Chapter 2: Escape
Young Roche lay face downwards upon the rocky floor of the little cavern, great sobs breaking from him which he was unable to restrain. Fritz, with a stern, set face, sat beside another prostrate figure-that of a man who looked more dead than alive, and whose head and arm were wrapped in linen bandages soaked through and through with blood.
It was Captain Pringle, their friend and comrade in Fort William Henry, who had elected to remain with the garrison when the other two took part in a sortie and cut themselves a path to the forest. Had he remained with them, he might have fared better; he would at least have been spared the horrors of a scene which would now be branded forever upon his memory in characters of fire.
What had happened to that ill-fated fort Fritz and Roche knew little as yet. They had heard the tremendous firing which had followed whilst they remained in hiding during the day the dawn of which had seen the last desperate sortie. They had at night seen flames which spoke of Indian campfires all round the place, and from the complete cessation of firing after two they concluded that terms of surrender had been made. They had meant to wander deeper and deeper into the forest, out of reach of possible peril from prowling Indians; but they had been unable to tear themselves away without learning more of the fate of the hapless fort and its garrison.
At daybreak-or rather with the, first grey of dawn- they had crept through the brushwood as stealthily as Indians themselves, only to be made aware shortly that something horrible and terrible was going on. Yells and war whoops and the screech of Indian voices rose and clamoured through the silence of the forest, mingled with the shrieks of victims brutally massacred, and the shouts and entreaties of the French officers, who ran hither and thither seeking to restrain the brutal and savage treachery of their unworthy allies.
Roche had lost his head, and would have rushed madly upon the scene of bloodshed and confusion; and Fritz must needs have followed, for he was not one to let a comrade go to his death alone: but before they had proceeded far, they met their comrade Pringle dashing through the forest, covered with wounds, and pursued by half a dozen screeching Indians, and in a moment they had sprung to his rescue.
With a yell as fierce in its way as that of the Indians themselves they sprang upon the painted savages, and taking them unawares, they killed every one before the dusky and drunken sons of the forest had recovered from their surprise at being thus met and opposed.
But plainly there was no time to lose. The forest was ringing with the awful war whoop. Their comrade was in no state for further fighting; he was almost too far gone even for flight.
They seized him one by each arm; they dashed along through the tangled forest by an unfrequented track known to Fritz, half leading, half carrying him the while. The din and the horrid clamour grew fainter in their ears. No pursuing footsteps gave them cause to pause to defend themselves. The centre of excitement round the fort drew the human wolves, as carrion draws vultures. The forest was dim and silent and deserted as the fugitives pursued their way through it.
From time to time the wounded man dropped some words full of horror and despair. Young Roche, new to these fearful border wars, was almost overcome by this broken narrative, realizing the fearful fate which had overtaken so many of his brave comrades of the past weeks.
When at last they reached the little cave for which Fritz was heading, and where they felt that for the moment at least they were safe, he could only throw himself along the ground in an agony of grief and physical exhaustion: whilst the hardier Fritz bathed the wounds of their unfortunate comrade, binding them up with no small skill, and refreshing him with draughts of water from the pool hard by, which was all the sick man desired at this moment.
All three comrades were exhausted to the uttermost, and for a long while nothing broke the silence of the dim place save the long-drawn, gasping sobs of the lad. Gradually these died away into silence, and Fritz saw that both his companions slept-the fitful sleep of overwrought nature. Yet he was thankful even for that. Moving softly about he lighted a fire, and having captured one of the wild turkeys which were plentiful in the forest at that season, he proceeded to prepare a meal for them when they should awake.
Roche slept on and on, as the young will do when nature has been tried to her extreme limits; but Pringle presently opened his eyes, and looked feebly about him.
Fritz had a little weak broth to offer him by that time, and after drinking it the Captain looked a little less wan and ghastly.
"Where are we?" he asked, in a weak voice; "and how many are there of us?"
"We have only Roche with us. We have been in the forest since the sortie when we cut our way out. We met you the next day with half a dozen Indians at your heels. We know nothing save what you have spoken of treachery and massacre. Can it be true that the French permitted such abominations? The forest was ringing with the Indian war whoops and the screams of their wretched victims!"
A shudder ran through Pringle's frame.
"It is too true," he said; "it is horrible-unspeakably horrible! Yet we must not blame the French too much. They did what they could to prevent it. Indeed, I heard the Marquis de Montcalm himself bidding the Indians kill him, but spare the English garrison, which had surrendered, and had been promised all the honours of war and a safe escort to Fort Edward."
"If men will stoop to use fiends to do their work," said Fritz sternly, "they must expect to be disgraced and defied by these fiends, over whom they have no sort of influence. If men will use unworthy instruments, they must take the consequences."
"Yes; but the consequences have been the massacre of our hapless sick and wounded, and scenes of horror at thought of which my blood curdles. They have fallen upon us, not upon them."
"For the moment, yes," said Fritz, still in the same stern tone; "but, Pringle, there is a God above us who looks down upon these things, and who will not suffer such deeds to pass unavenged. We are His children; we bear His name. We look to Him in the dark moments of despair and overthrow. I am sure that He will hear and answer. He will not suffer these crimes against humanity and civilization to go unpunished. He will provide the instrument for the overthrow of the power which can deal thus treacherously, even though the treachery may be that of their allies, and not their own. It is they who employ such unworthy tools. They must bear the responsibility when these things happen."
There was a long silence between the two men then, after which Pringle said:
"If they had only sent us reinforcements! I know that we shall hear later on that the reserves were on their way. Why do we do everything a month or more too late? It has been the ruin of our western frontier from first to last. We are never ready!"
"No; that has been the mistake so far, but I think it will not always be so. There is an able man in England now whose hands are on the helm; and though full power is not his as yet, he can and will do much, they say. Even the more astute of the French begin to dread the name of Pitt. I think that the tide will turn presently, and we shall see our victorious foes flying before us like chaff before the wind."
"You think that?"
"I do. I have seen and heard much of the methods of France in the south-her ambition, her presumption, her weakness. Here in the north she has a firmer grip, and Canada is her stronghold. But if once we can shake her power there, all will be gone. They say that Pitt knows this, and that his eyes are upon the Western world. France has her hands full at home. A great war is raging in Europe. A few well-planted blows, ably directed from beyond the sea by England herself, might do untold harm to her western provinces. I hope to live to see the day when those blows will be given."
Young Roche began to stir in his sleep, and presently sat up, bewildered and perplexed; but soon recollection swept over him, and he stumbled to his feet, and joined the other two by the fire.
"Tell us all," he said, as they began to think of supper; for he and Fritz had scarcely broken their fast all day, and nature was now asserting her needs. "I would learn all, horrible though it is. Tell us-did Fort William Henry surrender?"
"Yes; there was nothing else for it. New batteries opened upon us, as well as the old ones. There was a great breach in the wall which could have been carried by assault at any moment, and our guns were all burst, save a few of the smaller ones. They gave us lenient terms. We were to march out with the honours of war, and keep one of our guns; they were to give us safe escort to Fort Edward; we were to take our baggage with us. The Marquis showed himself a generous foe-of him we have reason to think well; but the Indians, and even the Canadians-well. I will come to that in its turn. Thank Heaven, I did not see too much; what I did see will haunt me to my dying day!"
The lad's eyes dilated. It was terrible; but he wanted to hear all.
"All was arranged. The French soldiers marched in and took possession. We marched out to the intrenched camp to join our comrades there, who, of course, had been included in the capitulation. In the charge of the French we left our sick, who could not march. Hardly had we gone before the Indians swarmed in in search of plunder, and finding little-for, as you know, there was little to find-they instantly began to murder the sick, rushing hither and thither, yelling wildly, waving scalps in their hands!"
"And the French allowed it!" exclaimed Roche, setting his teeth hard; for he had friends and comrades lying sick at the fort when he left it.
"It was done so quickly they might not have known. One missionary was there, and rushed hither and thither seeking to stay them; but he might as well have spoken to the wild waves of the sea in a storm. But that was not all. In an hour or so they were clamouring and swarming all round the camp, and the French soldiers told off for our protection either could not or would not keep them out. Montcalm, in great anxiety, came over himself seeking to restore order; but the Indians were drunk with blood, and would not listen to him. He begged us to stave in our rum barrels, which was instantly done; but the act provoked the savages, and they pounced upon our baggage, which had been reserved to us by the terms of the treaty. We appealed to the Marquis; but he advised us to give it up.
"'I am doing all I can,' he said to Colonel Monro; 'but I shall be only too happy if I can prevent a massacre!'"
"Horrible!" ejaculated the young lieutenant. "Oh, better, far better, to have held the fort and perished in open fight than to be set upon in cold blood by those fiends!"
"Yes," quoth Pringle sternly; "that is what we felt and said. But it was too late then. The Indians were all amongst us. They were here, there, and everywhere. They got hold of the long hair of the women and the terrified children, and drew their scalping knives and menaced them till they shrieked and cried aloud in abject terror-"
Pringle paused; a spasm of horror shook him. After a brief pause he recommenced in more rapid tones:
"Why prolong the tale? it has lasted already too long. No proper guard was provided for us. Why I cannot tell, for the Marquis was truly horrified at what was going on. Perhaps he thought the steps he had taken were sufficient, or that the rage of the Indians was appeased; but be that as it might, when we marched out towards Fort Edward, we had no efficient protection, and the Indians were all round us, snatching at caps and coats, and forcing the soldiers to give them rum from their canteens, every drop of which seemed to add fuel to the fire."
"And you had no escort?"
"None of any efficacy. Monro, our gallant Colonel, went back to the French camp to protest and petition; but while he was gone the spark kindled.
"It was the Anenaki chief who first raised the war whoop, and the effect was instantaneous. They sprang upon us like fiends. They seized the shrieking women and children and bore them off to the woods, killing and scalping them as they ran. We had guns, but no ammunition, and were almost exhausted with what we had been through.
"In a moment all was a scene of indescribable horror and confusion. I can only speak of what I saw myself. I was set upon by the savages; but I could give blow for blow. They sprang after others less able to defend themselves. I saw a little lad rush screaming through the wood. I at once ran after him, and knocked down his pursuer. He clung about me, begging me to save him. I took his hand, and we dashed into the forest together.
"As we did so, I was aware that some French officers, with the Marquis de Montcalm, were rushing up to try to appease the tumult; but I doubt me if their words produced any effect. The boy and I ran on together. Then out dashed a dozen or more warriors upon us, with scalps in their hands-a sight horrible to behold. I set the boy against a tree, and stood before him; but they were all round us. I felt his despairing, clutching hands torn from round my waist whilst I was hacking and hewing down the men in front. I heard the shriek of agony and the gurgling cry as the tomahawk descended upon his head.
"I knew that he was dead, and the rage which filled me drove me on and on with the strength of madness. I had lost the sense of direction. I only knew that I had burst through the ring of my assailants, and that I was running my headlong course with the whole pack of them yelling at my heels. Now and again a cry from right or left would divert one or another of my pursuers, but some of them held resolutely on, and I knew that my strength must eventually give out, and that only a horrible death awaited me.
"Then it was that I heard shouts in the English tongue, and knew that some person or persons had come to my rescue. But my eyes were full of blood, and my senses were well nigh failing. It was only by degrees I came to know who had saved my life. I shall never forget it, though I cannot say what is in my heart."
He held out his hand first to one and then to the other of his comrades, and they grasped it warmly. Roche lifted his right hand and shook it upwards.
"May Heaven give me the chance to revenge this day's work upon the foes of England! May the time come when France shall drink deep of that cup of suffering and humiliation which she has caused us to drink withal; and may I be there to see!"
And yet, before many months had passed, Roche and his companions had reason to know that their foes could be chivalrous and generous to an enemy in distress.
The comrades lay in close hiding for many days, until the work of demolishing the hapless fort had been accomplished, and the French, together with their savage allies, had withdrawn back to their own lines at Ticonderoga.
There was no dash made upon Fort Edward, as might well have been the case. Satisfied with what he had accomplished, and under orders to permit the Canadian troops to return home in time to gather in the harvest, the Marquis de Montcalm withdrew his forces when his task was finished. Possibly he felt that victory was too dearly purchased at the cost of such horrors as had followed the capture of Fort William Henry.
Pringle recovered from his wounds, which, though numerous, were none of them severe. The spell of rest was welcome to all after the fatigues and privations of the siege. Fritz was an expert huntsman, and kept their larder well stocked; and when they were ready to travel, he was able to lead them safely through the forest, towards the haunts where Rogers and his Rangers were likely to be met with.
It was upon a clear September afternoon that they first met white men, or indeed human beings of any kind; for they had sedulously avoided falling in with Indians, and the loneliness of the forest had become a little oppressive to Pringle and Roche, although they were eager to learn the arts of woodcraft, and were proving apt pupils. They were both going to volunteer to join Rogers' bold band of Rangers, for they had grown almost disheartened at the regular army service, where one blunder and disaster was invariably capped by another; and the life of the Rangers did at least give scope for personal daring and adventure, and might enable them to strike a blow now and again at the enemy who had wrought them such woe.
They heard themselves hailed one day out of the heart of the forest by a cheery English voice.
"What ho! who goes there?"
"Friend to Rogers and his Rangers!" called back Fritz, in the formula of the forest, and the next minute a bronzed and bright-faced, handsome man had sprung lightly out of the thicket, and stood before them.
He was a stranger to Fritz, but something in his dress and general aspect proclaimed him to be a Ranger, and he grasped Fritz by the hand warmly.
"You come in good time to give us news. We have been far afield-almost as far as Niagara itself. We hear rumours of disaster and treachery; but hitherto we have had no certain tidings. Is it true that Fort William Henry has fallen?"
The tale was told once again, other Rangers crowding round to hear. Pringle was naturally the spokesman, and Fritz, singling out from the group a man whom he had known before, asked him who the gallant-looking stranger was who seemed like the leader of a band.
"That is Lord Howe," was the answer. "He came out from England to fight the French; but the expedition to Louisbourg came to nothing through delay and mismanagement. He landed, and whilst waiting for further orders from home he has joined the Rangers, in order to learn their methods of fighting. Never was hardier or braver man, or one more cheerful and blithe. Even the stern Rogers himself unbends when he is near. He has been the very life of our party since he has joined us."
Fritz soon found that this was no exaggeration. Howe was a splendid comrade and Ranger, full of courage, the hardiest of the hardy, never failing in spirits whatever were the hardships of the life, and showing such aptitude for generalship and command that already he had made his mark amongst the hardy Rangers, and was entrusted with enterprises of difficulty and danger.
It was not much that could be done against the foe with the inclement winter season approaching. The snow fell early. The Canadians and regulars had gone into winter quarters; but there was still a garrison in Ticonderoga, and to harass and despoil that garrison was the pastime of the Rangers. They stole beneath the walls upon the frozen lake. They carried off cattle, and made banquets off their carcasses. If they could not do with all the meat themselves, they would leave the carcasses at the foot of the walls, sometimes with mocking letters attached to the horns.
Thus, after a more than usually successful raid, when they had taken two prisoners and driven off a number of head of cattle, they tied to the horns of one of the slain beasts the following words, written large for all to read.
"I am obliged to you, sir, for the rest you have allowed me to take, and for the fresh meat you have supplied me with. I shall take good care of my prisoners. My compliments to the Marquis de Montcalm.
" – (Signed)
"ROGERS."
But in spite of these successful raids, a misfortune was in store for the gallant Rangers in the early spring which broke up and scattered their band for that season, and spread throughout the district the false report of Rogers' death.
Captain Hebecourt was commanding the French at Ticonderoga, and in March he received large reinforcements of Canadians and Indians, and the latter instantly detected recent marks of snowshoes in the vicinity betraying the neighbourhood of white men. An attack was therefore organized to try to rid the place of the pestilent Rangers, as the French called them; whilst, as it so happened, the Rangers had no knowledge of the reinforcements which had come in to the fort.
Rogers' fault was ever a daring rashness, and when one day he and his little band saw the advance of a party of Indians, he drew his men under cover and greeted them with a hot and fatal fire.
But this was only the advance guard. Unknown and unguessed at by Rogers, the large body behind was approaching, and the next moment the whole place was echoing with triumphant yells, as the pursuing Rangers were met by a compact force outnumbering them by four to one, who sprang furiously upon them, trying to hack them to pieces.
Rogers, gallantly backed by Lord Howe, who had all the instinct of the true general, recalled them hastily and formed them up on the slope of a hill, where they made a gallant stand, and drove back the enemy again and again. But outnumbered as they were, it was a terrible struggle, and Ranger after Ranger dropped at his post; whilst at last the cry was raised that the foe had surrounded them upon the rear, and nothing was left them but to take to the forest in flight.
"To the woods, men, to the woods!" shouted Rogers. "Leave me, and every man for himself!"
Indeed it was soon impossible for any party to keep together. It was just one dash from tree to tree for bare life, seeking to evade the wily foe, and seeing brave comrades drop at every turn.
Rogers, Howe, and about twenty fine fellows were making a running fight for it along the crest of the ridge. Pringle, Roche, and Fritz were separated from these, but kept together, and by the use of all their strength and sagacity succeeded in eluding the Indians and hiding themselves in the snow-covered forest.
All was desolation around them. A heavy snowstorm gathered and burst. They were hopelessly separated from their comrades, and Fritz, who was their guide in woodcraft, was wounded in the head, and in a strangely dazed condition.
"I can take you to Rogers' camp, nevertheless," he kept repeating. "We must not lie down, or we shall die. But I can find the road-I can find the road. I know the forest in all its aspects; I shall not lose the way."
It was a terrible night. They had no food but a little ginger which Pringle chanced to have in his pocket, and a bit of a sausage that Roche had secreted about him. The snow drifted in their faces. They were wearied to death, yet dared not lie down; and though always hoping to reach the spot where Fritz declared that Rogers was certain to be found, they discovered, when the grey light of morning came, that they had only fetched a circle, and were at the place they had started from, in perilous proximity to the French fort.
Yet as they gazed at one another in mute despair a more terrible thing happened. The Indian war whoop sounded loud in their ears, and a band of savages dashed out upon them. Before they could attempt resistance in their numbed state, they were surrounded and carried off captive.
"We can die like men; that is all that is left to us!" said Pringle, pressing up to Roche to whisper in his ear. "Heaven grant they kill us quickly; it is the only grace we can hope for now."
Dizzy and faint and exhausted, they were hurried along by their captors they knew not whither. They had come out from the forest, and the sun was beginning to shine round them, when they suddenly heard a voice shouting out something the meaning of which they could not catch; and the next moment a body of white men came running up wearing the familiar uniform of French soldiers and officers.
"Uncle!" cried a lad's clear voice, speaking in French, a language perfectly intelligible to Fritz, "that tall man there is the one who saved Corinne and me in the forest that day when we were surrounded and nearly taken by the Rangers. Get him away from the Indians; they shall not have him! He saved us from peril once; we must save him now."
"Assuredly, my son," came the response, in a full, sonorous voice; and Fritz, rallying his failing powers, shook off for a moment the mists which seemed to enwrap him, and saw that a fine-looking man of benevolent aspect, wearing the habit of an ecclesiastic, was speaking earnestly to the Indians who had them in their hands, whilst several French officers and soldiers had formed up round them.
There was some quick and rather excited talk between the Abbe and the dusky savages; but he appeared to prevail with them at length, and Fritz heard the order given:
"Take these men into the fort, and give them every care and attention. I shall come later to see how my orders have been carried out."
The men saluted. They cut the cords which bound the prisoners. They led them away kindly enough.
The lad who had first spoken pressed up to the side of Fritz.
"I will take care of you, and my uncle will heal your wound. You remember how Corinne promised some day to return the good favour that you did us. You are our guests; you are not prisoners. My uncle, the Abbe, has said so, and no one will dare to dispute his word. He is the Abbe de Messonnier, whom all the world loves and reveres."