"Look out!"
These were the only words Henry had time to utter and as they left his lips he leaped to one side as swiftly as possible.
Hardly knowing what Henry meant, Dave and Barringford stood their ground, looking first one way and then another.
On the instant the big buck came forward. His rush was aimed at Henry, but missing that youth, he went onward with a wild plunge, directly between Dave and Barringford.
"A buck!" yelled the frontiersman. "Back out, Dave, an' be quick about it!"
He himself started on a run, reloading his rifle as he went. Dave wanted to do as bidden, but he had been so surprised that before he could turn his heel caught on a rock and down he went flat on his back. His gun struck on the trigger and went off, the charge tearing over the top of the cave into the tree branches beyond.
Dave was now helpless and if the truth must be told the fall had more than half dazed him, for his head came down on a spot that was far from soft and comfortable. More than this, with an empty gun he could do but little to defend himself.
The big buck had now come to a halt and turned around. He stood as if uncertain whether to renew the attack or take to his heels. Then he gazed at his mate and a strange red light shone in his angry eyes. He was "blood struck," as old hunters call it, and drawing in a sharp, hissing breath, he leaped forward once again, straight for Dave, who was now trying to rise.
Bang! It was now Henry's gun that spoke up, and though the aim was not of the best—for Henry was excited because Dave was in such dire peril—the buck was struck in the shoulder and badly wounded. He leaped back and into the air, and when he came down lifted his right foreleg as if in intense pain. But he was still full of fight and now he came on once more, with eyes glittering more dangerously than ever.
Dave had not time to rise, so he did the next best thing, which was to roll over and over, until a clump of brush stopped his further progress. Then he slipped into the brush, worming his way to the other side.
The big buck came on and struck the brush a stunning blow that sent the stalks and twigs flying in all directions. Then the animal backed out and started for Henry, who had begun to reload.
All this had happened faster than I can relate it, yet it had given Barringford sufficient time to throw powder and ball into his gun and fix the priming. Now the old hunter came close to the side of the buck and blazed away once more, straight for those reddish eyes.
The shot was a telling one, for it tore out one eye completely and seriously damaged the other. Again the buck halted, and then turned slowly back and began to stagger off. But he could not see and in a moment more hit the rocks of the cave with a crash that could be heard for a considerable distance.
"Good for you, Sam!" cried Henry, who was now reloading. "I reckon we've got him."
"Don't be too sure," returned the old hunter. "He's got lots of fight in him yet."
Barringford was right, for again the buck turned and now catching a glimpse of Barringford through the blood of his wounds made a mighty leap for the frontiersman. But Barringford was too quick for him and leaping aside, sprang on the rocks of the cave, satisfied the wounded buck could not follow him to that spot.
By this time Henry had reloaded, and watching his chance he ran up and let drive for the buck's neck. This shot proved fatal, and rocking to and fro for several seconds the magnificent beast at last fell down on his side, and breathed his last.
"Is he—he dead?" came from Dave, as he pulled himself out of the tangle of brushwood.
"I think he is," replied his cousin. "But we had better make sure. Bucks are mighty tricky at times."
Taking out his hunting knife Henry went forward and cut the throat of the game. Then Barringford leaped from the rocks, and all went to inspect the buck.
"A regular monarch of the forest!" cried Dave, enthusiastically. "Don't know as I've ever seen a larger."
"Nor I," added Barringford. "An' he was a fighter, too, wasn't he?"
"We've got more deer meat now than we know what to do with," went on Dave.
"We don't want the meat of this buck," said Henry. "It would be as tough as all get-out. We can take the skin and some of the meat from that deer, and that will be enough; don't you say so, Sam?"
"Right you are, lad."
All were experienced in the work at hand, so it did not take them long to skin both beasts and then the best of the deer meat was cut out by Barringford and rolled up in one of the pelts.
After this the march forward was again resumed.
That night they slept in the open, near a generous camp-fire, without being disturbed, and by sunrise were again on their way. They reached Cherry Run—a collection of half a dozen cabins—a little after noon, and here exchanged the skins and some of the meat for other things of more importance to them.
"There is a Dutch hunter here, who is going to join General Johnson," said the pioneer who gave them other things for their skins. "His name is Hans Schnitzer. Perhaps he'd like to go along with you—if you want him."
"What, old Dutch Hans, the beaver hunter!" exclaimed Barringford. "Why certainly I'd like him along. Thar's more fun in him nor in a barrel o' wasps. Whar is he?"
"He vos right here," came a voice from behind Barringford, and a short, stout individual stepped forward. His hair was red and his shock of a beard bore the same color. Above two sunburnt cheeks peeped two small eyes of blue, ever on a twinkle. He was dressed in the typical suit of the frontiersman of that day, buckskin leggings, coonskin cap and all.
"So you dinks dare vos more fun py me as mit von parrel of vasps, hey?" went on the Dutch trapper. "Vell, how apout dot dime ven you vos going to git dot pird's nest in der hollow dree und you stick your hand py dat vasps' nest, hey? Vosn't dot funny, hey? Ha! ha! ha! I see dot yet—mit you dancing arount like you vos a sailor on a pipe-horn, eh?"
"Gosh! don't mention it, Hans," returned Barringford, ruefully. "I kin feel them pesky wasps yet, fer they war the biggest I ever ran across. But put it thar, old boy, I'm downright glad to see you—an' after all the fightin' we've been a-havin', too. I suppose ye broke loose, didn't ye?"
"Vell I dinks me so," said Hans Schnitzer. "I vos up py dot Mohawk Valley, und I got me into nine fights by von veek vonce, und fourteen fights after dot." He removed his cap. "See dot mark? Dot is vere two Injuns tried to kill me—von mit a tomahawk und der udder mit his shcalpin' knife—dinking I vos dead. But I vasn't dead. I chumped up und ve rasselled und rasselled, und I got dem poth down ven, vot you dinks?—Cheneral Johnson himself come up—und dot vos der last of dose Injuns putty quick I can tole you."
"Good for the general," said Barringford. Then turning, he introduced Dave and Henry, and a general conversation ensued. The boys liked Hans Schnitzer from the start, and having often heard of the comical Dutch trapper, soon felt at home with him. Schnitzer knew exactly where Sir William Johnson's camp was located, and promised to take the party there by the shortest and easiest trail.
The party of four left Cherry Run early the next morning, each in the best of spirits, Schnitzer gaily humming a song of the Fatherland. The trail led almost due north, until a small stream was reached. Here, in a convenient spot, the Dutch trapper had a canoe secreted. This they entered and followed the stream for a distance of thirty miles, when they again struck out on foot, this time over the hills leading into the beautiful Mohawk Valley.
Day after day passed without anything unusual happening. Game was to be had in plenty, and it often made Henry heart-sick to leave it behind without taking a shot.
"A regular Paradise!" he said. "When this war is over, how I would like to come up here and knock around for a few weeks. I reckon I could make it well worth while."
"You'll find game just as plentiful at father's post on the Kinotah," answered Dave. "If father can ever get the post back, you must make a trip out there with me."
Ever since leaving home Dave had wanted to see a bear, and one day, just before the sun was setting, his wish was gratified. But the game was too far away for shooting, and before they could get closer the bear took to his heels and went crashing out of sight in the brushwood.
"Never mind, lad, we'll go b'ar huntin' another day," said Barringford, consolingly. "Jest fer the present, we have other ground ter plough, as the sayin' goes."
At the end of ten days the journey began to grow tiresome to the boys, and they were glad when Schnitzer announced that another day would more than likely bring them in sight of General Johnson's camp.
That night they encamped on the bank of the Mohawk, in an ideal spot covered with brush and some timber. All were thoroughly tired, for the day's tramp had been a long one, and Dave and Henry were glad when preparations for supper were at an end and there was nothing more to do than to eat and go to sleep.
It had been a clear day, but with the coming of night, the sky had clouded over, showing that a storm was not far off, although neither Barringford nor Hans the trapper thought it would rain before morning.
"Put ven it does come, I dink me it vos come hardt," said Schnitzer. "Maype it vos rain for two or fife days, eh?"
"Oh, I hope it doesn't rain as long as that!" cried Dave. "Why, we'll be drowned out."
The wood was piled on the fire, and a little later all lay down to rest, and it did not take Henry and Dave long to reach the land of dreams. They lay on one side of the cheerful blaze while the two men lay on the other. The wind was blowing the smoke from the fire directly across the river, so this did not bother them.
Dave had been asleep three hours when he suddenly awoke and gave a cough. Thinking that he was in danger of being smothered by the smoke he sat up and gazed at the fire. The wind had shifted slightly, but not enough to do any harm.
"No use of waking up the others," he thought. "They need every bit of sleep they can get. That wood is about burnt out anyway, so there won't be much more smoke."
He was about to lie down again, when the snapping of some brushwood behind him caught his ear. Turning he caught sight of an Indian crouching in the bushes gazing at him. Then came a noise from another direction and four other redmen glided into view. All were armed with guns, and at once Dave realized that the camp was surrounded.
"Henry! Sam! Schnitzer! Wake up! The camp is surrounded by Indians!"
Dave uttered the cry loudly, and on the instant Barringford leaped to his feet, reaching for his ever-ready gun as he did so. The Dutch trapper was also awake in short order, and Henry followed.
"Injuns?" queried Barringford. "Whar?"
"In those bushes, and behind yonder trees. What shall we do?"
Before the old frontiersman could answer that question, a voice came out of the darkness:
"Are the white men English?"
"Yes, we're English," answered Barringford.
"Then the redmen are glad to meet their brothers. The redmen were afraid the sleeping ones were French."
"Who are you?" asked Henry.
"Arrow Head, of the Miamis. We have joined the great English warrior Johnson, to fight the French. Let us be friends."
A few words more followed, and Barringford told the Indians to come forward. At this eight redmen advanced to the camp-fire, on which the boys threw some extra brushwood, so that they might see the new arrivals. The Indians had slung their weapons over their shoulders, as a sign of peace, and our friends did likewise.
Schnitzer had met Arrow Head before, and said he would vouch for it that the warrior was all right. From the under chief it was learned that General Johnson, with seven hundred Indians, had already marched to meet General Prideaux and that the camp of the army was some forty miles distant, up the river. Arrow Head had been left behind to "drum up" a few stragglers, but was now ready to go forward with the redmen under him.
"The war talk at Canajoharie castle was a great one," said the under warrior. "Your General Johnson has treated us like brothers, and we will fight for him to the bitter end. We have sung our war songs and put on our war paints, and no French soldiers shall stand up against us. Henceforth the English shall be our brothers for evermore."
"Yah, now you vos talkin' common sense," put in Schnitzer. "Ven you fight mid dem Frenchers you vos all fools—for dem Frenchers vill pe licked chust so sure as Henry Hudson discovered New York. I peen a Dutch prophet, und I know," and he said this so earnestly that Arrow Head was duly impressed. Schnitzer, who afterward made himself famous as a pioneer in Ohio, could do a few sleight of hand tricks, and because of these tricks many of the redmen considered him something of a wizard.
All rested until daybreak and then, after a hasty breakfast, in which the Indians joined the whites, the march forward was resumed. Soon it began to rain, but the drops did not come down heavily, and Barringford said the storm had shifted to the westward. In this he was right for by noon the sun was shining as brightly as ever.
As they trudged along, Dave and Henry questioned Arrow Head concerning the French Indians and their captives, and about Jean Bevoir. They could, however, get little satisfaction, excepting that Arrow Head had heard that all the captives had been removed to the shores of Lake Erie and Lake Ontario, and that a general movement toward Montreal and Quebec was contemplated.
While our friends were trudging through the woods northward, General Prideaux had gone to Schenectady. He had with him his own division of the army consisting of two regiments of English soldiers and twenty-six hundred Americans, principally from New York, although with the New Yorkers were a good sprinkling of rangers from Vermont, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Virginia, men who roamed from one colony to another, looking for a chance to better themselves and ever ready for a fight, be it with the French or the Indians.
From Schenectady General Prideaux moved up the Mohawk Valley, which was the most direct route to the lakes. This old Indian trail was protected by Fort Herkimer, Fort William, Fort Stanwix, Fort Bull, and other fortifications along the river and Lake Oneida. But this great wilderness was a wilderness still, with stopping places few and far between, and had it not been for the friendliness of the Indians—thanks to the good work done by General Johnson—matters might have gone badly with the English. More than once there was an alarm and at night sentries were posted with as much care as though they were in the very heart of the enemy's country.
It was not until three days after meeting Arrow Head and his followers that our friends came in sight of General Prideaux's command, toiling painfully around some of the rapids in the river. This first sight of the army was a thrilling one, for uniforms and weapons shone brightly in the clear sunlight. Dave's heart gave a bound.
"Puts me in mind of the time I marched with Braddock," he said to Henry. "Indeed, it might almost be the same scene over again."
"Well, let us hope it isn't the same defeat over again," returned his cousin, grimly.
The army came to a halt half an hour later, and then they learned that General Johnson and his Indians were miles away. They talked the matter over and at length concluded to move forward with the soldiers, trusting to luck to interview Johnson later.
It was an easy matter for Barringford and Hans Schnitzer to locate a number of friends among the rangers, and they received a hearty welcome, and Dave and Henry were put at their ease. One old soldier asked Dave if he had seen much of the war, and when the lad told him he had been both with Braddock and with Forbes in the attacks on what was now Fort Pitt the old soldier shook his hand warmly and "reckoned as how" he'd "do fust-rate to fight them Frenchmen at Fort Niagara."
Our four friends were assigned to a company under Captain John Mollett, who was known to Barringford, and inside of a couple of days felt thoroughly at home.
In those days the Mohawk River was navigable with canoes and batteaux to within four miles of Lake Oneida. From this point the boats had to be carried across the watershed, on the backs of horses, Indians, and soldiers to the lake. From Lake Oneida it was clear sailing down the Oswego River to Lake Ontario.
As they had done so many times in the past, some of the English soldiers were apt to sneer at the provincials, and this led to more than one wordy quarrel and not infrequently to blows.
"They make me sick!" declared Henry, one day, after listening to the bluster of several grenadiers. "To hear them talk one would think only they were able to fight. I reckon we can do our full share."
"If they say anything to me I'll tell 'em what happened under Braddock," returned Dave. "And they can take it as they please."
Barringford counseled moderation, but secretly he was as much put out as the boys even though some of the English were his warm friends. He had come near to having a quarrel with an English lieutenant named Naster and he was still much disturbed over this.
That very night Dave, while on picket duty, heard Lieutenant Naster finding fault with an old ranger named Campwell. Campwell was a pioneer over sixty-five years of age, and while a good shot and a good fighter was at times not just right in his mind, although he could by no means be called crazy. The pair came close to where Dave was on guard and the young soldier heard the lieutenant poke all manner of fun at the old man.
"Better go home and mind the babies, Campwell," said the English lieutenant. "It's more in your line of duty, isn't it now?"
"Let me alone!" cried the old man. "If I was to mind babies I'd not mind such a one as you, I'll warrant. 'T would have been better had you remained in England."
"Ha! so you call me a baby?" roared Lieutenant Naster, sourly. "If I am, how do you like that from me?" And he gave the old pioneer a shove that sent him headlong over the roots of a nearby tree.
The action was so cowardly, and so entirely uncalled for, that it made Dave's temper rise on the instant, and regardless of consequences he leaped to where Lieutenant Naster was standing and caught him by the shoulder.
"Leave him alone, you brute!" he ejaculated. "How dare you treat an old man like that?"
In sudden fear the English lieutenant wheeled around. When he saw it was only a boy who had spoken, and a hated provincial at that, his rage returned.
"What do you mean by placing your dirty hand on me!" he roared. "I'll have you arrested on the spot! This to me—an officer of the King's Guard! Preposterous!"
"It wasn't right to molest old Campwell," returned Dave, sturdily. "He is as brave as any of us, and I have heard tell that he has fought well all through this war. You ought——"
"Don't tell me what I ought to do, you dirty little plantation hand! Say another word and I'll report you at headquarters."
"As you please," answered Dave, recklessly. "But if you worry Campwell any more you'll have an account to settle with Colonel Haldimand—and I can tell you that he won't put up with it any more than any of us."
At the mention of the officer in charge of the provincials the English lieutenant was for the moment nonplussed. He knew Colonel Haldimand to be a Swiss-American of stern military bearing and one to whom many of the pioneers were warmly attached.
"You—you threaten me?" he asked, after an ugly pause.
"You can take it as you please."
"My affair with this old man was my own—not yours."
"Yes, but I'm glad he took my part," came from Campwell, as he arose slowly to his feet, for the fall had deprived him of his breath. "You took a mean advantage o' me. I've a good mind to fill ye full o' buckshot!" And he caught hold of his gun threateningly.
It was now that Lieutenant Naster showed his true nature. Much of his color forsook him and he retreated in alarm.
"Don't—don't!" he cried, hurriedly. "I—I didn't mean to be—ah—serious. The whole thing was meant in fun."
"No fun in shoving me down."
"I—ah—I didn't mean to shove you so hard—upon my honor I did not, Campwell. Let us drop it; won't you?"
The old pioneer gave a grunt. He was too open-hearted to understand such a mean, sneaking nature as that of the Englishman.
"We'll drop it—but keep your hands off of me in the future," he said, at last.
"I won't bother you. But you—" The lieutenant turned to Dave. "I'll bear you in mind, my fine young cock-of-the-walk,—and I'll take you down a peg or two ere I'm done with you, remember what I say!" And with a shake of his fist he hurried away in the darkness.
A minute after this Barringford came up, asking what was the matter. When told his brow contracted.
"That lieutenant is a regular sneak," he said. "Keep your eye open fer him, Dave—an' don't trust him a farthing's worth. He is just the kind to play you dirty the first chance he gits."
The days to follow were full of hard work for the young soldiers. They were detailed with the baggage corps, and had all they could do to bring through the many things left in their care. Although Dave did not know the truth, it was Lieutenant Naster who had much of this work piled on the young soldier's shoulders.
The sail down Lake Oneida proved a period of rest, for which both Dave and Henry were truly thankful. Both made the journey in a long and wide batteau, commonly called to-day a flat-bottom boat. It was now the end of June and the weather was hot. On one occasion the youths went in bathing, but this time nothing molested them. They also went fishing and brought out as nice a mess of fish as the clear waters of this lake afforded.
"It's an ideal spot for a home," said Dave. "Puts me in mind of the Kinotah."
"If the Kinotah is as good as this I wouldn't want anything better," replied Henry.
The batteau, of extra-large size, was filled with baggage, and besides the boys there were ten rangers on board, including old Campwell. The old man sat in the rear of the craft, eyeing the shore critically.
"My eyesight ain't none o' the best," he drawled, presently. "But onless I'm in error, I jest see a number o' Injuns behind yonder skirt o' bushes."
All looked in the direction, and presently one of the other rangers said that he, too, saw at least two Indians. They appeared to be following up the boats and at the same time did all they could to keep hidden.
"What do you make of that?" asked Henry of Barringford, who was pulling an oar beside him.
The old frontiersman shrugged his shoulders. "Depends on whether they are friends or enemies, Henry," he said. "If they are friends more'n likely they'll jine us when we reach the river."
"And if not?"
"Then they ought to be captured, for if they ain't friends they are spying for the French."
Evidently the Indians had not been discovered by those on the other batteaux, and after a short talk the man in charge of that containing our friends decided to report the case to his superior, in a boat some distance ahead. Pulling with all strength, the clumsy craft was, in quarter of an hour, brought alongside of Captain Mollett's boat.
"Indians, eh?" said the captain, reflectively. "Couldn't make them out very well, could you?"
"No, captain."
"Hum! We'll have to investigate this."
Word was passed to several other batteaux, and soon after a boat turned toward shore, having on board fifteen rangers, including Barringford and Henry. Dave and Schnitzer wished to accompany the others but this was not permitted.
"Good-by until we meet again!" cried Henry, on leaving.
"Take good care of yourself," returned Dave, and so with a wave of the hand the two cousins parted.
It did not take the batteau long to reach the north shore of the lake, and as soon as the craft grounded all leaped out. Fastening the boat to a nearby tree, the rangers set out on a search for the Indians.
The party was under the command of George Harvey, well known as an old Indian fighter of the Mohawk valley and a man who was as shrewd as he was daring. He had brought the rangers ashore boldly, but once in the shelter of the timber he halted his men to give them advice.
"We'll spread out in a straight line, due north," he said. "Each man about thirty yards from the next. Then we can beat up the timber thoroughly. Don't fire until you're sure of what you are doing, for to kill a friendly Indian just now would be the worst thing we could do. General Johnson would never forgive you for it. He had hard enough work to make 'em come over to us."
It fell to Henry's lot to skirt the shore of the lake, with Barringford next to him. The way was easy where the trail ran close to the water, but at other points was exceedingly difficult, for big stones and thick brushwood frequently blocked his progress.
"Phew! but this is no child's play!" he muttered to himself, as he came out on a point of the shore where the sun blazed down fiercely. "A fellow couldn't feel any hotter plowing corn or turning hay. I'd rather go swimming than hunt up Indians, I must confess."
His soliloquy was broken by the flitting of something from one tree to another, some distance ahead. The movement was so rapid, and the distance so great, that he could not settle in his mind what the object had been.
"Was that an Indian, or some big wild bird?" he asked himself. Drawing back into the shelter of some bushes he held his gun ready for use, and gazed ahead with much interest.
The sun was now well down in the west, so his shadow fell in front of him as he gazed eastward. Of a sudden another shadow loomed up beside his own. He turned, but before he could defend himself, he was hauled back and his gun was wrenched from his grasp. He tried to cry out, but a red hand was instantly clapped over his mouth.
Henry tried his best to free himself but it was useless. Two brawny warriors had attacked him, and now one of the redmen flourished a long hunting knife in his face, at the same time muttering some words of warning in a guttural tone. Henry did not understand the language spoken, but he knew what was meant—that he would be killed if he attempted to either fight or cry out—and so for the time being he lay still.
At a distance the young soldier heard the sounds of footsteps, and he rightfully surmised that Barringford was continuing his journey forward, with the rest of the rangers. Soon the sounds died away and all became as silent as the grave.
But the Indians did not wish to take any chances and so the one with the knife continued to stand over the young soldier until his companion was certain the whites had gone on. Then he emitted a short and peculiar bird-like whistle.
In less than two minutes fully a dozen warriors appeared on the scene, crawling from behind logs and rocks and from holes among the tree roots. All came forward and gazed curiously at the prisoner.
A parley lasting but a few minutes followed. Henry tried his best to make out what was said, but this Indian dialect was entirely new to him. He half suspected that these redmen had come down into New York from the north shore of Lake Ontario and in this he was not mistaken. They were spies, as it was long afterward proved, sent out by Saint Luc de la Corne, the French officer in command at Isle Royal, afterward called Chimney Island.
The coming ashore of the English had evidently disconcerted the Indians and they hesitated over what should be their next move. But at last they set off on a rapid march northward, taking Henry with them. The young soldier's hands were bound behind him and he was given to understand that if he did not move along as suited them he would be killed on the spot.
"A nice pickle I'm in and no mistake," he mused, as the party toiled up a long hill and through a dense patch of timber where the undergrowth almost barred all progress. "These redskins won't give me the slightest chance to get away, and where they are taking me is more than I can guess. Wonder what Barringford will say when he finds I am missing?"
Some time after this a distant shot sounded out, at which all of the Indians came to a halt. The shot was followed by several others, all coming from the direction of the lake.
"Perhaps they are signals meant for me," thought Henry. "Oh, if only Barringford and the others strike the right trail!"
The shots having come to an end, the forward march was resumed, and the party did not halt again until long after nightfall. Henry was bound to a tree and one of the Indians, who seemed less bloodthirsty than the others, gave him a bit of meat, some corn cakes, and a drink of water. The young soldier thanked the redskin and tried to engage him in conversation, but the Indian merely shook his head and walked away.
When the Indians retired for the night Henry was tied to a short stake driven deeply into the ground. This allowed him to rest on one side or the other, but still kept his hands behind him—a most uncomfortable position. But lying down, even like that, was better than standing against the tree, and he was so tired he was soon fast asleep.
A kick in the ribs awoke him at early daybreak, and after a light breakfast, the Indians resumed their journey. In a short time they gained a small stream, and from a hiding place brought forth several canoes. Henry was made to enter one of the canoes and the whole party began to paddle down the stream swiftly and in the utmost silence.
The watercourse was less than five yards wide and in many places the branches of the trees on the opposite banks intertwined, forming a long, low bower, beneath which the sunlight was hardly able to penetrate. Outside it was hot and dry, but on this stream it was deliciously cool, and under other circumstances Henry would have enjoyed the canoe trip greatly. Game was plentiful and frequently popped up within easy shooting distance. The Indians did not use their guns, however, although a number of birds and a deer were brought down by the aid of a bow and arrows in the hands of an Indian in the front canoe.
Before the trip on the river came to an end Henry calculated that they had covered at least sixteen miles. They went ashore just above a small water-fall and now the Indians took their canoes with them. The party turned westward, and Henry guessed that they were bound for the eastern shore of Lake Ontario.
"If they once get me on the lake I'll be booked for Canada, that's certain," he mused, dismally. "If only I had half a chance I'd run for it, even though I'd risk being shot."
When the soldiers under General Prideaux reached Oswego they found the fort in ruins. Three years before the French and Indians under Montcalm had won a victory there and before leaving had burnt up and otherwise destroyed every building, large and small, and also every ship in the harbor, and had taken away all the guns and ammunition and a large part of the possessions of the settlers in that vicinity. On every side were heaps of ashes and charred logs, some overgrown with weeds, and in the midst of these stood a huge wooden cross, erected by Piquet, the French priest, and on a tall pole hung the tattered arms of France. The scene was one of unutterable loneliness and desolation, and it must be confessed that something like a shiver went over Dave as he gazed upon it.
"This shows what war will do," he said, to a comrade standing near. "Think of how prosperous a trading post Oswego was three years ago, and now look at this. Why even a wild animal would shun the spot—after those skeletons were picked clean."
"True for you, lad," was the answer. "But I don't think it will be that way again. General Prideaux means business, and so does General Johnson, and the French will have to do some tall fighting to win out now."
The first of the soldiers arrived on the site of Oswego about the middle of June, and it was only a few days later the remainder of the army came up from Lake Oneida bringing the stores and baggage, including a great many barrels of pork, which in those days formed a staple article of soldiers' diet.
Dave was anxious to see Henry and Barringford again, and when the last of the soldiers came up and went into camp not far from the lake and the river, he hurried in that direction as soon as he was off duty.
"Oh, Sam!" he cried, when he caught sight of the old frontiersman and saw the serious look on his face. "Where's Henry?"
"I can't tell you, Dave."
"Can't tell?"
"No, lad. After we went ashore at Lake Oneida he disappeared like as if the earth had opened and swallowed him up."
"But—but didn't you look for him?"
"Dave you oughter know better nor to ask sech a question. Look? Why, I tramped miles an' miles a-looking fer him,—an' fer them Injuns. But the redskins got away, and we couldn't find Henry, alive or dead."
"Then they must have taken him prisoner."
"Thet's it, unless——"
"Unless what, Sam?"
"Wall, I don't like to say, lad. Let us hope fer the best."
"You mean they might have killed him and thrown his body into the lake?"
"Yes."
Dave drew a long breath. The thought was a horrible one. He shook his head dismally.
"You didn't hear any shots, or any struggling?"
"Nary a sound, Dave. We went along as silently as ghosts and with our ears wide open. I know Henry was along when we moved up the lake, but I missed him jest as soon as we turned to come back. He had been next to the lake front and I walked over to find out if he had seen anything of the Injuns. But he was gone—and that was the end of it—although I and the others hunted around until we simply had to give it up and come back to report."
It was dismal news, and all Barringford could do did not cheer Dave up. "First it was little Nell and now it's Henry," he said, soberly. "If neither of them return what will Aunt Lucy say?"
As soon as the army was settled at Oswego General Prideaux had all of the batteaux and other boats made ready for the trip along the lake shore to Fort Niagara, a distance of about a hundred and thirty miles. In the meantime Colonel Haldimand was placed in charge of the garrison to be left at Oswego, with orders to rebuild the fort, and otherwise strengthen the place, as speedily as possible. Haldimand, who during the Revolution became Governor of Canada, was an able and energetic officer, and went about the work assigned to him without delay. Soon the ring of the axe was heard in the forest and the big timbers for the new fort were being brought out as fast as the pioneer-soldiers could handle them.
Prideaux had expected to embark for Niagara within a few days after reaching Oswego where he was joined by Johnson with his seven hundred Indians, but numerous delays occurred and it was not until the first of July that his novel flotilla of boats, batteaux, and canoes set sail westward over the mighty waters of Lake Ontario. All the time that the army was at Oswego a sharp lookout was kept for the possible appearance of French ships of war, or of transports carrying French troops, but none came in sight.
"Not a sail in sight anywhere," said Dave to Schnitzer one day, when the two were at the beach. "If the French are near they are keeping themselves well hidden."
"Maybe da vos vaiting for a chanct to cotch us nabbing," answered the Dutch soldier. "Dose Frenchers peen mighty schmart let me tole you. Of da don't vos schmart den dis var vouldn't peen so long vinded, hey?"
"Oh, they know what they are doing, no doubt of that. I wouldn't be surprised if they attacked Colonel Haldimand after we go away."
"Yah, dot is it, Tave—da vaits bis ve peen sphlit by two bieces und den da fights first one bard und den der udder bard—und ve peen licked our poots out, hey—maybe—of da peen schmart enough." And Hans Schnitzer nodded his shaggy head vigorously.
Dave had been wondering if he would be ordered to remain behind with those left at Oswego or if he was to go forward to Fort Niagara. He half wished he would be told to remain behind, that he might have a chance to go in search of Henry.
But this was not to be, and a few days later came word that the company to which he belonged would go forward under General Prideaux.
"But I'm a-going to be left behind," said Sam Barringford. "I've got orders to take charge o' the sharpshooters as is going to watch out here while Colonel Haldimand rebuilds the old fort."
"Oh Sam, if you stay behind, won't you keep an eye open for Henry?"
"To be sure I will, lad—thought o' thet myself."
"Do you think those Indians are still sneaking around?"
"More'n likely not, Dave. Not if they war French spies. They've gone across the lake to give warning of our coming."
"If they had Henry a prisoner they would take him along."
"Yes,—or worse."
Dave shook his head sadly, and went about his work, which was to see to the loading of two batteaux, that were piled high with utensils belonging to the culinary department of the army—for soldiers, like ordinary mortals, must eat and if they are not served properly there is apt to be a good deal of grumbling.
One day later the army was off, in a long string of batteaux and other craft stretching out a distance of over a mile. It was truly an imposing sight, for the leading batteau was flying the flag of England, and other banners were by no means lacking. There was music, too, to lighten up the hearts of the soldiers, and ringing cheers for good luck to the enterprise.
It was General Prideaux's plan to hug the shore of the lake, consequently the trip would be a little longer than if they sailed in a direct line from Oswego to what is now the coast town of Carlton. The reason for hugging the shore was, that the French might swoop down upon the flotilla at any moment when out of sight of land, whereas, if the English kept close to shore, they could at any moment turn into one of the numerous bays or creeks, and there hide or throw up a temporary defense.
The southern shore of Lake Ontario is to-day dotted with villages and towns, but when General Prideaux's army sailed along this coast it showed an almost unbroken front of gigantic timber, rough rocks and stretches of sandy waste. Here and there was an Indian village, but the warriors were away, either with the French or the English.
Much to Dave's disgust Lieutenant Naster was placed in charge of the batteau, which contained besides Dave several soldiers who were hardly known to our young soldier. When Naster saw Dave, he scowled but said nothing.
"He has it in for me, that's certain," thought Dave. "I'll have to keep my eyes wide open."
"I want none of your laziness," said the lieutenant, to Dave, an hour later, and when all hands were resting on the oars. "I see you are not pulling as well as the others, and it won't do."
"I thought I was doing my full share," answered Dave.
"Hi don't answer back, boy! Do as I tell you!"
In a few minutes the rowing was resumed. One of the soldiers, unnoticed by the lieutenant, winked at Dave.
"He's a regular bear," he whispered. "Look out, or he'll make trouble for you."
"He's tried to make trouble for me before," answered Dave, in an equally low tone. "He doesn't like me because I stood up for old Campwell when he was browbeating the man."
"Oh, so you were the soldier who interfered, eh? I heard of that case. They say——"
"Silence over here, and attend to your rowing!" shouted the lieutenant from his comfortable seat in the stern. "Don't you see how we are lagging behind? Pull up there, all of you, or somebody will get the lash to-night, instead of his supper."
After that but little was said, and the rowing continued steadily until noon, when a brief halt was made for dinner. The lake was almost like glass, so that while some of the batteaux drifted together, no damage was done.
"If I know anything about it, this weather won't last," said one of the soldiers, after a careful survey of the sky.
"It looks like a storm to me, too," said Dave. "But it may blow around before it reaches here."
Yet the day passed without the storm coming, and that night the occupants of the batteaux slept soundly on the shore of a tiny bay opening up from the lake. At sunrise the army was again in motion and once again the flotilla continued its journey westward.
Several soldiers who had been taken sick on the march to Oswego had been left behind, but now others were overcome by the heat and the glare of the sun on the water, and one batteau had to be turned into a floating hospital. At one time Dave himself felt dizzy, but he said nothing, for he well knew that Lieutenant Naster would have no mercy on him, sick or well.
The sun had come up over the water like a great ball of fire and by nine o'clock the day promised to prove more than usually hot. But an hour later the clouds began to show up in the west and it became rapidly cooler.
"We're in for that storm now," said a soldier to Dave. "See how the wind is rising."
"Yes, and we are pretty far out from land now, too," added Dave. "I reckon we ought to turn in."
One of the soldiers appealed to the lieutenant, but he would not listen to advice. "Straight ahead," he roared. "You only want to go in that you may rest. We have no time to fool away. A little rain won't hurt anybody."
The wind rapidly increased in violence, and soon the black clouds overshadowed the sun, making the surface of the lake dark and ominous looking. Then came a gust that whirled the batteau around in spite of all the rowers could do to keep the craft up to the wind. The waves dashed up, drenching everybody.
"Oh!" cried Lieutenant Naster, for he had received some of the water full in the face. "Steady there, you fools! Don't let her swing around!"
"If we don't pull to shore we'll be swamped!" cried one of the soldiers. "I was a sailor for six years and I know this is going to be a big blow. Give the order, lieutenant, unless ye want to see bottom putty quick."
At these words Lieutenant Naster turned pale. "Very well, turn about and pull for the shore," he said. "And don't lose time," he added, as he saw the white caps chasing madly toward them.
With much difficulty the clumsy batteau was swung around and the journey shoreward began. But valuable time had been lost, and now the rain came down in a deluge, shutting out the view on every side. The wind whistled a gale and in the midst of the downpour came a vivid flash of lightning and a crack of thunder that was deafening.
As much for his own safety as for the others, Dave bent to his oar with a will, pulling with might and main. The sight of land was now shut out and the task was therefore a blind one. On they went, the wind blowing the waves into the batteau until the craft was speedily in danger of becoming waterlogged.
"Bail her out!" roared the lieutenant, who was now as much alarmed as anyone. "Bail her out, or we'll go to the bottom!"