For the day had been irretrievably lost to the enemy, and with one hundred and fifty of the French and Indians killed, and over one hundred French taken prisoners, the remainder of the attacking force had fled in wild confusion past the falls and upper rapids to where lay the boats which had brought them down from Lake Erie. Into these boats they tumbled with all possible speed and sped in the direction whence they had come. They were followed by some of the English and by Indians, who ran along the shore for a distance of half a mile, shooting down every enemy who could be reached by bullet or arrow.
So intent were Dave and his enemy on getting the better of each other that neither noticed their close proximity to the river until it was too late to do anything to save themselves.
Down they went through the flying spray, to strike the boiling waters which flowed so rapidly at the base of the rocks. Both went under like a flash and with equal quickness were borne along by that treacherous current which had proved the death of so many in the past and will most likely bring death to many more in the future.
The redman did not relax his hold even when both had been under the surface for some time. To him it was a struggle to the death, and he cared not how the grim terror might come, so long as the hated white person should go down with him.
But Dave, much younger, and with the hope of youth in his veins, did not intend to give up thus easily. As the waters of the river closed over him the idea of further battle with his opponent ended, and his one thought was now of how to save himself from drowning. He had been warned of the stream's treachery, and he knew that to keep from perishing would be no easy task.
With all the strength he could command he essayed to push the Indian away from him. But the warrior clung closer, for he could not swim and knew he could gain nothing by being left to himself. Thus the pair continued to struggle, and in the meanwhile the current carried them further and further away from the spot where the unfortunate tumble had occurred.
"I must get loose somehow!" thought the youth. "If only I could break that hold on my throat!" But the hold was like that of a steel band, and instead of loosening it seemed to grow tighter, until poor Dave's head began to swim and he gave himself up for lost. He drew up his knee and forced it against the Indian's breast, but still his endeavors had no effect. And now the water began to enter his mouth and nose and he felt himself growing unconscious. A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind--of Henry and Sam, and of his father and the other dear ones left behind. Was this to be the end of all--this drowning in the grasp of a hideously painted Indian?