CHAPTER XXXI
FALL OF FORT NIAGARA
So intent were Dave and his enemy on getting the better of each other that neither noticed their close proximity to the river until it was too late to do anything to save themselves.
Down they went through the flying spray, to strike the boiling waters which flowed so rapidly at the base of the rocks. Both went under like a flash and with equal quickness were borne along by that treacherous current which had proved the death of so many in the past and will most likely bring death to many more in the future.
The redman did not relax his hold even when both had been under the surface for some time. To him it was a struggle to the death, and he cared not how the grim terror might come, so long as the hated white person should go down with him.
But Dave, much younger, and with the hope of youth in his veins, did not intend to give up thus easily. As the waters of the river closed over him the idea of further battle with his opponent ended, and his one thought was now of how to save himself from drowning. He had been warned of the stream's treachery, and he knew that to keep from perishing would be no easy task.
With all the strength he could command he essayed to push the Indian away from him. But the warrior clung closer, for he could not swim and knew he could gain nothing by being left to himself. Thus the pair continued to struggle, and in the meanwhile the current carried them further and further away from the spot where the unfortunate tumble had occurred.
"I must get loose somehow!" thought the youth. "If only I could break that hold on my throat!"
But the hold was like that of a steel band, and instead of loosening it seemed to grow tighter, until poor Dave's head began to swim and he gave himself up for lost. He drew up his knee and forced it against the Indian's breast, but still his endeavors had no effect. And now the water began to enter his mouth and nose and he felt himself growing unconscious. A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind—of Henry and Sam, and of his father and the other dear ones left behind. Was this to be the end of all—this drowning in the grasp of a hideously painted Indian?
Suddenly came an awful shock which threw Dave heels over head in the swirling waters. In their rapid passage down the stream, the Indian's head had struck fairly and squarely on a jagged rock just below the surface. The fearful impact of the blow had crushed in the warrior's skull like an eggshell, and instantly his hold relaxed, and in a moment more the body passed from sight.
The shock threw Dave on another rock, rising less than a foot above the surface of the stream. Amid the foam and spray he felt the edge of the stone and by instinct more than reason he clutched at it wildly and held fast. Then, as he recovered his breath, he drew himself up until his head and his back were out of the water. His feet swung around with the current and there he remained, with the water tugging strongly to drag him down from his temporary place of safety.
He was in this position when discovered by the sharp eyes of Henry and Sam Barringford, and with all possible speed they ran down to the bit of shore which stuck out to within thirty feet of Dave's resting place.
"Dave! Dave!" called Henry. "Are you all right?"
"Henry! Help me! I—I can't stand th—this strain much longer," was the answer, delivered with a jerk and a gasp.
"We'll have to git a rope," came from Barringford. He raised his voice. "Hold tight, Dave, and we'll save you!"
He was off on the run then and Henry heard him crashing along the trail of the portage. Dave could hear but little save the pounding and rushing of the river torrent on all sides. He looked toward his cousin through the flying spray and the appeal went straight to Henry's heart.
The young soldier looked around. Not far away grew a number of saplings. He leaped toward the nearest, and with his hunting knife commenced to hack it down. The task was almost completed when Barringford reappeared.
"Thought I knowed whar I could git a rope," said the backwoodsman, as he held up the article. "Seen a dead Frencher with it a spell back. Going to git a tree, eh? Perhaps we'll need thet too. Let's try the rope fust."
He made a noose, and flung it forth with care. It slid close to where Dave lay, but the youth failed to grasp it. Then the rope was flung a second and a third time.
At last Dave caught the noose, and managed, although not without great difficulty, to slide it up his left arm above the elbow. This would leave his hands free to battle with any obstruction which might threaten him in the dangerous passage from the rock to the shore.
"Are you ready to be pulled in?" queried Barringford.
"Yes, but be careful. There's a sharp rock just below this point. I just caught sight of it," answered Dave.
"We'll pull you up stream—if we can," answered the backwoodsman.
In another moment Dave was again in the mad current. Planting their feet firmly between cracks in the rocks on shore, Henry and Barringford pulled in as quickly as possible.
As all had supposed, the current swung Dave down the stream and then flung him up along the rocks lining the bank. Still holding the rope Barringford told Henry to run down and help his cousin out of the water, and this the young soldier did.
Poor Dave was more dead than alive, and for a good half hour felt too weak to move from the river bank. While he was resting, with the others beside him, a small detachment of the English grenadiers came up.
"The battle is over," said one of them, in answer to Barringford's question on that point. "We've whipped 'em finely, and it's doubtful if they ever come back to try it over again."
"If that's the fact, then it means the fall of Fort Niagara," put in Henry. "The commander there has undoubtedly been waiting for reinforcements."
"Well, we're here to make the fort surrender," answered the soldier from England.
The soldiers had some rations with them, including some coffee, and after Barringford had started a fire whereat Dave might dry himself, the youth was given something hot to drink, which did much to revive him.
What Henry had said about the fall of the fort was true. That very evening General Johnson sent a Major Harvey to the commander of the fort, with news of the defeat at the falls and stating that the fort had better surrender at once, otherwise the Indians friendly to the English might take it into their heads to massacre all the French prisoners.
At first Captain Pouchot could not believe that the disaster to the French cause had been so great, and to convince him he was allowed to send an aide into the British camp. The aide reported that the contest was indeed lost, and thereupon, early on the following morning, Fort Niagara surrendered, and six hundred and eighteen officers and men became English prisoners. Later on, the majority of the prisoners were sent to England while the women and the children who had been driven to the fort for protection were, at their own request, allowed to depart for Montreal.
The fall of Fort Niagara accomplished all that the English government and the colonists had hoped for. It broke the chain of defenses the French had established between the lakes and the lower Mississippi, and closely following this disaster the enemy were compelled to vacate Venango, Presqu'ile, La Bœuf, and other points, including the trading posts on the Ohio and the Kinotah. They retired to Detroit, and to the upper bank of the St. Lawrence, and the English and colonists quickly took possession of the places vacated.
It was not deemed necessary that Dave and his friends return to the vicinity of the fort the next day, and they and a party of rangers numbering eighteen encamped along the bank of the Niagara. Two of the rangers were suffering from wounds in the shoulders, and they and Dave were made as comfortable as possible, so that by the next night the young soldier felt once more like himself.
"But I never want to tumble into that river again," he said to Henry with a shudder. "I felt as if every minute was going to be my last."
"Yes, you were lucky though," answered his cousin. "Think of what that redskin got. It might have been your head instead of his."
"I've seen that Indian before, Henry. I can't tell where, exactly, but I think it was out at father's trading post."
"That's not unlikely. I suppose all those rascally French Indians came on with the French soldiers and traders to wipe us out. Well, they got what they least expected."
While the majority of the rangers were resting several of the number went off in search of game, for provisions were now running low. The most of the birds and wild animals had been scared away by the noise of battle, and the hunters had to beat about for several miles before they found what they wanted.
On the return to the camp beside the river they heard a man calling feebly in French, and moving toward the sound, discovered a French trader lying in some brushwood, covered with blood and dirt, the picture of weakness and despair. The trader had been shot in the leg and could not walk and was suffering for the want of food and water as well as attention to his wound.
"For ze love of heaven, do not leave me here," he begged, piteously. "Help me, kind sirs, and I vill revard you vell."
The trader was evidently a rough sort of a man, yet the rangers took pity on him, even though he did belong to the ranks of the enemy. Food and drink were furnished, and the wound washed and bound up, and then the rangers carried the prisoner with them to the camp.
Dave and Barringford saw the rangers returning, and at the sight of the prisoner Barringford leaped to his feet in high excitement.
"Jean Bevoir!" he exclaimed. "Jean Bevoir, jest as sure as fate!"
"Bevoir!" ejaculated Dave.
"Bevoir?" repeated Henry, who stood near. "Do you mean to say that fellow is Bevoir?"
"It is!" answered Barringford. "He's wounded, too."
Without waiting to hear more, Henry, followed by Dave, ran forward to where the prisoner had been placed on a moss-grown bank.
"You are Jean Bevoir," he began, sternly.
"Ah! you know me, eh?" returned the French trader. "I do not seem to know you?" and a puzzled look crossed his face.
"Then I'll tell you who I am!" roared Henry, clenching his fists. "I am Henry Morris, of Will's Creek. This is my cousin Dave Morris. You helped to steal my little sister Nell. Where is she? Tell me this minute!"
As Henry finished he advanced, as if to strike the prisoner down where he sat. Jean Bevoir grew pale and trembled with fear.
"No! no! do not heet me!" he cried. "I no do zat. Eet ees von mistake! I no see ze gal! I"
"Don't talk that way to me!" interrupted Henry, whose blood was thoroughly aroused. "You'll tell me where she is, and at once, or I'll—I'll—" he hesitated and looked around, and then caught up a gun standing near. "I'll blow your head off, that's what I'll do!"
It is doubtful whether Henry would have carried out his threat, but his manner was so earnest that for once Jean Bevoir, wounded as he was, was well-nigh scared to death. He put up his hands beseechingly. Then he looked at the rangers gathered around; but no one stepped to his aid, for all had heard of his doings, and of how little Nell and the Rose twins had been carried off into captivity by the Indians and of how Bevoir had plotted to hold them for a ransom. Many looked at him as little short of a brigand, or pirate, and would not have been sorry had his miserable existence been ended then and there.
"No! no!" cried the trader and clasped his hands tremblingly before him. "No shoot, please you!"
"Then tell me where my little sister is!"
"I—I know not zat—now. I—I—the Indians da run away, an"
Bevoir broke off short. The gun had been lowered, but now it was once more brought up and the muzzle touched his forehead. He gave a yell of terror and rolled backward.
"Stop! No shoot me! I will tell you all!" he screamed. "No shoot! De gal she in von cave up de river, near de falls. Da Indians bring her dare. No shoot! I show da place. No shoot!"
"In a cave near the falls?" queried Henry.
"Yees, yees! Not far from here. She dare now, if not runned avay. I show, you no shoot me!"
"Then show the way," commanded Henry. "And remember, if you are telling a lie, it will go hard with you."