I answered, giving him our names, and mentioning the fact that we had been the guest of Bulstrode, and how much we were disappointed in having missed not only our friend, but his corps.
“Gentlemen, I honour courage, let it come whence it may,” said the stranger, with strong feeling, and no acting, “and most admire it when I see it exhibited by natives of these colonies, in a quarrel of their own. I have heard of you as being with poor Howe, when he fell, and hope to know more of you. As for Mr. Bulstrode, he has passed southward, now some hours, and intends to make his cure among some connections that he has in this province. Do not let this be the last of our intercourse, I beg of you; but look up Capt. Charles Lee, of the ——th, who will be glad to take each and all of you by the hand, when we once more get into camp.”
We expressed our thanks, but Susquesus causing the canoe to make a sudden inclination towards the shore, the conversation was suddenly interrupted.
By this time the Indian was awake, and exercising his authority in the canoe, again. Gliding among the islands, he shortly landed us at the precise point where we had embarked only five days before. Securing his little bark, the Onondago led the way up the ravine, and brought us out on the naked cap of the mountain, where we had before slept, after an hour of extreme effort.
If the night had been so memorable, the picture presented at the dawn of day, was not less so! We reached that lofty look-out about the same time in the morning as the Indian had awakened me on the previous occasion, and had the same natural outlines to the view. In one sense, also, the artificial accessaries were the same, though exhibited under a very different aspect. I presume the truth will not be much, if any exceeded, when I say that a thousand boats were in sight, on this, as on the former occasion! A few, a dozen or so, at most, appeared to have reached the head of the lake; but all the rest of that vast flotilla was scattered along the placid surface of the lovely sheet, forming a long, straggling line of dark spots, that extended to the beach under Fort William Henry, in one direction, and far as eye could reach in the other. How different did that melancholy, broken procession of boats appear, from the gallant array, the martial bands, the cheerful troops, and the multitude of ardent young men who had pressed forward, in brigades, less than a week before, filled with hope, and exulting in their strength! As I gazed on the picture I could not but fancy to myself the vast amount of physical pain, the keen mental suffering, and the deep mortification that might have been found, amid that horde of returning adventurers. We had just come up from the level of this scene of human agony, and our imaginations could portray details that were beyond the reach of the senses, at the elevation on which we stood.
A week before, and the name of Abercrombie filled every mouth in America; expectation had almost placed his renown on that giddy height, where performance itself is so often insecure. In the brief interval, he was destroyed. Those who had been ready to bless him, would now heap curses on his devoted head, and none would be so bold as to urge aught in his favour. Men in masses, when goaded by disappointment, are never just. It is, indeed, a hard lesson for the individual to acquire; but, released from his close, personal responsibility, the single man follows the crowd, and soothes his own mortification and wounded pride by joining in the cry that is to immolate a victim. Yet Abercrombie was not the foolhardy and besotted bully that Braddock had proved himself to be. His misfortune was to be ignorant of the warfare of the region in which he was required to serve, and possibly to over-estimate the imaginary invincible character of the veterans he led. In a very short time he was recalled, and America heard no more of him. As some relief to the disgrace that had anew alighted on the British arms, Bradstreet, a soldier who knew the country, and who placed much reliance on the young man of her name and family whom I had met at Madam Schuyler’s, marched against Frontenac, in Canada, at the head of a strong body of provincials; an enterprise that, as it was conducted with skill, resulted in a triumph.
But with all this my narrative has no proper connection. No sooner did we reach the bald mountain-top, than the Onondago directed Jaap to light a fire, while he produced, from a deposit left on the advance, certain of the materials that were necessary to a meal. As neither of us had tasted food since the morning of the previous day, this repast was welcome, and we all partook of it like so many famished men. The negro got his share, of course, and then we called a council as to future proceedings.
“The question is, whether we ought to make a straight path to Ravensnest,” observed Guert, “or proceed first to the surveyor’s, and see how things are going on in that direction.”
“As there can be no great danger of a pursuit on the part of the French, since all their boats are in the other lake,” I remarked, “the state of the country is very much what it was before the army moved.”
“Ask that question of the Indian,” put in Dirck, a little significantly.
We looked at Susquesus inquiringly, for a look always sufficed to let him comprehend us, when a tolerably plain allusion had been previously made.
“Black-man do foolish t’ing,” observed the Onondago.
“What I do, you red-skin devil?” demanded Jaap, who felt a sort of natural antipathy to all Indians, good or bad, excellent or indifferent; a feeling that the Indians repaid to his race by contempt indifferently concealed. “What I do, red-devil, ha?—dat you dares tell Masser Corny dat!”
Susquesus manifested no resentment at this strong and somewhat rude appeal; but sat as motionless as if he had not heard it. This vexed Jaap so much the more; and, my fellow being exceedingly pugnacious on all occasions that touched his pride, there might have been immediate war between the two, had I not raised a finger, at once effectually stilling the outbreak of Jacob Satanstoe’s wrath.
“You should not bring such a charge against my slave, Onondago,” I said, “unless able to prove it.”
“He beat red warrior like dog.”
“What of dat!” growled Jaap, who was only half-quieted by my sign. “Who ebber hear it hurt red-skin to rope-end him?”
“Warrior back like squaw’s. Blow hurt him. He never forget.”
“Well, let him remember den,” grinned the negro, showing his ivory teeth from ear to ear. “Muss was my prisoner; and what good he do me, if he let go widout punishment. I wish you tell Masser Corny dat, instead of tellin’ him nonsense. When he flog me, who ebber hear me grumble?”
“You have not had half enough of it, Jaap, or your manners would be better,” I thought it necessary to put in, for the fellow had never before manifested so quarrelsome a disposition in my presence; most probably because I had never before seen him at variance with an Indian. “Let me hear no more of this, or I shall be obliged to pay off the arrears on the spot.”
“A little hiding does a nigger good, sometimes,” observed Guert, significantly.
I observed that Dirck, who loved my very slave principally because he was mine, looked at the offender reprovingly; and by these combined demonstrations, we succeeded in curbing the fellow’s tongue.
“Well, Susquesus,” I added, “we all listen, to hear what you mean.
“Musquerusque chief—Huron chief—got very tender back; never forget rope.”
“You mean us to understand that my black’s prisoner will be apt to make some attempt to revenge himself for the flogging he got from his captor?”
“Just so. Indian good memory—no forget friend—no forget enemy.”
“But your Huron will be puzzled to find us, Onondago. He will suppose us with the army; and, should he even venture to look for us there, you see he will be disappointed.”
“Never know. Wood full of paths—Injin full of cunning. Why talk of Ravensnest?”
“Was the name of Ravensnest mentioned in the presence of that Huron?” I asked, more uneasy than such a trifle would probably have justified me in confessing.
“Ay,