The guard was strengthened, and the watchfulness of the outposts increased. But Lévis failed to appear, for the simple reason that he was by no means ready to make an attack. Then the holidays came and went quietly, and for a few weeks the alarm subsided.
The main outposts at this time were at St. Foy, and at Old Lorette. At each place a strong guard was placed, for the French were not far distant, and bent on doing all the damage possible to the English.
Old Lorette had now been attacked by a body of French regulars, who came up when least expected, and drove off a large herd of cattle upon which the British had levied. This made the rangers in that vicinity very angry. A hasty plan against the French was arranged, and just as hastily carried out, and the enemy fell back with one or two men wounded, leaving the rangers to re-gather the cattle, that had in the meantime strayed away in various directions.
But it was not this firing that Henry heard. The French had come up during a storm and taken possession of Point Levi, on the south shore of the St. Lawrence. They dared the English to come out and meet them, and a detachment under Major Dalling was sent over the river on the ice, which was now thick enough to bear almost any weight. A sharp skirmish followed, and the French were beaten back. A few days later there was another encounter, in which General Murray himself took part, and also a detachment of the Highlanders, and this time the enemy fled in terror, leaving a handful of their men to be captured.
During these exciting days nobody came near Henry but the prison guards, and the majority of these soldiers were rough fellows who had neither sympathy nor pity for the youthful prisoner.
“It’s a bad hole ye have got yourself into,” said one. “An’ if ye are hung ’twill but serve ye right.”
“’Tis hung he should be,” said another. “A thief is no better than a murderer.” This fellow had charge of the food served to Henry, and he gave the youth stuff which was scarcely fit to eat.
As the days went by Henry grew more miserable, and to tease him one of the guards told another, in Henry’s hearing, that he had heard the prisoner was soon to dance upon nothing, as a warning to other thieves.
It was a cruel joke, and gotten off so seriously that Henry was much inclined to believe the report. That night he could not sleep, and when he arose in the morning his face wore a cold, calculating look that had never been there before.
“They shan’t hang me,” he thought bitterly. “I am innocent and I won’t suffer—not if I can help it. What will mother and the others say, if they hear I was hanged for a thief?”