"The Indians are the plague of the lives of men and officers alike," continued the girl, breaking forth in animated fashion. "They eat up a week's rations in three days, and come clamouring for more. They make rules for the English which they will not observe themselves. They are insolent and disgusting and treacherous. Oh, I cannot think how our people bear it! I would sooner lose all than win through using such tools. I hate to think of victory obtained by such means. You Rangers are brave men; though men dread you, yet they respect you, and would fain imitate your prowess. The Indians are devils--I can find no other name for them. They are fiends, and I verily think that evil will befall us if we league ourselves with them. Thus my uncle tries to teach; but they will not listen to his words."

"Time will show, lady," answered Fritz; "and there are Indians who are gentle and tamable, and are some of them even sincere believers in our Christian faith. I have seen and lived among such in the lands of the south. But here they have been corrupted by the vices of those who should teach them better. It is a disgrace to England and France alike that this should be so."

At this moment the sound of shouting and yelling arose from the forest, and some shots were fired in close succession. The girl started to her feet, looking white and scared; but Fritz and Stark stood close beside her, one on either hand, as if to assure her that no harm should befall her.

The next moment a fair-haired youth, with a strong likeness to the girl, came dashing blindly through the forest, calling her name in accents of frantic fear.

"Corinne, Corinne, Corinne! Where are you? Hide yourself! Have a care! The Rangers are upon us!"

"I am here, Colin. I am safe!" she cried, in her flute-like accents--"I am here all safe. The Rangers are taking care of me. See!"

He pulled up short, blinded and breathless. He had come tearing back to his sister's aid, full of remorse at having been tempted to leave her for a moment in the pleasure of the chase. He stood panting, staring at the strange group, unable to get out a word.

"Call the men in," said Stark, addressing Charles, who had remained silent all the while; "tell them to hurt no one--to make no captures. This lady's escort is to remain unmolested. Bring them here, and we will deliver them their charge safe and sound."

With alacrity Charles disappeared upon his errand. The old tender-heartedness of the man always returned when he saw anything young and helpless. There was no fierceness in his strange face today, and Corinne, looking after him, said wonderingly:

"Who is he? he looks like one who has seen a ghost!"

In a few terse phrases Fritz told the outline of Charles's story, and how he himself with his companion had found the hapless man and his brother.

"Oh, this war is a terrible thing!" cried Corinne, pressing her hands together. "It makes men into devils, I think. Ah, why can we not live at peace and concord with our brothers? Surely out here, in these wild lands, French and English might join hands, and live as brothers instead of foes."

"I fear me," said Fritz, looking out before him with wide gaze, "that that time is far enough away--that it will never come until the kingdoms of this world have become the kingdom of our God and of His Christ, when He shall reign for ever and ever."

She looked at him in quick surprise. She had not expected to hear such words in the mouth of one of Rogers' Rangers.

"I have heard my uncle speak so," she said slowly; "but the soldiers think of nothing but fighting and conquest."

"We used to think much of that day down in my southern home. We were taught to look for the day of the Lord and the coming of Christ. But men were even there growing weary and impatient. The strife of parties was spoiling our home. That is why so many of us journeyed forth to see the world. But I do not forget what my forefathers taught and believed."

There was a light of quick sympathy in the girl's eyes; but she had no time to reply, for the Rangers were coming back, with the French soldiers in their company. They had surprised the whole band, and had practically made them prisoners when Charles came up with his strange message, and they marched them along to see what it all meant.

Great was their astonishment when they saw the golden-haired girl with her fearless bearing, and the handsome lad standing beside her, still breathless and bewildered.

"Release these men," said Stark briefly; "they have been told off for the service of this lady. Let them resume their charge, and return in safety to the fort, or continue their chase in the forest at pleasure. We do not war with women.

"If you wish to see some pretty hunting, Mistress Corinne, Rogers' Rangers are at your service, and the haunts of bird and beast are well known to us."

The girl's eyes sparkled. She was as full of the love of adventure as any boy could be. She looked at her brother, but he shook his head in doubt.

"I think our father would not wish it," he said. "I thank these gentlemen most gratefully for their courtesy and chivalry, but I think we must be returning to the fort. It may be that the shots will have been heard, and that soldiers may be coming in search of us already.

"We shall not forget your kindness, sir. I trust the day will come when we may be able to requite you in kind;" and he held out his hand, first to Stark and then to Fritz.

Corinne had looked a little mutinous at first; but when her brother spoke of a possible sortie across the water from the fort, her face changed. Perhaps she was not quite so confident of the chivalry of the French soldiers as she had been of that of the Rangers.

"Perhaps it is best so; yet I should have loved to scour the forest with Rogers' Rangers.

"Are you the great Rogers himself?" she asked, turning to Stark, and then letting her glance wander to Fritz's fine face.

"No, Mistress Corinne; Rogers himself is away farther afield," answered Stark. "This is Fritz Neville, and I am John Stark, whom he honours with the title of his lieutenant."

"Fritz Neville--John Stark," she repeated, looking from one to the other, a smile in her frank, sweet eyes. "I shall not forget those names. I shall say them over every day to myself, and pray that in times of warfare the saints will watch over and protect the brave English Rangers, who had us as prisoners in their power, and let us go away safe and sound."

She held out her hand as she spoke, first to one and then to the other of the men, both of whom took it reverently, pressed it, and bowed low with a sort of rude homage. The other Rangers sent up a little cheer for the brave young lady who spoke their tongue so well; and the French soldiers, who looked a little ashamed of the predicament in which they had placed themselves, smiled, and became friendly and at ease, realizing that all was well.

"We will escort you to your boat, lady," said Stark; "you will suffer us that privilege."

"Ah yes, if it will be safe. But they will not dare fire from the fort when they see that our company is returning. I would I could take you back with me, and introduce you to my father and uncle; but perchance it would not be safe."

"Perhaps we shall make their acquaintance some other way!" said Stark, with a touch of grim humour; and Corinne, understanding him, exclaimed:

"Ah, do not let us think of that! let us only remember that we have met as friends in the wild forest."

"A pleasant memory truly," answered Stark gallantly, "and one so new to a Ranger that he will never be like to forget it;" and as they pursued their way towards the lake, he held the youth and the girl spellbound and breathless by tales of the strange life of adventure which they led, and by detailing some of their hairbreadth escapes from the hands of Indians and Frenchmen as they scoured the forest, lay in ambush, and skulked beneath the very ramparts of the enemy's fortifications, hearing the talk of the sentries overhead.

"Nay, but you are brave men in sooth; you deserve success. The fortunes of war must surely be yours at last," cried Corinne, with covert enthusiasm.

"Ah! here is the lake, and here is our boat. Nay, come not further. I fear lest hurt should come to you. I thank you again with all my heart. Perhaps the day will come when we shall see each other again. I would fain believe that I shall meet again with Rogers' bold, chivalrous Rangers."

"It may be--it may be," answered Stark, with a smile. "Farewell, sweet Mistress Corinne; may you come safely through all perils by land and water. Your brave spirit will carry you well through life's troubled sea, I think."

She smiled, and stepped into the boat. Then suddenly turning and waving her hand, she said:

"I will tell you one thing which my uncle has said. Whether he will be a true prophet or no I cannot tell. His words are these, and they were spoken to M. de Montcalm: 'You are safe now, for England is governed by an imbecile--the Duke of Newcastle--a minister without parts, understanding, or courage. But there is another man in England of a different calibre. If ever you hear that Pitt is at the head of the administration, then look to your laurels; for, if I be not greatly deceived, that man has brain and energy to turn the whole tide of battle. Three years after he begins to rule England's policy, and France will have begun to lose her empire in the West!'"

Chapter 4: Vengeance And Disaster.

The episode of Corinne, and the prophecy she had quoted to them, formed one of the bright episodes in a year which brought little success or relief to the army encamped upon the waters of Lake George. There was no campaign that year. The two armies lay inside their respective fortifications, each keeping on the defensive; and the bold Rangers alone did active skirmishing service, as has been related, appearing at all sorts of apparently impossible points, swooping down upon an unwary hunting party or a sleeping sentinel, bringing in spoil to the fort, burning transports bound for Ticonderoga, and doing gallant irregular service which kept the garrison and the Rangers in spirits, but did little or nothing to effect any change in the condition of affairs.

Anxiously was news waited for from England. What was the parent country going to do for her Western children in their hour of need and extremity? There were rumours afloat of a massing of Indian tribes to be let loose upon the hapless settlers along the Indian border; and although Sir William Johnson, that able agent of England's with the natives, was hard at work seeking to oppose and counteract French diplomacy amongst the savage tribes, there was yet so much disunion and misunderstanding and jealousy amongst English commanders and governors, that matters were constantly at a deadlock; whilst France, with her centralized authority, moved on towards her goal unimpeded and at ease (as it seemed to the harassed English officials), although not without her internal troubles also.

November brought about the usual breaking up of the camps on both sides. The French soldiers were drafted back to Canada in great companies, sorely beset and harassed at times by the action of the Rangers; whilst Winslow drew off the bulk of his men to winter quarters in the larger towns of New England and the adjacent colonies, leaving Major Eyre in charge of the fort, with sufficient men to hold it during the dead winter season.

Rogers' Rangers were independent of weather. They pursued their hardy and adventurous calling as well through the ice-bound winter months as during the genial season of summer. But from time to time his followers liked to visit their homes and friends, and Winslow was glad enough to have their company upon his march back upon civilization; for the Rangers were masters of the art of woodcraft, and were the most able allies when difficulties arose through the rising of rivers or the intricacies of the forest paths.

Stark and his little band, now reduced from a dozen to nine, accompanied the army back to winter quarters; for John desired to see his friends, and also to raise recruits for next season's campaign, now that he had learned experience, and had inspiring tales to tell of adventure, victory, and quick retributive vengeance upon a treacherous and rapacious enemy.

Fritz and Charles both accompanied him, though the latter with some reluctance. He would rather have remained in the neighbourhood of the French lines, behind which lay the foe he was bent on meeting once more face to face; but Stark had represented to him that his sister would wish to see him once more, and Rogers had appointed January as the time when he and his Rangers would be back, when the ice would be firm and hard, and they could renew their wild winter warfare, whilst during the earlier months of the winter there was no certainty of carrying on any successful operations. Heavy rain and soft snow were too much even for the hardy Rangers to grapple with. They were practically useless now till the frost came and fastened its firm grip upon the sleeping world.

There was joy in many a city throughout the English colony when the troops marched in; although there was mourning in many homes for the loss of some son or brother killed by the foe, or by the many forms of sickness which prevailed at the fort.

There were troubles, too, with the citizens about the billeting of the English contingent, and many were the heart burnings which arose between stubborn townsmen and military rulers before these matters could be adjusted. But all this made little matter in houses like that of Benjamin Ashley, who was a true patriot at heart, and threw open his doors not only to his wife's brother, but to as many war-weary soldiers as he could accommodate, and was never tired of hearing all that they could tell as to their past experiences, or of discussing with them the probable result of the coming struggle.

Fritz would sit beside Susanna's spinning wheel in the evening, telling her stories to which she listened in open-eyed amaze, and giving eager heed to the discussion of politics amongst the other men. Charles would sit apart, absent and dreamy--a strange figure amongst the rest-- very gentle and tender in his manner towards Hannah and Susanna, but taking little or no interest in the daily round of life, and only counting the days till he could return to the forest and his mission of vengeance.

There was great discontent in the hearts of the colonists. They declared that nothing was done for them, and yet they were never prepared to bestir themselves actively. When Fritz asked eagerly about the English statesman Pitt, he was told that he and the Duke of Newcastle were now acting together in the ministry, and that some hoped for better things in consequence. But it was evident to all by this time that the first move made by the new minister would be directed against Louisbourg in Acadia, the only stronghold yet remaining to the French in Cape Breton Island. After driving the enemy from thence, he might, and probably would, turn his attention to the western frontier; but meantime the colonists here would have mainly to hold back the enemy by their own united efforts, and unity of action was just the thing which appeared most difficult to them.

It was not encouraging; but the hardy Rangers were not to be disheartened, and true to their promise, they only stayed within winter quarters till after the festive Christmas season; and then gathering together a compact little body of volunteers, Stark set forward once again for the wild forest, where he was to meet Rogers and his band.

Fritz was ready to go, despite his parting with pretty Susanna, whose bright eyes sparkled with tears as she said goodbye. It was not a time for making new ties; yet the little maiden knew very well by this time that her life and his were bound together by a strong and tender bond, and that into her own something had entered which could never be taken away.

They met in the heart of the forest, a few miles from Fort William Henry--Rogers and his large company, and Stark with his smaller contingent. But Stark was now the leader of a band of five-and-twenty bold spirits; for so inspiring had been his stories of the Ranger's life that volunteers had come crowding in, and he had had some ado to get rid of those who were manifestly unfit for the life. Even Ebenezer Jenkyns, in his wild desire to win the approval of Susanna, had begged to be permitted to join the Ranger band, and Stark had had some difficulty in ridding himself of the youthful Quaker, suddenly possessed of martial ambitions and ardour.

Right glad were the garrison at the fort to see the Rangers come marching in. They had been quite quiet, save for a few minor nocturnal raids from Indians, which had not done much harm. Their chief foe was smallpox, which kept breaking out amongst the men, as well as other forms of sickness. They did not understand sanitation, and the fort was dirty and unhealthy. Rogers would not have his men lodged within it; but the Rangers built themselves huts just outside, and when not otherwise occupied, spent their time in the construction of boats and sloops for use on the lake, in which work Major Eyre had kept his men employed during the previous months.

But it was not for peaceful toil like this that the Rangers had gathered together; in a little while, accordingly, a scouting party was formed, with Crown Point as its goal.

Snowshoes and skates were looked to, and the hardy Rangers started off beneath the grey, leaden winter sky, gliding through the grim, ghost-like forest, silent as death, past ice-bound waterfalls, and forests of fir and larch bent and bowed by the load of snow, ever onwards and northwards, always on the alert, ready for instant action, fearless and undismayed in a white wilderness and in those trackless solitudes which would strike dismay into many a bold heart.

They skirted round Ticonderoga, not showing themselves to their foe, and encamped upon the edge of Lake Champlain, lighting fires, and making themselves as comfortable as circumstances permitted. They had travelled hard for many days, and were glad of a little rest.

But this rest was not of long duration. Early the next morning, before it was well light, Charles, the sleepless watcher, awoke the camp by his low whistle of warning.

"I hear the sound of a sledge on the ice!" he said.

In a moment every Ranger was on the alert; every man had seized his weapons, the fires were stamped out, and preparations were made for an instant move.

A few minutes more and they heard the sound also--the sharp ring of a sledge upon the ice, and the beat of horse hooves as it drew nearer.

Now horses were prizes greatly in demand at the English fort, and Rogers was eager to obtain possession of this prize. He called out to Stark to make a dash along the lake side with a dozen of his men, and try to head it off towards the spot where he and the rest of the Rangers would wait. And hardly had the order left his lips before Stark was off upon his mission.

On and on dashed the sledge with its unsuspecting occupants. They had come forth from Ticonderoga, and were heading for Crown Point. Stark and his men flitted like shadows along the snowy banks. The horses paused. There was something amiss with the harness. Stark looked at his men, gave a fine English cheer, and rushed forth upon the ice, with a dozen stout followers at his heels.

In a moment the occupants of the sledge saw their peril. A yell arose from the throats of all the three. They turned like lightning, and the horses sprang forward at a gallop; but in a moment they were surrounded by Stark and his men, who called upon them to surrender, and sprang at the horses to stay their headlong flight.

But now a new terror was added to the scene. Round the bend of the lake swept other sledges--quite an army of them; and whilst the French sent up shouts for help, Stark looked round to see what Rogers and his company were doing.

"Here they come! here they come! Rogers' Rangers! Rogers' Rangers!" yelled his men, as they saw the compact band of veteran woodsmen rushing forth to their aid.

That cry was well known to the French. For a moment there was a pause, the sledges pulling up as though in doubt whether to rush forward and seek to fight their way through, or to turn and run back to Ticonderoga. But the energy with which the Rangers came on settled that point. Every sledge wheeled round and fled, whilst Rogers' men dashed helter skelter upon them, flinging themselves upon the horses, firing at the occupants, and in spite of all resistance securing three sledges, six horses, and seven French prisoners.

The rest of the sledges escaped, and Rogers and Stark met each other with grave faces.

"They will give notice at Ticonderoga that we are here," said the former. "They will come out against us and cut off our retreat. We must examine the prisoners ourselves and learn all we can from them, and then make our way to the fort as fast as possible through the forest. The enemy may be upon us before nightfall."

Fritz, who spoke French as easily as English, had already been questioning the prisoners separately.

"They all tell the same tale," he said gravely: "they have five hundred regular soldiers at the fort, and Indians coming in daily. They were organizing parties to intercept communication between Fort Edward and Fort William Henry. They are pledged to the extermination of the Rangers wherever they meet them. Directly they know that we are lurking in their vicinity, they will come out in great numbers against us."

Rogers' face was set and stern.

"We will give them a warm welcome when they do!" he said. "Meantime we will lose no time. Light up the fires and dry the ammunition which has become wet. The horses must be sacrificed and the sledges burned. As for the men, we must keep them till the last minute. When we go, they can go back to their fort. They will have nothing to tell there which is not known already. The Rangers slay men in fair fight, but they do not butcher prisoners."

The thing was done. Rogers' commands were carried out, and in cautious single file the band of Rangers crept through the forest by devious tracks known to themselves, keeping eyes and ears ever on the alert.

"Have a care!" came the warning cry of Charles at last; "I hear the cocking of guns."

The words had hardly passed his lips before a volley blazed out from the bushes, and many a bold Ranger fell as he stood, shot through the heart.

"Steady, men--and fire!" cried Rogers, speaking as coolly as though a hail storm and not one of hot lead was raining about them. Blood was running down his cheek from a graze on the temple; and Fritz felt for the first time the stinging sensation in his arm which he had heard described so many times before.

In a moment they had spread themselves out in the best possible manner, retreating upon the hill they had just descended, and covering themselves with the trees, from behind which they fired with unerring accuracy. Stark and some of his men were at the top of the hill, having been the rear guard of the company. They poured a steady, deadly fire into the bushes which concealed the foe; whilst their comrades, running from tree to tree, fell back upon them, and forming on the hilltop, repulsed again and again, with stubborn gallantry, the assault of a foe which they knew must outnumber them by four or five to one.

But the face of Rogers was still set and stern.

"They will try to outflank us next, and get round to the rear," he said between his teeth to Stark. "Stark, you must pick some of our best men, and stop that movement if it occurs. If they get us between two fires, we are all dead men!"

"Fritz, you will be my lieutenant," said Stark, as he looked about him and chose his company. Fritz was at his side in a moment. "We are in as evil a chance as ever men were yet," he added, "but I think we shall live to tell the tale by the warm fireside at home. I have been in tight fixes before this, and have won through somehow. I trust our gallant Rogers will not fall. That would carry confusion to our ranks."

Shoulder to shoulder stood Fritz and Stark, warily watching the movements of the foe. They saw them creeping round the base of the hill--saw it by the movement of the brushwood rather than by anything else; for their foes were used to bush craft, too.

"If anything should go amiss with me today, friend John," said Fritz, as he loaded his piece, looking sternly down into the hollow beneath, "give my love to Susanna, and tell her that her name will be on my lips and my heart in the hour of death."

"Talk not of death, man, but of victory!" cried Stark, whose indomitable cheerfulness never forsook him. "Yet I will remember and give the message to my pretty cousin--for I know that women live on words like these--if the blow has to fall. But never think of that!"

"I do not," answered Fritz; "I hope to come forth safe and sound. But were it otherwise--"

"Fire!" cried Stark, breaking suddenly into the commander; and a sharp, deadly volley blazed forth from the guns of his contingent.

It was plain that the enemy had not expected this flank movement to be observed. Cries of dismay and pain rang through the forest. They broke cover and ran back towards the main body, followed by another well-directed volley from the brave Stark and his men.

Round the spot where Rogers and the main body of the Rangers stood the fight waxed fierce and hot. But Stark held to his post on the spur of the hill, where he saw how the foe was trying to get round to their rear; and again and again his well-aimed volleys sent them flying back decimated to their companions.

But how was it going with the others? The firing was incessant, and shouts and cries told of death and disaster on both sides. Stark bid Fritz make a dash for the main body and bring back word. The brief winter's day was beginning to draw to a close. There was something terrible in the brightness of the fire that was streaming from the thickets as the daylight failed. It seemed as though the very forest was in flames; and the crack of musketry was almost unceasing.

"They are calling upon us to surrender," said Fritz, hastening back with his tale. "The French are calling upon Rogers by name, begging him to trust to their honour and clemency, and promising the best of treatment if he and his brave men will surrender. They are calling out that it is a pity so many bold men should perish like brute beasts. But Rogers stands like a rock, and replies by volley after volley. He has been hit through the wrist, and his head is bound about by a cloth; but he looks like a lion at bay, and will not yield one inch."

"Let us back to his side, and make one great charge against the foe!" shouted Stark, who saw that no further flank movement was to be anticipated now. His men answered by a cheer. They were ready for any display of gallantry and courage, and swore by Stark, who was beloved of all for his happy temper and cheerful, dauntless bravery.

Up the shoulder of the hill and across the ridge they dashed. They shouted their cry of "Rogers' Rangers! Rogers' Rangers!" It was taken up by those upon the top, who gathered together and made a blind rush down towards their foe. The French, taken by surprise at this impetuosity, and afraid of the darkness of the forest, made off in haste for Ticonderoga, having worked sad havoc amongst the bold Rangers, who were left alone with their wounded and dead, the shades of night gathering fast round them, and the camp of the foe within a few miles.

It was a situation of grave peril; but Rogers was not to be daunted. He buried his dead; he gathered together the wounded, and afraid to allow even a night for rest, he marched his party all through the night, and by morning they were upon the shores of Lake George.

"I will fetch a sledge for the wounded," quoth Stark, full of energy and enterprise as usual. "It will puzzle the enemy to find the route we have taken. Lie you here close and keep watch and ward, and I will fetch succour from the fort before the French have time to seek us out."

This was good counsel, and Rogers followed it. Stark, after a quick journey across the ice, brought sledges and soldiers from the fort, and in a few more days the Rangers were brought back in triumph to their huts without Fort William Henry, where they were content to lie idle for a short while, recovering from their wounds and fatigues. Hardly a man had escaped uninjured; and some were very dangerously wounded, and died from the effects of the injuries received. Fritz himself had a slight attack of fever resulting from the wound which he had scarcely noticed in the heat of battle. Stark was almost the only member of the company who had come forth quite unscathed, and he was the life of the party during the next spell of inaction, telling stories, setting the men to useful tasks, making drawings of the French forts for the guidance of the English, and amusing the whole place by his sudden escapades in different directions.

The Rangers were further cheered by a letter of thanks from General Abercromby, lately sent out from England, recognizing their gallant service, and promising that it should be made known to the King.

But the adventures of the winter were not over, although the days were lengthening out, and the blustering rains and winds of March had come. The snow was greatly lessened; but a spell of frost still held the lake bound, and the rigours of the season were little abated.

It was St. Patrick's Day; and as some of the soldiers in Fort William Henry were Irish, they had celebrated the anniversary by a revel which had left a large proportion more or less drunk and incapable. Their English comrades had followed their lead with alacrity, and the Fort was resounding with laughter and song.

But the Rangers in the huts outside were on the alert and as Stark remarked with a smile, they must keep watch and ward that night, for nobody else seemed to have any disposition to do so.

Major Eyre, in pity for the forlorn condition of his men, had not restrained them from amusing themselves in their own fashion upon this anniversary. It was well, however, that there were some sleepless watchers on the alert that night; for as the grey dawn began to break, a sound was heard over the ice as though of an approaching multitude. The Rangers gave the alarm, and manned the guns. There was nothing to be seen through the murky mists of dawn; but the guns belched forth fire and round shot towards the lake, and the sounds suddenly ceased.

An hour later Charles came rushing in; there was blood upon his face, and his eyes were wild, but in his excitement he seemed to know nothing of any hurt.

"They are coming! they are coming! I have seen them! There are hundreds upon hundreds of them, well armed, well equipped with everything that men can want. They are bound for the fort. They are going to take it, They have sworn it! And he is in their ranks. I saw him with these eyes. He is there. He is one of them. We shall meet again, and this time he shall not escape me!"

In a moment all was excitement and bustle. The men, sobered by the near presence of danger, were at their posts in a moment. All knew that the fort was not strong, and that a resolute assault by a large force would he difficult to repel; but at least they had not been taken by surprise, and that was something.

A yell from without told that something was going on there. The Rangers were driving off a party of men who had crept up under cover of the mist wreaths, hoping to fire the huts outside, and so burn the fort. They were sent helter skelter over the ice to rejoin their comrades; and after a pause of some hours an officer was seen advancing from the French lines bearing a flag.

He was blindfolded, that he might not see the weak parts of the fort, and was brought to Major Byre and the other officers. His message was to advise them to surrender the fort and obtain for themselves favourable terms, threatening a massacre if this was refused.

"I shall defend myself to the last!" said Major Byre calmly. "Englishmen do not give up their forts at the bidding of the foe. We can at least die like men, if we cannot defend ourselves, and that has yet to be proved."

The news of this demand and the reply flew like wildfire through the ranks, and inspired the men with courage and ardour. The Rangers were brought within the fort, and all was made ready for the assault.

A storm of shot hailed upon the fort. Through the gathering darkness of the night they could only distinguish the foe by the red glare from their guns. The English fort was dark and silent. It reserved its fire till the enemy came closer. The crisis was coming nearer and nearer. There was a tense feeling in the air, as though an electric cloud hovered over all.

Charles went about with a strange look upon his face.

"He is there--he is coming. We shall meet!" he kept repeating; and all through that night there was no sleep for him--he wandered about like a restless spirit. No service was demanded of him. He was counted as one whose mind wanders. Yet in the hour of battle none could fight with more obstinate bravery than Charles Angell.

"Fire! fire! fire!"

It was Charles's voice that raised the cry in the dead of the night. No attack had been made upon the fort; but under cover of darkness the enemy had crept nearer and nearer to the outlying buildings, and tongues of flame were shooting up.

Instantly the guns were turned in that direction, and a fusillade awoke the silence of the sleeping lake, whilst cries of agony told how the bullets and shots had gone home.

"Come, Rangers," shouted Rogers, "follow me out and fall upon them! Drive them back! Save the fort from fire!"

Rogers never called upon his men in vain. No service was too full of peril for them. Ignorant as they were of the number or power of their assailants, they dashed in a compact body out of the side gate towards the place where the glare of the fire illumined the darkness of the night.

Dark forms were hurrying hither and thither; but the moment the Rangers appeared with their battle cry, there was an instant rout and flight.

"After them!" shouted Rogers; and the men dashed over the rough ground, pursuers and pursued, shouting, yelling, firing--and they saw that some bolder spirits amongst the Frenchmen had even set fire to the sloop on the stocks which Rogers had been teaching the soldiers how to construct.

But in the forefront of the pursuit might be seen one wild, strange figure with flying hair and fiery eyes. He turned neither to the right hand nor to the left, but ran on and on in a straight line, keeping one flying figure ever in view.

The flying figure seemed to know that some deadly pursuit was meant; for he, too, never turned nor swerved, but dashed on and on. He gained the frozen lake; but the treacherous, slippery ice seemed to yield beneath his feet. He had struck the lake at the point where it was broken up to obtain water for the fort.

A yell of horror escaped him. He flung up his arms and disappeared.

But his pursuer dashed on and on, a wild laugh escaping him as he saw what had happened. The next minute he was bending down over the yawning hole, and had put his long, strong arm through it into the icy water beneath.

He touched nothing. The hapless man had sunk to rise no more. Once sucked beneath the deep waters of the frozen lake, exhausted as he was, there was no hope for him. Charles cut and hacked at the ice blocks, regardless of his own personal safety; and after long labour he succeeded in moving some of them, and in dragging out the lifeless corpse, already frozen stiff, of the man he had sworn to slay.

The French were flying over the frozen ice, the Rangers in pursuit. They came upon the strange spectacle, and stopped short in amaze. A dead man lay upon the ice of the lake where it was broken and dangerous, his dead face turned up to the moonlight, his hands clinched and stiff and frozen. Beside the corpse sat Charles, his glassy eyes fixed upon the dead face, himself almost as stiff and stark.

They came up and spoke to him; but he only pointed to the corpse.

"That is he--that is he!" he cried hoarsely. "I saw him, and he saw me. We fought, and he fled. I have been running after him over ice and snow for years and years. He is dead now--dead, dead, dead! The Lord has delivered him into my hand. My work is done!"

He stood up suddenly, threw up his arms, and then fell heavily forward face downwards upon the ice.

When they lifted him up and carried him within the fort, it was to find that Charles Angell the Ranger was dead.

Book 3: Disaster.

Chapter 1: A Tale Of Woe.

The intrepidity of the officer in command, and the alertness and courage of the Rangers, had saved Fort William Henry from one threatened disaster.

When the French had fairly retreated, after having been forced to content themselves with the burning of the boats and the unfinished sloop and certain of the surrounding huts and buildings, the English found out from their prisoners how great their peril had been. For the French force sent against them had been a strong one, well equipped, and hopeful of surprising the place and carrying it by a coup de main.

Failing in this, they had made a show of hostility, but had not really attempted anything very serious. The season was against anything like a settled siege, and they had retreated quickly to their own quarters.

But this attack was only to be the prelude to one on a very different scale already being organized at headquarters. The English heard disquieting rumours from all quarters, and turned eager eyes towards England and their own colonies from whence help should come to them, for their numbers were terribly thinned by disease, and death in many forms had taken off pretty well a third of their number.

Rogers himself had been attacked by smallpox, and upon his recovery he and the large body of the Rangers betook themselves to the woods and elsewhere, preferring the free life of the forest, with its manifold adventures and perils, to the monotonous life in an unhealthy fort.

But Fritz remained behind. When Rogers left he was not fit to accompany him, having been suffering from fever, though he had escaped the scourge of smallpox. He had felt the death of Charles a good deal. He had become attached to the strange, half-crazed man who had been his special comrade for so long. It seemed like something wanting in his life when his care was no longer required by any one person. Indeed all the Rangers missed their white-headed, wild-eyed, sharp-eared recruit; and as the saying is, many a better man could better have been spared.

Stark went with Rogers, too much the true Ranger now to be left behind. Fritz intended to follow them as soon as he was well enough. Meantime he had formed a warm friendship with two young officers lately come to the fort with the new commander, Colonel Monro--one of them being Captain Pringle, and the other a young lieutenant of the name of Roche.

Colonel Monro was a Scotchman, a brave man and a fine soldier. Those under his command spoke of him in terms of warm and loving admiration. Fritz heard of some of his achievements from his new friends, and in his turn told them of his own adventures and of the life he had led during the past two years.

"We have heard of the Rangers many a time and oft," cried Roche. "We had thought of offering ourselves to Rogers as volunteers; but men are so sorely wanted for the regular army and the militia that our duty seemed to point that way. But I should like well to follow the fortunes of the hardy Rogers."

It was true indeed that men were sorely wanted at Fort William Henry. Colonel Monro looked grave and anxious as he examined its defences. It was an irregular bastioned square, built of gravel and earth, crowned by a rampart of heavy logs, and guarded by ditches on three sides, and by the lake on the north. But it was not strong enough to stand a very heavy assault, although it was provided with seventeen cannons, besides some mortars and swivels.

The garrison numbered at this time something over two thousand; but there were many sick amongst these, and sickness was inclined to spread, to the grave anxiety of the commander.

Fourteen miles away to the south lay Fort Edward, and General Webb was there with some fifteen hundred men. He had sent on as many men as he felt able to spare some short time before, in response to an appeal from Colonel Monro. Disquieting rumours of an advance from Ticonderoga were every day coming to their ears. Summer was at its height, and if a blow were to be struck, it would certainly be soon.

A scouting party was sent out under the command of a certain Colonel Parker, in order to learn the strength of the enemy and what they were about. Three days passed in anxious suspense, and as nothing was heard of the scouting party, Fritz begged leave to go forth with a handful of men to look for them, promising not to expose himself or them to danger. As he knew the forest so well, and was an experienced Ranger, leave was quickly obtained, and Pringle and Roche were permitted to be of the company.

They started with the first dawn of the summer's morning; but they had not gone far before they came upon traces of their companions. Fritz's quick eyes saw tracks in the forest which bespoke the near neighbourhood of Indians, and this made them all proceed with great caution. The tracks, however, were some days old, he thought, and led away to the westward. At one spot he pointed out to his companions certain indications which convinced him that a large number of Indians had lately been lying there.

"Pray Heaven it has not been an ambush sent to outwit and overpower our men!" he said. "What would those raw lads from New Jersey do if suddenly confronted by a crew of yelling Indians? I trust I am no coward myself, but the sound of that awful war whoop thrills me still with a kind of horror; it has been the forerunner of many a tragedy to the white man out in wildernesses such as this."

"I have heard it once," said Pringle, with an expressive gesture, "and I could well wish never to hear it again, did not duty to King and country drive me willingly forth to fight against these dusky savages, who make of these fair lands a veritable hell upon earth.

"Hark! what is that?"

It was like the sound of a faint cry not so very far away. They listened, and it was presently repeated. Fritz started forward at a run.

"That is no Indian voice," he exclaimed; "it is one of our men calling for aid. He has heard our voices."

Followed by the rest of the party, Fritz ran forward, and soon came out into a more open glade, commanded by the ridge where he had observed the signs of Indian occupation. As he did so he uttered a startled exclamation, which was repeated in all kinds of keys by those who came after. For in this glade lay the bodies of full fifty of their soldiers, for the most part stripped and scalped; and the place was so trodden and bloodstained as to show plainly that it had been the scene of a bloody conflict.

Crawling forth from a little sheltered gorge was a wan, dishevelled figure, bloodstained and ghastly. And Fritz, springing forward, caught the lad in his strong arms, whilst he fell to feeble sobbing in the plenitude of his thankfulness and relief.

When he was fed and heartened up he had a terrible tale to tell.

It had been as Fritz thought. A party of Indians had been crouching in the forest, and had fallen upon the company unawares. Colonel Parker had not been wise. He had divided his men into two companies. One had gone by boats, and one had skirted through the forest. What had happened to the boats the lad could not tell. He had been one of the very few survivors of the land party, and he owed his escape to his having fallen wounded and breathless into the little cleft in the rocks hidden by the thick undergrowth, so that the Indians did not find him when they made their search after scalps and accoutrements.

Crouching amongst the bushes, half fainting from terror, the lad had seen it all.

"They scalped them one by one, yelling and shouting and dancing. They cared not whether they were dead or not. Oh, it was horrible, horrible! They lighted a fire to burn some of the prisoners, and danced around it yelling and jeering as their victims died. Oh, I can never forget the sight! Every moment I thought they would find me. I thought of all the things I had heard that savages did to their prisoners. If I had had my sword, I would have run it through my heart. But I had nothing, and presently I suppose I fainted, for I can remember no more; and when I woke they had all gone, and only the bodies lay about beside me. They had taken off their own dead; but I durst not come out, lest they should come back and find me, and I did not know where I was.

"There was water in the brook, or I should have died; and I used to crawl out and drink, and go and hide myself again. And last of all I heard English voices, and called out; and that is all I can tell you."

They made a litter and carried the lad back to the fort, where he lay tossing in fever for many a long day to come. It was evil news that they had for their comrades; and it was not more cheering when stragglers from the scouting party came back by twos and threes, all with the same tale. The Indians were overrunning all the forests and lakes. They had mustered around the French camp by hundreds and thousands, and were scouring the woods everywhere, under no sort of discipline, excited, rebellious, rapacious, yet too useful as allies not to be humoured by those who had summoned them to their aid.

All had horrid tales to tell of cannibal feasts, and of the savage treatment of prisoners. Some declared they had seen French officers and ecclesiastics striving to interfere, but that the Indians paid no manner of heed to them.

"There was a young priest who saw them eating human flesh at their fire, and he came up and rebuked them. I was sitting by. I had a cord round my neck. Sweat was pouring from me, for I knew I should be the next victim. They looked at the priest, and one young Indian cried out in French, 'You have French taste, I have Indian; this is good meat for me. Taste it yourself, and see if you cannot learn to like it too!' Whereat all the rest laughed aloud. But the priest rebuked them again, and offered money if they would give me up; and presently they did, though rather against their will. They were sending some prisoners to Montreal, and I was to have gone there, too; but in the night I escaped, and as I knew something of the forest, I have got back safe and sound."

Tales like these came pouring in as the survivors struggled back to the fort. All were agreed that the Indians were very numerous and very fierce, and it was said by all that the muster of the French seemed to be very strong.

Anxiety and fear reigned throughout the fort. Fritz almost lived upon the lake in his boat, watching for the first signs of the enemy's approach. That a great part of it would come by water he did not doubt. And sometimes he would leave his boat in a creek, and climb some adjacent height, from whence he could scan the surface of the lake, and see what was stirring there.

Roche was his companion on those excursions; and the two had climbed together to a commanding height, when upon the dawn of a glorious midsummer morning they saw the long-expected flotilla covering the lake and making headway up it.

What a sight it was! The hearts of the onlookers seemed to stand still within them as they looked. And yet it was a magnificent spectacle. Myriads and myriads of Indian canoes like flocks of waterfowl seemed swarming everywhere, whilst from two to three hundred bateaux conveyed the French and Canadian soldiers. Then there were great platforms bearing the heavy guns, and rowed by huge sweeps, as well as being assisted by the bateaux; whilst the blaze of colour formed by the uniforms of the various battalions formed in itself a picture which had seldom been seen in these savage solitudes.

"We shall have our work cut out to face such odds!" cried Fritz, as he turned to dash down the hill and regain his canoe. But Roche laid a hand upon his arm, and pointed significantly in another direction.

Fritz looked, and a smothered exclamation, almost like a groan, broke from him.

Far away through the mazes of the forest, skirting round towards the doomed fort by a road parallel with the lake, was a large body of troops--how large the spectators could not guess, but they saw enough to tell them that it was a very considerable detachment. Such an army as the one now marching upon Fort William Henry had not been seen there before. To those who knew the weakness of the fort and of its garrison it seemed already as though the day were lost.

Moreover these men knew that the great Marquis de Montcalm himself was coming this time to take personal command, and his name inspired respect and a certain fear. He was known to be a general of considerable distinction; it was felt that there would be no blundering when he was at the head of the expedition.

To fly back to the fort with these ominous tidings was but the work of a few short hours. In a moment all was stir and bustle. The soldiers were not to be disheartened. They were ready and almost eager for the battle, having become weary of inaction and suspense. But the face of Colonel Monro was grave and stern, and he called Fritz aside presently and conferred with him apart.

"I must send a messenger to Fort Edward to General Webb, to report to him our sorry plight. He has said that he can spare no more men; but this extremity of ours should be told him. Think you that you can take a letter safely to him? You Rangers are the best of messengers; and you have seen this great armament, and can speak with authority concerning it. Tell him how sore our need is. It may be that he can hurry up the reinforcements, or that they may be already on their way. Even a few hundreds would be better than none. At least he should know our need."

Fritz was ready in a moment to take the message, but he had small hope of any result, and he saw that the brave Colonel had little either. General Webb was a man upon whose courage and generalship several aspersions had already been cast. If ever he was to regain confidence and show these aspersions to be untrue, this was the time to show himself in his true colours. But it was with no confidence that Fritz set forth upon his errand.

Not long ago General Webb had visited the fort, and had given certain orders and had spoken brave words about coming to command in person should need arise; but he had returned to Fort Edward the following day, and had then sent the reinforcements which were all he was able to spare. It remained to be seen whether he would fulfil his promise when he knew that the attack of the enemy might be expected every hour.

Fritz rode in hot haste to the fort and asked for the General. He brought news of urgency, he told them, and was instantly shown to the General's quarters. He stood in silence whilst the letter which Fritz brought was opened and read; then he abruptly asked the tall young Ranger what it was he had seen.

Fritz told his tale in simple, graphic words, the General marching up and down the room meantime, evidently in some perturbation of spirit; but all he said at the close was:

"Go back and tell Colonel Monro that I have no troops here which I can safely withdraw, but that I have sent, and will send, expresses to the provinces for help."

Fritz was too much the soldier to make reply. He bowed and retired, well knowing that no express sent to New England could be of the smallest service now. It was with a bitter sense of failure that he took the fresh horse provided for him and made all speed back to the camp.

The road was still clear, but how long it would remain so there was no knowing. Swarms of Indians were drawing around them. If succour did not come quickly, it would arrive too late.

Monro received the message in silence, and continued to strengthen his own defences as best he might. The next day brought the enemy full in view, and the numbers of the hostile host astonished though they did not dismay the brave little garrison.

Once more Monro sent forth Fritz with a letter to the General.

"The French are upon us," he wrote, "both by land and water. They are well supplied with artillery, which will make sad havoc of our defences, for these, you have seen for yourself, are none of the strongest. Nevertheless the garrison are all in good spirits, and eager to do their duty. I make no doubt that you will send us a reinforcement, for we are very certain that a part of the enemy will soon get possession of the road, and in that case our condition would become very serious."

Again Fritz was entrusted with this letter; again he made the rapid night journey over the familiar road.

This time he was not admitted to the General's presence, and after he had remained at Fort Edward about an hour and had been refreshed, a message came to say that General Webb had received the letter and considered it, but could make no other reply than he had done the previous day.

"Then God help us," said the Scotch veteran when this message was brought him, "for vain is the help of man!"

And although he went about the fort with as calm and cheerful a mien as before, he was certain in his own heart that Fort William Henry was now doomed.

"They are surrounding us on all sides," cried Roche, as soon as Fritz appeared upon the ramparts with his disheartening message, which, however, he kept for the moment to himself. "See, they are working their way through the forest to the rear, just beyond our range. Soon we shall be hemmed in, and they will bring up their guns. We have done what we can for these poor walls; but they will not long stand the cannonade of all those guns we see lying yonder on the platoons upon the lake."

"We must hope that the militia from the provinces will come up before their preparations are complete," said Fritz. "They should be on their way by now. But delay and procrastination have ever marked our methods through this war. Nevertheless the men are in good spirits; they are eager for the fight to begin. I marvel at their courage, seeing how great are the odds. But even the sick seemed fired by martial ardour!"

It was so. The long inaction of the winter and spring had been wearisome and disheartening. It was impossible for the soldiers to doubt that they would receive help from without now that it was known that the enemy was actually upon them. Moreover, they all knew, and some remembered, how the assault of a few months back had been repulsed; and not realizing the different scale upon which this one was to be conducted, were full of hopeful confidence and emulation.

Before hostilities actually commenced, Colonel Monro summoned his officers about him. Great excitement prevailed in the fort, for it was known that a messenger had been admitted under a flag of truce, and that he brought a letter from the Marquis de Montcalm. It was to the reading of this letter that Monro invited his officers.

"We have to deal with an honourable foe, gentlemen," said the veteran, looking at those about him, "as you will know when I read to you his words. 'I owe it to humanity,' so writes M. de Montcalm, 'to summon you to surrender. At present I can restrain the savages, and make them observe the terms of a capitulation, as I might not have power to do under other circumstances; and the most obstinate defence on your part can only retard the capture of the place a few days, and endanger an unfortunate garrison which cannot be relieved, in consequence of the dispositions I have made. I demand a decisive answer within an hour.' That, gentlemen, is the message brought to us. What answer shall we return to our high-minded adversary?"

There was only one word in the mouths of all.

"No surrender! no surrender!" they called aloud, waving their swords in the air; and the cry was taken up by those without, and reached the soldiers upon the ramparts, and the welkin rang with the enthusiastic shout:

"No surrender! no surrender!"

By this time the Indians were swarming about close outside the ramparts, and hearing this cry and knowing its meaning, they looked up and gesticulated fiercely.

"You won't surrender, eh?" bawled in broken French an old Indian chief. "Fire away then and fight your best; for if we catch you after this, you shall get no quarter!"

The response to this threat was the heavy boom of the cannon as Fort William Henry discharged its first round of artillery.

For a moment it produced immense effect amongst the swarms of painted savages, who scuttled away yelling with fear; for though well used to the sound of musketry, and having considerable skill with firearms themselves, they had never heard the roar of big guns before, and the screaming of the shells as they whistled overhead filled them with terror and amaze.

They were intensely eager for the French guns to be got into position, and were a perfect nuisance to the regular soldiers, as they worked with intrepid industry at their trenches and mounds. But before long even the Indians were satisfied with the prolonged roar of artillery, which lasted day after day, day after day; whilst within their walls the brave but diminished garrison looked vainly for succour, and examined with a sinking heart their diminished store of ammunition and their cracked and overheated guns.

"It cannot go on long like this," the officers said one to the other. "What is the General doing over yonder? He must hear by the heavy firing what straits we are in. He knows the condition of the fort. He should risk and dare everything to come to our aid. If this fort is lost, then our western frontier has lost its only point of defence against the inroads of Indians and the encroachments of France."

A few days later and a cry went up from the walls, "A white flag! a white flag!" and for a moment a wild hope surged up in the hearts of the soldiers that the enemy had grown tired of the game of war, and had some proposal to make.

The messenger brought a letter. It was not from the French commander himself, though it was delivered with a courteous message from him. It had been found upon the body of a white man slain by the Indians a few days before, and brought to the French camp. The Marquis de Montcalm had read it, and sent it now to the person for whom it was intended.

"Give my thanks," said Monro, "to the Marquis for his courtesy, and tell him that it is a joy to me to have to do with so generous a foe."

But the letter thus received was one of evil omen to the hapless garrison. It came from General Webb, and repeated that, until reinforced from the provinces, he could do nothing for the garrison of Fort William Henry; and advised Colonel Monro to make the best terms that he could with the enemy, who were plainly too strong for him to withstand.

It was time indeed for the gallant little garrison to think of surrender. Men and officers stood in knots together gloomily surveying the scene.

"We have done what men can do," said Captain Pringle to his friends Fritz and Roche; "but where are we now? A third of our men are sick and wounded. Almost all our big guns are burst. The enemy's trenches are being pushed nearer and nearer, and there are still more of their guns to be brought to bear. Our wall is breached; I marvel they have not already made an assault. There is nothing for it but surrender, if we can obtain honourable terms of capitulation."

"Nay, rather let us die sword in hand and face to foe!" cried Roche, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm. "Let us make a last desperate sortie, and see if we cannot drive the enemy from their position. Anything is better than dying here like rats in a hole! A forlorn hope is better than none. Why should we not at least cut our way out to the free forest, if we cannot rout the enemy and drive them back whence they came?"

"The life of the free forest would mean death to those raw lads who have come out from England or from the provinces," said Fritz gravely. "It would be hardly more than a choice of deaths; and yet I would sooner die sword in hand, hewing my way to freedom, than cooped up between walls where every shot begins to tell, and where the dead can scarce be buried for the peril to the living."

And indeed the position of affairs was so deplorable that a council was held by Monro; and it was agreed that if any desired to make this last sortie, either for life and liberty for themselves, or in the last forlorn hope of driving the enemy from their position, it might be attempted; but if it failed, there was nothing for it but capitulation, if honourable terms could be had, or if not to die at their posts, fighting to the very last.

A cheer went up from the men when they heard these words. If they had well nigh lost hope, their courage was not quenched, and a large band volunteered for the sortie. Fritz and Roche were amongst these, but Pringle remained behind in the fort.

"I will stand by the Colonel and the sinking ship," he said. "It is but a choice of evils. I doubt if any of us will see the light of many more days. I prefer the chances of war to the unknown horrors of the forest filled with savages."

He laid a hand upon Roche's arm and looked affectionately into the boyish brave young face. Then he turned to Fritz.

"If you should get through, take care of the lad. You are a Ranger; you know the forest well. If any can escape safely thither, it will be you and such as you. But don't forsake the boy--don't let him fall alive into the hands of the Indians; kill him yourself sooner. And now fare well, and God bless you both: for I think that on this earth we shall meet no more."

"Nay, why think that?" cried Roche eagerly; "stranger things have happened before now than that we should all live to tell the tale of these days."

Pringle shook his head; whilst Fritz wrung his hand and said:

"At least remember this: if you should wish to have news of us, ask it of Rogers' Rangers, who are always to be heard of in these parts. If we escape, it is to Rogers we shall find our way. He will be glad enough to welcome us, and from any of his Rangers you will hear news of us if we ever reach his ranks."

There was no sleep for the fort that night. Indeed the hot summer nights were all too short for any enterprise to be undertaken then. The glow in the western sky had scarcely paled before there might have been seen creeping forth through the battered gateway file after file of soldiers, as well equipped as their circumstances allowed--silent, stealthy, eager for the signal which should launch them against the intrenched foe so close at hand.

But alas for them, they had foes wily, watchful, lynx-eyed, ever on the watch for some such movement. Hardly had they got clear of their protecting walls and ditches, when, with a horrid yell, hundreds and thousands of dusky Indians leaped up from the ground and rushed frantically towards them. The next moment the boom of guns overhead told that the French camp had been alarmed. The regular soldiers would be upon them in a few minutes, driving them back to the fort, killing and wounding, and leaving the Indians to butcher and scalp at their leisure. The fearful war whoop was ringing in their ears. The line wavered--broke; the men made a frantic rush backwards towards their lines.

"Don't fly!" cried Roche suddenly to Fritz, at whose side he marched; "let us cut our way through, or die doing it. It is death whichever way we turn. Let us die like men, with our faces and not our backs to the foe!"

"Come then!" cried Fritz, upon whom had fallen one of those strange bursts of desperate fury which give a man whilst it lasts the strength of ten.

With a wild bound he sprang forward, bursting through the ranks of Indians like the track of a whirlwind, scattering them right and left, hewing, hacking, cutting! Roche was just behind or at his side; the two seemed invulnerable, irresistible, possessed of some supernatural strength. The Indians in amaze gave way right and left, and turned their attention to the flying men, who were easier to deal with than this strange couple.

A shout went up that the devil was abroad, and the Indian, ever superstitious, shrank away from these stalwart figures, believing them to be denizens from some other world; whilst the French soldiers, who might have felt very differently, had not yet so far equipped themselves as to be ready to come out from their lines.

Fritz had marked his line with care. Only upon one small section between lake and forest was there any possible passage without peril from the French lines, and that was by skirting the head of the lake just where their own intrenched camp, now almost in ruins, gave them shelter.

The woodsman's and the Ranger's instinct kept true within him even in the confusion and darkness. He never deflected from his line.

"This way! this way!" he called to Roche in smothered tones, as they heard the sound of the fight growing fainter behind them. He took the lad's hand, and plunged into the marshy hollow. He knew that none would follow them there; the ground was too treacherous. But there was a path known to himself which he could find blindfold by day or night.

He pulled his comrade along with a fierce, wild haste, till at a certain point he paused. There was a little cavernous shelter in the midst of the morass, and here the pair sank down breathless and exhausted.

"We are saved!" gasped Roche, clasping his comrade by the hand.

"For the moment--yes," answered Fritz; "but what of afterwards?"