“Better wait a bit longer, Dave,” said Barringford. “If the French are licked we may learn somethin’ o’ their prisoners, an’ Henry may be among ’em.”
Two days later came a pony express with letters for many of the soldiers, some from home and some from others in the various armies of the English.
“A letter from Quebec!” murmured Dave, as he received the epistle. His hand shook so that he could scarcely read the address. That handwriting looked familiar. Oh, if only it was from Henry! He breathed a silent prayer, and then broke the seal.
“Who is it from?” questioned Barringford, who was standing near.
“Oh, Sam, it’s from Henry! He is alive! Think of it!” The tears of joy stood in the young soldier’s eyes. “He was with Wolfe—after escaping from the French—he and Silvers. But Silvers, poor man, was shot dead in the battle,” he went on, reading rapidly.
“Is Henry all right?”
“Yes, and he says he has learned that I am safe, too. A messenger from Oswego brought the news some time ago.”
“Lad, ye can thank God for His many marcies,” said Barringford reverently.
“Yes, Sam, and I do, from the bottom of my heart,” returned Dave.
The letter was a long one, and the two walked to an out-of-the-way spot, where Dave read it aloud, while the frontiersman listened with close attention. Henry gave many of the particulars of his capture and escape, and also mentioned that he was now doing guard duty in Quebec. He added that he had sent home a letter, telling of his safety, and that for the present he was going to remain where he was, and hoped that sooner or later Dave and the command to which he was attached would join him.