“Nay, rather let us die sword in hand and face to foe!” cried Roche, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm.  “Let us make a last desperate sortie, and see if we cannot drive the enemy from their position.  Anything is better than dying here like rats in a hole!  A forlorn hope is better than none.  Why should we not at least cut our way out to the free forest, if we cannot rout the enemy and drive them back whence they came?”

“The life of the free forest would mean death to those raw lads who have come out from England or from the provinces,” said Fritz gravely.  “It would be hardly more than a choice of deaths; and yet I would sooner die sword in hand, hewing my way to freedom, than cooped up between walls where every shot begins to tell, and where the dead can scarce be buried for the peril to the living.”

And indeed the position of affairs was so deplorable that a council was held by Monro; and it was agreed that if any desired to make this last sortie, either for life and liberty for themselves, or in the last forlorn hope of driving the enemy from their position, it might be attempted; but if it failed, there was nothing for it but capitulation, if honourable terms could be had, or if not to die at their posts, fighting to the very last.

A cheer went up from the men when they heard these words.  If they had well nigh lost hope, their courage was not quenched, and a large band volunteered for the sortie.  Fritz and Roche were amongst these, but Pringle remained behind in the fort.

“I will stand by the Colonel and the sinking ship,” he said.  “It is but a choice of evils.  I doubt if any of us will see the light of many more days.  I prefer the chances of war to the unknown horrors of the forest filled with savages.”

He laid a hand upon Roche’s arm and looked affectionately into the boyish brave young face.  Then he turned to Fritz.

“If you should get through, take care of the lad.  You are a Ranger; you know the forest well.  If any can escape safely thither, it will be you and such as you.  But don’t forsake the boy—­don’t let him fall alive into the hands of the Indians; kill him yourself sooner.  And now fare well, and God bless you both:  for I think that on this earth we shall meet no more.”

“Nay, why think that?” cried Roche eagerly; “stranger things have happened before now than that we should all live to tell the tale of these days.”

Pringle shook his head; whilst Fritz wrung his hand and said: 

“At least remember this:  if you should wish to have news of us, ask it of Rogers’ Rangers, who are always to be heard of in these parts.  If we escape, it is to Rogers we shall find our way.  He will be glad enough to welcome us, and from any of his Rangers you will hear news of us if we ever reach his ranks.”

There was no sleep for the fort that night.  Indeed the hot summer nights were all too short for any enterprise to be undertaken then.  The glow in the western sky had scarcely paled before there might have been seen creeping forth through the battered gateway file after file of soldiers, as well equipped as their circumstances allowed—­silent, stealthy, eager for the signal which should launch them against the intrenched foe so close at hand.