Chapter XXII: At Close Grips with Death

Major Rogers' force on this occasion was the largest he had thus far commanded, comprising as it did a big body of Connecticut men, and a small detachment of regulars, chiefly light infantry, bringing the total up to seven hundred in all.

They marched through the forest to where Whitehall now stands, and thence made their way up Wood Creek to old Fort Anne, long abandoned and falling into decay. Here in the already overgrown clearing that surrounded the ruin they encamped.

Up to this time Rogers had observed his usual caution, commanding silence on the march, and forbidding fires at night, but having discovered no signs of the enemy, and led into over-confidence, perhaps, by the unusual strength of his party, he was rash enough to accept a wager with one of the officers of the light infantry as to which was the best marksman, and the following morning was set for the trial of skill.

When Seth learned of this he was much troubled, for although he had not come upon any trace of the enemy, he somehow had a conviction that they were not far away, and he ventured to suggest to his chief that it might not be wise to have musket firing until the neighborhood had been more thoroughly examined.

But the Major took his remonstrance amiss.

"When I wish your advice I will ask you for it, young man," he said, with an asperity of tone that made Seth's countenance redden. "I am quite sure there are no French or Indians within cannon sound of us, so you need give yourself no concern about what I propose to do."

Seth knew that it was vain to argue the matter, and said no more, although the foreboding of approaching disaster grew stronger through the night.

Soon after daylight the shooting match took place, and Major Rogers proved an easy victor, but the triumph, which evidently gave him great satisfaction, was obtained at a fearful cost, for the sound of the shots reached the ears of a large band of French and Indians under command of the famous partisan Marin, who at once took steps to reconnoitre and ambuscade his reckless enemy.

All around the old fort the forest had formerly been cut down and burned, but during the long years of neglect the opening thus made became overgrown with bushes and saplings so densely as to be impassable save where a narrow Indian path traversed it.

Along this path Major Rogers and his men were forced to march in single file, and so soon as the shooting contest was settled they slung their packs and set out.

The Connecticut men were in the lead, then came the regulars, and the Rangers brought up the rear.

Never in his life before had Seth felt so depressed in spirits, although he could in no wise account to himself for it.

"I'm sure there's trouble coming," he said to the Ranger who walked next him. "I do wish they hadn't been firing at the mark. The sound of their guns will go far this still morning."

The words had hardly left his lips when the noise of rapid firing came over the tops of the bushes, and he exclaimed excitedly:

"I knew it! I knew it! The French have ambushed us. Quick now to the front!"

And he dashed off through the brushwood, followed by his men. They had, of course, great difficulty in making their way, although the yells of Indians mingling with the reports of the muskets made clear to them that Seth's surmise as to what had taken place was correct, and they were wild to get to the assistance of their imperilled comrades.

What had happened was this: When the head of the line emerged from the tangled shrubbery, and was about to enter the forest there broke forth a horrid chorus of savage yells, and suddenly the place became alive with Indians.

One of them, a huge Caughnawaga chief, with uplifted hatchet sprang at the foremost of the English, who threw up his gun, and pulled trigger. But unhappily it missed fire, and the next moment he fell with cloven skull.

Then the firing began. The French and the Indians, lying across the path in a semicircle, had the double advantage of surprise and of position, and the Connecticut men at first fell back among the bushes in disorder, but presently rallied, and held their opponents in check until the regulars and Rangers could force their way through the thickets to their support.

So dense was the brushwood that it was only after much loss of time and with great difficulty that the English were able to assume some kind of order in front of the enemy, and even then each man was forced to fight for himself as best he could.

The fulfilment of his foreboding cast no spell over Seth's courage. He plunged into the conflict as though he bore a charmed life, and many an Indian fell at the crack of his gun.

Yet with the wisdom of the true woodsman he did not expose himself unnecessarily, but took advantage to the utmost of such cover as their position afforded.

The fusillade continued for nearly two hours with heavy loss on both sides, but without the combatants coming to close quarters, as the French evidently feared a hand-to-hand struggle, and the English leaders, having no idea of the actual strength of their assailants, did not deem it prudent to attempt to charge upon them.

The fierce and bloody conflict was at its height when Seth, moving forward to get a better position for shooting, suddenly found himself face to face with three Indians, who had crept upon him through the underbrush.

His gun was empty, and he had no time to reload it, but he felled one of the savages with the butt, and was about to treat another in the same fashion when the third sprang at him and tripping him cleverly, flung him heavily to the ground, where both threw themselves on him, and pinned him fast.

They were powerful braves, and, although Seth struggled frantically to free himself, they soon had his hands bound with thongs which hurt cruelly, and rendered him helpless.

Then, each seizing an arm, they rushed him to the rear of their own line, where they lashed him to a tree so that he could not move a limb.

All this time Seth had not spoken. He knew how vain was any appeal for mercy, and steeled his heart for the torture that was sure to be his fate.

Having secured him to the tree, his captors, letting the battle take care of itself, proceeded to amuse themselves in characteristic fashion by throwing their tomahawks at Seth's head with the idea of seeing which could come closest to without actually striking their living target.

It was fine fun for the dusky fiends no doubt, but it was a terrible ordeal for Seth, and yet the brave fellow hardly blinked as the cruel steel flashed past his eyes, and buried itself in the tree with a vicious thud, sometimes severing a stray lock of his hair in its flight.

Nor were the redskins the only ones to act thus inhumanly, for when they had wearied of their amusement, a French officer came up, who after assailing the helpless captive with vigorous abuse, thrust the muzzle of his gun violently against his body, pretending to fire it, and then struck him in the face with the butt, inflicting a painful bruise.

Still Seth maintained his stoical silence, for he had determined that although they should tear him to pieces, or burn him with slow fire, they should not extort from him any sign or sound of weakness.

When the retreat began the Indians unloosed Seth from the tree, stripped him of nearly all his clothing, bound his wrists together so tightly that the pain was intense, and then placing upon his bare back as many of the packs of their wounded as could be piled up, they hurried him along until at last in sheer exhaustion he fell to the ground, and could not move despite the blows showered upon him.

He might have been despatched there and then had not a French officer, moved to compassion by his desperate plight, persuaded the Indians to untie his hands, and lighten his crushing burden. They also gave him a pair of moccasins to protect his lacerated feet, from which they had taken his shoes and stockings.

His misery being thus somewhat mitigated, Seth was able to go on and to stagger under his load until his captors encamped for the night.

But cruelly as he had suffered already there was worse yet to come, for, having removed the last vestige of clothing, they tied him to a tree, and set to work to surround him with brushwood.

"Merciful Heaven, they are going to burn me!" he groaned. "If they would only kill me first! How can I stand the terrible torture?"

Nevertheless he nerved himself to bear the awful ordeal, not deigning to utter a cry for mercy.

The savages were evidently impressed by his heroic bearing, and delayed lighting the wood, while they danced about him, brandishing their tomahawks in his face, and trying to make him flinch from their pretended blows.

In the midst of their fiendish frolicking there fell a sudden shower of rain which soaked the wood so that it would not light, and this seemed to offer some hope of a respite for their victim. But no sooner had the rain ceased than the merciless wretches resumed their horrid preparations, and this time succeeded in surrounding him with a circle of brushwood which they set on fire, and then yelled and danced before him in delight at his vain endeavors to avoid the rising flames.

His case certainly seemed desperate to the last degree. Thus far he had held the hope that his tormentors might stop short of taking his life in order to carry him back to Canada as a trophy of their prowess, but when the fire began to scorch his naked limbs he gave himself up to despair.

The flames were climbing to his waist. A few more minutes and it would have been all over with him, when into the midst of the dancing, yelling crowd there burst a stalwart figure shouting in French:

"You red devils, what are you about? How dare you torture one of our prisoners like that and disgrace us all? If I had known what you were about I would have put a stop to it before this."

It was Marin, the Canadian leader of the war party, who, on hearing what was taking place, had with courageous humanity rushed to the scene, determined to interpose at all hazards.

Nor was he content with upbraiding the Indians for their cruelty, but dashed at the blazing brushwood, tore it away from Seth, cut his bonds with a slash of his knife, and dragged him out of danger.

The whole thing was done so quickly and in so dauntless a fashion that the savages were completely taken back, and when Marin, having berated them further, placed Seth under the protection of a Caughnawaga chief, who promised to be responsible for him, they acquiesced in the arrangement without a murmur.

The Caughnawaga accepted the trust reposed in him, and at first seemed disposed to treat Seth kindly, but the means he took to insure the prisoner not attempting his escape, while certainly effective, were by no means considerate of his comfort, seeing that he stretched him on the ground in the form of a St. Andrew's cross with his wrists and ankles fastened to the stems of young trees.

Nor was he satisfied with this, but must needs place brushwood upon his body, and across it long slender saplings on the ends of which several warriors lay down to sleep, so that Seth could not make the slightest movement without rousing them.

The misery of that night may hardly be conceived, since in addition to all the physical suffering, the proud, sensitive nature of the New Englander writhed as he realized what an utterly ludicrous figure he presented.

Next day after a painful march he reached Fort Ticonderoga, and was taken before Montcalm, who asked him a number of questions about the strength of the English forces, and their plans for the future.

But he got little light from Seth, who, thoroughly understanding the purpose of the examination, either evaded the questions, or firmly refused to reply to them, even though the French commander threatened to have him tortured if he did not answer in the way desired.

The end of it was that Montcalm, finding he could elicit nothing from him, ordered him to be sent up to Montreal as a prisoner of war.