Major George Augustus Braithwaite had judged aright. Henry Ware knelt in the prow of the first boat, as it showed beyond the curve after forcing the watery pass. The shiftless one knelt just behind him, and in the stern was Paul, kneeling, too. The rifles of all three were hot in their hands. Long Jim and Silent Tom were now at the oars.
It all seemed—that last half hour—a dream to Henry and Paul. They had moved in a kind of mist, now red, now black. They had seen the black hills lowering above them, and the innumerable flashes of fire. They had heard the roar of the tempest and the unbroken crackle of hundreds of rifles, and they had fired in reply almost mechanically. Their one object was to press forward, always to press forward, and so long as their boat continued to move they knew that they must be succeeding.
Now they beheld the wider water before them, and upon a high hill upon the southern shore a great fire blazed, by the light of which they saw wooden walls and roofs.
"We are through!" exclaimed Henry. "We have at least come as far as the fort, whether we can land or not!"
"Yes, we are through," said the shiftless one, "but I never run such a gantlet afore, an' I hope never to do it ag'in."
He laid down his rifle a moment, and began to feel himself critically and carefully.
"What are you doing?" asked Henry.
"Me?" replied Sol. "I'm tryin' to see whether I'm all here, or whether most o' me is scattered around in the Ohio. When a million savages are shootin' at a feller, all at the same time, an' keep on doin' it, it's more'n likely that feller will soon be in pieces. No, I ain't hurt. Some o' my huntin' shirt hez been shot away, but the body o' Sol Hyde is sound an' whole, fur which I do give thanks. How are you, Henry?"
"All right. I've been grazed twice but there's no damage."
"An' you, Paul?"