There was still an interval of time left in which to reach a decision—perhaps half an hour. By then, at the most, the house would be a furnace in which nothing could live. As yet owing to the snow on the roof, the flames were confined to the south side. But there they had eaten through the wall, and were roaring and crackling with fury as they devoured the thick beams and timbers. They had seized both angles of the house, and were licking their way into the room. We could see the ruddy glare under the closed door, and could feel the scorching heat. From cracks and crevices puffs of yellow smoke darted into the hall; had a wind been blowing in our direction we should have been suffocated long before.
“Shall we stay here to perish like trapped beasts?” cried Andrew Menzies, his voice ringing above the infernal clamor of the savages. “Let us unbar the door, rush out, and sell our lives dearly! Take your muskets, my brave fellows! We will fight to the death, and kill as many of the devils as we can. And if no merciful bullets reach the women, we will shoot—them—with our—own—”
He could say no more. He stood with his hands clasped and his lips moving in prayer, while the men, almost unanimously shouted eager approval of his plan.
“Make ready, all!” cried Captain Rudstone, “we must be quick about it, for at any moment the heat or a spark may touch off the powder in yonder back room.”
That the explosion might come that instant, and so insure us a speedy and merciful death, was my heartfelt wish as I leaned against the wall. I groaned aloud as I pictured Flora lying in the snow, her beautiful face and hair dabbled with blood. Just then a bullet, fired through a loophole at one side of the door, whistled within an inch of my ear. It gave me such a start that I lost my balance and reeled against an old desk of the factor’s that stood under the shelf holding the candle. It yielded, and we came to the floor together.
I picked myself up and saw the desk broken open and a number of loose papers scattered at my feet. A word on one of them arrested my attention. I reached for it—it was a yellow document, faded with age, once folded—and on the outside, scrawled in big letters with a quill, I read the following:
“PLAN OF A SECRET PASSAGE FROM FORT ROYAL, 1762.”
I fairly held my breath as I tore the paper open. Inside was a rude drawing that I recognized at a glance, and more writing below it. The latter I studied for a moment, and then my head turned dizzy with joy.
“Hurrah!—hurrah!” I cried, waving the precious paper in the air. “Thank God for His wonderful mercy! If this proves true we are saved—saved!”
My companions crowded round me excitedly, some thinking that I had suddenly taken leave of my senses.