as the night grew darker and darker. It seemed to him that at any moment the assailants might be narrowing the circle round the house, and, had he been a leader, he would have given the word long before the scout made a move.

At last Peter signaled that the time had come. It was perfectly dark when the bars were noiselessly removed from the door and the party stole out. Everything seemed silent, but the very stillness made the danger appear more terrible. Peter had impressed upon Harold and Jake the necessity for moving without making the slightest noise. As soon as they left the house the whole party dropped on their hands and knees. Peter and the Seneca chief led the way; two of the braves came next; Harold and Jake followed; the remaining Indians crawled in the rear. Peter had told his comrades to keep as close as possible to the Indians in front of them, and, grasping their rifles, they crept along the ground. As they led the way Peter and the Seneca carefully removed from before them every dried twig and threw it on one side.

The distance to be traversed from the hut to the water was about two hundred yards, and half of this was passed over before they encountered any obstacle. Then suddenly there was an exclamation, and Peter and the Seneca sprang to their feet, as they came in contact with two men crawling in the opposite direction. They were too close to use their rifles, but a crushing blow from the Seneca’s tomahawk cleft down the man in front of him, while Peter drew his long knife from its sheath and buried it in the body of his opponent.

The others had also leaped to their feet, and each, as he did so, fired at the dark figures which rose around them. They had the advantage of the surprise; several scattered shots answered their volley, then, with their rifles clubbed, they rushed forward. For a moment there was a hand-to-hand fight. Harold had just struck down a man opposite to him when another sprang upon him; so sudden was the attack that he fell from the shock. But in an instant Jake buried his knife between his opponent’s shoulders and dragged Harold to his feet.

“Run for your life, Massa Harold. De whole gang’s upon us!”

And indeed the instant the first shot broke the silence of the woods a babel of sounds arose from the whole circuit of the clearing; shouts and yells burst out from hundreds of throats. There was no further use for concealment, and from all sides the men who had been advancing to the attack rushed in the direction where the conflict was taking place. This lasted but a few seconds. As Peter had expected, the line was thinner toward the lake than upon the other sides, and the rush of nine men had broken through it. Shouts were heard from the woods on either side extending down to the water, showing that the precaution had been taken by the assailants of leaving a portion of their force to guard the line of forest should the defenders break through the circle.

At headlong speed the little band rushed down to the water’s side, dropped their ammunition pouches by its edge, threw their rifles a few yards into the water, to be recovered, perhaps, on some future occasion, and then dived in. The nearest of the pursuers were some thirty yards behind when they neared the water’s edge. Swimming as far under water as they could hold their breath, each came to the surface for an instant, and then again dived. Momentarily as they showed themselves they heard the rattle of musketry behind, and the bullets splashed thickly on the water. The night, however, was so dark that the fire could only be a random one. Until far out from the shore they continued diving and then gathered together.

“We’re pretty well out of range, now,” Peter said, “and quite out of sight of the varmints. Now we can wait a bit and see what they do next.”

The enemy were still keeping up a heavy fire from the shore, hallooing and shouting to each other as they fancied they caught a glimpse of their enemies.

“There must be two or three hundred of ’em,” Peter said. “We’ve fooled ’em nicely, so far.”

By the crashing of the bushes the fugitives could hear strong parties making their way along the shore in either direction. An hour passed, during which the fugitives floated nearly opposite the clearing.

“Hullo!” Peter exclaimed presently. “There’s a canoe coming along the lake. I expect they got it from Cameron’s.”

As he spoke a canoe appeared round the point. Two men were standing up holding blazing torches; two others paddled; while two, rifle in hand, sat by them. Almost at the same moment another canoe, similarly manned, pushed out from the shore immediately opposite.

“I wish we had known of that canoe,” Peter said; “it would have saved us a lot of trouble; but we had no time for looking about. I suspected them settlers must have had one laid up somewheres. Now,” he went on, “let’s make our plans. The canoes are sure to keep pretty nigh each other. They’ll most likely think as we’ve gone down the lake and’ll not be looking very sharply after us at present. It’ll never do to let ’em pass us. Now Jake and I and two of the Injuns will take one canoe, and the chief and three of his braves the other. We must move round so as to get between ’em and the shore, and then dive and come up close to ’em. Now, Harold, do you swim out a bit further and then make a splash so as to call their attention. Do it once or twice till you see that they’ve got their eyes turned that way. Then be very quiet, so as to keep ’em watching for another sound. That’ll be our moment for attacking ’em.”

They waited till the two canoes joined each other and paddled slowly out from the shore. Then the eight swimmers started off to make their _detour_, while Harold swam quietly further out into the lake. The canoes were about three hundred yards from shore and were paddling very slowly, the occupants keeping a fixed look along the lake. There was perfect quiet on the shore now, and when Harold made a slight splash with his hand upon the water he saw that it was heard. Both canoes stopped rowing, the steerers in each case giving them a steer so that they lay broadside to the land, giving each man a view over the lake. They sat as quiet as if carved in stone. Again Harold made a splash, but this time a very slight one, so slight that it could hardly reach the ears of the listeners.

A few words were exchanged by the occupants of the boats.

“They are further out on the lake, Bill,” one said.

“I am not sure,” another answered. “I rather think the sound was further down. Listen again.”

Again they sat motionless. Harold swam with his eyes fixed upon them. Every face was turned his way and none was looking shoreward. Then, almost at the same instant there was a shout from both boats. The men with torches seemed to lose their balance. The lights described a half circle through the air and were extinguished. A shout of astonishment broke from the occupants, mingled with the wild Seneca war-yell, and he knew that both canoes were upset.

There was a sound of a desperate struggle going on. Oaths and wild cries rose from the water. Heavy blows were struck, while from the shore arose loud shouts of dismay and rage. In two minutes all was quiet on the water. Then came Peter’s shout:

“This way, Harold! We’ll have the canoes righted and bailed in a minute. The varmin’s all wiped out.”

With a lightened heart Harold swam toward the spot. The surprise had been a complete success. The occupants of the canoes, intent only upon the pursuit and having no fear of attack–for they knew that the fugitives must have thrown away their rifles–were all gazing intently out on the lake, when, close to each canoe on the shore side, four heads rose from out of the water. In an instant eight hands had seized the gunwales, and, before the occupants were aware of their danger, the canoes were upset.

Taken wholly by surprise, the Americans were no match for their assailants. The knives of the latter did their work before the frontiersmen had thoroughly grasped what had happened. Two or three, indeed, had made a desperate fight, but they were no match for their opponents, and the struggle was quickly over.

On Harold reaching the canoes he found them already righted and half emptied of water. The paddles were picked up, and, in a few minutes, with a derisive shout of adieu to their furious enemy on the shore, the two canoes paddled out into the lake. When they had attained a distance of about half a mile from the shore they turned the boats heads and paddled north. In three hours they saw lights in the wood.

“There’s the troops,” Peter said. “Soldiers are never content unless they’re making fires big enough to warn every redskin within fifty miles that they’re coming.”

As they approached the shore the challenge from the English sentinel came over the water:

“Who comes there?”

“Friends,” Peter replied.

“Give the password.”

“How on arth am I to give the password,” Peter shouted back, “when we’ve been three days away from the camp?”

“If you approach without the password I fire,” the sentinel said.

“I tell ye,” Peter shouted, “we’re scouts with news for the general.”

“I can’t help who you are,” the sentinel said. “I have got my orders.”

“Pass the word along for an officer,” Harold shouted. “We have important news.”

The sentry called to the one next him, and so the word was passed along the line. In a few minutes an officer appeared on the shore, and, after a short parley, the party were allowed to land, and Peter and Harold were at once conducted to the headquarters of General Burgoyne.

CHAPTER XIII.

SARATOGA.

“What is your report?” asked General Burgoyne, as the scouts were conducted into his tent.

“We have discovered, sir, that the Americans have strongly fortified Mount Independence, which faces Ticonderoga, and have connected the two places by a bridge across the river, which is protected by a strong boom. Both positions are, however, overlooked by Sugar Hill, and this they have entirely neglected to fortify. If you were to seize this they would have to retire at once.”

The general expressed his satisfaction at the news and gave orders that steps should be taken to seize Sugar Hill immediately. He then questioned the scouts as to their adventures and praised them highly for their conduct.

The next day the army advanced, and at nightfall both divisions were in their places, having arrived within an hour or two of each other from the opposite sides of the lake. Sugar Hill was seized the same night, and a strong party were set to work cutting a road through the trees. The next morning the enemy discovered the British at work erecting a battery on the hill, and their general decided to evacuate both Ticonderoga and Mount Independence instantly. Their baggage, provisions, and stores were embarked in two hundred boats and sent up the river. The army started to march by the road.

The next morning the English discovered that the Americans had disappeared. Captain Lutwych immediately set to work to destroy the bridge and boom, whose construction had taken the Americans nearly twelve months’ labor. By nine in the morning a passage was effected, and some gunboats passed through in pursuit of the enemy’s convoy. They overtook them near Skenesborough, engaged and captured many of their largest craft, and obliged them to set several others on fire, together with a large number of their boats and barges.

A few hours afterward a detachment of British troops in gunboats came up the river to Skenesborough. The cannon on the works which the Americans had erected there opened fire, but the troops were landed, and the enemy at once evacuated their works, setting fire to their store-houses and mills. While these operations had been going on by water Brigadier General Fraser, at the head of the advance corps of grenadiers and light infantry, pressed hard upon the division of the enemy which had retired by the Hubberton Road, and overtook them at five o’clock in the morning.

The division consisted of fifteen hundred of the best colonial troops under the command of Colonel Francis. They were posted on strong ground and sheltered by breastworks composed of logs and old trees. General Fraser’s detachment was inferior in point of numbers to that of the defenders of the position, but as he expected a body of the German troops under General Reidesel to arrive immediately, he at once attacked the breastworks. The Americans defended their post with great resolution and bravery. The re-enforcements did not arrive so soon as was expected, and for some time the British made no way.

General Reidesel, hearing the fire in front, pushed forward at full speed with a small body of troops. Among these was the band, which he ordered to play.

The enemy, hearing the music and supposing that the whole of the German troops had come up, evacuated the position and fell back with precipitation. Colonel Francis and many others were killed and two hundred taken prisoners. On the English side 120 men were killed and wounded.

The enemy from Skenesborough were pursued by Colonel Hill, with the Ninth Regiment, and were overtaken near Fort Anne. Finding how small was the force that pursued them in comparison to their own, they took the offensive. A hot engagement took place, and after three hours’ fighting the Americans were repulsed with great slaughter and forced to retreat after setting fire to Fort Anne and Fort Edward.

In these operations the British captured 148 guns, with large quantities of stores. At Fort Edward General Schuyler was joined by General St. Clair, but even with this addition the total American strength did not exceed forty-four hundred.

Instead of returning from Skenesborough to Ticonderoga, whence he might have sailed with his army up to Lake George, General Burgoyne proceeded to cut his way through the woods to the lake. The difficulties of the passage were immense: swamps and morasses had to be passed, bridges had to be constructed over creeks, ravines, and gulleys. The troops worked with great vigor and spirit. Major General Phillips had returned to Lake George and transported the artillery, provisions, and baggage to Fort George and thence by land to a point on the Hudson River, together with a large number of boats for the use of the army in their intended descent to Albany.

So great was the labor entailed by this work that it was not until July 30 that the army arrived on the Hudson River. The delay of three weeks had afforded the enemy time to recover their spirits and recruit their strength. General Arnold arrived with a strong re-enforcement, and a force was detached to check the progress of Colonel St. Leger, who was coming down from Montreal by way of Lake Ontario and the Mohawk River to effect a junction with General Burgoyne.

General Burgoyne determined to advance at once. The army was already suffering from want of transportation, and he decided to send a body of troops to Bennington, twenty-four miles to the eastward of the Hudson River, where the Americans had large supplies collected. Instead of sending light infantry he dispatched six hundred Germans–the worst troops he could have selected for this purpose, as they were very heavily armed and marched exceedingly slowly. Several of the officers remonstrated with him, but with his usual infatuated obstinacy he maintained his disposition.

On approaching Bennington Colonel Baum, who commanded the Germans, found that a very strong force was gathered there. He sent back for re-enforcements, and five hundred more Germans, under Lieutenant Colonel Breyman, were dispatched to his assistance. Long, however, before these slowly moving troops could arrive Colonel Baum was attacked by the enemy in vastly superior numbers. The Germans fought with great bravery and several times charged the Americans and drove them back. Fresh troops continued to come up on the enemy’s side, and the Germans, having lost a large number of men, including their colonel, were forced to retreat into the woods. The enemy then advanced against Colonel Breyman, who was ignorant of the disaster that had befallen Baum, and with his detachment had occupied twenty-four hours in marching sixteen miles. The Germans again fought well, but after a gallant resistance were obliged to fall back. In these two affairs they lost six hundred men.

In the meantime Colonel St. Leger had commenced his attack upon Fort Stanwix, which was defended by seven hundred men. The American General Herkimer advanced with one thousand men to its relief. Colonel St. Leger detached Sir John Johnson with a party of regulars and a number of Indians, who had accompanied him, to meet them. The enemy advanced incautiously and fell into an ambush. A terrible fire was poured into them, and the Indians then rushed down and attacked them hand to hand. The Americans, although taken by surprise, fought bravely and succeeded in making their retreat, leaving four hundred killed and wounded behind them.

Colonel St. Leger had no artillery which was capable of making any impression on the defenses of the fort. Its commander sent out a man who, pretending to be a deserter, entered the British camp and informed Colonel St. Leger that General Burgoyne had been defeated and his army cut to pieces, and that General Arnold, with two thousand men, was advancing to raise the siege. Colonel St. Leger did not credit the news, but it created a panic among the Indians, the greater portion of whom at once retired without orders, and St. Leger, having but a small British force with him, was compelled to follow their example, leaving his artillery and stores behind him.

On September 13 General Burgoyne, having with immense labor collected thirty days’ provisions on the Hudson, crossed the river by a bridge of boats and encamped on the heights of Saratoga. His movements had been immensely hampered by the vast train of artillery which he took with him. In an open country a powerful force of artillery is of the greatest service to an army, but in a campaign in a wooded and roadless country it is of little utility and enormously hampers the operations of an army. Had General Burgoyne, after the capture of Ticonderoga, pressed forward in light order without artillery, he could unquestionably have marched to New York without meeting with any serious opposition, but the six weeks’ delay had enabled the Americans to collect a great force to oppose them.

On the 19th, as the army were advancing to Stillwater, five thousand of the enemy attacked the British right. They were led by General Arnold and fought with great bravery and determination. The brunt of the battle fell on the Twentieth, Twenty-fourth, and Sixty-second regiments. For four hours the fight continued without any advantage on either side, and at nightfall the Americans drew off, each side having lost about six hundred men. After the battle of Stillwater the whole of the Indians with General Burgoyne left him and returned to Canada.

Hampered with his great train of artillery, unprovided with transportation, in the face of a powerful enemy posted in an exceedingly strong position, General Burgoyne could neither advance nor retreat. The forage was exhausted and the artillery horses were dying in great numbers. He had hoped that Sir William Howe would have sailed up the Hudson and joined him, but the English commander-in-chief had taken his army down to Philadelphia. Sir Henry Clinton, who commanded at New York, endeavored with a small force at his command to make a diversion by operating against the American posts on the Hudson River, but this was of no utility.

Burgoyne’s army was now reduced to little more than five thousand men, and he determined to fall back upon the lakes. Before doing this, however, it would be necessary to dislodge the Americans from their posts on his left. Leaving the camp under the command of General Hamilton, Burgoyne advanced with fifteen hundred men against them. But scarcely had the detachment started when the enemy made a furious attack on the British left. Major Ackland, with the grenadiers, was posted here, and for a time defended himself with great bravery. The light infantry and Twenty-fourth were sent to their assistance, but, overpowered by numbers, the left wing was forced to retreat into their intrenchments. These the enemy, led by General Arnold, at once attacked with great impetuosity. For a long time the result was doubtful, and it was not until the American leader was wounded that the attack ceased. In the meantime the intrenchments defended by the German troops under Colonel Breyman had also been attacked. Here the fight was obstinate, but the German intrenchments were carried, Colonel Breyman killed, and his troops retreated with the loss of all their baggage and artillery. Two hundred prisoners fell into the hands of the Americans.

That night the British army was concentrated on the heights above the hospital. General Gates, who commanded the Americans, moved his army so as to entirely inclose the British, and the latter, on the night of October 8, retired to Saratoga, being obliged to leave all their sick and wounded in the hospital. These were treated with the greatest kindness by the Americans. An attempt was now made to retreat to Fort George or Fort Edward, but the Americans had taken up positions on each road and fortified them with cannon.

Only about thirty-five hundred fighting men now remained, of whom but one-half were British, and scarcely eight days’ provisions were left. The enemy, four times superior in point of numbers, held every line of retreat and eluded every attempt of the British to force them to a general engagement.

The position was hopeless, and on October 13 a council of war was held and it was determined to open negotiations for a surrender. Two days were spent in negotiations, and it was finally agreed that the army should lay down its arms and that it should be marched to Boston, and there allowed to sail for England on condition of not serving again in North America during the contest. The Canadians were to be allowed to return at once to their own country. On the 16th the army laid down its arms. It consisted of thirty-five hundred fighting men and six hundred sick and nearly two thousand boatmen, teamsters, and other non-effectives.

Never did a general behave with greater incompetence than that manifested by General Burgoyne from the day of his leaving Ticonderoga, and the disaster which befell his army was entirely the result of mismanagement, procrastination, and faulty generalship.

Had Harold remained with the army until its surrender his share in the war would have been at an end, for the Canadians, as well as all others who laid down their arms, gave their word of honor not to serve again during the war. He had, however, with Peter Lambton and Jake, accompanied Colonel Baum’s detachment on its march to Bennington. Scouting in front of the column, they had ascertained the presence of large numbers of the enemy, and had, by hastening back with the news, enabled the German colonel to make some preparations for resistance before the attack was made upon him. During the fight that ensued the scouts, posted behind trees on the German left, had assisted them to repel the attack from that quarter, and when the Germans gave way they effected their escape into the woods and managed to rejoin the army.

They had continued with it until it moved to the hospital heights after the disastrous attack by the Americans on their camp. General Burgoyne then sent for Peter Lambton, who was, he knew, one of his most active and intelligent scouts.

“Could you make your way through the enemy’s lines down to Ticonderoga?” he asked.

“I could try, general,” Peter said. “Me and the party who work with me could get through if anyone could, but more nor that I can’t say. The Yanks are swarming around pretty thick, I reckon; but if we have luck we might make a shift to get through.”

“I have hopes,” the general said, “that another regiment, for which I asked General Carleton, has arrived there. Here is a letter to General Powell, who is in command, to beg him to march with all his available force and fall upon the enemy posted on our line of communication. Unless the new regiment has reached him he will not have a sufficient force to attempt this, but, if this has come up, he may be able to do so. He is to march in the lightest order and at full speed, so as to take the enemy by surprise. Twelve hours before he starts you will bring me back news of his coming, and I will move out to meet him. His operations in their rear will confuse the enemy and enable me to operate with a greater chance of success. I tell you this because, if you are surrounded and in difficulties, you may have to destroy my dispatch. You can then convey my instructions by word of mouth to General Powell if you succeed in getting through.”

Upon leaving headquarters Peter joined his friends.

“It’s a risksome business,” he went on, after informing them of the instructions he had received, “but I don’t know as it’s much more risksome than stopping here. It don’t seem to me that this army is like to get out of the trap into which their general has led ’em. Whatever he wanted to leave the lakes for is more nor I can tell. However, generaling aint my business, and I wouldn’t change places with the old man to-day, not for a big sum of money. Now, chief, what do you say? How’s this ‘ere business to be carried out?”

The Seneca, with the five braves who had from the first accompanied them, were now the only Indians with the British army. The rest of the redskins, disgusted with the dilatory progress of the army and foreseeing inevitable disaster, had all betaken themselves to their homes. They were, moreover, angered at the severity with which the English general had endeavored to suppress their tendency to acts of cruelty on the defenseless settlers. The redskin has no idea of civilized warfare. His sole notion of fighting is to kill, burn, and destroy, and the prohibition of all irregular operations and of the infliction of unnecessary suffering was, in his eyes, an act of incomprehensible weakness. The Seneca chief remained with the army simply because his old comrade did so. He saw that there was little chance of plunder, but he and his braves had succeeded in fair fight in obtaining many scalps, and would, at least, be received with high honor on their return to their tribe.

A long discussion took place between the chief and Peter before they finally decided upon the best course to be pursued. They were ignorant of the country and of the disposition of the enemy’s force, and could only decide to act upon general principles. They thought it probable that the Americans would be most thickly posted upon the line between the British army and the lakes, and their best chance of success would therefore be to make their way straight ahead for some distance, and then, when they had penetrated the American lines, to make a long _detour_ round to the lakes.

Taking four days’ provisions with them they started when nightfall had fairly set in. It was intensely dark, and in the shadows of the woods Harold was unable to see his hand before him. The Indians appeared to have a faculty of seeing in the dark, for they advanced without the slightest pause or hesitation and were soon in the open country. The greatest vigilance was now necessary. Everywhere they could hear the low hum which betokens the presence of many men gathered together. Sometimes a faint shout came to their ears, and for a long distance around the glow in the sky told of many fires. The party now advanced with the greatest caution, frequently halting while the Indians went on ahead to scout; and more than once they were obliged to alter their direction as they came upon bodies of men posted across their front. At last they passed through the line of sentinels, and, avoiding all the camps, gained the country in the Americans’ rear.

They now struck off to the right, and by daybreak were far round beyond the American army, on their way to Ticonderoga. They had walked for fifteen hours when they halted, and it was not until late in the afternoon that they continued their journey. They presently struck the road which the army had cut in its advance, and keeping parallel with this through the forest they arrived the next morning at Fort Edward. A few hours’ rest here and they continued their march to Ticonderoga. This place had been attacked by the Americans a few days previously, but the garrison had beaten off the assailants.

On the march they had seen many bodies of the enemy moving along the road, but their approach had in every case been detected in time to take refuge in the forest. On entering the fort Peter at once proceeded to General Powell’s quarters and delivered the dispatch with which he had been intrusted. The general read it.

“No re-enforcements have arrived,” the general said, “and the force here is barely sufficient to defend the place. It would be madness for me to set out on such a march with the handful of troops at my disposal.”

He then questioned Peter concerning the exact position of the army, and the latter had no hesitation in saying that he thought the whole force would be compelled to lay down their arms unless some re-enforcements reached them from below.

This, however, was not to be. General Clinton captured Forts Montgomery and Clinton, the latter a very strong position, defended with great resolution by four hundred Americans. The Seventh and Twenty-sixth regiments and a company of grenadiers attacked on one side, the Sixty-third Regiment on the other. They had no cannon to cover their advance and had to cross ground swept by ten pieces of artillery. In no event during the war did the British fight with more resolution. Without firing a shot they pressed forward to the foot of the works, climbed over each other’s shoulders on to the walls, and drove the enemy back. The latter discharged one last volley into the troops and then laid down their arms. Notwithstanding the slaughter effected by this wanton fire after all possibility of continuing a resistance was over, quarter was given and not one of the enemy was killed after the fort was taken. The British loss was 140 killed and wounded; 300 Americans were killed, wounded, or taken prisoners. The fleet attacked the American squadron on the river and entirely destroyed it. Beyond sending a flying squadron up the river to destroy the enemy’s boats and stores of provisions, nothing further could be done to effect a diversion in favor of General Burgoyne.

Four days after Harold’s arrival at Ticonderoga the news of the surrender of General Burgoyne reached the place. Upon the following day he suggested to Peter Lambton that they should visit the clearing of the ex-soldier Cameron and see whether their interference had saved him and his family. Upon arriving at the spot whence Harold had fired the shot which had brought discovery upon them, they saw a few charred stumps alone remaining of the snug house which had stood there. In front of it, upon the stump of a tree, Cameron himself was sitting in an attitude of utter depression.

They walked across the clearing to the spot, but although the sound of their footsteps must have reached his ear, the man did not look up until Harold touched him on the shoulder.

“What has happened?” he asked. “Who has done this ruin?”

The man still remained with his head bent down, as if he had not heard the question.

“We had hoped that you had escaped,” Harold went on. “We were hidden in the wood when we saw those ruffians drive your wife and daughter out, and it was the shot from my rifle that killed their leader and brought them down on us; and a narrow escape we had of it; but we hoped that we had diverted them from their determination to kill you and your family.”

Cameron looked up now.

“I thank ye, sir,” he said. “I thank ye wi’ a’ my hairt for your interference on our behalf. I heerd how closely ye were beset that night and how ye escaped. They thought nae mair o’ us, and when the royal army arrived the next day we were safe; but ye might as weel ha’ let the matter gang on–better, indeed, for then I should be deed instead o’ suffering. This wark,” and he pointed toward the remains of the house, “is redskin deviltry. A fortnight sin’ a band o’ Indians fell upon us. I was awa’. They killed my wife and burned my house and ha’ carried off my bairn.”

“Who were they?” Harold asked.

“I dinna ken,” Cameron replied; “but a neebor o’ mine whose place they attacked, and whom they had scalped and left for deed, told me that they were a band o’ the Iroquois who had come down from Lake Michigan and advanced wi’ the British. He said that they, with the other redskins, desairted when their hopes o’ plunder were disappointed, and that on their way back to their tribes they burned and ravaged every settlement they cam’ across. My neebor was an old frontiersman; he had fought against the tribe and knew their war-cry. He deed the next day. He was mair lucky than I am.”

“The tarnal ruffians!” Peter exclaimed; “the murdering varmints! And to think of ’em carrying off that purty little gal of yours! I suppose by this time they’re at their old game of plundering and slaying on the frontier. It’s naught to them which side they fight on; scalps and plunder is all they care for.”

The unfortunate settler had sat down again on the log, the picture of a broken-hearted man. Harold drew Peter a short distance away.

“Look here. Peter,” he said. “Now Burgoyne’s army has surrendered and winter is close at hand, it is certain that there will be no further operations here, except perhaps that the Americans will recapture the place. What do you say to our undertaking an expedition on our own account to try and get back this poor fellow’s daughter? I do not know whether the Seneca would join us, but we three–of course I count Jake–and the settler might do something. I have an old grudge against these Iroquois myself, as you have heard; and for aught I know they may long ere this have murdered my cousins.”

“The Seneca will jine,” Peter said, “willing enough. There’s an old feud between his tribe and the Iroquois. He’ll jine fast enough. But mind, youngster, this aint no child’s play; it aint like fighting them American clodhoppers. We’ll have to deal with men as sharp as ourselves, who can shoot as well, hear as well, see as well, who are in their own country, and who are a hundred to one against us. We’ve got hundreds and hundreds of miles to travel afore we gets near ’em. It’s a big job; but if, when ye thinks it all over, you’re ready to go, Peter Lambton aint the man to hold back. As you say, there’s naught to do this winter, and we might as well be doing this as anything else.”

The two men then went back to the settler.

“Cameron,” Harold said, “it is of no use sitting here grieving. Why not be up in pursuit of those who carried off your daughter?”

The man sprang to his feet.

“In pursuit!” he cried fiercely; “in pursuit! Do ye think Donald Cameron wad be sitting here quietly if he kenned where to look for his daughter–where to find the murderers o’ his wife? But what can I do? For three days after I cam’ back and found what had happened I was just mad. I couldna think nor rest, nor do aught but throw mysel’ on the ground and pray to God to tak’ me. When at last I could think, it was too late. It wad hae mattered naething to me that they were a hundred to one. If I could ha’ killed but one o’ them I wad ha’ died happy; but they were gone, and how could I follow them–how could I find them? Tell me where to look, mon–show me the way; and if it be to the ends o’ the airth I will go after them.”

“We will do more, than that,” Harold said. “My friend and myself have still with us the seven men who were with us when we were here before. Five are Senecas, the other a faithful negro who would go through fire and water for me. There is little chance of our services being required during the winter with the British army. We, are interested in you and in the pretty child we saw here, and, if you will, we will accompany you in the search for her. Peter Lambton knows the country well, and if anyone could lead you to your child and rescue her from those who carried her off, he is the man.”

“Truly!” gasped the Scotchman. “And will ye truly gang wi’ me to find my bairn? May the guid God o’ heaven bless you!” and the tears ran down his cheeks.

“Git your traps together at once, man,” Peter said. “Let’s go straight back to the fort; then I’ll set the matter before the chief, who will, I warrant me, be glad enough to jine the expedition. It’s too late to follow the track of the red varmints; our best plan will be to make straight for the St. Lawrence; to take a boat if we can git one; if not, two canoes; and to make up the river and along the Ontario. Then we must sell our boat, cross to Erie, and git fresh canoes and go on by Detroit into Lake Huron, and so up in the country of these reptiles. We shall have no difficulty, I reckon, in discovering the whereabout of the tribe which has been away on this expedition.”

The Scotchman took up the rifle.

“I am ready,” he said, and without another word the party started for the fort.

Upon their arrival there a consultation was held with the Seneca. The prospect of an expedition against his hereditary foes filled him with delight, and three of his braves also agreed to accompany them. Jake received the news with the remark:

“All right, Massa Harold. It make no odds to dis chile whar he goes. You say de word–Jake ready.”

Half an hour sufficed for making the preparations, and they at once proceeded to the point where they had hidden the two canoes on the night when they joined General Burgoyne before his advance upon Ticonderoga. These were soon floating on the lake, and they started to paddle to the mouth of the Sorrel, down this river into the St. Lawrence, and thence to Montreal. Their rifles they had recovered from the lake upon the day following that on which Ticonderoga was first captured; Deer Tail having dispatched to the spot two of his braves, who recovered them without difficulty, by diving, and brought them back to the fort.

At Montreal they stayed but a few hours. An ample supply of ammunition was purchased and provisions sufficient for the voyage; and then, embarking in the two canoes, they started up the St. Lawrence. It was three weeks later when they arrived at Detroit, which was garrisoned by a British force. Here they heard that there had been continuous troubles with the Indians on the frontier; that a great many farms and settlements had been destroyed, and numbers of persons murdered.

Their stay at Detroit was a short one. Harold obtained no news of his cousins, but there were so many tales told of Indian massacres that he was filled with apprehension on their account. His worst apprehensions were justified when the canoes at length came within sight of the well-remembered clearing. Harold gave a cry as he saw that the farmhouse no longer existed. The two canoes were headed toward shore, and their occupants disembarked and walked toward the spot where the house had stood. The site was marked by a heap of charred embers. The outhouses had been destroyed, and a few fowls were the only living things to be seen in the fields.

“This here business must have taken place some time ago,” Peter said, breaking the silence. “A month, I should say, or p’r’aps more.”

For a time Harold was too moved to speak. The thought of his kind cousins and their brave girl all murdered by the Indians filled him with deep grief. At last he said:

“What makes you think so, Peter?”

“It’s easy enough to see as it was after the harvest, for ye see the fields is all clear. And then there’s long grass shooting up through the ashes. It would take a full month, p’r’aps six weeks, afore it would do that. Don’t you think so, chief?”

The Seneca nodded.

“A moon,” he said.

“Yes, about a month,” replied Peter. “The grass grows quick after the rains.”

“Do you think that it was a surprise, Peter?”

“No man can tell,” the hunter answered. “If we had seen the place soon afterward we might have told. There would have been marks of blood. Or if the house had stood we could have told by the bullet-holes and the color of the splintered wood how it happened and how long back. As it is, not even the chief can give ye an idea.”

“Not an attack,” the Seneca said; “a surprise.”

“How on arth do you know that, chief?” the hunter exclaimed in surprise, and he looked round in search of some sign which would have enabled the Seneca to have given so confident an opinion. “You must be a witch, surely.”

“A chief’s eyes are not blind,” the redskin answered, with a slight smile of satisfaction at having for once succeeded when his white comrade was at fault. “Let my friend look up the hill–two dead men there.”

Harold looked in the direction in which the chief pointed, but could see nothing. The hunter exclaimed:

“There’s something there, chief, but even my eyes couldn’t tell they were bodies.”

The party proceeded to the spot and found two skeletons. A few remnants of clothes lay around, but the birds had stripped every particle of flesh from the bones. There was a bullet in the forehead of one skull; the other was cleft with a sharp instrument.

“It’s clear enough,” the hunter said, “there’s been a surprise. Likely enough the hull lot was killed without a shot being fired in defense.”

CHAPTER XIV.

RESCUED!

Harold was deeply touched at the evidences of the fate which had befallen the occupants of his cousin’s plantation.

“If there are any more of these to be found,” pointing to their remains, “we might learn for a certainty whether the same fate befell them all.”

The Seneca spoke a word to his followers and the four Indians spread themselves over the clearing. One more body was found–it was lying down near the water as if killed in the act of making for the canoe.

“The others are probably there,” Peter said, pointing to the ruins. “The three hands was killed in the fields, and most likely the attack was made at the same moment on the house. I’m pretty sure it was so, for the body by the water lies face downward, with his head toward the lake. He was no doubt shot from behind as he was running. There must have been Injuns round the house then, or he would have made for that instead of the water.”

The Seneca touched Peter on the shoulder and pointed toward the farm. A figure was seen approaching. As it came nearer they could see that he was a tall man, dressed in the deerskin shirt and leggings usually worn by hunters. As he came near Harold gave an exclamation:

“It is Jack Pearson!”

“It are Jack Pearson,” the hunter said, “but for the moment I can’t recollect ye, though yer face seems known. Why!” he exclaimed in changed tones, “it’s that boy Harold growed into a man.”

“It is,” Harold replied, grasping the frontiersman’s hand.

“And ye may know me, too,” Peter Lambton said, “though it’s twenty year since we fought side by side against the Mohawks.”

“Why, old hoss, are you above ground still?” the hunter exclaimed heartily. “I’m glad to see you again, old friend. And what are you doing here, you and Harold and these Senecas? For they is Senecas, sure enough. I’ve been in the woods for the last hour, and have been puzzling myself nigh to death. I seed them Injuns going about over the clearing sarching, and for the life of me I couldn’t think what they were a-doing. Then I seed ’em gathered down here, with two white men among ’em, so I guessed it was right to show myself.”

“They were searching to see how many had fallen in this terrible business,” Harold said, pointing to the ruins. The hunter shook his head.

“I’m afeared they’ve all gone under. I were here a week afterward; it were just as it is now. I found the three hands lying killed and sculped in the fields; the others, I reckon, is there. I has no doubt at all about Bill Welch and his wife, but it may be that the gal has been carried off.”

“Do you think so?” Harold exclaimed eagerly. “If so, we may find her, too, with the other.”

“What other?” Pearson, asked.

Harold gave briefly an account of the reason which had brought them to the spot and of the object they had in view.

“You can count me in,” Pearson said. “There’s just a chance that Nelly Welch may be in their hands still; and in any case I’m longing to draw a bead on some of the varmints to pay ’em for this,” and he looked round him, “and a hundred other massacres round this frontier.”

“I’m glad to hear ye say so,” Peter replied. “I expected as much of ye, Jack. I don’t know much of this country, having only hunted here for a few weeks with a party of Delawares twenty year afore the Iroquois moved so far west.”

“I know pretty nigh every foot of it,” Jack Pearson said. “When the Iroquois were quiet I used to do a deal of hunting in their country. It are good country for game.”

“Well! shall we set out at once?” Harold asked, impatient to be off.

“We can’t move to-night,” Pearson answered; and Harold saw that Peter and the Indians agreed with him.

“Why not?” he asked. “Every hour is of importance.”

“That’s so,” Peter said, “but there’s no going out on the lake to-night. In half an hour we’ll have our first snowstorm, and by morning it will be two foot deep.”

Harold turned his eyes toward the lake and saw what his companions had noticed long before. The sky was overcast and a thick bank of hidden clouds was rolling up across the lake, and the thick mist seemed to hang between the clouds and the water.

“That’s snow,” Peter said. “It’s late this year, and I’d give my pension if it was a month later.”

“That’s so,” Pearson said. “Snow aint never pleasant in the woods, but when you’re scouting round among Injuns it are a caution. We’d best make a shelter afore it comes on.”

The two canoes were lifted from the water, unloaded, and turned bottom upward; a few charred planks, which had formed part of the roof of the outhouses, were brought and put up to form a sort of shelter. A fire was lit and a meal prepared. By this time the snow had begun to fall. After the meal was over pipes were lit and the two hunters earnestly talked over their plans, the Seneca chief throwing in a few words occasionally; the others listened quietly. The Indians left the matter in the hands of their chief, while Harold and Cameron knew that the two frontiersmen did not need any suggestion from them. As to Jake, the thought of asking questions never entered his mind. He was just at present less happy than usual, for the negro, like most of his race, hated cold, and the prospect of wandering through the woods in deep snow made him shudder as he crouched close to the great fire they had built.

Peter and Jack Pearson were of opinion that it was exceedingly probable that the Welches had been destroyed by the very band which had carried off little Janet Cameron. The bodies of Indians who had been on the war-path with the army had retired some six weeks before, and it was about that time, Pearson said, that the attack on the settlements had been made.

“I heard some parties of redskins who had been with the British troops had passed through the neighborhood, and there was reports that they were greatly onsatisfied with the results of the campaign. As likely as not some of that band may have been consarned in the attack on this place three year ago, and, passing nigh it, may have determined to wipe out that defeat. An Injun never forgives. Many of their braves fell here, and they could scarcely bring a more welcome trophy back to their villages than the scalps of Welch and his men.”

“Now, the first thing to do,” Peter said, “is to find out what particular chief took his braves with him to the war; then we’ve got to find his village; and there likely enough we’ll find Cameron’s daughter and maybe the girl from here. How old was she?”

“About fifteen,” Pearson said, “and a fine girl, and a pretty girl, too. I dun know,” he went on after a pause, “which of the chiefs took part in the war across the lakes, but I suspect it were War Eagle. There’s three great chiefs, and the other two were trading on the frontier. It was War Eagle who attacked the place afore, and would be the more likely to attack it again if he came anywheres near it. He made a mess of it afore and ‘d be burning to wipe out his failure if he had a chance.”

“Where is his place?”

“His village is the furthest of them all from here. He lives up near the falls of Sault Ste. Marie, betwixt Lakes Superior and Huron. It’s a village with nigh three hundred wigwams.”

“It aint easy to see how it’s to be done. We must make to the north shore of the lake. There’ll be no working down here through the woods; but it’s a pesky difficult job–about as hard a one as ever I took part in.”

“It is that,” Pearson said; “it can’t be denied. To steal two white girls out of a big Injun village aint a easy job at no time; but with the snow on the ground it comes as nigh to an impossibility as anything can do.”

For another hour or two they talked over the route they should take and their best mode of proceeding. Duncan Cameron sat and listened with an intent face to every word. Since he had joined them he had spoken but seldom; his whole soul was taken up with the thought of his little daughter. He was ever ready to do his share and more than his share of the work of paddling and at the portages, but he never joined in the conversation; and of an evening, when the others sat round the fire, he would move away and pace backward and forward in anxious thought until the fire burned low and the party wrapped themselves in their blankets and went off to sleep.

All the time the conversation had been going on the snow had fallen heavily, and before it was concluded the clearing was covered deep with the white mantle. There was little wind, and the snow fell quietly and noiselessly. At night the Indians lay down round the fire, while the white men crept under the canoes and were soon fast asleep. In the morning it was still snowing, but about noon it cleared up. It was freezing hard, and the snow glistened as the sun burst through the clouds. The stillness of the forest was broken now by sharp cracking sounds as boughs of trees gave way under the weight of the snow; in the open it lay more than two feet deep.

“Now,” Peter said, “the sooner we’re off the better.”

“I’ll come in my own canoe,” Pearson said. “One of the Injuns can come with me and we’ll keep up with the rest.”

“There is room for you in the other canoes,” Harold said.

“Plenty of room,” the hunter answered. “But you see, Harold, the more canoes the better. There aint no saying how close we may be chased, and by hiding up the canoes at different places we give ourselves so much more chance of being able to get to one or the other. They’re all large canoes, and at a pinch any one of them might hold the hull party, with the two gals throwed in. But,” he added to Harold in a low voice, “don’t you build too much on these gals, Harold. I wouldn’t say so while that poor fellow’s listening, but the chance is a desperate poor one, and I think we’ll be mighty lucky ef we don’t leave all our scalps in that ‘ere redskin village.” The traps were soon placed in the canoes, and just as the sun burst out the three boats started. It was a long and toilsome journey. Stormy weather set in, and they were obliged to wait for days by the lake till its surface calmed. On these occasions they devoted themselves to hunting and killed several deer. They knew that there were no Indian villages near, and in such weather it would be improbable that any redskins would be in the woods. They were enabled, therefore, to fire without fear of the reports betraying their presence. The Senecas took the opportunity of fabricating snowshoes for the whole party, as these would be absolutely necessary for walking in the woods. Harold, Jake, and Duncan Cameron at once began to practice their use. The negro was comical in the extreme in his first attempts, and shouted so loudly with laughter each time that he fell head foremost into the snow that Peter said to him angrily:

“Look-a-here, Jake; it’s dangerous enough letting off a rifle at a deer in these woods, but it has to be done because we must lay in a supply of food; but a musket-shot is a mere whisper to yer shouting. Thunder aint much louder than you laughing–it shakes the hull place and might be heard from here well-nigh to Montreal. Ef you can’t keep that mouth of your’n shut, ye must stop up the idee of learning to use them shoes and must stop in the canoe while we’re scouting on shore.”

Jake promised to amend, and from this time when he fell in the soft snow-wreaths he gave no audible vent to his amusement; but a pair of great feet, with the snow-shoes attached, could be seen waving above the surface until he was picked up and righted again.

Harold soon learned, and Cameron went at the work with grim earnestness. No smile ever crossed his face at his own accidents or at the wild vagaries of Jake, which excited silent amusement even among the Indians. In a short time the falls were less frequent, and by the time they reached the spot where they were determined to cross the lake at the point where Lakes Huron and Michigan join, the three novices were able to make fair progress in the snow-shoes.

The spot fixed upon was about twelve miles from the village of War Eagle, and the canoes were hidden at distances of three miles apart. First Pearson, Harold, and Cameron disembarked; Jake, Peter, and one of the Indians alighted at the next point; and the Seneca chief and two of his followers proceeded to the spot nearer to the Indian village. Each party as they landed struck straight into the woods, to unite at a point eight miles from the lake and as many from the village. The hunters had agreed that, should any Indians come across the tracks, less suspicion would be excited than would have been the case were they found skirting the river, as it might be thought that they were made by Indians out hunting.

Harold wondered how the other parties would find the spot to which Pearson had directed them, but in due time all arrived at the rendezvous. After some search a spot was found where the underwood grew thickly, and there was an open place in the center of the clump. In this the camp was established. It was composed solely of a low tent of about two feet high, made of deer’s hides sewed together, and large enough to shelter them all. The snow was cleared away, sticks were driven into the frozen ground, and strong poles laid across them; the deerskin was then laid flat upon these. The top was little higher than the general level of the snow, an inch or two of snow was scattered over it, and to anyone passing outside the bushes the tent was completely invisible.

The Indians now went outside the thicket and with great care obliterated, as far as possible, the marks upon the snow. This could not be wholly done, but it was so far complete that the slightest wind which would send a drift over the surface would wholly conceal all traces of passage.

They had, before crossing the lake, cooked a supply of food sufficient for some days. Intense as was the cold outside, it was perfectly warm in the tent. The entrance as they crept into it was closed with a blanket, and in the center a lamp composed of deer’s fat in a calabash with a cotton wick gave a sufficient light.

“What is the next move?” Harold asked.

“The chief ‘ll start, when it comes dusk, with Pearson,” Peter said. “When they git close to the village he’ll go in alone. He’ll paint Iroquois before he goes.”

“Cannot we be near at hand to help them in case of a necessity,” Harold asked.

“No,” Peter said. “It wouldn’t be no good at all. Ef it comes to fighting they’re fifty to one, and the lot of us would have no more chance than two. If they’re found out, which aint likely, they must run for it, and they can get over the snow a deal faster than you could, to say nothing of Cameron and Jake. They must shift for themselves and ‘ll make straight for the nearest canoe. In the forest they must be run down sooner or later, for their tracks would be plain. No, they must go alone.”

When night came on the Seneca produced his paints, and one of his followers marked his face and arms with the lines and flourishes in use by the Iroquois; then without a word of adieu he took his rifle and glided out from the tent, followed by Pearson. Peter also put on his snow-shoes and prepared to follow.

“I thought you were going to stay here, Peter.”

“No, I’m going halfway with ’em. I’ll be able to hear the sound of a gun. Then, ef they’re trapped, we must make tracks for the canoes at once, for after following ’em to the lake they’re safe to take up their back track to see where they’ve come from; so, ef I hear a gun, I’ll make back here as quick as I can come.”

When the three men had started silence fell on the tent. The redskins at once lay down to sleep, and Jake followed their example. Harold lay quiet thinking over the events which had happened to him in the last three years, while Cameron lay with his face turned toward the lamp with a set, anxious look on his face. Several times he crawled to the entrance and listened when the crack made by some breaking bough came to his ear. Hours passed and at last Harold dozed off, but Cameron’s eyes never closed until about midnight the blanket at the entrance moved and Peter entered.

“Hae ye seen the ithers?” Cameron exclaimed.

“No, and were not likely to,” Peter answered. “It was all still to the time I came away, and afore I moved I was sure they must have left the village. They won’t come straight back, bless ye; they’ll go ‘way in the opposite direction and make a sweep miles round. They may not be here for hours yet; not that there’s much chance of their tracks being traced. It has not snowed for over a week, and the snow round the village must be trampled thick for a mile and more, with the squaws coming and going for wood and the hunters going out on the chase. I’ve crossed a dozen tracks or more on my way back. Ef it wasn’t for that we daren’t have gone at all, for ef the snow was new fallen the sight of fresh tracks would have set the first Injun that come along a-wondering; and when a redskin begins to wonder he sets to to ease his mind at once by finding out all about it, ef it takes him a couple of days’ sarch to do so. No, you can lie down now for some hours. They won’t be here till morning.”

So saying, the scout set the example by wrapping himself up and going to sleep, but Cameron’s eyes never closed until the blanket was drawn on one side again and in the gray light of the winter morning the Seneca and Pearson crawled into the tent.

“What news?” Harold asked, for Cameron was too agitated to speak.

“Both gals are there,” Pearson answered.

An exclamation of thankfulness broke from Harold. A sob of joy issued from the heart of the Scotchman, and for a few minutes his lips moved as he poured forth his silent thankfulness to God.

“Waal, tell us all about it,” Peter said. “I can ask the chief any questions afterward.”

“We went on straight enough to the village,” the hunter began. “It are larger than when I saw it last, and War Eagle’s influence in the tribe must have increased. I didn’t expect to find no watch, the redskins having, so far as they knew, no enemies within five hundred mile of ’em. There was a lot of fires burning and plenty of redskins moving about among ’em. We kept on till we got quite close, and then we lay up for a time below a tree at the edge of the clearing. There were a sight too many of ’em about for the Seneca to go in yet awhile. About half an hour arter we got there we saw two white gals come outen one of the wigwams and stand for a while to warm theirselves by one of the fires. The tallest of the two, well-nigh a woman, was Nelly Welch. I knew her, in course. The other was three or four years younger, with yaller hair over her shoulders. Nelly seemed quiet and sad-like, but the other ‘peared more at home–she laughed with some of the redskin gals and even jined in their play. You see,” he said, turning to Cameron, “she’d been captured longer and children’s spirits soon rise again. Arter a while they went back to the wigwam.” When the fires burned down and the crowd thinned, and there was only a few left sitting in groups round the embers, the Seneca started. For a long time I saw nothing of him, but once or twice I thought I saw a figure moving among the wigwams. Presently the fires burned quite down and the last Injun went off. I had begun to wonder what the chief was doing, when he stood beside me. We made tracks at once and have been tramping in a long circle all night. The chief can tell ye his part of the business hisself.”

“Well, chief, what have you found out?” Peter asked.

The Indian answered in his native tongue, which Peter interpreted from time to time for the benefit of his white companions:

“When Deer Tail left the white hunter he went into the village. It was no use going among the men, and he went round by the wigwams and listened to the chattering of the squaws. The tribe were all well contented, for the band brought back a great deal of plunder which they had picked up on their way back from the army. They had lost no braves and everyone was pleased. The destruction of the settlement of the white man who had repulsed them before was a special matter for rejoicing. The scalps of the white man and his wife are in the village. War Eagle’s son, Young Elk, is going to marry the white girl. There are several of the braves whose heads have been turned by the white skin and her bright eyes, but Young Elk is going to have her. There have been great feastings and rejoicings since the return of the warriors, but they are to be joined tomorrow by Beaver’s band, and then they will feast again. When all was quiet I went to the wigwam where the white girls are confined. An old squaw and two of War Eagle’s daughters are with them. Deer Tail had listened while they prepared for rest and knew on which side of the wigwam the tall white maiden slept. He thought that she would be awake. Her heart would be sad and sleep would not come to her soon, so he crept round there and cut a slit in the skin close to where she lay. He put his head in at the hole and whispered, ‘Do not let the white girl be afraid; it is a friend. Does she hear him?’ She whispered, ‘Yes.’ ‘Friends are near,’ he said. ‘The young warrior Harold, whom she knows, and others, are at hand to take her away. The Iroquois will be feasting to-morrow night. When she hears the cry of a night-owl let her steal away with her little white sister and she will find her friends waiting.’ Then Deer Tail closed the slit and stole away to his friend the white hunter. I have spoken.”

“Jest what I expected of you, chief,” Peter said warmly. “I thought as how you’d manage to git speech with ’em somehow. If there’s a feast to-night, it’s hard ef we don’t manage to get ’em off.”

“I suppose we must lie still all day, Peter.”

“You must so,” the hunter said. “Not a soul must show his nose outside the tent except that one of the redskins’ll keep watch to be sure that no straggler has come across our tracks and followed ’em up. Ef he was to do that, he might bring the hull gang down on us. Ye’d best get as much sleep as ye can, for ye don’t know when ye may get another chance.”

At nightfall the whole party issued from the tent and started toward the Indian village. All arrangements had been made. It was agreed that Pearson and the Seneca should go up to the village, the former being chosen because he was known to Nelly. Peter and one of the redskins were to take post a hundred yards further back, ready to give assistance in case of alarm, while the rest were to remain about half a mile distant. Cameron had asked that he might go with the advance party, but upon Peter pointing out to him that his comparatively slow rate of progression in snow-shoes would, in case of discovery, lead to the recapture of the girls, he at once agreed to the decision. If the flight of the girls was discovered soon after leaving the camp, it was arranged that the Seneca and Peter should hurry at once with them to the main body, while the other two Indians should draw off their pursuers in another direction. In the event of anything occurring to excite the suspicion of the Indians before there was a chance of the girls being brought safely to the main body, they were to be left to walk quietly back to camp, as they had nothing to fear from the Indians. Peter and the Seneca were then to work round by a circuitous route to the boat, where they were to be joined by the main body, and to draw off until another opportunity offered for repeating the attempt.

It was eight o’clock in the evening when Pearson and the Seneca approached the village. The fires were burning high, and seated round them were all the warriors of the tribe. A party were engaged in a dance representing the pursuit and defeat of an enemy. The women were standing in an outer circle, clapping their hands and raising their voices in loud cries of applause and excitement as the dance became faster and faster. The warriors bounded high, brandishing their tomahawks. A better time could not have been chosen for the evasion of the fugitives. Nelly Welch stood close to a number of Indian girls, but slightly behind them. She held the hand of little Janet Cameron.

Although she appeared to share in the interest of the Indians in the dance, a close observer would have had no difficulty in perceiving that Nelly was preoccupied. She was, indeed, intently listening for the signal. She was afraid to move from among the others lest her absence should be at once detected, but so long as the noise was going on she despaired of being able to hear the signal agreed upon. Presently an Indian brave passed close to her, and as he did so whispered in her ear in English, “Behind your wigwam–friends there.” Then he passed on and moved round the circle as if intending to take his seat at another point.

The excitement of the dance was momentarily increasing, and the attention of the spectators was riveted to the movements of the performers. Holding Janet’s hand, Nelly moved noiselessly away from the place where she had been standing. The movement was unnoticed, as she was no longer closely watched, a flight in the depth of winter appearing impossible. She kept round the circle till no longer visible from the spot she had left. Then, leaving the crowd, she made her way toward the nearest wigwams. Once behind these the girls stole rapidly along under their shelter until they stood behind that which they usually inhabited. Two figures were standing there. They hesitated for a moment, but one of them advanced.

“Jack Pearson!” Nelly exclaimed, with a low cry of gladness.

“Jest that same, Nelly, and right glad to see you. But we’ve no time for greeting now; the hull tribe may be after us in another five minutes. Come along, pretty,” he said, turning to Janet. “You’ll find somebody ye know close at hand.”

Two minutes later the child was in her father’s arms, and after a moment’s rapturous greeting between father and child and a very delighted one between Nelly Welch and her Cousin Harold, the flight was continued.

“How long a start do you think we may have?”

“Half an hour, maybe. The women may be some time afore they miss her, and they’ll sarch for her everywhere afore they give the alarm, as they’ll be greatly blamed for their carelessness.”

There had been a pause in the flight for a few seconds when the Seneca and Pearson arrived with the girls at the point where Peter and the other Indian were posted, two hundred yards from the camp. Up to this point the snow was everywhere thickly trampled, but as the camp was left further behind the footprints would naturally become more scarce. Here Pearson fastened to the girls’ feet two pairs of large moccasins; inside these wooden soles had been placed. They therefore acted to some extent like snowshoes and prevented the girls’ feet from sinking deeply, while the prints which they left bore no resemblance to their own. They were strapped on the wrong way, so that the marks would seem to point toward the village rather than away from it. Both girls protested that they should not be able to get along fast in these encumbrances, but one of the men posted himself on either side of each and assisted them along, and as the moccasins were very light, even with the wooden soles inside, they were soon able to move with them at a considerable pace.

Once united the whole party kept along at the top of their speed. Peter Lambton assisted Cameron with Janet, and the girl, half-lifted from the ground, skimmed over the surface like a bird, only touching the snow here and there with the moccasins. Nelly Welch needed no assistance from Harold or Pearson. During the long winters she had often practiced on snow-shoes, and was consequently but little encumbered with the huge moccasins, which to some extent served the same purpose.

They had been nearly half an hour on their way when they heard a tremendous yell burst from the village.

“They’ve missed you,” Peter said. “Now it’s a fair race. We’ve got a good start and ‘ll git more, for they’ll have to hunt up the traces very carefully, and it may be an hour, perhaps more, before they strike upon the right one. Ef the snow had been new fallen we should have had ’em arter us in five minutes; but even a redskin’s eye will be puzzled to find out at night one track among such hundreds.”

“I have but one fear,” Pearson said to Harold.

“What is that?”

“I’m afeared that without waiting to find the tracks they may send off half a dozen parties to the lake. They’ll be sure that friends have taken the gals away, and will know that their only chance of escape is by the water. On land we should be hunted down to a certainty, and the redskins, knowing that the gals could not travel fast, will not hurry in following up the trail. So I think they’ll at once send off parties to watch the lake, and ‘ll like enough make no effort to take up the trail till to-morrow morning.”

This was said in a low whisper, for although they were more than two miles from the village it was necessary to move as silently as possible.