“Perhaps; but two wrongs don’t make a right,” answered the young soldier. “War is war, but we needn’t make it any worse than is necessary.”
With the fall of Fort Lévis, the army under Amherst moved on again down the St. Lawrence. Soon the rapids of the Galops, the Plat, the Long Saut, and the Côteau du Lac came into view, followed by the Cedars, the Buisson, and the Cascades.
“That water is running mighty fast,” said Dave to the others as he watched the rolling river, glistening brightly in the sunshine. “Unless I am mistaken, the current is powerful.”
“You are not mistaken,” replied an old ranger, who sat near the youth. “These rapids are almost as bad as the rapids of the Niagara. I tried to go through ’em once, six years ago, and I know. There were four of us in the canoe, which upset, and one of the party was drowned while the other three were almost dead before we got back to shore.”
“Well, the French and Indian pilots ought to know how to direct the boats,” put in another soldier. “General Amherst has several of the best of them.”
On and on swept the long line of boats, stretching out for a distance of over two miles. The progress was growing faster and faster as the fierce current just above the worst of the rapids caught hold of one boat after another.
The craft in which Dave was seated was a long, broad, flat-bottomed affair, containing twelve men, an under-officer, and a small stock of ammunition. Two men were at the sweeps, or oars, following the directions of the officer, who stood in the bow, directing them to the right or the left as occasion required.
“There is surely going to be trouble!” whispered Dave, when a shrill cry came from ahead. Looking in that direction they saw a boat had hit on the rocks, and that half of the occupants were struggling in the water, which boiled and foamed all around them.
“To the right! To the right!” yelled the officer in the bow. “Be quick, or we’ll run them down, and smash our own boat!”
“Can’t we help ’em, leftenant?” queried one of the soldiers.