“We must make our way to the spot where they have left their canoes,” exclaimed Tecumah; and he again attempted to lift up Constance, who had earnestly entreated to be placed on the ground.
The din of battle still sounded as loud as ever, and the rattle of musketry was heard close at hand. It was evident that the combatants were approaching the shore.
“On! on!” again cried Tecumah; and, lifting up Constance, he was staggering forward, when, faint from loss of blood, he sank on the ground.
At that moment an Indian rushed out of the wood behind them. “Fly! fly! our enemies are at hand. All, all have been cut to pieces. I alone have escaped.”
His arm, as he spoke, dropped by his side, while the blood flowed rapidly from his head, giving evidence of the truth of his assertion.
Constance was kneeling down, trying to staunch the blood flowing from Tecumah’s wound. He raised himself on one arm.
“Think not of me,” he said, “but endeavour, with my faithful friends, who will accompany you, to find concealment among the rocks.”
“We cannot leave you,” answered Constance; “better to yield ourselves prisoners, than to allow you to perish alone.”
“You know not the nature of our enemies,” said Tecumah, faintly; “they spare no one. Fly, fly, while there is time.”
The sounds of fighting were drawing rapidly nearer. All prospect of escape seemed cut off. Constance gazed up for a moment from the task at which she was engaged. Bullets were striking the branches of the trees a short distance from them. Her heart sank with grief. She felt the probability that her father had been cut off with the rest of the brave Tamoyos. Just then one of the Indians exclaimed, “See, see! a canoe approaches.” Constance cast a glance across the waters, and caught a glimpse of a canoe emerging from the darkness. It rapidly approached the beach. The shouts of the Indians showed that friends were on board. Their hails were answered. In another moment Nigel leapt on shore. Tecumah recognised him.