They had no hatchet to cut firewood, no blankets,
no overcoats, and no food except part of a Bologna sausage and a little
ginger which Pringle had brought with him. There was no game; not even a
squirrel was astir; and their chief sustenance was juniper-berries and
the inner bark of trees. But their worst calamity was the helplessness
of their guide. His brain wandered; and while always insisting that he
knew the country well, he led them during four days hither and thither
among a labyrinth of nameless mountains, clambering over rocks, wading
through snowdrifts, struggling among fallen trees, till on the fifth day
they saw with despair that they had circled back to their own
starting-point. On the next morning, when they were on the ice of Lake
George, not far from Rogers Rock, a blinding storm of sleet and snow
drove in their faces. Spent as they were, it was death to stop; and
bending their heads against the blast, they fought their way forward,
now on the ice, and now in the adjacent forest, till in the afternoon
the storm ceased, and they found themselves on the bank of an unknown
stream. It was the outlet of the lake; for they had wandered into the
valley of Ticonderoga, and were not three miles from the French fort.
In crossing the torrent Pringle lost his gun, and was near losing his
life. All three of the party were drenched to the skin; and, becoming
now for the first time aware of where they were, they resolved on
yielding themselves prisoners to save their lives.
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