“He attacked me like a savage beast,” said the guard, who had been dozing. “He—he complained of being half frozen, and then he turned on me like a fury.”
“You’re a set of numskulls!” roared the officer of the guard, in great wrath. “After him, and if you do not bring him back, dead or alive, somebody shall pay dearly for this blundering.”
One thing prison life had given Henry. That was plenty of rest, and now as he ran through the alleyway and out on the next street he felt as if he could cover ten or twenty miles without stopping.
“They shan’t catch me,” he told himself. “I’ll show them what an American can do when he is put to it.”
On account of the darkness and the cold the street was almost deserted, and the few people he met hardly noticed him; doubtless thinking he was merely some soldier hurrying to his quarters after a chilling tour of guard duty on the ramparts.
During the time Henry had been free to come and go in Quebec he had visited nearly every part of the city, which in those days was far from large. Consequently, he knew where he was and how to turn to get to where he wanted to go.
“I’ll have to leave the city to-night, that is certain,” he told himself. “In the morning there will be a warning sent out, and to pass any of the guards will be impossible.”
But how to get out was a serious problem until he caught sight of a covered wagon drawn by a team of horses, moving slowly toward the gate of St. John. This wagon contained supplies for the hospital, located to the northward, on a bend of the St. Charles River. The supplies were needed at once, hence they were being sent out at night instead of waiting until morning.
Climbing upon the wagon from behind, Henry secreted himself between several boxes and bundles. Neither the driver of the wagon nor his assistant noticed the movement, and in a moment more the wagon was at the gate.
“What wagon is that?” Henry heard a guard call out.