The policy of this expedient for surprising the garrison will clearly appear, when it is understood, that the game is necessarily attended with much violence and noise; that, in the ardor of contest the ball, if it cannot be thrown to the goal desired, is struck in any direction by which it can be diverted from that desired by the adversary; that, at such a moment, nothing could be less likely to excite premature alarm among the spectators of the amusement, than that the ball should be tossed over the pickets of the fort; or that having fallen there, it should be instantly followed by all engaged in the game,—struggling and shouting, in the unrestrained pursuit of a rude athletic exercise.
Such was precisely the artifice employed; and to be still more sure of success, the Indians had persuaded as many as they could of the garrison and settlers, to come voluntarily without the pickets, for the purpose of witnessing the game, which was said to be played for a high wager. Not fewer than four hundred were engaged on both sides, and consequently, possession of the fort being once gained, the situation of the English must be desperate indeed. The particulars of the sequel of this horrid transaction, furnished by Henry, are too interesting to be wholly omitted.
The match commenced with great animation, without the fort, Henry, however, did not go to witness it, being engaged in writing letters to his Montreal friends, by a canoe which was just upon the eve of departure. He had been thus occupied something like half an hour, when he suddenly heard a loud Indian war-cry, and a noise of general confusion. Going instantly to his window, he saw a crowd of Indians within the fort, furiously cutting down and scalping every Englishman they found; and he could plainly witness the last struggles of some of his particular acquaintances.
He had, in the room where he was, a fowling-piece loaded with swan-shot. This he immediately seized, and held it for a few minutes, expecting to hear the fort-drum beat to arms. In this dreadful interval, he saw several of his countrymen fall; and more than one struggling between the knees of the savages, who, holding them in this manner, scalped them while yet alive. At length, disappointed in the hope of seeing any resistance made on the part of the garrison, and sensible, of course, that no effort of his single arm could avail against four hundred Indians, he turned his attention to his own safety. Seeing several of the Canadian villagers looking out composedly upon the scene of blood—neither opposing the Indians nor molested by them—he conceived a hope of finding security in one of their houses.
He immediately climbed over a low fence, which was the only separation between the yard-door of his house, and that of his next neighbour, Monsieur Langlade. He entered the house of the latter precipitately, and found the whole family gazing at the horrible spectacle before them. He addressed himself to M. Langlade, and begged that he would put him in some place of safety, until the heat of the affair should be over—an act of charity which might preserve him from the general massacre. Langlade looked for a moment at him while he spoke, and then turned again to the window, shrugging his shoulders, and intimating that he could do nothing for him—"Que voudriez-vous que J'en ferais?"
Henry was now ready to despair; but at this moment, a Pani woman, [FN] a slave of M. Langlade, beckoned to him to follow her. She guided him to a door, which she opened, desiring him to enter, and telling him that it led to the garret, where he must go and conceal himself. He joyfully obeyed her directions; and she, having followed him up to the garret-door, locked it after him, and with great presence of mind took away the key. Scarcely yet lodged in this shelter, such as it was, Henry felt an eager anxiety to know what was passing without. His desire was more than satisfied by his finding an aperture in the loose board wails of the house, which afforded him a full view of the area of the fort. Here he beheld with horror, in shapes the foulest and most terrible, the ferocious triumphs of the savages. The dead were scalped and mangled; the dying were writhing and shrieking under the unsatiated knife and the reeking tomahawk; and from the bodies of some, ripped open, their butchers were drinking the blood scooped up in the hollow of joined hands, and quaffed amid shouts of rage and victory. In a few minutes, which to Henry seemed scarcely one, every victim who could be found being destroyed, there was a general cry of, "all is finished"—and at this moment Henry heard some of the savages enter Langlade's house. He trembled and grew faint with fear.
[FN] Said to belong to an Indian nation of the South—no doubt the same now generally called Pawnees.
As the flooring of his room and the ceiling of the room beneath consisted only of a layer of boards, he noticed every thing that passed; and he heard the Indians inquire, at their entrance, whether there was any Englishman about M. Langlade replied, that "He could not say—-he did not know of any"—as in fact he did not—"they could search for themselves (he added) and would soon be satisfied." The state of Henry's mind may be imagined, when, immediately upon this reply, the Indians were brought to the garret door. Luckily some delay was occasioned—through the management of the Pani woman—perhaps by the absence of the key. Henry had sufficient presence of mind to improve these few moments in looking for a hiding place. This he found in the corner of the garret, among a heap of such birch bark vessels as are used in making maple-sugar; and he had not completely concealed himself when the door opened, and four Indians entered, all armed with tomahawks, and all besmeared with blood from head to foot.
The die appeared to be cast. Henry could scarcely breathe, and he thought that the throbbing of his heart occasioned a noise loud enough to betray him. The Indians walked about the garret in every direction; and one of them approached him so closely that, at a particular moment, had he put forth his hand, he must have touched him. Favored, however, by the dark colour of his clothes, and the want of light in a room which had no window, he still remained unseen. The Indians took several turns about the room—entertaining M. Langlade all the while with a minute account of the proceedings of the day—-and at last returned down stairs.