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 G.o.d 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 a.s.sault 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 circ.u.mstances; and the most obstinate defence on your part can only r.e.t.a.r.d 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 sh.e.l.ls 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 a.s.sault. 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 G.o.d 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 circ.u.mstances 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 superst.i.tious, 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 pa.s.sage 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.