At this moment Harry opened his eyes, and saying faintly that he felt better, allowed himself to be raised to a sitting posture, while his coat was removed and his wound examined. It was found to be a deep flesh-wound in the shoulder, from which a fragment of the broken arrow still protruded.
“It’s a wonder to me, Mr. Harry, how ye held on to that big thief so long,” muttered Jacques, as he drew out the splinter and bandaged up the shoulder. Having completed the surgical operation after a rough fashion, they collected the defeated Indians. Those of them that were able to walk were bound together by the wrists and marched off to the fort, under a guard which was strengthened by the arrival of several of the fur-traders, who had been in pursuit of the fugitives, and were attracted to the spot by the shouts of the combatants. Harry, and such of the party as were more or less severely injured, were placed in canoes and conveyed to Stoney Creek by the lake, into which Duck River runs at the distance of about half-a-mile from the spot on which the skirmish had taken place. Misconna was among the latter.
On arriving at Stoney Creek, the canoe party found a large assemblage of the natives awaiting them on the wharf, and no sooner did Misconna land than they advanced to seize him.
“Keep back, friends,” cried Jacques, who perceived their intentions, and stepped hastily between them.—“Come here, lads,” he continued, turning to his companions; “surround Misconna. He is _our_ prisoner, and must ha’ fair justice done him, accordin’ to white law.”
They fell back in silence on observing the guide’s determined manner; but as they hurried the wretched culprit towards the house, one of the Indians pressed close upon their rear, and before anyone could prevent him, dashed his tomahawk into Misconna’s brain. Seeing that the blow was mortal, the traders ceased to offer any further opposition; and the Indians rushing upon his body, bore it away amid shouts and yells of execration to their canoes, to one of which the body was fastened by a rope, and dragged through the water to point of land which jutted out into the lake near at hand. Here they lighted a fire and burned it to ashes.
There seems to be a period in the history of every one when the fair aspect of this world is darkened—when everything, whether past, present, or future, assumes a hue of the deepest gloom; a period when, for the first time, the sun, which has shone in the mental firmament with more or less brilliancy from childhood upwards, entirely disappears behind a cloud of thick darkness, and leaves the soul in a state of deep melancholy; a time when feelings somewhat akin to despair pervade us, as we begin gradually to look upon the past as a bright, happy vision, out of which we have at last awakened to view the sad realities of the present, and look forward with sinking hope to the future. Various are the causes which produce this, and diverse the effects of it on differently constituted minds; but there are few, we apprehend, who have not passed through the cloud in one or other of its phases, and who do not feel that this _first_ period of prolonged sorrow is darker, and heavier, and worse to bear, than many of the more truly grievous afflictions that sooner or later fall to the lot of most men.