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Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
 Mr. Prevost was silent, for his feelings had suffered a natural
change toward the Indians; but Edith exclaimed, "We cannot say
that of dear Otaitsa, at all events, Woodchuck; for she surely has a
heart full of generosity, and everything that is noble."

"That's not raal, that's not raal," answered Woodchuck. "That

comes of the blood that's in her. For that matter, Black Eagle has
some fine things about him. He's the best of them I ever saw. We
used to say, 'Whole Ingian, half devil.' I think in his case it must
have been quarter devil, and that's saying a good deal for so fierce a
man as he in battle. They say he has scalped more enemies than all
his tribe put together, specially in that war down upon the
Pennsylvania side some nineteen years ago, when some of our
people foolishly took part with the Mohagans."

Mr. Prevost started, and Woodchuck went on, saying: "He has
good things, for he always makes his people spare the women and
children; which is what them Ingians seldom think of. A scalp's a
scalp to them, whether it has got long hair on it or only a scalp-lock.
But, as I was saying, the Blossom has got all that is good in him,
and all that was good in her mother, poor thing; and that was a
mighty great deal."

"I have often wished," said Mr. Prevost, "that I could hear
something of Otaitsa's history. Her mother, I believe, was a white
woman, and I have more than once tried, when I found the Black
Eagle in a communicative mood, to lead him to speak upon the
subject; but the moment it was touched upon he would wrap his
blanket round him and stalk away."

"Aye! he has never forgotten her," said Woodchuck. "He never

took another wife, you know; and well he may remember her, for
she was his better angel, and ruled him completely, which was what
no one else could. But I can tell you all about it, if you like to know,
for I heard it all from an old squaw, one time; and I saw the lady
once, too, myself, and talked to her."
 "I think," said Edith, thoughtfully, "that she must have been a
lady; for when I was in their lodge, I saw, in Otaitsa's little chamber,
a great number of things of European manufacture and of high
taste."

"May not those have been procured for the dear girl by our good
friend Gore?" asked Mr. Prevost. "He is a man of much taste
himself."

"I think not," answered Edith. "They are evidently old, and
seemed to have belonged to one person; besides, there are a
number of drawings, all evidently done by one hand--not what
anyone would purchase, and apparently by an amateur rather than
an artist."

Mr. Prevost fell into a fit of thought, and leaned his head upon his
hand, but Woodchuck replied: "Oh, they are her mother's, beyond
doubt; they are her mother's. She was quite a lady, every inch of
her; you could hear it in the tone of her voice, you could see it in her
walk. Her words, too, were those of a lady; and her hand, too, was
so small and delicate it could never have seen work. Do you know,
Miss Edith, she was wonderfully like you--more like you than Otaitsa.
But I'll tell you all about it, just as I heard it from the old squaw. At
the time I talk of--that's a good many years ago--eighteen, or
nineteen, maybe--Black Eagle was the handsomest man that had
ever been seen in the tribes, they say, and the fiercest warrior, too.
He was always ready to take part in any war, and whenever fighting
was going on he was there. Well, the Delawares had not been quite
brought under at that time by the Five Nations, and he went down
with his warriors and the Mohawks, to fight against the Mohagans;
they were Delawares, too, you know, somewhere on the
Monongahela River, just at the corner of Pennsylvania and Virginny.
Our people had given some help to the Mohagans, and they were, at
that time, just laying the foundations of a fort, which the French got
hold of afterward and called Fort, du Quesne. Well, there was an old
general officer who thought he would go up and see how the works
were going on, and as things were quiet enough just then--though
it; was but a calm before a storm--he took his daughter with him,
and journeyed away pleasantly enough, through the woods. I dare
say, though, it must have been slow work, for as he intended to stay
all the summer, the old man took a world of baggage with him; but
the third or fourth night after leaving the civilized parts they lodged
in an Indian village, when, all in a minute, just as they were going to
bed, down comes Black Eagle upon them with his warriors. There
was a dreadful fight in the village, nothing but screams, and war-
whoops, and rifle shots; and the Mohagans, poor devils, were almost
put out that night; for they were taken unawares, and they do say
not a man escaped alive out of the wigwam. At the first fire out
rushes the old general from the hut, and at the same minute a rifle
ball, perhaps from a friend, perhaps from an enemy--no one can tell-
-goes right through his heart. Black Eagle was collecting scalps all
this time, but when he turned round, or came back, or however it
might be, there he found the poor young lady, the officer's daughter,
crying over her father. Well, he wouldn't suffer them to hurt her, but
took her away to the Oneida country with him, and gathered up all
her goods and chattels, and her father's, and carried that off, too;
but all for her, for it seems he fell in love with her at first sight. What
made her first like him, they say, was that he wouldn't let the
savages scalp the old man, telling them that the English were allies,
and declaring that the ball that killed him did not come from an
Oneida rifle. However that may be, the poor girl had no choice but
to marry Black Eagle, though the old woman said that, being a great
chief's daughter, she made him promise never to have another wife,
and, if ever a Christian priest came there, to be married to her
according to her own fashion."

While he spoke Mr. Prevost had remained apparently buried in

deep and very gloomy thought, but he had heard every word, and
his mind had more than once wandered wide away, as was its wont,
to collateral things, not only in the present but in the past. When
Woodchuck stopped he raised his head and gazed at him for a
moment in the face, with a look of earnest and melancholy inquiry.
"Did you ever hear her name?" he asked. "Can you tell me her
father's name?"

"No," replied Woodchuck. "I had the history almost all from the
old squaw, and if she had tried to give me an English name she
would have manufactured something, such as never found its way
into an English mouth. All she told me was that the father was a
great chief among the English, by which I made out that she meant
a general."

"Probably it was her father's portrait I saw at the Indian Castle,"

said Edith. "In Otaitsa's room there was a picture that struck me
more than any of the others, except, indeed, the portrait of a lady. It
was that of a man in a military dress of antique cut. His hand was
stretched out, with his drawn sword in it, and he was looking round
with a commanding air, as if telling his soldiers to follow. I marked it
particularly at first, because the sun was shining on it, and because
the frame was covered with the most beautiful Indian beadwork I
ever saw. That of the lady, too, was similarly ornamented; but there
was another interested me much--a small pencil drawing of a young
man's head, so like Walter that at first I almost fancied dear Otaitsa
had been trying to make his portrait from memory."

"Would you remember the old man's face, my child, if you saw it
again?" asked Mr. Prevost, gazing earnestly at his daughter.

"I think so," said Edith, a little confused by her father's

earnestness; "I am quite sure I should."

"Wait, then, a moment," said Mr. Prevost, "and call for lights, my
child."

As he spoke he rose and quitted the room; but he was several

minutes gone, and lights were burning in the chamber when he
returned. He was burdened with several pictures of small size, which
he spread out upon the table, while Edith and Woodchuck both rose
to gaze at them.
 "There! there!" cried Edith, putting her finger upon one, "there is
the head of the old officer, though the attitude is different; and there
is the lady, too; but I do not see the portrait of the young man!"

"Edith," said her father, laying his hand affectionately upon hers,
and shaking his head sadly, "he is no longer young, but he stands
beside you, my child. That is the picture of my father; that, of my
mother. Otaitsa must be your cousin. Poor Jessie! We have always
thought her dead, although her body was not found with that of her
father. Better had she been dead, probably."

"No, no, Prevost!" said Woodchuck. "Not a bit of it! Black Eagle
made her as kind a husband as ever was seen. You might have
looked all Europe and America through, and not have found as good
a one. Then think of all she did, too, in the place where she was.
God sent her there to make better people than she found. From the
time she went, to the time she died, poor thing! there was no more
war and bloodshed, or very little of it. Then she got a Christian
minister amongst them--at least, he never would have been suffered
to set his foot there if she had not been Black Eagle's wife. It is a
hard thing to tell what's really good, and what's really evil, in this
world. For my part, I think, if everything is not exactly good--which
very few of us would like to say it is--yet good comes out of it; like a
flower growing out of a dunghill; and there's no saying what good to
the end of time this lady's going there may produce. Bad enough it
was for her, I dare say, at first; but she got reconciled to it; so you
mustn't say it would have been better if she had died."

"It is strange, indeed," said Mr. Prevost, "what turns human fate
will take. That she, brought up in the midst of luxury, educated with
the utmost refinement, sought and admired by all who knew her,
should reject two of the most distinguished men in Europe to go to
this wild land and marry an Indian savage! Men talk of fate and
destiny, and there are certainly strange turns of fortune, so beyond
all human calculation and regulation that the doctrine of the fatalist
seems true."
 "Do you not think, my dear father," said Edith, waking up from a
profound reverie, "that this strange discovery might be turned to
some great advantage; that Walter, perhaps, might be saved without
the necessity of our poor friend here sacrificing his own life to
deliver him?"

"That's like a dear, good girl," said Woodchuck; "but I can tell you,
it's no use."

"But," urged Edith, "Otaitsa ought to know, for Black Eagle

certainly would never slay the nephew of a wife so dear to him."

"It's no use," repeated Woodchuck, almost impatiently. "Don't you

know, Miss Edith, that Walter and the Blossom are in love with each
other, and that's worth all the blood relationship in the world.
Sometimes it does not last as long, but while it does it's twice as
strong. Then, as to Black Eagle, he'd kill his own son, if the customs
of his people required it. I guess it would only make him tomahawk
poor Walter the sooner, just to show that he would not let any
human feeling stand in the way of their devilish practice. No! no!
Much better keep it quiet. It might do harm, for aught we can tell; it
can and will do no good. Let that thing rest, my dear child. It's
settled and decreed. I am ready now, and I shall never be so ready
again. Let me take one more look at my mountains, and my lakes,
and my rivers, and my woods, and I've done with this life. Then
God, in His mercy, receive me into another. Amen. Hark! There is
someone coming up at a good gallop. That noble young lord, I dare
say."

It was as Woodchuck had supposed; and the moment after, Lord

H---- entered the room with a beaming look of joy and satisfaction in
his countenance. He held a packet of considerable size in his hand,
and advanced at once to Mr. Prevost, saying: "My dear sir, I am
rejoiced to present to you this letter, not alone because it will give
you some satisfaction, but because it removes the stain of
ingratitude from the country. His Majesty's present ministers are
sensible that you have not received justice; that your long services
to the country in various ways--all that you have done, in short, to
benefit and ameliorate your race, and to advocate all that is good
and noble--have been treated with long neglect, which amounts to
an offence; and they now offer, as some atonement, a position
which may lead to wealth, and a distinction which, I trust, is but the
step to more."

"What is it, George? What is it?" asked Edith, eagerly.

"It is, I am told," replied Lord H----, "in a letter which

accompanies the packet; a commission as commissary general of the
army here, and an offer of the rank of baronet."

"Thank God!" said Edith; and then, seeing a look of surprise at

her earnestness come upon her noble lover's face, a bright smile
played round her lips for a moment, and she added: "I say thank
God, George--not that I am glad my father should have such things,
for I hope and trust he will decline them both; but the very offer will
heal an old wound, by showing him that zealous exertions and the
exercise of high and noble qualities are not always to be treated with
neglect, forgetfulness, and contempt. He will be glad of it, I am
sure, whatever his decision may be."

"Now I understand you, my own love," answered Lord H----.

"With regard to the baronetcy, he shall do as he will; but I must
press him earnestly to accept the office tendered to him. To decline
it might show some resentment. By accepting it he incurs no peril,
and he serves his country; for from his knowledge of the people
here, of the very physical features of the land and its resources, and
of the habits and feelings of all classes, I believe no man could be
found, with one or two exceptions, so well fitted for the task as
himself---- Ah! my good friend Captain Brooks, how do you do? I
have much wished to see you lately, and to hear of your plans."
 "I am as well as may be, my lord," replied Woodchuck, wringing
in his heavy grasp the hand which Lord H---- extended to him. "As
for my plans, they are the same as ever; you did not doubt me, I am
sure."

"I did not," replied Lord H----, gravely, and looking down, he fell
into a fit of thought. At length, looking up, he added: "And yet, my
good friend, I am glad you have had time for reflection, for since we
last met I have somewhat reproached myself for at least tacit
encouragement of an act, in the approval of which so many personal
motives mingle that one may well doubt one's self. Forgive me,
Edith--forgive me, Mr. Prevost, if I ask our friend here if he has well
considered, and weighed in his own mind, calmly and reasonably,
without bias, nay, without enthusiasm, whether there be any moral
obligation on him to perform an act which I suppose he has told you
he contemplated."

"There is no forgiveness needed, my lord," said Mr. Prevost. "I

would have put the same question to him if he would have let me.
Nay, more; I would have told him, whatever I might suffer by the
result, that in my judgment there was no moral obligation. Because
he did a justifiable act these Indians commit one that is unjustifiable,
upon an innocent man. That can be no reason why he should
sacrifice his life to save the other. God forbid, that even for the love
of my own child, I should deal in such a matter unjustly. I am no
Roman father--I pretend not to be such. If my own death will satisfy
them, let them take the old tree, withered at the root, and spare the
sapling, full of strength and promise; but let me not doom--let me
not advise a noble and an honest man to sacrifice himself from a too
generous impulse."

"I do not know much of moral obligations," replied Woodchuck,

gravely, "but I guess I have thought over the thing as much as e'er
one of you. I have made up my mind, and just on one principle, and
there let it rest, in God's name! I say to myself, 'Woodchuck, it's not
right, is it, that anyone should suffer for what you ha' done?' 'No, it's
not.' 'Well, is there any use talking of whether they've a right to
make him suffer for your act or not? They'll do it.' 'No, there's no use
a-talking, because they'll do it. It's only shuffling off the
consequences of what you did upon another man's shoulders. You
never did that, Woodchuck; don't do it now. Man might say, it's all
fair; God might pardon it, but your own heart would never forgive
it!'"

Edith sprang forward and took both his hands, with her beautiful
eyes full of tears. "God will prevent it!" she said, earnestly. "I have
faith in Him. He will deliver in our utmost need! He provided the
Patriarch with an offering, and spared his son. He will find us a
means of escape if we but trust in Him."

"Miss Edith," replied Woodchuck, gravely, "He may or He may not,

according to His own good pleasure; but of this I am sure, that
though Christ died for our transgressions, we have no right to see
anyone else suffer for our doings. I have read my Bible a great deal
up there on the hillside lately--more than I ever did before since I
was a little boy--and I am quite certain of what I'm about. It has
been a comfort and a strength to me. It's all so clear--so very clear.
Other books one may not understand--one can't misunderstand that
unless one tries very hard. And now, pray, let's have an end on't
here. My mind is quite made up. There's no use of saying a word
more."

All the rest were silent, and Edith left the room with the large
tears rolling over her cheeks.

CHAPTER XXIV
 When Edith rose on the day following the visit of poor Captain
Brooks, somewhat later than was her custom--for the first half of the
watches of the night had known no comfort--Woodchuck was gone.
He had waited for no leave-taking, and was on his way toward the
mountains before the dawn of day.

It was better for all, indeed, that he should go, and he felt it. Not
that there was any chance of his resolution being shaken, but as he
had himself said, he wished to forget that resolution--to think no
more of his coming fate than the dark remembrance of it within his
own heart forced him to think; and the presence of Mr. Prevost and
his daughter--the very absence of Walter from their fireside--would
have reminded him constantly of the rock on which his bark was
inevitably steering. With Mr. Prevost and Edith his presence would
have had the effect of keeping up the struggle between affection for
Walter and a kindly sense of justice toward him. His every look, his
every word, would have been a source of painful interest, and the
terrible balancing of very narrowly divided equities, where life was in
the scale and affection held the beam, would have gone on, in the
mind at least, continually.

When he was gone the agitating feelings gradually subtranspose

themselves, and they almost looked upon him as a thing decided;
the mind was relieved from a greater apprehension by a lesser, and
a quiet melancholy, whenever his coming fate was thought of, took
the place of anxious alarm. In some sort the present and the past
seemed to transpose themselves, and they almost looked upon him
as already dead.

True, all fear in regard to Walter was not completely banished.

There was nothing definite, there was no tangible object of
apprehension. They felt perfectly sure that Woodchuck would
execute his resolution, but yet the heart, like an agitated pendulum,
vibrated long after the momentum had ceased. It grew quieter and
quieter by degrees, however, on the part of Mr. Prevost; a change of
thought and of object did much. All his preparations had to be made
for the proper execution of the office he had undertaken. He had
more than once to go to Albany, and on each occasion he took his
daughter with him. Each change had some effect, and both he and
Edith recovered a certain degree of cheerfulness at last in general
society. It was only in the quiet and the silent hours, when either
was left alone, when those intervals took place during which, sleep
refuses to visit the eye, when all external sounds are still, when all
external sights are absent, and the mind is left alone with thought,
and nothing but thought for its companion--it was only then that the
fear, and the anxiety, and the gloom returned.

Every moment that could be spared from military duties were

passed by Lord H---- at Edith's side, whether in her own home or in
the city.

Thus passed nearly three weeks, by which time the bustle of

active preparation, the marching of several regiments toward the
north, and signs of activity and haste in every department, gave
notice to the inhabitants of Albany that some important military
movement was about to take place. The fife and drum, the
lumbering roll of the cannon, were daily heard in the quiet streets.
Boats were seen collecting on the river, parades and exercises
occupied the greater part of every day; scouts and runners were
hurrying about in all directions, and clouds of Indians, painted and
feathered for the warpath, hovered round the city, and often
appeared in the streets. Lord H---- had advanced with his whole
regiment to the neighborhood of Sandy Hill; other bodies of troops
were following, and the commissary general, whose active energy
and keen intelligence surprised all who had only known him as a
somewhat reserved and moody man, had advanced to a spot on the
Hudson where a small fort had been built at the commencement of
what was called the King's road, to see with his own eyes the safe
delivery and proper distribution of the stores he had collected. Long
ranges of huts had gathered round the fort, which was judged so far
within the English lines as to be a place of perfect security, and
many a lady from Albany, both young and old, had gathered
together there to see the last of husband, brother, or father, before
they plunged into the forest and encountered the enemy.

Here everything was done, as usual, to smooth the front of war

and conceal ugly features, and certainly after the arrival of Lord H---
- with his regiment and the wing of another, the scene was brilliant
and lively enough. Bright dresses, glittering arms, military music,
fluttering flags, and prancing chargers, were beheld on every side,
and gay and lively talk, only interrupted now and then by the solemn
words of adieu, of caution, or direction from anxious heart to
anxious heart, hid in a great degree the deeper, stronger, sterner
feelings that were busy underneath.

In all such expeditions, amidst the bustle and excitement, there

come lapses of quiet inactivity, especially before the first blow is
struck. Some accident causes a delay; some movements have not
been combined with sufficient accuracy; one party has to wait for
another, and is left unoccupied. Thus it was in the present instance.
A small but important division of the army, to be accompanied by a
large body of Indians, was retarded by a deficiency of boats, and the
news arrived that two days must elapse before they could reach the
fort. A superior officer was now present, and both Lord H---- and Mr.
Prevost felt that it would be no dereliction of duty to seek leave of
absence, in order to visit once more the house of the latter, and
personally escort Edith to the place where she was to remain till the
object of the expedition was accomplished. The same day it was first
made known what the object of that expedition was. The word
Ticonderoga was whispered through the encampment, running from
the general's quarters through every rank down to the private
soldier, and a strange sort of feeling of joy spread throughout the
force; not that many knew either the importance of the object or the
state of the place, but simply that all were relieved from an
uncertainty.
 The comment of Lord H---- was very brief. He had long known,
indeed, the fact now first published, but as he told it to Edith while
seating her on her horse to set out, he said: "The place is, luckily,
near, and the business will soon be brought to an end, my love." A
something indefinable in his heart made him add mentally, "one way
or another," but he gave no utterance to the gloomy doubt, and the
little party rode away.

A calm, quiet evening, with the wind at the south, the sun setting
red in clouds, and a gray vapor stealing over the sky, with every
prospect of a coming storm, and yet everything still and sober in
solemn tranquillity, often puts me in mind of those pauses in the
busy course of life which precede some great and decisive event.

Such an evening was that which Lord H---- and Edith and Mr.
Prevost spent together at the house where so many of these scenes
have been laid, after quitting Fort Edward in the morning. Their
journey had passed quite peaceably. They had encountered no
human being but a few bands of friendly Indians going to join the
army, and the ride, as everyone knows, was, and still is, a very
beautiful one. It had occupied hardly four hours, and thus the
principal part of the day had been spent in calm tranquillity in a
scene endeared to all.

Mr. Prevost had retired to his room to write, and Lord H---- and
Edith sat together in front of the house, gazing out toward the
setting sun.

They talked of many things, some not at all connected with the
circumstances of the present or the future; they feared to dwell
upon them too long, and they often sought relief in indifferent
topics, but still the coming hour was vaguely present to the mind of
each. It was like sitting near a waterfall, with the quiet, melancholy
murmur of the cataract mingling harmoniously but sadly with every
other sound.
 "I trust, dear Edith, that we shall see them together," said Lord H-
---, speaking of distant lands where they both had birth. "There is
many a lovely thing to be met with in the old world, both in nature
and in art, and though I love these beautiful scenes well, and enjoy
as much as anyone the magnificence of unadorned nature, yet
methinks that is no reason why we should not appreciate to the full
all that is fine and lovely, though of a different character. It is the
narrow-minded man alone, the man of an uncapacious soul, who
suffers one sort of excellence to take possession of his taste or
heart. Beauty and goodness are infinitely varied, and though I may
love some aspects best, yet I trust ever to be capable of deriving
pleasure from each and all."

"But you have seen all these things, George," she answered. "Will
it not weary you to go over them all again with so untutored a
companion as myself?"

He gazed at her for a moment with a look of earnest affection,

and gently pressed the hand he held in his. "I take a new light with
me, Edith," he replied, "a light that will give new loveliness to
everything that is beautiful. I have often thought, my beloved, that
to see our own sensations--I mean happy ones: enjoyment,
admiration, satisfaction--reflected from the mind of one so dear as
you are to me, must be like beholding a loved scene reflected from
the bosom of a calm lake, when every fair feature and bright hue
acquires a magic luster and a brightness greater in the borrowed
image than even in the tangible reality. These are happy dreams,
Edith; let us trust to renew them some few weeks hence, and then,
whenever this campaign is over, I will quit this busy, perilous game
of war, if Edith will then be mine, and realize the visions we love so
well. In the meanwhile, dear one, as everyone who goes into battle
encounters certainly some peril, let us speak a word of the future in
case the worst should befall. You will remember me, Edith, I am
sure, if I should not return. I do not think you will ever love another
so well; but remember, I am not so selfish in my love as to wish you
to sacrifice the whole comfort and happiness of a life to the memory
of one departed. Be happy when and in what way you can. Consult
your own feelings solely, and I do believe that if spirits can look
down on earth when parted from this frail body, your happiness,
however it is attained, will add to mine; for I cannot believe that
when we quit this earth we carry the selfishness of clay along with
us."

The tears swam in Edith's eyes, and gemmed the long, black
lashes round them, but they ran not over. "I have but one wish on
earth, George," she answered, "when I think of the chances that you
mention. It is that I may not survive you, even for an hour. If I had
not known it could not be, I would have asked to go with you, in the
hope that if you are to fall, one hour might take us both."

Lord H---- smiled sadly, and shook his head. "That might entail
greater sorrows still," he answered, "and in no sense could it be, my
Edith. No soldier should have his wife with him. While in the field he
should be detached as much as possible from every thought but that
of duty. I doubt, indeed, that he should have any tie to earth
whatever, except those which God imposed upon him at birth. This is
one reason why I shall quit the army. I am less fit to be a soldier
than I was, but I should be utterly unfit if I thought you were in
peril. From all apprehension on that score, indeed, I go free. I felt
some uneasiness, indeed, while I thought that you were to remain
alone here, with none but the servants round you. As matters are
arranged at present, however, you will be quite safe with Colonel
Schneider and his wife. Besides his servants, the host of workmen
employed in finishing his house and all the other works he has going
on, will prove a little bodyguard in itself."

"I should have felt myself perfectly secure here," replied Edith,
"for the familiar aspect of all things round gives a sort of confidence
which I could feel nowhere else. These Schneiders I hardly know,
but if you and my father are better satisfied, I am content to be with
them. What hour are we to set out to-morrow?"
 "Between one and two o'clock," replied Lord H----, "will be quite
time enough. The distance is but six miles, and your father and I can
very well escort you thither and reach Fort Edward before night."

"I am glad of that," answered Edith. "To-morrow is the day that

poor Captain Brooks is to be here. I should much like to see him
once more, and I hope that he will arrive before we go. If not, I
must tell the servants to provide for him well, and show him every
kindness. Oh, George, is it not terrible to think of his encountering
such a fate? The very idea of providing his last meals for him when
going to a voluntary death makes my heart sink with horror and
regret."

"The only chance is between him and poor Walter," answered

Lord H----; "and we must not forget that this act of Woodchuck's has
not been pressed or even asked by us. He judges, and judges
rightly, I think, that it would be ungenerous to allow Walter to suffer
for his acts; and though I would not urge him to adopt the course he
has chosen, I certainly would say nothing to dissuade him."

"His self-devotion only makes it more terrible," answered Edith,

"at least in my eyes, and yet I cannot help hoping," she continued,
looking up inquiringly in her lover's face, "that something may occur.
Why should I not say that something would be provided to rescue
them both without this awful sacrifice?"

Lord H---- would say nothing to quell a hope which he thought

would give relief, but yet he did not share it; for his faith was less
than Edith's--man's faith always is less than woman's.

Not many minutes more passed before Mr. Prevost rejoined them,
speaking to one of the servants as he entered, in a calm but rapid
tone, and giving various orders and directions for the morrow.
Although not likely to be exposed so much as if entrusted with a
military command, some danger, of course, attended the mere fact
of his accompanying the army, and he had spent the last hour or
two in making many arrangements, in view of probable death.

All the proceedings of the following day were then definitely

arranged. After a hasty dinner he and Lord H----, with the four
mounted men who accompanied them, and Edith's old traveling
companion, Chaudo, were to escort her to the dwelling of Colonel
Schneider, the new house built that spring, even farther in the wild
than that of Mr. Prevost, of which the Indians on the hill had spoken.
There, leaving her at once, the two gentlemen were to return to the
camp, which they calculated upon reaching before nightfall.

The night passed quietly; day followed, and while Edith was
dressing she saw from her window the expected figure of
Woodchuck walking toward the door, with a firmer tread and a more
resolute and easy bearing than he displayed when he had last
appeared. On descending, she found him talking with her father and
Lord H----, with perfect calmness and ease. His look was firm and
self-possessed, his air was bold, though tranquil, and he seemed to
have gained health since she saw him last. Edith was almost
tempted to believe that some happy change of circumstances had
taken place, but his first words dispelled her illusion.

"No, I thank you, Mr. Prevost," he said, "I must go on. I'll just
take some breakfast with you, and then begin my march. I have
calculated well my time, and should like to have a day or two to go
and come upon. It does not do to leave things to the last. I guess I
shall leave Johnson Castle to-night. Then, mayhap, I shall get a lift
up the river in a canoe. But, at all events, even if I am obliged to
foot it all the way, I shall be in time."

Mr. Prevost looked down, and fell into thought, while Woodchuck
advanced to Edith, shook hands with her, and spoke upon indifferent
subjects. She now remarked that he was dressed in different guise
from that which he had assumed during the winter. A light brown
hunting shirt, loose in the body and the sleeves, seemed to be his
principal garment; and in the belt which bound it round him was
stuck the tomahawk and scalping knife of an Indian. His rifle stood
in one corner of the room. On his head he wore a fur cap, as usual,
and a pouch and powder horn, with moccasins on his feet,
completed his equipment.

"Well, general," he said, turning to Lord H----, "I saw some of

your people as I came up the river. There had been a fuss about
batteaux, but I showed them how they could find some, for a set of
knaves, more French than English at their hearts, had drawn a
crowd of them up the creek. So Abercrombie and the rest are all up
at Fort Edward by this time."

Lord H---- looked toward Mr. Prevost, but he was still in thought,
and only roused himself to lead the way into the hall to breakfast.
Woodchuck ate heartily; but to touch a single mouthful was a hard
task for the other three. While still at the table, however, the sound
of horses' feet galloping up to the door was heard, and Lord H----,
starting up, looked out of the window. There were a young officer
and a trooper of dragoons at the door; and the moment the former
saw Lord H---- he handed him in a letter by the window,
dismounting and entering the moment after, himself. By this time the
despatch had been read by the young nobleman and Mr. Prevost,
and the latter exclaimed: "This is most unfortunate! An immediate
recall, Edith! We must not delay a moment, for the march
commences to-morrow at daybreak! Get ready as fast as possible,
my love. We will see you safely to Colonel Schneider's, and then
gallop back to the fort."

"Excuse me for observing," said the young officer, "that the order
is peremptory. Of course, his lordship will judge for himself, but I
only follow General Abercrombie's commands in saying that he
wishes not a moment's delay."

"But my daughter, sir, my daughter!" said Mr. Prevost.

 The young gentleman bowed stiffly, but made no answer, and the
countenance of Lord H---- was very grave.

"Surely," said Mr. Prevost, "'twould be no great disobedience of

orders to see my daughter safely to the house of my friend, Colonel
Schneider, a distance of not more than six miles?"

"Which would take nearly two hours to go and come," said the
young officer, drily, "at least over roads such as these. But you and
his lordship are the best judges. I do not presume to dictate, and
only convey to you the commander-in-chief's orders."

"Leave her to my care, Prevost," said Woodchuck, starting up. "I

will see her safe. It's all in my way. Some of the servants can go with
us, and there is no danger."

"I am in no fear, indeed, my dear father," said Edith. "Do not risk
a censure. I shall be quite safe with our friend here."

"I believe, indeed, you will," said Lord H----; "otherwise I should
be tempted to disobey, myself. But the terms of this despatch are so
pressing that unless there were immediate and positive peril I think
we are bound to return to camp at once."

He spoke aloud, and very gravely; but then, advancing to Edith's

side, he added a few words in a lower tone. Mr. Prevost walked up
and joined in their conversation, a sufficient indication, it might have
seemed, that they wished for a few moments' privacy. Woodchuck
understood, and advanced quietly to the door, for natural delicacy of
feeling is but the reality of that of which politeness is the shadow.
But the young officer, who was of that coarse, common stuff of
which martinets are ultimately made, still kept his ground, till Lord
H----, somewhat provoked, turned round and said: "Captain Lumley,
you will have the goodness to return to headquarters, and inform
the commander-in-chief that his orders shall be peremptorily
obeyed."
 The young man paused a moment, with a look of surprise and
discontent, and a moment or two after, when he passed Woodchuck
at the door of the house, he was muttering: "Without asking me to
take any refreshment."

His murmurs were, perhaps, natural; for those who concede least
to the feelings of others invariably exact most for their own.

It is true that Lord H----, occupied with thoughts that engrossed

him altogether, dismissed the aide-de-camp without remembrance of
his needs, as well as without any feeling of resentment, and omitted
a courtesy which no resentment, assuredly, could have curtailed. But
the young man, swelling with indignation and offended dignity,
mounted sullenly, and proceeded but slowly on his way. He had not
gone one-half the distance, however, between Mr. Prevost's house
and Fort Edward, when Lord H---- and the commissary passed him
at great speed; and he did not reach headquarters till half an hour
after they had announced their own return.

CHAPTER XXV

The storm prognosticated from the red aspect of the setting sun
the night before had not descended when Edith Prevost left the door
of her father's house. No raindrops, fell, no breeze even stirred the
trees, and it was only a sort of misty obscurity to the westward
which gave token, to eyes well acquainted with the forest, that the
promise of the preceding sunset would yet be fulfilled. Overhead all
was clear and blue, and the sun, though there was some haze
around the broad disk, was powerful for the season of the year.
 Edith's companions were only Chaudo the negro, the good woman
Sister Bab (whose kindness, faithfulness and intelligence had all
been tried), and Woodchuck, who refused to take a horse from the
stable, but set out on foot by the beautiful girl's side.

"You can't canter a step of the way, Miss Edith," he said, "so I can
keep up with you, I guess; for the road, such as it is, is better fitted
for two feet than four."

There were tears in Edith's eyes as she turned from the door,
arising from many a mingled source. She had seen her father and
him whom she loved as well, though differently, depart suddenly to
danger and to battle. Her brother was far away; and still she could
not help thinking him in peril. Not only was the future of all
uncertain--for that the future of everyone is--but the uncertainty was
dark, and, as it were, more tangible than is generally the case with
the dim, misty valley of the coming time. There was not only a
cloud, but the cloud was threatening.

The moment of departing from her father's door was one of those
pausing places of the mind for Edith Prevost. She did not cast her
thoughts far back; she took in but a little range; six months was the
limit. But she remembered how calmly happy she had been in that
dwelling six months before.

She mused sadly, gazing down upon the horse's neck, and hardly
seeing or thinking of the way she took. In the meantime,
Woodchuck trudged on by her side, with his head erect, his face
lifted toward the sky, his pace steady and assured. Edith suddenly
and almost unconsciously turned her eyes toward him. There was a
tranquil elevation of his countenance, a lofty resolution in his look,
which gave her thoughts, in a moment, another direction. She was
parting from a well loved home and cherished associations, with
some clouds hanging over her, some anxieties dogging her path, but
with a probability of soon returning, and with many a sweet promise
of future happiness. Yet she was sad and downcast. He was
marching onward, wittingly and voluntarily, to a certain and terrible
death; and yet his march was tranquil, firm, and resolute. She felt
ashamed of her tears. Nay, more, as thought ran on, she said to
herself: "There is something more in life--something higher, nobler,
grander, than any human passion, than any mortal enjoyment, than
any mere earthly peace can give--something that comes from
heaven to aid and support us in our struggles here below. He knows,
he feels that he is doing his duty, that he is acting according to the
commandment of his God, and he is calm and firm in the presence
of death, and in the separation from all earthly things. And I--what
have I to suffer? What have I to fear in comparison with him?"

She made a great effort, she shook off her sadness, she wiped
the tears from her eyes, and said a few words to her companion in a
quiet tone. He answered briefly to her actual words, but then turned
at once to the feelings which he believed to be in her heart.

"Ah, Miss Prevost," he said, "it's a sad thing for a young lady like
you to part for the first time with those she loves when they are
going to battle, and I don't know that a woman's heart ever gets
rightly accustomed to it; but it don't do to love anything too well in
this world--no, not even one's own life. It's a sad stumbling block,
both in the way of our duty and our happiness. Not that I'd have
people keep from loving anything; that would never do. They
wouldn't be worth having if they couldn't love their friends, and love
them very well; but I guess the best way is to recollect always when
we've got a thing, that it is but a loan--life itself all the same as
everything else. It's all lent--all will be recalled. But only you see, my
dear young lady, we've got a promise that if we use what we've lent
to us well, it shall be given to us forever hereafter; and that should
always be a comfort to us--it is to me."

A slight sigh followed his words, and he walked on in silence for a

minute or two, probably pursuing the course which he had laid down
for himself in his very excellent philosophy, of marching on straight
to a high object, and casting from him all thought of the unavoidable
sufferings of the way. Soon after, he looked up to the sky and said:
"It's getting wonderfully black out there. I shouldn't wonder if we
had a flaw of wind and a good soaking rain. I say, Master Chaudo,
put that bearskin over the young lady's baggage and hold the horse
better in hand, or you'll have him down amongst these stumps. You
ride better than you lead, my friend."

The negro grinned at him, but did as he was directed, and a few
minutes after they issued out of the wood upon a small open space
of ground extending over the side of a slight eminence. The view
thence was prolonged far to the westward in a clear day, showing
some beautiful blue hills at the distance of some eight or nine miles.
Those hills, however, had now disappeared, and in their place was
seen what can only be called a dense black cloud, although those
words give a very inadequate idea of the sight which presented itself
to Edith's eyes. It was like a gigantic wall of black marble, with a
faint, irregular line at the top. But this wall evidently moved, coming
forward with vast rapidity, although where the travelers were not a
breath of air was felt. On it rushed toward them, swallowing up
everything, as it were, in its own obscurity. Each instant some tree,
some undulation of the ground, some marking object in the
prospect, disappeared in its deep, gloomy shadow, and for a few
moments Edith sat still upon her horse, gazing in awe, and even in
terror. Woodchuck himself seemed for an instant overpowered, but
then he caught Edith's rein and turned her horse, exclaiming: "Back,
Miss Prevost! Back as fast as possible! That's the blackest cloud I
ever see in all my days. There! there! to the eastward! Get under
them big old hemlocks! Keep away from the pines and the small
trees! It'll need to have been fastening to the ground for a hundred
years to stand what's coming!"

As he spoke he ran on fast by the side of Edith's horse till they

reached the edge of the wood, and there he checked her. "Not too
far in! not too far in! You must be ready to jump out if you find that
even these old fellows commence crashing!"
 He then left her bridle and walked carefully round several of the
trees, examining their trunks and roots with a very critical eye, to
ascertain that they were firmly fixed, and not decayed, and then
approaching Edith again, he held out his hand, saying: "Jump down!
Here's one will do. He must ha' stood many a hard storm and bitter
blast, and p'raps will bear this one, too; for he's as sound as when
he started up, a little twig, before the eyes of any mortal man now
living winked in the sunshine--aye! or his father's, either. There,
Chaudo, take the horses and grip them all tight, for depend upon it
they'll caper when the wind and rain come. Now, my dear, put
yourself on this side of the tree, keep close to it, and listen well. You
may find him shiver and sway a bit, but don't mind that, for he's not
so tall as the rest, and twice as stout; and what makes me trust him
is that in some storm his head has been broken off and his feet have
stood stout. He won't catch so much wind as the others, and I think
he'd stand it if he did. But if you hear him begin to crack, jump clear
out here to the left, into the open ground. They'll fall t'other way. If
you keep close, the branches won't strike you when they fall, and
the rain won't get at you, for it's taking a long sweep."

The next moment it came. The wind, blowing with the force of a
hurricane, rushed over the valley below; the leaves were torn off,
the small twigs, with their umbrageous covering, carried aloft into
the air and scattered; a few large drops of rain fell, and then the
whole force of the tempest struck the hillside and the more open
space where Edith stood. In an instant the scene of confusion and
destruction was indescribable. The gusts seemed to hiss as they
passed through the branches of the trees and between the tall
stems. Large branches were torn off and scattered far; the young
pines and birches bent before the force of the storm. As in the case
of war and pestilence, the weak, and the sickly, and the young, and
the decayed, suffered first and most. Wherever the roots had not
got a firm hold of the ground, wherever the frosts of the winter and
the thawing of the spring, or the heavy rains had washed away the
earth, or loosened it, the trees came thundering and crashing down,
and the din was awful, the howling wind, the breaking branches, the
falling trees, all joining in the roar; and a moment after the pattering
rain, rustling and rushing amongst the withered leaves left by the
winter, becoming thicker and more dense every moment, seemed
more as if a river was falling down from the sky, hardly separated
into drops, than a fertilizing shower passing over the landscape.

Edith gazed round her in affright, for she could, as Woodchuck

had predicted, feel the enormous but low-stemmed hemlock against
which he had placed her, tremble and quiver with the blast; and a
number of trees hard by were rooted up and cast prostrate, bearing
the turf and earth in which they had stood up into the air, while here
and there some more firmly fixed in the ground, but defective higher
up, snapped in the middle, and then the whole upper part was
carried many yards away. But though she gazed, little was the
distance she could see, so thick and black was the covering of the
sky; while all around, what between the close-falling deluge and a
sudden mist rising up from the ground, the sort of twilight that the
storm cloud left was rendered still more murky and obscure.

The two negroes, as usual with that race, were clamorous and
excited, adding the noise of their tongues to the roar of the tempest;
but the horses, contrary to the expectation of Woodchuck, seemed
cowed and paralyzed by fear. Instead of attempting to break loose
and rushing away, they merely turned from the wind and rain, and
with hoofs set firm, and drooping heads, abode the storm, with now
and then a shivering thrill, showing the terror that they felt.
Woodchuck himself stood silent, close by Edith, leading his strong
shoulder against the tree, and, with his eyes bent down upon the
ground, seemed to lose himself in heavy thought. A man who has
parted with the world and the world's hopes is tempest-proof.

After the first rush of the storm there came a lull, and then
another fierce roar, and more falling trees and crashing branches.
The whole forest swayed and bent like the harvest in a breeze, and
down came the torrent from the sky more furiously than ever. But in
the midst of it all Woodchuck started, leaned his head a little to one
side, and seemed to listen, with his eye fixed upon vacancy.

"What is the matter?" asked Edith, alarmed by his look.

"I thought I heard a footfall," he answered.

"In the roar of such a storm?" said Edith. "It must have been
some falling branch."

He only smiled for an answer, but still he listened, and she could
see him lift his arm a little from the lock of his rifle, on which it had
been tightly pressed, and look down upon it to see that it was dry.

The next moment, however, he resumed his ordinary attitude, and

said in a quiet tone: "It's all nonsense, however. The Ingians are all
quiet and friendly on this side of the lake. But you see, Miss Prevost,
I have been so many months on the watch every minute, not
knowing whether I should not feel the scalping knife or the
tomahawk the next, that I've got over-wary. The Mohawks are all on
the move about here, and no Hurons or any other of the enemies
would venture across, except in a large body, to fight a regular
battle. It must have been the tread of some friendly Ingian I heard,
though they don't usually leave the trail except they've some object
in view."

"But is it possible you could hear anything distinctly amidst this

awful noise?" asked Edith. "Are you sure you are not mistaken?"

"Oh, no, I'm not likely to be mistaken," answered Woodchuck.

"One's ears get sharp with continued listening. I'm putty sure it was
a foot I heard, and a man's foot, too. It seemed to be as if it had
slipped off a loose stone hidden under the leaves, and came down
harder, perhaps, than he expected. But that's no proof that he
meant mischief, for they've all got those cat-like sort of ways,
creeping about silently, whether there's 'casion for it or not; and as I
said just now, they're all friendly here on this side of Horicon."
 A few moments' silence succeeded, while the wind again swelled
up, raged for a minute or two, and then fell again; and Woodchuck,
putting out his head from beyond the shelter of the great trunk,
observed: "It seems to me to be getting a little clearer there to the
westward. I guess it won't last more nor half an hour longer."

Almost as he spoke, from every side but that which opened upon
the hill, came a yell, so loud, so fierce, so fiend-like, that ere she
knew what she was doing, under the sudden impulse of terror, Edith
darted at once away from the tree into the open space, and ran a
few steps till her long riding dress caught round her small feet, and
she fell upon the grass. At the same instant she felt a strong arm
seize her by the shoulder and heard the rattle of a rifle, and turning
her head in mute terror, she beheld the gleaming eyes and dark
countenance of an Indian, rendered more hideous by the half-
washed off war paint, bending over her. His tomahawk was in his
right hand; her last hour seemed come, but so sudden, so
confounding had been the attack that she could not collect her
ideas. She could not speak, she could not think, she could not pray.
The weapon did not fall, however, and the savage dragged her up
from the ground and gazed upon her, uttering some of the uncouth
exclamations of his people in tones of satisfaction and even
merriment.

One hurried glance around for help showed Edith that all hope for
help was vain; and no words can describe her horror at the scene
she saw. At the very moment she looked round, a tomahawk in the
hands of a gigantic Indian was falling on the head of the poor negro
Chaudo, and the next instant a wild, shrieking yell told her his agony
was come and gone. Woodchuck, hatchet in hand, was battling for
life against another savage, and seemed nearly, if not quite, his
match, but eight or ten more Indians were rushing up, yelling like
wolves as they came, and in the midst of the struggle, while
hatchets were playing and flashing round the heads of the
combatants, a young and active Indian sprang upon the poor hunter
from behind and threw him backward on the earth. He lay perfectly
still and motionless, gazing up at the tomahawk lifted over his head;
but at that instant the young Indian put his arm around his
companion's naked breast and pushed him violently back, with a
loud exclamation in the Iroquois tongue. Then seizing the hand of
Woodchuck, he pulled up the sleeve of his hunting shirt and pointed
to a blue stripe tattooed upon his arm.

The lifted hand and tomahawk of the other sank slowly by his
side, and Woodchuck sat up and gazed round him, but without
attempting to rise altogether from the ground.
 Some five or six of the Indians came quietly up, and some
kneeling, some bending down, gazed upon the blue line, while the
savage who had seized upon Edith dragged her forward to the spot,
and still holding her fast, gazed likewise. A few quick and muttered
words succeeded amongst their captors, some only of which Edith
heard and understood.

"It's the sign! it's the sign!" said one. Then came a sentence or
two that escaped her ear, and then another cried, "Ask him! Ask
him!"

Then one of the Indians seated himself on the ground before

Woodchuck, spread out his hands like a fan, and addressed some
words to him, which Edith, notwithstanding her perfect knowledge of
the Iroquois language in most of its dialects, did not in the least
comprehend. The answer of Woodchuck was equally unintelligible to
her, and the only word or words which she caught was "Honontkoh."

The moment he had spoken, two of the Indians placed their

hands under his arms and raised him from the ground. They took
the precaution of disarming him entirely, and then, gathering round,
they talked quickly and eagerly in low tones; but now they spoke a
language which Edith understood, and though she did not catch all
that was said she heard enough to show her that they were
discussing what was to be done with herself and Woodchuck, whom
it seemed to her that from some cause they recognized as a brother.
Suddenly the savage who held her pressed his fingers tighter upon
her arm, exclaiming aloud in a fierce, angry voice: "She is mine! I
will dispose of her as I please."

"No one will oppose the brother of the Snake," said another elder
man. "Scalp her, if thou wilt, but where canst thou carry her if thou
dost not slay her?"

"Let us all go to the other side of Corlear, Apukwa," said the man
who held her. "I will take her with me; she shall cook my venison for
me. 'Twas for this I brought you hither."

"What! Shall we become women amongst the Hurons?" said

Apukwa.

"No," replied the brother of the Snake; "there are many of our
tribe and order there, of our own nation, outcasts like ourselves. We
will become, like them, warriors of the great French king, and fight
against the accursed Yengees."

"But how shall we cross?" said Apukwa.

"There are canoes in plenty," said the other. "Besides, our Canada
brethren are here, close at hand, at Che-on-de-ro-ga. They will give
us help."

A silent pause succeeded, and then Woodchuck stretched forth

his arm, recovered from the confusion which perhaps the
suddenness of the attack, perhaps the violence of his fall, had
produced, and addressed them after their own fashion.

"Are we not brothers?" he said. "Are we not all Honontkoh? Are

we not all bound by the dreadful name to aid each other, even unto
blood and death? I demand, therefore--ye who have lifted the
hatchet against us unjustly--to set me and this maiden free, to make
our feet as the feet of the panther, to go whither we will. I have
spoken the terrible words. I have uttered the dreadful name; the
sign of the order is in my flesh, and ye dare not refuse!"

A look of doubt and hesitation came over the faces of the Indians,
and Apukwa replied: "Whither wouldst thou go, my brother? We
have all sworn the oath in the presence of the dark spirit that we will
aid one another, and that each of the Honontkoh will defend and
protect another, though he should have eaten fire or shed his
brother's blood. Thou hast shed our brother's blood; for we know
thee, though we knew not that thou wert of our order. But we are
Honontkoh, and we will keep the saying. We will defend thee; we
will protect thee; but whither wouldst thou go?"

"I go," answered Woodchuck, with unfortunate frankness and

truth, "I go to lay down my life for your brother's life. I go to the
Castle of the Oneidas, to say: 'Woodchuck is here. Let the hatchet
fall upon the old tree, and let the young sapling grow up till its time
be come. I killed the Snake. Take the blood of him who slew him,
and set the boy Walter free.' As for this maiden, she is mine. I have
adopted her. I claim her, as brother claims from brother. Ye cannot
be Honontkoh and take her from me. If ye be true to our order, give
her into my hand, and let us go."

While he spoke, the countenances of the Indians round betrayed

no mark of any emotion whatever, though there were many and
varying feelings, undoubtedly, busy in their breasts. As he ended,
however, a slight and somewhat scornful smile came upon the
cunning face of Apukwa, and he replied: "We cannot let our brother
go on such an errand. It would be contrary to our laws. We are
bound to defend and protect him, and must not let him make wind
of his life. The yellow leaf falls of itself from the bough; the green
leaf is torn off by the tempest. We must preserve our brother's life,
though the young man perish."

Edith's eyes wept fast with the bitterest drops of despair, but
Apukwa went on: "As for the maiden, we will hear and judge more
another day. Thou sayest thou hast adopted her. We will hear how,
for we know her to be the daughter of the paleface Prevost. If she
be the prize of the brother of the Snake, the brother of the Snake
must have her. But if she be thy daughter, she is thine. Let her be
with thee till we have heard all and judged. We have not room now;
for time goes fast, and we are near danger. The palefaces are to the
rising and setting sun, toward the cold and toward the soft wind.
The Honontkoh is the enemy of the paleface, the abandoned of the
Mohawk, and the outcast of the Oneida. Take the maiden in thy
hand, and go on toward the rising sun. We come with thee as thy
brethren, and will preserve thy life."

Woodchuck gave an anxious glance to Edith, and said in a low

voice and in English: "We can't resist, but we may outwit them.
Come on for the present, for I guess it may be no better. I will shed
my blood for you, my dear, if I cannot for your brother." And taking
her hand, he led her on toward the northeast, preceded by one, and
followed by five or six Indians, who, on their usual cautious plan,
walked singly, one after another, well knowing that their prisoners
could not escape them. Several remained upon the spot a few
minutes longer, engaged in stripping the pack-horse of all that he
carried, and taking the saddles and bridles of the other horses,
which they knew would be valuable in the eyes of the French. All
this was done with extraordinary rapidity, and then the last party
followed the first into the depths of the wood.

By this time the wind had considerably abated, though it still

rained hard. The moment after the Indians had departed, however,
the leaves and branches of a large flower-covered bush, of the
kalmia, growing under a low-spreading hemlock, moved gently, and
the next instant a black face protruded. After one hasty glance
around, the whole form of the negress, Sister Bab, was drawn slowly
out from the bush, and running from tree to tree with silent speed,
she stopped not till she caught sight again of the retiring Indians,
and then followed them quietly and cautiously on their way toward
Champlain.

CHAPTER XXVI
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