CHAPTER XXXI
THE FALL OF MONTREAL
In his career as a soldier Dave had been in many positions of peril, yet scarcely one had been as dire as that which now confronted him.
The shock came so quickly that he hardly realized what was happening before he was under water, and somebody seemed to be doing his best to stand on the young soldier’s shoulders.
Flinging the feet above to one side, Dave tried to reach the surface of the river. In doing this he slid past two more soldiers, both of whom clutched at him, one catching him by the coat, and the other by the neck.
To be held by the coat was of small importance in comparison to being deprived of one’s wind, and Dave lost no time in fighting off the fellow who had him by the neck. The hold was a strong one, and the youth feared he would be choked unless he broke it without delay.
There was a wild floundering on all sides, and in the mêlée somebody above kicked out sharply with his heavy boots. One boot struck the man who held Dave by the throat, and the grip was broken just when the youth was about to give up in despair. Then the young soldier felt his coat also freed, and he came up with a rush, to get a badly needed breath of air.
The majority of the soldiers were struggling madly to hold fast to the bits of wreckage floating around. Yells and groans rent the air, with an occasional prayer for assistance. Some had already gone down to their death, and others were fast losing what little strength was left to them.
“It’s no use trying to get hold of a board, or anything,” thought Dave. “They are all fighting like so many cats and dogs. I’ll save my strength, and strike out for shore.”
But striking out with his clothing on was by no means easy, and Dave had hardly covered a hundred feet when he found himself well-nigh exhausted. He tried to pull off his coat, but as he was doing this another boat hove into sight, coming straight for him.