True to the Old Flag by G. A. Henty (page 5)

“You had best tell the others what you think, Pearson. It may make a difference in our movements.”

A short halt was called, and the Seneca and Peter quite agreed with Pearson’s idea.

“We’d best make for the canoe that’s furthest off. When the redskins find the others, which they’re pretty sure to do, for they’ll hunt every bush, they’re likely to be satisfied and to make sure they’ll ketch us at one or the other.”

This much decided upon, they continued their flight, now less rapidly, but in perfect silence. Speed was less an object than concealment. The Indians might spread, and a party might come across them by accident. If they could avoid this, they were sure to reach their canoe before morning and unlikely to find the Indians there before them.

It was about twelve miles to the spot where they had hidden the canoe, and although they heard distant shouts and whoops ringing through the forest, no sound was heard near them.

CHAPTER XV.

THE ISLAND REFUGE.

The night was intensely cold and still and the stars shone brightly through the bare boughs overhead. “Are you sure you are going all right?” Nelly asked Harold. “It is so dark here that it seems impossible to know which way we are going.” “You can trust the Indians,” Harold said. “Even if there was not a star to be seen they could find their way by some mysterious instinct. How you are grown, Nelly! Your voice does not seem much changed, and I am longing to see your face.”

“I expect you are more changed than I am, Harold,” the girl answered. “You have been going through so much since we last met, and you seem to have grown so tall and big. Your voice has changed very much, too; it is the voice of a man. How in the world did you find us here?”

Pearson had gone on ahead to speak to the Seneca, but he now joined them again.

“You mustn’t talk,” he said. “I hope there’s no redskins within five miles of us now, but there’s never any saying where they may be.”

There was, Harold thought, a certain sharpness in the hunter’s voice, which told of a greater anxiety than would be caused by the very slight risk of the quietly spoken words being heard by passing redskins, and he wondered what it could be.

They were now, he calculated, within a mile of the hiding place where they had left the boat, and they had every reason for believing that none of the Indians would be likely to have followed the shore so far. That they would be pursued and that, in so heavily laden a canoe, they would have great difficulty in escaping, he was well aware, but he relied on the craft of the hunters and Senecas for throwing their pursuers off the trail.

All at once the trees seemed to open in front, and in a few minutes the party reached the river. A cry of astonishment and of something akin to terror broke from Harold. As far as the eye could reach the lake was frozen. Their escape was cut off.

“That’s jest what I’ve been expecting,” Pearson said. “The ice had begun to form at the edge when we landed, and three days and nights of such frost as we’ve had since was enough to freeze Ontario. What on arth’s to be done?”

No one answered. Peter and the redskins had shared Pearson’s anxiety, but to Harold and Cameron the disappointment was a terrible one; as to Jake, he left all the thinking to be done by the others. Harold stood gazing helplessly on the expanse of ice which covered the water. It was not a smooth sheet, but was rough and broken, as if, while it had been forming, the wind had broken the ice up into cakes again and again, while the frost as often had bound them together.

They had struck the river within a few hundred yards of the place where the canoe was hidden, and, after a short consultation between the Seneca chief, Peter Lambton, and Pearson, moved down toward that spot.

“What are you thinking of doing?” Harold asked when they gathered round the canoe.

“We’re going to load ourselves with the ammunition and deer’s flesh,” Peter said, “and make for a rocky island which lies about a mile off here. I noticed it as we landed. There’s nothing to do but to fight it out to the last there. It are a good place for defense, for the redskins won’t like to come out across the open, and, even covered by a dark night, they’d show on this white surface.”

“Perhaps they won’t trace us.”

“Not trace us!” the trapper repeated scornfully. “Why, when daylight comes, they’ll pick up our track and follow it as easy as you could that of a wagon across the snow.”

They were just starting when Harold gave a little exclamation.

“What is it, lad?”

“A flake of snow fell on my face.”

All looked up. The stars had disappeared. Another flake and another fell on the upturned faces of the party.

“Let’s thank the great God,” Peter said quietly. “There’s a chance for our lives yet. Half an hour’s snow and the trail ‘ll be lost.”

Faster and faster the snowflakes came down. Again the leaders consulted.

“We must change our plans, now,” Peter said, turning to the others. “So long as they could easily follow our tracks it mattered nothing that they’d find the canoe here; but now it’s altogether different. We must take it along with us.”

The weight of the canoe was very small. The greater part of its contents had already been removed. There was a careful look round to see that nothing remained on the bank; then four of the men lifted it on their shoulders, and the whole party stepped out upon the ice. The snow was now falling heavily, and to Harold’s eyes there was nothing to guide them in the direction they were following. Even the Indians would have been at a loss had not the Seneca, the instant the snow began to fall, sent on one of his followers at full speed toward the island. Harold wondered at the time what his object could be as the Indian darted off across the ice, but now he understood. Every minute or two the low hoot of an owl was heard, and toward this sound the party directed their way through the darkness and snow.

So heavy was the fall that the island rose white before them as they reached it. It was of no great extent–some twenty or thirty yards across, and perhaps twice that length. It rose steeply from the water to a height of from ten to fifteen feet. The ground was rough and broken, and several trees and much brushwood grew in the crevices of the rock.

The Seneca and the hunters made a rapid examination of the island, and soon fixed upon the spot for their camp. Toward one end the island was split in two, and an indentation ran some distance up into it. Here a clear spot was found some three or four feet above the level of the water. It was completely hidden by thick bushes from the sight of anyone approaching by water. There the canoe was turned over, and the girls, who were both suffering from the intense cold, were wrapped up in blankets and placed under its shelter. The camp was at the lower end of the island and would, therefore, be entirely hidden from view of Indians gathered upon the shore. In such a snowstorm light would be invisible at a very short distance, and Peter did not hesitate to light a fire in front of the canoe.

For three hours the snow continued to fall. The fire had been sheltered by blankets stretched at some distance above it. Long before the snow ceased it had sunk down to a pile of red embers. A small tent had now been formed of blankets for the use of the girls; brushwood had been heaped over this, and upon the brushwood snow had been thrown, the whole making a shelter which would be warm and comfortable in the bitterest weather. A pile of hot embers was placed in this little tent until it was thoroughly heated; blankets were then spread, and the girls were asked to leave the shelter of the canoe and take their place there.

The canoe itself was now raised on four sticks three feet from the ground; bushes were laid round it and snow piled on, thus forming the walls of which the canoe was the roof. All this was finished long before the snow had ceased falling, and this added a smooth white surface all over, so that, to a casual eye, both tent and hut looked like two natural ridges of the ground. They were a cheerful party which assembled in the little hut. The remainder of the embers of the fire had been brought in, and, intense as was the cold outside, it was warm and comfortable within. Tea was made and pipes filled, and they chatted some time before going to sleep.

Duncan Cameron was like a man transfigured. His joy and thankfulness for the recovery of his daughter were unbounded. Harold’s pleasure, too, at the rescue of his cousin was very great, and the others were all gratified at the success of their expedition. It was true that the Indians had as yet gained no scalps, but Harold had promised them before starting that, should the expedition be successful, they should be handsomely rewarded.

“We mustn’t reckon as we are safe yet,” Peter said in answer to one of Harold’s remarks. “The redskins aint going to let us slip through their fingers so easy as all that. They’ve lost our trail and have nothing but their senses to guide ’em, but an Injun’s senses aint easily deceived in these woods. Ef this snow begins again and keeps on for two or three days they may be puzzled; but ef it stops they’ll cast a circle round their camp at a distance beyond where we could have got before the snow ceased, and ef they find no new trails they’ll know that we must be within that circle. Then, as to the boats, when they find as we don’t come down to the two as they’ve discovered, and that we’ve not made off by land, they’ll guess as there was another canoe hidden somewhere, and they’ll sarch high and low for it. Waal, they won’t find it; and then they’ll suppose that we may have taken to the ice, and they’ll sarch that. Either they’ll git to open water or to the other side. Ef there’s open water anywhere within a few miles they may conclude that we’ve carried a canoe, launched it there, and made off. In that case, when they’ve sarched everywhere, they may give it up. Ef there aint no such open water, they’ll sarch till they find us. It aint likely that this island will escape ’em. With nine good rifles here we can hold the place against the hull tribe, and as they’d show up against the snow, they can no more attack by night than by day.”

“I don’t think our food will hold out beyond seven or eight days,” Harold said.

“Jest about that,” Peter answered; “but we can cut a hole in the ice and fish, and can hold out that way, if need be, for weeks. The wust of it is that the ice aint likely to break up now until the spring. I reckon our only chance is to wait till we git another big snowstorm and then to make off. The. snow will cover our trail as fast as we make it, and, once across to the other shore, we may git away from the varmints. But I don’t disguise from you, Harold, that we’re in a very awk’ard trouble, and that it ‘ll need all the craft of the chief, here, and all the experience of Pearson and me to get us out of it.”

“The guid God has been vera merciful to us sae far,” Duncan Cameron said; “he will surely protect us to the end. Had he na sent the snow just when he did, the savages could hae followed our trail at once; it was a miracle wrought in our favor. He has aided us to rescue the twa bairns frae the hands of the Indians, and we may surely trust in his protection to the end. My daughter and her friend hae, I am very sure, before lying down to sleep, entreated his protection. Let us a’ do the same.”

And the old soldier, taking off his cap, prayed aloud to God to heed and protect them.

Harold and the frontiersmen also removed their caps and joined in the prayer, and the Senecas looked on, silent and reverent, at an act of worship which was rare among their white companions.

As Peter was of opinion that there was no chance whatever of any search on the part of the Indians that night, and therefore there was no need to set a watch, the whole party wrapped themselves up in their blankets and were soon asleep.

When Harold woke next morning it was broad daylight. The Senecas had already been out and had brought news that a strong party of Indians could be seen moving along the edge of the forest, evidently searching for a canoe. One of the Indians was placed on watch, and two or three hours later he reported that the Indians were now entirely out of sight and were, when last seen, scouting along the edge of the forest.

“Now,” Peter said, “the sooner we git another snowstorm the better. Ef we’d been alone we could have pushed on last night, but the gals was exhausted and would soon have died of the cold. Now, with a fresh start they’d do. Ef we can’t cross the lake I calculate that we’re about thirty mile from a p’int on the north shore below the falls of Ste. Marie, and we could land there and strike across through the woods for the settlement. It’d be a terrible long journey round the north of Huron, but we must try it ef we can’t get across.”

“But we could go off by night, surely,” Harold said, “even if there is no fresh snow.”

“We could do that,” Peter replied; “no doubt of it. But ef they were to find our track the next day, ay, or within three days, they’d follow us and overtake us afore we got to the settlements. Ef we was alone, it’d be one thing; but with the gals it’d be another altogether. No, we must stop here till a snowstorm comes, even if we have to stop for a month. There’s no saying how soon some of them Injuns may be loafing round, and we daren’t leave a trail for ’em to take up.”

They had scarcely ceased speaking when a low call from the Indian placed on watch summoned the chief to his side. A minute later the latter rejoined the group below and said a few words to Peter.

“Jest as I thought!” the latter grumbled, rising with his rifle across his arm. “Here are some of the varmints coming out this ‘ere way. Likely enough it’s a party of young braves jest scouting about on their own account, to try and get honor by discovering us when their elders have failed. It would have been better for them to have stopped at home.”

The party now crept up to the top of the rock, keeping carefully below its crest.

“Ef you show as much as a hair above the top line,” Peter said, “they’ll see you, sartin.”

“Would it not be well,” Harold asked, “for one of us to show himself? There is no possibility of further concealment, and if they go off without any of them being killed the others might be less bitter against us than they would if they had lost some of their tribe.”

Peter laughed scornfully.

“Ye haven’t had much to do with Injuns, lad, but I should have thought you’d have had better sense nor that. Haven’t these Injuns been a-murdering and a-slaying along the frontier all the summer, falling on defenseless women and children? Marcy and pity aint in their natur, and, fight or no fight, our scalps will dry in their wigwams if they get us into their power. They know that we can shoot and mean to, and that ‘ll make ’em careful of attacking us, and every hour is important. Now,” he said to the others, “each of you cover a man and fire straight through your sights when I gives the word. There’s others watching ’em, you may be sure, and ef the whole five go down together, it’ll make ’em think twice afore they attack us again.”

Peering between some loose rocks, so that he could see without exposing his head above the line, Harold watched the five Indians approaching. They had evidently some doubts as to the wisdom of the course they were pursuing, and were well aware that they ran a terrible risk standing there in the open before the rifles of those concealed, should the fugitives be really there. Nevertheless, the hope of gaining distinction and the fear of ridicule from those watching them on shore, should they turn back with their mission unaccomplished, inspired them with resolution. When within three hundred yards of the island they halted for a long time. They stood gazing fixedly; but, although no signs of life could be perceived, they were too well versed in Indian warfare to gain any confidence from the apparent stillness. Throwing themselves flat on the snow and following each other in single line, by which means their bodies were nearly concealed from sight in the track which their leader made through the light, yielding snow, they made a complete circuit of the island. They paused for some time opposite the little forked entrance in which the camp was situated, but apparently saw nothing, for they kept round until they completed the circuit.

When they reached the point from which they had started there was, apparently, a short consultation among them. Then they continued their course in the track that they had before made until they reached a spot facing the camp. Then they changed order, and, still prone in the snow, advanced abreast toward the island.

“The varmints have guessed that, if we are here, this is the place where we’d be hid,” Peter whispered in Harold’s ear.

As the Indians made their circuit the party in the island had changed their position so as always to keep out of sight. They were now on the top of the island, which was a sort of rough plateau. The girls had been warned, when they left them, to remain perfectly quiet in their shelter whatever noise they might hear. Peter and the Seneca watched the Indians through holes which they had made with their ramrods through a bank of snow. The others remained flat in the slight depression behind it. At the distance of one hundred and fifty yards the Indians stopped.

“The varmints see something!” Peter said. “Maybe they can make out the two snow heaps through the bushes; maybe they can see some of our footsteps in the snow. They’re going to fire!” he exclaimed. “Up, lads! They may send a bullet into the hut whar the gals is hid.”

In an instant the line of men sprang to their feet. The Indians, taken by surprise at the sudden appearance of a larger number of enemies than they expected, fired a hasty volley and then sprang to their feet and dashed toward the shore. But they were deadly rifles which covered them. Peter, Harold, and Pearson could be trusted not to miss even a rapidly moving object at that distance, and the men were all good shots. Not in regular order, but as each covered his man, the rifles were discharged. Four out of the five Indians fell, and an arm of the fifth dropped useless by his side; however, he still kept on. The whites reloaded rapidly, and Harold was about to fire again when Pearson put his hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t fire! We’ve shown them that we can shoot straight. It’s jest as well at present that they shouldn’t know how far our rifles will carry.”

The four Senecas dashed out across the snow and speedily returned, each with a scalp hanging at his belt.

A loud yell of anger and lamentation had risen from the woods skirting the shore as the Indians fell, but after this died away deep silence reigned.

“What will be their next move?” Cameron asked Peter, as they gathered again in their low hut, having placed one of the Indians on watch.

“We’ll hear nothing of ’em till nightfall,” Peter said. “Their first move, now they know as we’re here, will be to send off to fetch up all the tribe who’re in search of us. When it comes on dark they’ll send scouts outside of us on the ice to see as we don’t escape–not that they’d much mind ef we did, for they could track us through the snow and come up with us whenever they chose. No, they may be sure we’ll stay where we are. It may be they’ll attack us to-night, maybe not. It’d be a thing more risksome than redskins often undertake to cross the snow under the fire of nine rifles. I aint no doubt they’d try and starve us out, for they must know well enough that we can have no great store of provisions. But they know as well as we do that, if another snowstorm comes on, we might slip away from ’em without leaving a foot-mark behind. It’s jest that thought as may make ’em attack.”

“Well, we can beat them off, if they do,” Harold said confidently.

“Waal, we may and we may not,” the scout answered. “Anyhow we can kill a grist of ’em afore they turn us out on this ‘ere island.”

“That’s sartin enough,” Pearson put in; “but they’re a strong tribe, and ef they can harden their hearts and make a rush it’s all up with us. I allow that it’s contrary to their custom, but when they see no other way to do with, they may try.”

“I suppose if they do try a rush,” Harold said, “they will do it against this end of the island?”

“Yes, you may bet your money on that,” the scout answered. “In other places the rock goes pretty nigh straight up from the water, but here it’s an easy landing. Being so close to ’em they’re sure to know all about it; but even if they didn’t, the chap that got away would tell ’em. I don’t much expect an attack to-night–the bands won’t be back yet. They’ll have a grand palaver to-night, and there’ll be a big talk afore they decide what is best to be done; so I think we’re safe for to-night. To-morrow we’ll set to work and build a shelter for the pretty ones up above, where they’ll be safe from stray shots. Then we’ll throw up a breastwork with loose rocks on the top of the slope round this cove, so as to give it to ’em hot when they land.”

“You have plenty of powder?” Harold asked.

“Dollops,” Peter replied; “more’n we could fire away if we was besieged here for a month.”

“Then you could spare me twenty pounds or so?”

“We could spare you a whole keg if you like; we’ve got three full. But what are you thinking of now, young un?”

“I was thinking,” Harold answered, “of forming a line of holes, say three feet apart, in the ice across the mouth of the cove. If we were to charge them with powder and lay a train between them, we could, when the first dozen or so have passed the line, fire the train and break up the ice. This would prevent the others following, and give them such a bad scare that they would probably make off, and we could easily deal with those who had passed the line before we fired it.”

“That’s a good idea of yours, lad. A fust-rate idea. The ice must be a foot thick by this time, and ef you put in your charges eight inches and tamp ’em well down you’ll shiver the ice for a long way round. The idea is a fust-rate one.”

Pearson and Cameron assisted in the work, and the Indians, when Peter had explained the plan to them, gave deep gutteral exclamations of surprise and approval. The process of blasting was one wholly unknown to them.

“I will mak’ the holes,” Cameron said. “I hae seen a deal of blasting when I was in the army. I can heat the end of a ramrod in a fire and hammer it into the shape of a borer.”

“A better way than that, Cameron,” Harold said, “will be to heat the end of a ramrod white-hot. You will melt holes in the ice in half the time it would take you to bore them. That was what I was thinking of doing.”

“Right you are, lad!” Pearson said. “Let’s set about it at once.”

A large fire was now lighted outside the hut, for there was no longer any occasion for secrecy. The ends of three or four of the ramrods were placed in the fire, and two lines of holes were bored in the ice across the mouth of the little cove. These lines were twelve feet apart, and they calculated that the ice between them would be completely broken up, even if the fractures did not extend a good way beyond the lines. The holes were of rather larger diameter than the interior of a gun barrel. It was found that the ice was about fifteen inches thick, and the holes were taken down ten inches. Three or four charges of powder were placed in each; a stick of a quarter of an inch in diameter was then placed in each hole, and pounded ice was rammed tightly in around it until the holes were filled up, a few drops of water being poured in on the top, so as to freeze the whole into a solid mass. There was no fear of the powder being wetted, for the frost was intense. Then the sticks were withdrawn and the holes left filled with powder. With the heated ramrods little troughs were sunk half an inch deep, connecting the tops of the holes; lines of powder were placed in these trenches; narrow strips of skin were laid over them, and the snow was then thrown on again. The two lines of trenches were connected at the ends at the shore, so that they could be fired simultaneously.

While the men were occupied with this work the girls had cooked some venison steaks and made some cakes.

It was just nightfall when they had finished, and all sat down and enjoyed a hearty meal. Peter and one of the Senecas undertook the watch for half the night, when they were to be relieved by Pearson and the chief. The early part of the night passed off quietly, but an hour before morning the party were aroused by the sharp crack of two rifles. Seizing their arms, all rushed out.

“What is it, Pearson?”

“Two of their scouts,” Pearson answered, pointing to two dark bodies on the snow at a distance of about one hundred yards. “I suppose they wanted to see ef we was on the watch. We made ’em out almost as soon as they left the shore, but we let ’em come on until we was sartin of our aim. There aint no more about as we can see, so ye can all turn in again for another hour or two.”

There was no fresh alarm before morning, and, when the sun rose, it shone over a wide expanse of snow, unbroken save where lay the bodies of the two Indians–whose scalps already hung at the belt of the Seneca–and those of their four comrades who had fallen in the first attack.

The day passed quietly. Toward the afternoon two Indians were seen approaching from the shore. They were unarmed and held their hands aloft as a sign of amity. Peter and Pearson at once laid down their guns, left the island, and advanced to meet them. They were Indian chiefs of importance.

“Why have my white brothers stolen in at night upon the village of War Eagle and slain his young men?”

“It is what you have been doing all last year, chief,” Pearson, who spoke the dialect better than Peter, replied. “But we injured no one. We didn’t kill women and children, as your warriors have done in the white villages. We only came to take what you had stolen from us, and ef your young men have been killed it’s only because they tried to attack us.”

“The white men must see,” the chief said, “that they cannot get away. The water is hard, and their canoe will not swim in it. The snow is deep, and the tender feet cannot walk through it. My warriors are very numerous, and the white men cannot fight their way through them. The white settlements are very far away, and their friends cannot reach them; and it will be many months before the water softens, and long before that the white men will have eaten their moccasins.”

“Waal, chief,” Pearson said, “we’re in a tight hole, I grant you; but I’m far from allowing that we aint no chances left to us yet. What do you propose? I suppose you’ve some proposition to make.”

“Let the white men leave behind them their guns and their powder and the maidens they have taken from War Eagle’s camp; then let them go in peace. They shall not be harmed.”

Pearson gave a short laugh.

“War Eagle must think the white men are foolish. What’s to prevent the red warriors from taking all our scalps when our arms are in their hands?”

“The word of a great chief,” War Eagle said. “War Eagle never lies.”

“You may not lie, chief,” Pearson said bluntly, “but I’ve known many a treaty broken afore now. You and your people may not touch us, but there’s other redskins about, and I wouldn’t give a beaver’s skin for our sculps ef we were to take the back trail to the settlements without arms in our hands. Besides that, we’ve among us the father of the gal who was stole far away off from Lake Champlain, and a relative of hers whose parents you’ve killed down on the lake. Ef we were to agree to give up our arms, it stands to reason it aint likely they’d agree to give up the gals. No, no, chief; your terms aren’t reasonable. But I tell ye what we will do; ef you’ll give us your word that neither you nor your tribe’ll molest us in our retreat we’ll go back to the settlements, and ‘ll engage that, when we get back there, we’ll send you nine of the best rifles money can buy, with plenty of powder and ball, and blankets and such like.”

The chief waved his hand in contemptuous refusal of the terms.

“There are six of my young men’s scalps at your girdles, and their places are empty. War Eagle has spoken.”

“Very well, chief,” Pearson said. “Ef nothing but sculps will content you, to fighting it must come; but I warn you that your tribe’ll lose a good many more afore they get ours.”

So saying, without another word, they separated, each party making their way back to their friends.

“What on earth can he have proposed such terms as those for?” Harold asked, when Pearson had related what had taken place between him and the chief. “He must have known we should not accept them.”

“I expect,” Pearson said, “he wanted to see who we were and to judge what sort of spirit we had. It may be, too, that there was a party among the tribe who had no stomachs for the job of attacking this place, and so he was obliged to make a show of offering terms to please ’em; but he never meant as they should be accepted. No, I take it they’ll wait a few days to see what hunger’ll do. They must be pretty sure that we’ve not a very large supply of food.”

CHAPTER XVI.

THE GREAT STORM.

“Let us overhaul our packages,” Harold said, “and see what provisions we have left. It would be as well to know how we stand.”

It was found that they had a sufficient supply of flour to last, with care, for a fortnight. The meal was nearly exhausted; of tea they had an abundance; the sugar was nearly out, and they had three bottles of spirits.

“Could we not make the flour last more than the fourteen days by putting ourselves on half rations?” Harold asked.

“We might do that,” Peter said, “but I tell you the rations would be small even for fourteen days. We’ve calkilated according to how much we eat when we’ve plenty of meat, but without meat it’d be only a starvation ration to each. Fortunately we’ve fish-hooks and lines, and by making holes in the ice we can get as many fish as we like. Waal, we can live on them alone, if need be, and an ounce or two of flour, made into cakes, will be enough to go with ’em. That way the flour would last us pretty nigh two months. I don’t say that, if the wust comes to the wust, we might not hold on right to the spring on fish. The lake’s full of ’em, and some of ’em have so much oil in ’em that they’re nigh as good as meat.”

“Do you think, Peter, that if the Indians make one great attack and are beaten off they will try again?”

“No one can say,” Peter answered. “Injun natur’ can’t never be calkilated on. I should say if they got a thundering beating they aint likely to try again; but there’s never no saying.”

“The sooner they attack and get it o’er the better,” Cameron said. “I hae na slept a wink the last twa nights. If I doze off for a moment I wake up, thinking I hear their yells. I am as ready to fight as ony o’ you when the time comes, but the thought o’ my daughter, here, makes me nervous and anxious. What do you say, Jake?”

“It all de same to Jake, Massa Cameron. Jake sleeps bery sound, but he no like de tought ob eating nothing but fish for five or six months. Jake neber bery fond ob fish.”

“You’ll like it well enough when you get used to it, Jake,” Pearson said. “It’s not bad eating on a pinch, only you want to eat a sight of it to satisfy you. Well, let’s see how the fish’ll bite.”

Four holes were cut in the ice at a short distance apart. The hooks were attached to strong lines and baited with deer’s flesh, and soon the fishing began. The girls took great interest in the proceeding. Nelly was an adept at the sport, having generally caught the fish for the consumption of the household at home. She took charge of one of the lines, Harold of another, while Jake and one of the Senecas squatted themselves by the other holes. There had been some discussion as to whether the fishing should take place on the side of the island facing the shore or behind the rocks, but the former was decided upon. This was done because all were anxious that the expected attack should take place as soon as possible, and the event was likely to be hastened when the Indians saw that they were provided with lines and were thus able to procure food for a considerable time.

It was soon manifest that, if they could live upon fish, they need feel no uneasiness as to its supply. Scarcely had the lines been let down than fish were fast to them. Harold and the other men soon had trout, from three to six pounds, lying on the ice beside them, but Nelly was obliged to call Pearson to her assistance, and the fish, when brought to the surface, was found to be over twenty pounds in weight. An hour’s fishing procured them a sufficient supply for a week’s consumption. There was no fear as to the fish keeping, for in a very short time after being drawn from the water they were frozen stiff and hard. They were hung up to some boughs near the huts, and the party were glad enough to get into shelter again, for the cold was intense.

As before, the early part of the night passed quietly; but toward morning Peter, who was on watch, ran down and awakened the others.

“Get your shooting-irons and hurry up,” he said. “The varmints are coming this time in arnest.”

In a minute everyone was at the post assigned to him. A number of dark figures could be seen coming over the ice.

“There’s nigh two hundred of ’em,” Peter said. “War Eagle has brought the whole strength of his tribe.”

Contrary to their usual practice the Indians did not attempt to crawl up to the place they were about to attack, but advanced at a run across the ice. The defenders lost not a moment in opening fire, for some of their rifles would carry as far as the shore.

“Shoot steady,” Peter said. “Don’t throw away a shot.”

Each man loaded and fired as quickly as he could, taking a steady aim, and the dark figures which dotted the ice behind the advancing Indians showed that the fire was an effectual one. The Indians did not return a shot. Their chief had, no doubt, impressed upon them the uselessness of firing against men lying in shelter, and had urged them to hurry at the top of their speed to the island and crush the whites in a hand-to-hand fight.

It was but three or four minutes from the time the first shot was fired before they were close to the island. They made, as Peter had expected, toward the little cove, which was indeed the only place at which a landing could well be effected. Harold ran down and hid himself in a bush at the spot where the train terminated, carrying with him a glowing brand from the fire.

“War Eagle means to have our sculps this time,” Peter said to Pearson. “I never seed an uglier rush. White men couldn’t have done better.”

The Indians had run in scattered order across the ice, but they closed up as they neared the cove. As they rushed toward it four fell beneath the shots of half the defenders, and another four a few seconds later from a volley by the other section.

In a wonderfully short time the first were ready again, and the Indians wavered at the slaughter and opened fire upon the breastwork, behind which the defenders were crouching. Those behind pressed on, and, with terrific yells, the mass of Indians bounded forward.

Harold had remained inactive, crouching behind the bush. He saw the head of the dark mass rush past him and then applied the brand to the train.

There was a tremendous explosion. Yells and screams rent the air, and in an instant a dark line of water, twenty feet wide, stretched across the mouth of the cove.

In this were pieces of floating ice and numbers of Indians struggling and yelling. Some made only a faint struggle before they sank, while others struck out for the side furthest from the island.

The main body of the Indians, appalled by the explosion, checked themselves in their course and at once took to flight; some, unable to check their impetus, fell into the water upon the wounded wretches who were struggling there. Those who had crossed stood irresolute, and then, turning, leaped into the water. As they struggled to get out on the opposite side the defenders maintained a deadly fire upon them, but, in two or three minutes, the last survivor had scrambled out, and all were in full flight toward the shore.

“I think we’ve seen the last of the attacks,” Peter said, as they came down from their breastwork and joined Harold in the cove. “That was a first-rate notion of yours, lad. Ef it hadn’t been for that we should have been rubbed out, sure enough; another minute and we’d have gone down. They were in arnest and no mistake; they’d got steam up and was determined to finish with us at once, whatever it cost ’em.”

The instant the attack had ceased Cameron had hastened to the hut where the girls were lying, to assure them that all danger was over and that the Indians were entirely defeated. In an hour a fresh skim of ice had formed across the streak of water, but, as through its clear surface many of the bodies of the Indians could be seen, the men threw snow over it, to spare the girls the unpleasantness of such a sight every time they went out from the cove. The bodies of all the Indians who had fallen near the island were also covered with snow. Those nearer the shore were carried off by the Iroquois in their retreat.

“I suppose, Peter,” Harold said as they sat round the fire that evening, “you have been in quite as awkward scrapes as this before and have got out all right?”

“Why, this business aint nothing to that affair we had by Lake Champlain. That were as bad a business, when we was surrounded in that log hut, as ever I went through–and I’ve been through a good many. Pearson and me nigh got our har raised more nor once in that business of Pontiac’s. He were a great chief and managed to get up the biggest confederation agin us that’s ever been known. It were well for us that that business didn’t begin a few years earlier when we was fighting the French; but you see, so long as we and they was at war the Indians hoped as we might pretty well exterminate each other, and then they intended to come in and finish off whoever got the best of it. Waal, the English they drove the French back and finally a treaty was made in Europe by which the French agreed to clear out.

“It was jest about this time as Pontiac worked upon the tribes to lay aside their own quarrels and jine the French in fighting agin us. He got the Senecas, and the Delawares, and the Shawnees, the Wyandots, and a lot of other tribes from the lakes and the hull country between the Niagara River and the Mississippi.

“Jack Pearson and me, we happened to be with the Miamis when the bloody belt which Pontiac were sending round as a signal for war arrived at the fort there. Jack and me knew the redskins pretty well, and saw by their manner as something unusual had happened. I went to the commandant of the fort and told him as much. He didn’t think much of my news. The soldier chaps always despises the redskins till they see ’em come yelling along with their tomahawks, and then as often as not it’s jest the other way. Howsumdever, he agreed at last to pay any amount of trade goods I might promise to the Miamis if the news turned out worth finding out. I discovered that a great palaver was to be held that evening at the chief’s village, which was a mile away from the fort.

“I’d seen a good deal of the Miamis and had fought with ’em against the Shawnees, so I could do as much with ’em as most. Off Pearson and I goes to the chief; and I says to him, ‘Look ye here, chief, I’ve good reasons to believe you’ve got a message from Pontiac and that it means trouble. Now don’t you go and let yourself be led away by him. I’ve heard rumors that he’s getting up a great confederation agin the English. But I tell you, chief, if all the redskins on this continent was to jine together, they couldn’t do nothing agin the English. I don’t say as you mightn’t wipe out a number of little border forts, for no doubt you might; but what would come of it? England would send out as many men as there are leaves in the forest, who would scorch up the redskin nations as a fire on the prairie scorches up the grass. I tell yer, chief, no good can come on it. Don’t build yer hopes on the French; they’ve acknowledged that they’re beaten and are all going out of the country. It’d be best for you and your people to stick to the English. They can reward their friends handsomely, and ef you jine with Pontiac, sooner or later trouble and ruin will come upon you. Now I can promise you, in the name of the officer of the fort, a good English rifle for yerself and fifty guns for your braves and ten bales of blankets ef yer’ll make a clean breast of it, and first tell us what deviltry Pontiac is up to and next jine us freely–or anyway hold aloof altogether from this conspiracy till yer see how things is going.’

“Waal, the chief he thought the matter over and said he’d do his best at the palaver that night, but till that was over, and he knew what the council decided on, he couldn’t tell me what the message was. I was pretty well satisfied, for Prairie Dog were a great chief in his tribe, and I felt pretty sartin he’d git the council to go the way he wanted. I told him I’d be at the fort and that the governor would expect a message after the council was over.

“It was past midnight when the chief came with four of his braves. He told us that the tribe had received a bloody belt from Pontiac and a message that the Mingoes and Delawares, the Wyandots and Shawnees were going to dig up the hatchet against the whites, and calling upon him and his people to massacre the garrison of the fort and then march to jine Pontiac, who was about to fall upon Detroit and Fort Pitt. They were directed to send the belt on to the tribes on the Wabash, but they loved the English and were determined to take no part against them; so they delivered the belt to their friend the white commander, and hoped that he’d tell the great king in England that the Miamis were faithful to him. The governor highly applauded their conduct and said he’d send the news to the English governor at New York, and at once ordered the presents which I promised to be delivered to the chief for himself and his braves. When they’d gone he said:

“‘You were right, Peter. This news is important indeed, and it’s clear that a terrible storm’s about to bust upon the frontier. Whether the Miamis will keep true is doubtful; but now I’m on my guard they’ll find it difficult to take the fort. But the great thing is to carry the news of what’s happened to Detroit, to put them on their guard. Will you and Pearson start at once?’

“In course we agreed, though it was clear that the job was a risksome one, for it wouldn’t be no easy matter to journey through the woods with the hull redskin tribes on the war-path.

“The commander wanted me to carry the belt with me, but I said, ‘I might jest as well carry my death warrant to the first redskins as I come across.’ Major Gladwin, who commanded at Detroit, knew me, and I didn’t need to carry any proof of my story. So, afore the Miamis had been gone half an hour, Jack and me took the trail for Detroit. We had got a canoe hid on the lake a few miles away, and we was soon on board. The next morning we seed a hull fleet of canoes coming down the lake. We might have made a race with ’em, but being fully manned the chances was as they’d have cut us off, and seeing that at present war had not been declared, we judged it best to seem as if we weren’t afeared. So we paddles up to ’em and found as they were a lot of Wyandots whose hunting-grounds lay up by Lake Superior. In course I didn’t ask no questions as to whar they was going, but jest mentioned as we was on our way down to Detroit. ‘We’re going that way, too,’ the chief said, ‘and ‘ll be glad to have our white brothers with us.’ So we paddled along together until, about noon, they landed. Nothing was said to us as how we were prisoners, but we could see as how we was jest as much captives as ef we’d been tied with buckskin ropes.

“Jack and me talked it over and agreed as it was no manner o’ use trying to make our escape, but that as long as they chose to treat us as guests we’d best seem perfectly contented and make no show of considering as they was on the war-path; although, seeing as they had no women or children with ’em, a baby could have known as they were up to no good.

“The next morning they started again at daybreak, and after paddling some hours landed and hid away their canoes and started on foot. Nothing was said to us, but we saw as we was expected to do as they did. We went on till we was within ten mile of Detroit and then we halted. I thought it were best to find out exactly how we stood, so Jack and I goes up to the chief and says that as we was near Detroit we would jest say good-by to him and tramp in.

“‘Why should my white brothers hurry?’ he said. ‘It is not good for them to go on alone, for the woods are very full of Indians.’ ‘But,’ I said, ‘the hatchet’s buried between the whites and the redskins, so there’s no danger in the woods.’ The chief waved his hand. ‘My white brothers have joined the Wyandots, and they will tarry with them until they go into Detroit. There are many redskins there, and there will be a grand palaver. The Wyandots will be present.’

“Jack and me made no signs of being dissatisfied, but the position weren’t a pleasant one, I can tell you. Here was the redskins a-clustering like bees around Detroit, ready to fall upon the garrison and massacre ’em, and we, who was the only men as knew of the danger, was prisoners among the redskins. It was sartin, too, that though they mightn’t take our lives till they had attacked the garrison, they was only keeping us for the pleasure of torturing us quietly arterward. The situation was plain enough; the question was, what were to be done? There was about sixty of the varmints around us sitting by their fires and looking as ef they didn’t even know as we was there, but we knew as sharp eyes was watching us and that, afore we’d gone five yards, the hull lot would be on our track.

“Jack and me didn’t say much to each other, for we knew how closely we was watched and didn’t want ’em to think as we was planning our escape, so after a few words we sat down by one of the fires till it got time to lie down for the night; but we had both been a-thinking. We saw, when we lay down, that the Injuns lay pretty well around us, while two on ’em, with their rifles ready to hand, sat down by a fire close by and threw on some logs, as if they intended to watch all night.

“It was a goodish-size clearing as they’d chose for a camping-ground, and we should have had to run some distance afore we got to the shelter of the trees. The moon too was up, and it were well-nigh as light as day, and anxious as we was to git away, we agreed that there were no chance of sliding off, but that it’d be better to wait till next day.

“When we woke our guns was gone. We complained to the chief, who said coldly that his young men would carry the guns and give ’em back to us when we got to Detroit. It were no use saying more, for he might at any moment have ordered us to be bound, and it were better to keep the use of our legs as long as we could.

“For two days we stayed there, not seeing the shadow of a chance of gitting away. Several redskin runners come in and spoke to the chief, and we got more and more anxious to be off. We was still allowed to walk about, provided we didn’t go near the edge of the clearing; whenever we went that way two Injuns, who kept guard by turns over us, shouted to us to go no furder.

“The third morning, after a runner had come in, the chief gave the word for a move and we set out. We saw they wasn’t taking the direct line to Detroit, although still going in that direction, and after two hours’ marching through the woods we got down on to the Detroit River. Here was a big encampment, and some three or four hundred Shawnees and Delawares was gathered here. A chief come up to us as we entered the open. He gave an order to the Wyandots, and in a minute we was bound hand and foot, carried to a small wigwam, and chucked down inside like two logs of wood.

“After a little talk Jack and I agreed as after all we had a better chance of escaping now than when we was watched by a hull tribe, and we concluded that there weren’t no time to be lost. The Wyandots had no doubt been brought up in readiness to strike the blow, and even if we’d known nothing about the belt we’d have been, sure that mischief was intended when these three bands of red varmints had gathered so close to the fort. It was sartin we couldn’t do nothing till night, but we both strained our cords as much as possible to get ’em to stretch a bit and give us a better chance of slipping out of ’em. No one come near us for some time, and as we could hear the sound of voices we guessed that a great council was taking place, and we agreed at once to loosen the knots, so as to be in readiness for work, as like enough they’d put a sentry over us at night.

“It was a risky thing to try, for we might be disturbed at any minute. Still we thought it were our only chance, so Jack set to work with his teeth at my knots and in a quarter of an hour had loosened them; then I undone his. We unbound our thongs and then fastened ’em up again so that to the eye they looked jest the same as before but really with a jerk they’d fall off.

“I must teach you how to do that, Harold, some time; ye may find it of use. The knots was tied up as tightly as before, and it would have needed a close examination to see that we was not tied as tight as ever. Not a word was spoken and, we was as quiet as mice, for we could hear two redskins talking outside. You may guess we was pretty slick about it; and I don’t know as ever I felt so thankful as when we laid ourselves down again, jest as we had been throwed, without the slit in the tent having opened and a red face peered in.

“A quarter of an hour later a redskin come in and looked at us. Seeing, as it seemed to him, as we hadn’t moved, he went out again. Jest before nightfall two on ’em came in together, rolled us over, and looked at the knots; they found as these was all right; then one sat down jest in the door of the tent and the other took his place outside. We waited some hours.

“At last the fires burned low and the camp got quiet. We knew it was well-nigh hopeless to wait for ’em all to be asleep, for redskin natur’ is a restless one, and especially when there’s anything on hand they’ll turn out two or three times in the night to smoke their pipes by the fires, and they’d be the more restless since, as we’d seen, there was only four or five wigwams and all would be sleeping on the ground. At last I thought the time were come and gave Jack a nudge, and we both sat up.

“It were a ticklish moment, young un, I can tell ye, for we knew that it were scarce possible to get off without the alarm being raised. Ef the wigwam had stood close to the edge of the forest it would have been compar’tively easy, for once among the trees we might have hoped to have outrun ’em, though the moon was so pesky bright; but unfortunately it was built not far from the river, and we should have to cross the hull clearing to gain the woods. The chances weren’t good, I can tell you, but it was clear as we had to try ’em. We had purposely moved about pretty often, so that our movements would not attract the attention of the Injun now. It didn’t take a minute to slip out of the cords, which, tight as they looked, really were not fastened at all, there being two loose double ends between our arms and our bodies. We could see the outside sentry through the open door, and we waited till he turned his back and looked out on the river. Then suddenly I gripped the redskin sitting at the entrance by the neck with both my hands, pretty tight, as you may reckon, and Jack ketched his knife from his belt and buried it in his body.

“That was soon over, and not a sound made as would have startled a mouse. Then, standing up, I made a spring on to the sentry, while Jack used his knife as before. We let him drop softly down and prepared to bolt, when of a sudden the war-whoop sounded not twenty feet away. One of the redskins, finding the ground hard, I suppose, was strolling up to speak to the sentry when he saw us tackle him. For a moment he were too much surprised to holler, but when he did he gave a yell as brought the hull tribe to their feet. Jack had taken up the sentry’s rifle.

“‘Ye’d better have held yer tongue,’ he said as he leveled on the redskin, and before the whoop was out of his lips the bullet hit him and he went down like a log. It didn’t need to look round to see as there was no chance of getting to the trees, for two hundred redskins was between us and them. ‘We must take to the river, Jack,’ I said. It were but thirty yards away. I expected every moment, as we run, to hear the rifle bullets whistle round us, but I guess Pontiac had given orders that no gun was to be fired lest it might be heard at the fort. Anyhow, not a shot was fired and we got down safe to the bank.”

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SCOUT’S STORY.

“Luckily enough there was a canoe lying close at our feet. ‘Shove it out, Jack,’ says I, ‘and then keep along the bank.’ We gave it a shove with all our strength and sent it dancing out into the river. Then we dived in and swum down close under the bank. There was bushes growing all along, and we came up each time under ’em. The redskins was some little distance behind us as we reached the river, and in course thought we had throwed ourselves flat in the canoe. In a minute or two they got another and paddled off to it, and we soon heard the shout they raised when they found it was empty. By this time we was a hundred yards below the spot where we had taken to the water, and knowing as they would be off along the bank and would find us in no time, we scrambled straight up and made for the trees.

“We was within fifty yards of the edge of the forest, and none of the redskins was near us, as the hull body Had clustered down at the spot where we had jumped in. We hadn’t fairly set foot on the bank afore they saw us and, with a whoop–which sometimes wakes me even now in my sleep and makes me sit up with the sweat on my forehead–they started. I could run faster then than I can now, and ye may guess I went my best. We plunged into the trees and went as hard as we could foot it, the redskins being fifty or sixty yards behind.

“Our hope was to find a place with a thickish underwood. It was darker a deal under the trees than in the clearing, still it was not dark enough to hide us from redskin eyes. We run straight, for we knew they could see us, and arter about four hundred yards we come upon a place where the undergrowth grew thick. Here we began to dodge ’em, turning now one way and now another, keeping always low in the bushes. They had lost us by sight now, but there was so many of ’em that we pretty nigh despaired of getting through. Some of ’em had tried to follow us, but the best part had run straight on for a bit, and then, when sure they had headed us, scattered right and left, so that they were ahead of us now as well as on our traces, and we could hear ’em shouting all round us, so we did the only thing there was to be done and made the best of our way back to the clearing, keeping low and taking good care not to cross any patch where the moonlight through the trees fell on the ground.

“It were lucky for us that it was a camp of braves. Had it been an ordinary redskin encampment there would have been squaws, and boys, and wuss still, dogs, who would have seed us the moment we got back; but being all braves on the war-path the hull gang had started arter us, and not a soul had remained in the clearing. We did not rest there long, you may be sure, but made straight down to the water. There we picked out a canoe, crossed the river, and got into the shade of the trees the other side. Then we kept along down it till we got close to the fort of Detroit.

“We could see a good many smoldering fires out afore it, and guessed that a strong body of redskins, pretending to be friends, had camped there. We made round ’em and reached the gate of the fort safe. The sentries wouldn’t let us in, but when a sergeant was fetched it turned out as he knew us, seeing that we had been scouting out from thar in the summer. Pretty thankful we was when the gate closed arter us. Our news would keep, so we waited till morning afore we saw the major, and then told him the whole history of the matter, and how Pontiac had raised all the tribes east of the Mississippi against us.

“We found that Pontiac had been into the camp with fifty of his warriors three days afore, professing great friendship, and had said that in two or three days he would call again and pay a formal visit.

“Detroit then was but a trading post, defended by a stockade twenty feet high and twelve hundred yards in circumference. About fifty houses of traders and storekeepers stood within it. The garrison was composed of 120 men of the Eighteenth Regiment and 8 officers. They had three guns–two six-pounders, and a three-pounder–and three mortars, but their carriages was so old and rotten that they was of no real service. Two vessels, mounting some small guns, lay in the river off the fort. The governor was a good soldier, but he was naturally startled at hearing that there was something like a thousand redskins in the woods round; but he said that now he had warning he was not afraid of ’em. A messenger was sent off in a canoe to carry the tidings east and to ask for re-enforcements, and the traders was all told to get their arms ready.

“At eight o’clock in the morning Pontiac was seen a-coming with three hundred warriors. There had been no declaration of war, and the redskins was supposed to be friendly, so the major didn’t like to be the first to commence hostilities, as folks who knew nothing of it might likely enough have raised an outcry about massacring the poor Injuns. Howsumever, he called all the troops under arms and disposed ’em behind the houses. The traders, too, with their rifles, were drawn up ready. The gates was opened when Pontiac arrived, and he and his warriors entered. They had left their rifles behind them, as they pretended that their mission was a peaceful one, but they had all got their tomahawks and knives under their blankets. They advanced in a body toward where Major Gladwin and his officers was standing in front of his quarters.

“Jack and me and two or three scouts who happened to be in the fort stood just behind, careless like, with our rifles, so that, in case of any sudden attack, we could keep them back for a moment or two. I noticed that Pontiac carried in his hand a wampum belt. I noticed it because it was green on one side and white on the other, and it turned out arterward that when he twisted that belt with two hands it was to be the signal for an attack.

“Pontiac spoke soft for a time. He was a fine redskin; that can’t be denied. He was a Catawba by birth, but had been adopted into the tribe of Ottawas and had risen to be their chief. He were a great brave and one of the best speakers I ever heard. He was a wise chief, as you may guess by the way he got all the tribes to lay aside their private quarrels and make common cause against us. I watched him close. He kept his eyes on the major and spoke as cool and as calm as if he had nothing on his mind; but I could see the warrior glancing about, wondering, no doubt, what had become of the soldiers. Presently the chief changed his tone and began to pretend as he was in a rage at some grievance or other.

“The major jest put his whistle to his lips, and in a moment from behind the houses the soldiers and traders marched out, rifle in hand. You never saw a more disgusted crew than them redskins. I’ll do Pontiac justice to say that he never so much as moved, but jest went on talking as if he hadn’t noticed the troops at all. The major answered him in the same way, and after half an hour’s talk the redskins went out again without so much as a knife having been shown. Major Gladwin gave Jack and me papers testifying as how we had saved Detroit from destruction, and sent an account of it to Governor Amherst, and to this day Jack and me draws special pensions for that ‘ere business, besides what we earned as British scouts.”

“That was an adventure, Peter!” Harold said. “They did not take Detroit after all, did they?” “No; we beat ’em off handsome when they tried it. Then they laid siege to Fort Pitt and tried very hard there, too, but the place held out till some troops who had come up marched out from here and raised the siege. At some of the little places they succeeded. Lots of settlers was massacred. At Fort Sandusky Ensign Paulli and the garrison was massacred by a party of Hurons and Ottawas who come in as friends. This was on the same day as they had intended to do for us at Detroit.

“At St. Joseph’s an English ensign with fourteen soldiers was killed by the Pottawatomies, but nowhere did Pontiac obtain any real successes. The French in Illinois were preparing to leave, and he couldn’t git no assistance from them. After the siege of Fort Pitt was raised peace was patched up again. Pontiac’s confederacy, finding as they hadn’t got none of the successes he promised ’em, was beginning to break up, and the English saw no chance of doing any good by hunting the redskins among the forests, so both parties was willing for peace.

“Pontiac never gave any more trouble, and some years arterward, coming into one of the towns, he was killed by an Injun who had a private grudge agin’ him. And now I’m longing for a quiet pipe, and you’d better turn in. There’s no saying whether we’ll have a quiet night of it”.

A fortnight passed without further incident. Then the sky became overcast, and Peter and the Indians agreed that snow would soon fall. All hands were at once set to work to make up their stores into packages. The deerskins and blankets were tied in bundles; besides these there were only two kegs of powder and about two hundred pounds of frozen fish.

Harold was in high glee at the thought that their imprisonment was to come to an end, although there was no doubt that the attempt would be a hazardous one, as the backwoodsmen were sure that the instant the snow began to fall the Indians would be out in great numbers round the island, to prevent the defenders taking advantage of the storm.

Several times Harold observed the two backwoodsmen talking with the Seneca chief and looking at the sky, and he thought that their countenances expressed some anxiety.

“What is it, Peter?” he asked at length. “Don’t you think we shall have a snowstorm?”

“We may have snow,” Peter said, “but I think it’s more than a snowstorm that’s coming. The clouds are flying past very fast, and it seems to me as ef we’re in for a big gale of wind.”

“But that will drift the snow and cover our footsteps almost as well as a snowstorm,” Harold said.

“Yes, it ‘ll do all that,” the scout answered.

“What is the objection to it, Peter?”

“In the first place, lad, ef it don’t snow we may stop where we are, for there’d be no chance of getting through the Injuns unless it snowed so thick you couldn’t see five feet away. It’ll be difficult enough, anyhow. There’ll be four or five hundred of the varmints out, for they’ll bring even their boys with ’em, so as to form a pretty close line round the island. Our only chance’ll be for the Senecas to go first, and to silence, afore they can give the alarm, any they might meet on our line. That might be done in a heavy snowstorm, but without snow it would be impossible. In the next place, even if we got through ’em, we’d have to carry our canoe.”

“Why?” Harold asked, surprised. “What good could the canoe be to us, with the lake frozen hard?”

“You see, the wind is on the shore here, lad, and when it does blow on these lakes it blows fit to take the har off your head. It’s as much as a man can do to make way agin’ it, and I doubt whether the gals could face it, even with our help. As to carrying a canoe in its teeth, it couldn’t be done.”

“But why carry the canoe at all, Peter? That’s what I cannot understand.”

“Waal, you see, lad, the force of the wind acting on sech a big sheet of ice will move it, and like enough you’d see it piled up in a bank forty feet high on this side of the lake, and there’ll be a strip of clear water half a mile wide on the other. That’s why we must take the canoe.”

Harold was silent. In the face of such a probability it was clear that they must encumber themselves with the canoe.

The prevision of the scout proved well founded. Before evening the wind was blowing with tremendous force. Small flakes of snow were driven before it, inflicting stinging blows on the face and eyes of those who ventured out of shelter. As it became dark the lookout announced that he could, see large numbers of Indians starting from the shore at some distance to the right and left of them, showing that the redskins were fully alive to the possibility of the garrison of the island taking advantage of the storm, which would hide their trail, to effect their escape.

Every hour the fury of the gale increased, and it was unanimously agreed that until it diminished it would be impossible for the girls, and for men carrying a canoe, to face it.

Two men were placed on watch at the mouth of the cove, where mines similar to the first had been sunk in the ice in a semicircle some little distance outside that before exploded. This precaution had been taken on the day succeeding the great repulse of the enemy, although the scouts felt assured that the attempt would not be repeated. But it was thought possible that the Indians might toward morning, if they found the whites did not attempt to pass them, take advantage of the storm to attempt a surprise.

After it became dark Cameron and Harold, as was their custom, went into the girls’ hut to chat until it was time to turn in. The deerskin and blankets had again been unrolled, and the covering of snow kept the interior warm in spite of the storm without.

“What is that noise?” Nelly asked in a pause of the conversation.

“I don’t know,” Harold answered. “I have heard it for some time.”

All were silent, intent upon listening. Even above the fury of the gale a dull grinding sound, with occasional crashes, could be heard.

“I think it must be the ice,” Harold said. “I will go out and see.”

On issuing from the hut he was for a time blinded by the force of the wind and the flying particles of snow. The din was tremendous. He made his way with difficulty in the teeth of the storm to the edge of the rocks. Then he started in surprise. A great bank of cakes and fragments of ice was heaped up against the wall of the rock, crashing and grinding against each other as they were pressed onward by fresh additions from beyond. Already the bank was nearly level with the top of the rock, and some of the vast blocks, two feet in thickness, had been thrust on to it. The surface of the lake beyond was no longer a brilliant white. Every particle of snow had been swept away and the dull gray of the rough ice lay unbroken.

He made his way at once to the hut of the men, and just as he reached the entrance Peter (who had also been out to reconnoiter) came up, and before Harold had turned to speak he put his head into the hut.

“Turn out!” he said. “I tell ye we’re in a fix. This aint no common gale. I don’t know as ever I’ve been in a worse one.”

“What’s the use of turning out?” Pearson asked. “We can’t do nothing, and it’s warmer here a sight than it is outside.”

“I tell ye ye’ve got to go. The ice is breaking up fast and it’s level with the top of the island already. Unless I’m mistaken there’ll be forty foot of ice piled over this island afore an hour.”

This was, indeed, alarming news. And in a minute the occupants of the hut were all in the open air.

“You can call in your scouts, Seneca. There aint no fear of an attack to-night. No mortal soul–not even an Injun–could stand the force of the wind out on the lake.”

A very short examination sufficed to show the truth of Peter’s anticipations.

Already the upper part of the bank was sliding over the rock, and it was clear that in a very short time the whole would be covered.

“What is to be done, Peter?” Harold shouted.

“We must take to the canoe. There’s clear water on the other side.”

Harold crossed the island and saw that what Peter said was correct. A broad strip of black water stretched away in the darkness toward the shore. The whole ice-sheet was moving bodily before the wind, and as the island stood up in its course the ice to windward of it was forced up over it, while under its lee the lake was clear. Not a moment was lost. The canoe was got out, carried over the rocks, and carefully lowered into the water under shelter of the island. All the stores and provisions were lowered into it. A deerskin was spread on the bottom, and the girls, having been helped down into the boat, were told to lie down and were then covered with blankets. The men wrapped themselves up in skins and blankets and took their places in the canoe, the four Indians taking paddles.

Quickly as the preparations had been made, there were but a few feet of the island uncovered by the ice, as the last man descended into the boat and they pushed off and, after a couple of strokes, lay with the boat’s head facing toward the island at a distance of fifty yards from it. Although somewhat sheltered from the wind, the Indians were obliged to paddle hard to maintain their position. Harold wondered at first that they had not kept closer to the island, but he soon understood their reason for keeping at a distance. The massive blocks of ice, pressed forward by, the irresistible force behind, began to shoot from the top of the island into the water, gliding far on beneath the surface with the impetus of the fall, and then shooting up again with a force which would have destroyed the canoe at once had they touched it.

Soon a perfect cataract of ice was falling. Peter and Pearson took their places on each side of the bow of the canoe, with poles to push off the pieces as they drifted before the gale toward the shore. The work required the utmost strength and care. One touch from the sharp-edged blocks would have ripped open the side of the bark canoe like a knife, and in the icy cold water, encumbered by floating fragments of ice, even the best swimmer could not have gained the solid ice. The peril was great, and it needed all the strength and activity of the white men and the skill of the paddlers to avoid the danger which momentarily threatened them. So quickly did the blocks float down upon them that Pearson thought it might be impossible to avoid them all. The skins, therefore, were hung round the boat, dropping some inches into the water, and these, although they could not have prevented the boat from being stove in, by the larger fragments, yet protected its sides from the contact of the smaller ones.

For upward of an hour the struggle continued, and Harold felt something like despair at the thought of a long night passed in such a struggle. Presently sounds like the booming of cannon were heard above the gale.

“What is that?” he shouted to the Seneca chief, next to whom he was sitting.

“Ice break up,” the chief replied. “Break up altogether.”

This proved to be the case. As the ice was driven away from the further side of the lake the full force of the wind played upon the water there, and as the streak widened a heavy sea soon got up. The force of the swell extended under the ice, aiding the effect of the wind above, and the vast sheet began to break up. The reports redoubled in strength, and frequently the ice was seen to heave and swell. Then, with a sound like thunder, it broke and great cakes were forced one on the top of another, and soon, instead of a level plain of ice, a chaos of blocks were tossing about on the waves.

Harold watched the change with anxiety. No longer was the channel on either side marked by regular defined lines, but floating pieces encroached upon it, and, looking toward the shore, the channel appeared to be altogether lost. The danger was overwhelming, but the Indians, paddling with increased strength, urged the boat forward until within a few yards of the island.

A few minutes before such an approach would have assured the immediate destruction of the boat. But Harold saw with surprise that, almost simultaneously with the breaking up of the ice-sheet, the fall of blocks from the island had ceased. A moment’s reflection showed him the reason of this phenomenon. With the break-up of the ice-field the pressure from behind had suddenly ceased. No longer were the blocks piled on the island pushed forward by the tremendous pressure of the ice-field. The torrent was stayed and they could approach the island with safety. As soon as they were assured that this was so the canoe was brought close to the rocks.

Pearson leaped ashore, climbed the rocks and the ice piled twenty feet above them, and with his pole convinced himself that at this point there were no loose blocks likely to fall. Having satisfied himself on this head, he descended again and took his place in the boat. This was moored by a rope a few feet long to a bush growing from a fissure in the rock close to the water’s edge. He and Peter remained on watch with their poles, to fend off any pieces of ice which might be brought round by the waves, while the rest of the crew, wrapping themselves up in their blankets, lay down at the bottom of the boat.

The next morning the storm still raged, and the lake presented the appearance of an angry sea. Sheltered under the lee of the island, the party were protected from its effects, although the light canoe rose and fell on the heavy swell. The ice had wholly disappeared from the lake, the pieces having been ground to atoms against each other in the storm. Along the line of shore there was a great bank of ice as high as the tree-tops.

“The ways of the Lord are won’erful,” Duncan Cameron said. “The storm which threatened to be our destruction has proved our salvation. When it abates we shall be able to paddle down the lake without fear of interruption.”

“Yes,” Peter said, “the varmints are not likely to follow us. In the first place, unless they thought of taking their canoes into the forest when the storm first began, which aint likely, as they was a-thinking only of cutting off our escape, they’d ‘ve been smashed into tinder. In the second place, they couldn’t ketch us if they had canoes, for, as we’ve eight paddles, counting them we made out of the seats when we was on shore, we’d be able to laugh at ’em. And lastly, they’ve had such a taste of the quality of our rifles that, even if they had a dozen canoes on hand, I doubt if they’d care to attack us. No, sir; when this storm’s over we have nothing to do but paddle down to the settlements at the other end of the lake.”

Toward the afternoon the storm abated, and next morning the sun was shining brilliantly and the waves had gone down sufficiently to enable the canoe to start on her voyage.

“Now, boys,” Pearson said cheerfully, “ef ye don’t want to git froze up again you’d best be sharp, for I can tell ye about thirty-six hours of this weather and the lake’ll be solid again.”

Five minutes later the canoe with its eight sturdy paddlers started on its way, speeding like an arrow from the ice-covered island which had done them such good service in their greatest need.

“Now, Jake,” Peter said, “the more strength you put into that paddle of yourn the sooner you’ll have a piece of meat atween your jaws.”

The negro grinned.

“Don’t talk ob him, Massa Peter; don’t say a word about him until I see him. Fish bery good when dere’s noting else to eat, but Jake never want to see him again. He hab eat quite enough for the rest ob his life.”

Cameron, who was not accustomed to the use of the paddle, sat in the stern with the two girls; but the others were all used to the exercise, and the boat literally bounded along at each stroke from the sinewy arms, and by nightfall they had reached the opposite shore. After some hours’ work together two of them had rested, and from that time they took it by turns, six paddles being kept constantly going.

Without any adventure they arrived safely at the end of the lake. The clearing where Nelly had lived so long, and where her father and mother had been killed, was passed in the night, much to Harold’s satisfaction, as he was afraid that she would have been terribly upset at the many sad memories which the sight of the place could not but call up. On their way down they had seen many gaps in the forest caused by the gale, but it was not until they reached their landing place that the full effect of its destructive force was visible. Several scows and other boats lay wrecks upon the shore, every house in the little village was leveled to the ground, the orchards were ruined, palings and fences torn down, and the whole place strewn with fragments.

A few people were moving among the ruins. They gazed with a dull apathy upon the new-comers, apparently dazed by the misfortune that had befallen them. Harold learned, on questioning them, that twenty-seven persons had been killed and the majority of the survivors more or less seriously injured. With the exception of the few whom they saw, about all the survivors had been taken off to the town in boats down the river, or in wagons lent by neighbors whose villages, sheltered in the woods, had escaped the ravages of the gale. After a few hours’ halt, having obtained meat and other stores, they proceeded on their way to Detroit.

Here Nelly had several friends, who had long believed her to have fallen at the massacre at the farm. By them she was gladly received, and she took up her abode in a family with some daughters of her own age. Harold found that there was a considerable sum of money in the bank in her father’s name, and from this, after a consultation with her, a sum of money sufficient to provide the Seneca and his followers with blankets, powder, and Indian finery for years was drawn and bestowed upon them.

A day or two afterward the Indians left for their own country, highly gratified with the success of the expedition and proud of the numerous scalps which hung from each of their girdles.

Harold learned that there was but little fighting going on along the Canadian frontier. The winter had set in again with extreme severity; the St. Lawrence would be frozen, and he would have no means of leaving Canada; he was therefore well content to settle down until the spring at Detroit, where he received numerous and hearty invitations to stay, for any time, from the various friends of his cousins. Jake, of course, remained with him. Peter went up to Montreal, where he had some relatives residing; Harold promising to call for him on his way East in the spring. Pearson, after a few days’ stay in Detroit, started again with a comrade on a hunting expedition. Cameron and his daughter also spent the winter at Detroit.

The months passed very pleasantly to Harold. Since the war began he had had no period of rest or quiet, and he now entered with zest into the various amusements, sleighing, and dancing, which helped to while away the long winter in America. He also joined in many hunting parties, for in those days game abounded up to the very edge of the clearings. Moose were abundant, and the hunt of these grand deer was full of excitement. Except when the snow is on the ground these animals can defy their pursuers, but the latter with their snowshoes go lightly over the frozen snow, in which the moose sink heavily.

There were many discussions as to the future of Nelly. Several of her friends would gladly have adopted her as a member of their family, but Harold warmly urged that she should go to England and take up her abode with his mother, who was her nearest relative, and Nelly, somewhat to the surprise of her friends, finally agreed to this proposal. A purchaser was readily found for the farm, which was an excellent one, and the proceeds of the sale, with the amount of savings in the bank, gave her a little fortune of some twenty-five hundred pounds.

When the spring came and the navigation of the lake was open, Harold, Nelly, the Camerons, and Jake started in a ship for Montreal. There they were joined by Peter and sailed down to Quebec, where Nelly and the Camerons took passage for England. Very deep was the gratitude which Duncan expressed to the friends who had restored his daughter to him. He had had enough of the colonies, and intended to spend the rest of his life among his own people in Scotland. Harold, Peter, and Jake sailed to join the English army in the South.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE SIEGE OF SAVANNAH.

After the surrender of General Burgoyne at Saratoga the English Parliament made another effort to obtain peace, and passed an act renouncing all rights to tax the colonists and yielding every point as to which they had been in dispute. Commissioners were sent over with full authority to treat, and had the colonists been ready nominally to submit to England, a virtual independence, similar to that possessed by Canada and the Australian colonies at the present time, would have been granted. As a very large body of the Americans had from the first been desirous of coming to terms, and as the paralyzed state of trade caused great and general distress, it is probable that these terms might have been accepted had it not been for the intervention of France. That power had all along encouraged the rebellion. She had smarted under the loss of Canada, and although her rule in her own colonies was far more arbitrary than that of England in America, she was glad to assist in any movement which could operate to the disadvantage of this country. Hitherto, nominally she had remained neutral, but now, fearing that the offers of the English would induce the colonists to make peace, she came forward, recognized their independence, and engaged herself to furnish a large fleet for their assistance.

The colonists joyfully accepted the offer, seeing that the intervention of France in the struggle would completely alter its conditions. Heretofore the British had been enabled to send over men and stores at will, but were they blockaded by a French fleet their difficulties would be immensely increased.

As there had been no cause of quarrel between England and France, this agreement was an act of wanton hostility on the part of the latter. On obtaining information of the signature of the treaty between France and the colonies, the English ambassador was recalled from Paris and both countries prepared vigorously for war.

The first result was that the English deemed it prudent to evacuate Philadelphia and retreat to New York. Washington endeavored to cut off their retreat, and a battle took place at Freehold Court House, in which the Americans were worsted. Washington drew off his army, and the British army continued its march to New York without further opposition. Early in May the French sent off a fleet of twelve ships of the line and six frigates, carrying a large number of troops commanded by Count D’Estaing. An English fleet, under Admiral Byron, was lying at Portsmouth, and this sailed on June 9 in pursuit; for it was not until that time that information was received of the intended destination of the French fleet.

D’Estaing reached the American coast upon the very day on which the English army re-entered New York, and after making a demonstration before that town the French fleet sailed for Rhode Island to expel the British troops, under Sir Robert Pigott, who held it.

Lord Howe sailed with the fleet from New York to give battle to that of D’Estaing. For two days the fleets maneuvered in sight of each other. Howe, being inferior in force, wished to gain the weather-gauge before fighting. Failing to do this, on the third day he offered battle, but a tremendous storm prevented the engagement and dispersed both fleets. The French vessels retired to Boston and the English to New York.

Taking advantage of the departure of the French fleet, Sir Robert attacked the American force, which had crossed to Rhode Island to act with the French, and drove them from it. While crossing the Atlantic the fleet under Admiral Byron had met with a tremendous storm, which had entirely dispersed it, and the vessels arrived singly at New York. When their repairs were completed the whole set out to give battle to the French, but D’Estaing, finding that by the junction of the two English fleets he was now menaced by a superior force, sailed away to the West Indies.

After his departure an expedition was sent down along the coast to Georgia and East Florida. This met with great success. Savannah was captured and the greater part of South Carolina was occupied. The majority of the inhabitants joyfully welcomed the troops and many companies of volunteers were raised.

Harold had arrived in New York early in the spring. He had been offered a commission, but he preferred remaining with his two comrades in the position of scout. In this way he had far greater independence, and while enjoying pay and rations sufficient for his maintenance, he was to a great extent master of his own movements. At an earlier period of the war he was offered by General Howe a commission in the army, and his father would have been glad had he accepted it. Harold, however, although determined to fight until the struggle between the colonists and the mother country came to an end one way or the other, had no great liking for the life of an officer in the regular army, but had resolved at the conclusion of the war to settle down upon a farm on the lakes–a life for which he felt far more fitted than for the strict discipline and regularity of that of an officer in the army.

As, with the exception of the attack by the French fleet and American army upon Rhode Island, both parties remained quiet all through the summer of 1778, the year passed uneventfully to him, and the duties of the scouts were little more than nominal. During the winter fighting went on in the Carolinas and Georgia with varied success.

In the spring of 1779 Harold and his comrades were, with a party of scouts, sent down to Georgia, where constant skirmishes were going on and the services of a body of men accustomed to outpost duty were required. They were landed in May and joined General Prevost’s force on the island of St. John, situated close to the mainland and connected with it by a bridge of boats, at the end of which on the mainland a post had been erected. Shortly afterward General Prevost left for Savannah, taking with him most of the troops, which were carried away in the sloops which had formed the bridge of boats. On the American side General Lincoln commanded a considerable army, which had been dispatched by Congress to drive the English from that State and the Carolinas.

Lieutenant Colonel Maitland, who commanded the post on the mainland, was left with only a flat-boat to keep up his communication with the island. He had under his command the first battalion of the Seventy-first Highlanders, now much weakened in numbers, part of a Hessian regiment, some provincial volunteers, and a detachment of artillery, the whole not exceeding 500 effective men. Hearing that General Lincoln was advancing against him, Colonel Maitland sent all his sick, baggage, and horses across to the island, and placed the post as far as possible in a defensive position. Most of the scouts who had come down from New York had accompanied General Prevost to Savannah, but Harold, with Peter Lambton, Jake, and three or four others, had been ordered to remain with Colonel Maitland, and were sent out to reconnoiter when the enemy were known to be approaching.

“This is something like our old work, Peter, upon Lake Champlain,” Harold said, as with his two comrades he took his way in the direction from which the enemy were advancing.

“Ay, lad, but they’ve none of the redskins with ’em, and there’ll be no great difficulty in finding out all about ’em. Besides, we’ve got Jake with us, and jest about here Jake can do better nor we can. Niggers swarm all over the country and are as ready to work for one side as the other, jest as their masters go. All Jake has got to do is to dress himself as a plantation nigger and stroll into their camp. No question will be asked him, as he will naturally be taken for a slave on some neighboring estate. What do you say, Jake?”

Jake at once assented, and when they approached the enemy he left his comrades and carried their plan into execution. He was away six hours, and returned saying that the enemy were 5000 strong, with eight pieces of artillery.

“We must hurry back,” Peter said. “Them are big odds agin’ us. Ef all our troops was regulars, I don’t say as they might not hold the place; but I don’t put much count on the Germans, and the colonists aint seen no fighting. However, Colonel Maitland seems a first-rate officer. He has been real sharp in putting the place into a state of defense, and I reckon ef the Yankees thinks as they’re going to eat us up without trouble they’ll be mistaken.”

Jake reported that the enemy were on the point of marching forward, and the scouts hurried back to give Colonel Maitland news of their coming.

It was late in the afternoon when they reached the post.

“At what time do you think they will arrive here?” the colonel asked, when Jake had made his report. “Dey be pretty close by dark, for sure,” Jake replied.

“But I don’t think, sir,” Peter added, “they’ll attack before morning. They wouldn’t be likely to try it in the dark, not knowing the nature of the place.”

The commander was of the same opinion, but to prevent the possibility of surprise he placed pickets at some distance round the fort, the scouts being, of course, of the party.

The night passed quietly, but at seven in the morning Peter, Harold, and Jake, who were at some distance in advance of the others, saw the enemy approaching. They fired their pieces and fell back upon the outposts. Their position was rather to the right of the line of defense. The pickets were about to fall back when 70 men, being two companies of the Seventy-first under Captain Campbell, were sent out to feel the enemy.

“We’re going to have a skirmish,” Peter said. “I know these Highlanders. Instead of jest firing a bit and then falling back, they’ll be sticking here and fighting as if they thought they could lick the hull army of the Yankees.”

It was as Peter predicted. The Highlanders took post behind a hedge and maintained a desperate resistance to the advance of the enemy. Harold and his comrades for some time fought with them.

“It’s time for us to be out of this,” Peter said presently. “Let’s jest get back to the fort.”

“We cannot fall back till they do, Peter”

“I don’t see that,” Peter said. “We’re scouts, and I don’t see no advantage in our chucking away our lives because these hot-headed Highlanders choose to do so. Peter Lambton’s ready to do a fair share of fighting, but when he’s sure that fighting aint no good, then he goes.”

And suiting the action to the word, Peter rose from his recumbent position and began to make his way back to the camp, taking advantage of every bit of cover.

Harold could not help laughing. For an instant he remained irresolute, and then, seeing the overwhelming forces with which the enemy were approaching, he called to Jake and followed Peter’s example. So obstinately did the Highlanders fight that they did not retreat until all their officers were killed or wounded, and only 11 men out of the two companies succeeded in regaining the camp.

The whole force of the enemy now advanced against the works, and halting at a distance of three hundred yards opened a tremendous fire from their cannon on the intrenchments. The defenders replied, but so overwhelming was the force of the assailants that the Hessians abandoned the portion of the works committed to them and fell back.

The enemy pressed forward and had already gained the foot of the abattis, when Colonel Maitland brought up a portion of the Seventy-first upon the right, and these gallant troops drove the Americans back with slaughter. Colonel Maitland and his officers then threw themselves among the Hessians and succeeded in rallying them and bringing them back to the front. The provincial volunteers had also fought with great bravery. They had for a time been pressed backward, but finally maintained their position.

The Americans, finding that all their efforts to carry the post were unavailing, fell back to the forest. On the English side the loss amounted to 129. The Americans fought in the open and suffered much more heavily.

The position of matters was suddenly changed by the arrival of Count D’Estaing with a fleet of forty-one ships-of-war off the coast. The American general, Lincoln, at once proposed to him to undertake a combined movement to force the English to quit Georgia. The arrival of the French fleet was wholly unexpected, and the _Experiment_, a frigate of fifty guns, commanded by Sir James Wallace, having two or three ships under his convoy, fell in with them off the mouth of the Savannah River. Although the _Experiment_ had been much crippled by a gale through which she had recently passed, Sir James Wallace would not haul down his flag and opposed a desperate resistance to the whole of the French fleet, and did not surrender until the _Experiment_ was completely dismasted and riddled with shot.

Upon the news that the French fleet was off the mouth of the river, Captain Henry, who commanded the little squadron of four small English ships, fell back to Savannah after removing all the buoys from the river. He landed his guns from the ships and mounted them on the batteries, and the marines and blue-jackets were also put on shore to assist in the defense. Two of the brigs of war were sunk across the channel below the town to prevent the French frigates coming up. A boom was laid across above the town to prevent fire-rafts from being sent down.

D’Estaing landed the French troops at the mouth of the river, and, marching to the town, summoned General Prevost to surrender. The English commander, who had sent off a messenger to Colonel Maitland, ordering him to march instantly to his assistance with the force under him, which now amounted to 800 men, asked for twenty-four hours before giving an answer. D’Estaing, who knew that General Lincoln was close at hand, made sure that Prevost would surrender without resistance, and so granted the time asked for. Before its expiration Colonel Maitland, after a tremendous march, arrived at the town. As the French commanded the mouth of the river he had been obliged to transport his troops in boats through the marshes by a little creek, which for two miles was so shallow that the troops were forced to wade waist-deep, dragging the boats by main force through the mud.

Upon the arrival of this re-enforcement General Prevost returned an answer to Count D’Estaing that the town would be defended to the last. Some time was spent by the enemy in landing and bringing up heavy artillery from the ships, and the French and Americans did not begin their works against the town until September 23. The garrison had utilized the time thus afforded to them to erect new defenses. The allied force of the assailants consisted of more than 10,000 Americans and 5000 French troops, while the garrison, including regulars, provincial corps, sailors, militia, and volunteers, did not exceed 2500.

Nevertheless, they did not allow the enemy to carry on their work without interruption. Several sorties were made. The first of these, under Major Graham of the Sixteenth Regiment, reached the lines of the enemy and threw them into confusion. Large re-enforcements came up to their assistance, and as Graham’s detachment fell back upon the town, the enemy incautiously pursued it so close up to the British lines that both artillery and musketry were brought to bear upon them, and they lost a large number of men before they could regain their works. On the morning of October 4 the batteries of the besiegers opened fire with fifty-three pieces of heavy artillery and fourteen mortars. General Prevost sent in a request to Count D’Estaing that the women and children might be permitted to leave the town and embark on board vessels lying in the river, there to await the issue of the fight; but the French commander refused the request in a letter couched in insulting terms.

The position of Savannah was naturally strong. The river protected one of its sides and a deep swamp, partially flooded by it, covered another. The other two were open to the country, which in front of them was for several miles level and clear of wood. The works which had been thrown up on these sides were extremely strong. When the French first landed there were but ten pieces of cannon upon the fortifications, but so incessantly did the garrison work that before the conclusion of the siege nearly one hundred pieces of artillery were mounted on the redoubts and batteries erected round the town. Upon the side of the swamp there was not much fear of attack, but three redoubts were erected to prevent a surprise from this direction. The defense on the right face of the town was conducted by Colonel Maitland. The defense on the left, consisting of two strong redoubts and several batteries, was commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Cruger. In the center were several strong works, of which General Prevost himself took the special supervision. The whole British line, except where the swamp rendered no such defense necessary, was surrounded by a thick abattis. The French fire made no sensible impression upon the English defenses, and finding that the British artillery equaled his own, D’Estaing determined to discontinue the attack by regular approaches and to carry the place by storm. His position was a perilous one. He had already spent a long time before the place, and at any moment the English fleet might arrive from the West Indies and attack his fleet, which was weakened by the men and guns which had been landed to carry on the siege. He therefore determined to risk an assault rather than remain longer before the town. To facilitate the attack an officer with 5 men on October 8 advanced to the abattis and set fire to it. The wood, however, was still green, and the flames were easily extinguished.

The attack was fixed for the following morning. Bodies of the American militia were to feign attacks upon the center and left, while a strong force of the combined armies was to make a real attack in two columns upon the right. The troops composing the two columns consisted of 3500 French soldiers and 950 Americans. The principal force, commanded by Count D’Estaing in person, assisted by General Lincoln, was to attack the Springfield redoubt, which was situated at the extreme right of the British central line of defense and close to the edge of the swamp. The other column, under the command of Count Dillon, was to move silently along the margin of the swamp, pass the three redoubts, and get into the rear of the British lines.

The troops were in motion long before daylight. The attempt to burn the abattis had excited the suspicion of the English that an assault might be intended, and accordingly pickets were thrown out in front of the intrenchments and the scouts were ordered to keep a sharp watch among the trees which grew in and near the swamp.

Harold with his friends had accompanied Colonel Maitland’s column in its march to Savannah and had labored vigorously at the defenses, being especially occupied in felling trees and chopping wood for the abattis. Before daybreak they heard the noise made by the advance of the enemy’s columns through the wood and hurried back to the Springfield redoubt, where the garrison at once stood to arms. In this redoubt were a corps of provincial dismounted dragoons, supported by the South Carolina regiment.

Just as daylight appeared the column led by Count D’Estaing advanced toward the Springfield redoubt, but the darkness was still so intense that it was not discovered until within a very short distance of the works. Then a blaze of musketry opened upon it, while a destructive cross-fire was poured in from the adjoining batteries. So heavy was the fire that the head of the column was almost swept away. The assailants kept on with great bravery until they reached the redoubt; here a desperate hand-to-hand contest took place. Captain Tawse fell with many of his men, and for a moment a French and an American standard were planted upon the parapet; nevertheless the defenders continued to cling to the place and every foot was desperately contested.

At this moment Colonel Maitland, with the grenadiers of the Sixtieth Regiment and the marines, advanced and fell upon the enemy’s column, already shaken by the obstinate resistance it had encountered and by its losses by the fire from the batteries. The movement was decisive. The assailants were driven headlong from the redoubt and retreated, leaving behind them 637 of the French troops killed and wounded and 264 of the Americans.

In the mean time the column commanded by Count Dillon mistook its way in the darkness and was entangled in the swamp, from which it was unable to extricate itself until it was broad daylight and it was fully exposed to the view of the garrison and to the fire from the British batteries. This was so hot and so well directed that the column was never able even to form, far less to penetrate into the rear of the British lines.

When the main attack was repulsed Count Dillon drew off his column, also. No pursuit was ordered as, although the besiegers had suffered greatly, they were still three times more numerous than the garrison.

A few days afterward the French withdrew their artillery and re-embarked on board ship.

The siege of Savannah cost the allies 1500 men, while the loss of the garrison was only 120. The pleasure of the garrison at their successful defense was marred by the death of Colonel Maitland, who died from the effects of the unhealthy climate and of the exertions he had made.

A few days after the raising of the siege the French fleet was dispersed by a tempest, and Count D’Estaing, with the majority of the ships under his command, returned to France.

During the course of this year there were many skirmishes round New York, but nothing of any great importance took place. Sir Henry Clinton, who was in supreme command, was unable to undertake any offensive operations on a large scale, for he had not received the re-enforcements from home which he had expected. England, indeed, had her hands full, for in June Spain joined France and America in the coalition against her and declared war. Spain was at that time a formidable marine power, and it needed all the efforts that could be made by the English government to make head against the powerful fleets which the combined nations were able to send to sea against them. It was not only in Europe that the Spaniards were able to give effective aid to the allies. They were still a power on the American continent, and created a diversion, invading West Florida and reducing and capturing the town and fort of Mobile.

In the spring of 1780 Sir Henry Clinton sent down an expedition under the command of Lord Cornwallis to capture Charleston and reduce the State of South Carolina. This town was extremely strongly fortified. It could only be approached by land on one side, while the water, which elsewhere defended it, was covered by the fire of numerous batteries of artillery. The water of the bay was too shallow to admit of the larger men-of-war passing, and the passage was defended by Fort Moultrie, a very formidable work. Admiral Arbuthnot, with the _Renown, Romulus, Roebuck, Richmond, Blonde, Raleigh_, and _Virginia_ frigates, with a favorable wind and tide ran the gantlet of Fort Moultrie, succeeded in passing up without great loss, and co-operated on the sea face with the attack of the army on the land side.

A force was landed on Sullivan’s Island, on which Fort Moultrie stood, and the fort, unprepared for an attack in this direction, was obliged to surrender. The American cavalry force which had been collected for the relief of the town was defeated by the English under General Tarleton. The trenches were pushed forward with great vigor, and the batteries of the third parallel opened at short range on the town with great execution. The advances were pushed forward at the ditch, when the garrison, seeing that further resistance was impossible, surrendered. Five thousand prisoners were taken, 1000 American and French seamen, and ten French and American ships-of-war.

With the fall of Charleston all resistance ceased in South Carolina. The vast majority of the inhabitants made their submission to the British government and several loyalist regiments were raised.

Colonel Tarleton, with 170 cavalry and 100 mounted infantry, was dispatched against an American force under Colonel Burford, consisting of 350 infantry, a detachment of cavalry, and two guns, which had taken post on the border of North Carolina. Tarleton came