True to the Old Flag: A Tale of the American War of Independence, G. A. Henty [classic novels for teens TXT] 📗

"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