The days following the fall of Fort Niagara had been comparatively quiet ones for the two young soldiers. It had not yet been decided what should be done with the French prisoners, although it was certain a large part of them would be shipped to England. The women and children who had followed the French to the fort for protection were placed under the guidance of some Catholic priests and allowed to depart for Montreal and other settlements in Canada.
The time was July, 1759, and the region for miles around the Niagara River and Lake Ontario was an almost unbroken forest, dotted here and there by the remains of an Indian camp or a French or English trading-post. Game had suffered but slightly from the hunting tours of the red men, and while the soldiers from England took but little interest in such sport, the frontiersman in the ranks seized the opportunity to supply themselves with fresh meat and also add a pelt or two to their scanty worldly store. Each day they would bring in one or more deer, and occasionally a buffalo, besides the skins of foxes, wild-cats, and other small animals, and innumerable birds, until the fort took on the look of a trading-post in spite of itself.
Dave and Henry were not slow to join in the hunting, and between them they one day brought in a deer which was the pride of the camp, weighing thirty-five pounds more than the next largest. This game Dave had wounded by a shot in the foreleg, and Henry had finished by a bullet through the left eye, for Henry, as my old readers already know, was a natural-born hunter and a skillful marksman as well.
Two days after bringing down the deer, and while the two had a half-day off-time, Dave proposed that they go fishing. His cousin was more than willing, and the pair lost no time in fitting up their poles and in obtaining bait, and thus equipped both set off for the lake front, tramped along until they came to a spot that looked particularly inviting, and then, as already described, prepared to try their luck.
CHAPTER II
THE INDIANS IN THE CANOE
It was a warm, clear day, and out on the broad bosom of the lake the sun shone brightly. There was a faint breeze from the west which rustled the leaves of the trees and sent an occasional ripple over the water. From the forest came the notes of the songbirds and the hum of countless insects.
Dave would have been satisfied to catch a good mess of perch, but he knew Henry’s heart was set on at least one fair-sized lake trout, so he did not bait up at once, but stood by, watching his cousin adjust his fishing outfit.
“There’s a fat fly fit to tempt any trout,” whispered Henry, as he brought the bait from a small box he carried. “Caught half a dozen of ’em down at the horse stable. The glitter of those bluish wings ought to fetch something. Here goes!”
Henry advanced to within six feet of the lake shore, at a point where a large tree and some rough rocks overhung the water. Here was a rather dark hole where the water was unusually quiet.