As night drew on, he could see a faint light up the shore, which told him where the Indian camp lay. All around him was silent and deserted, only the occasional cry of a bird breaking the stillness.
Henry felt that he must get some sleep, or he would be unable to undertake the journey toward Oswego in the morning, and with this in view sought out a comfortable spot where he might lie down. Nothing came to disturb him during the night, and by sunrise he arose feeling decidedly refreshed.
A storm was approaching—the same which was to prove so disastrous to the batteaux on the lake, and Henry had not covered many miles along the lake front when it burst on him in all of its fury, causing him to seek shelter under a cliff of rocks some distance away from the water. The lightning was sharp and he heard more than one tree in the forest go down with a crash. But the storm did not last in that vicinity, and in two hours it was over, although the drifting clouds still hid the sun from view.
The storm proved a great blessing to Henry, for after it was over he came across two squirrels that had been killed by it and also a number of birds. He had not had a mouthful to eat for twenty-four hours and he now set about making himself a fire and cooking the game. He had a flint and steel, which the Indians had not taken from him, and soon he had a blaze in a hollow, where it would not be noticed.
Having satisfied the cravings of his stomach, he renewed his journey along the lake front. The storm had washed a number of things ashore and presently he came upon an upturned Indian canoe, one of the rougher sort, made of a hollowed-out log.
"Hullo, that's better than nothing," he told himself, and righted the canoe, although not without difficulty. There was also a paddle on the beach, and soon he was on board the craft and paddling southward with all the skill he could command.
As he moved over the waters of the lake he kept his eyes behind as well as in front of him, wondering if the Indians would discover what he was doing. But they were out of sight, nor did a single warrior show himself anywhere.
It was growing dark again when Henry brought his canoe to a sudden stop and then turned hastily shoreward. Far ahead he had seen another craft, holding two men. That they were whites he was sure, but whether French or English was still to be determined. He moved his canoe into a cove, and secreting himself in the bushes awaited the approach of the strangers.
Soon the boat came close enough for him to make out the voices of the newcomers. One voice sounded strangely familiar, and peering through the bushes Henry was overjoyed to recognize Sam Barringford, who was sitting in the bow of the boat, rifle in hand, while his companion was rowing.
"Sam! Sam!" he cried, as he rushed forward. "Oh, Sam, how glad I am to see you!"