Chapter 1

"Mine ear is open, and my heart prepared: The worst is

wordly loss thou canst unfold:--Say, is my kingdom lost?"

--Shakespeare

It was a feature peculiar to the colonial wars of North

America, that the toils and dangers of the wilderness were

to be encountered before the adverse hosts could meet. A

wide and apparently an impervious boundary of forests

severed the possessions of the hostile provinces of France

and England. The hardy colonist, and the trained European

who fought at his side, frequently expended months in

struggling against the rapids of the streams, or in

effecting the rugged passes of the mountains, in quest of an

opportunity to exhibit their courage in a more martial

conflict. But, emulating the patience and self-denial of

the practiced native warriors, they learned to overcome

every difficulty; and it would seem that, in time, there was

no recess of the woods so dark, nor any secret place so

lovely, that it might claim exemption from the inroads of

those who had pledged their blood to satiate their

vengeance, or to uphold the cold and selfish policy of the

distant monarchs of Europe.

Perhaps no district throughout the wide extent of the

intermediate frontiers can furnish a livelier picture of the

cruelty and fierceness of the savage warfare of those

periods than the country which lies between the head waters

of the Hudson and the adjacent lakes.

The facilities which nature had there offered to the march

of the combatants were too obvious to be neglected. The

lengthened sheet of the Champlain stretched from the

frontiers of Canada, deep within the borders of the

neighboring province of New York, forming a natural passage

across half the distance that the French were compelled to

master in order to strike their enemies. Near its southern

termination, it received the contributions of another lake,

whose waters were so limpid as to have been exclusively

selected by the Jesuit missionaries to perform the typical

purification of baptism, and to obtain for it the title of

lake "du Saint Sacrement." The less zealous English thought

they conferred a sufficient honor on its unsullied

fountains, when they bestowed the name of their reigning

prince, the second of the house of Hanover. The two united

to rob the untutored possessors of its wooded scenery of

their native right to perpetuate its original appellation of

"Horican."*

* As each nation of the Indians had its language or

its dialect, they usually gave different names to the same

places, though nearly all of their appellations were

descriptive of the object. Thus a literal translation of

the name of this beautiful sheet of water, used by the tribe

that dwelt on its banks, would be "The Tail of the Lake."

Lake George, as it is vulgarly, and now, indeed, legally,

called, forms a sort of tail to Lake Champlain, when viewed

on the map. Hence, the name.

Winding its way among countless islands, and imbedded in

mountains, the "holy lake" extended a dozen leagues still

further to the south. With the high plain that there

interposed itself to the further passage of the water,

commenced a portage of as many miles, which conducted the

adventurer to the banks of the Hudson, at a point where,

with the usual obstructions of the rapids, or rifts, as they

were then termed in the language of the country, the river

became navigable to the tide.

While, in the pursuit of their daring plans of annoyance,

the restless enterprise of the French even attempted the

distant and difficult gorges of the Alleghany, it may easily

be imagined that their proverbial acuteness would not

overlook the natural advantages of the district we have just

described. It became, emphatically, the bloody arena, in

which most of the battles for the mastery of the colonies

were contested. Forts were erected at the different points

that commanded the facilities of the route, and were taken

and retaken, razed and rebuilt, as victory alighted on the

hostile banners. While the husbandman shrank back from the

dangerous passes, within the safer boundaries of the more

ancient settlements, armies larger than those that had often

disposed of the scepters of the mother countries, were seen

to bury themselves in these forests, whence they rarely

returned but in skeleton bands, that were haggard with care

or dejected by defeat. Though the arts of peace were

unknown to this fatal region, its forests were alive with

men; its shades and glens rang with the sounds of martial

music, and the echoes of its mountains threw back the laugh,

or repeated the wanton cry, of many a gallant and reckless

youth, as he hurried by them, in the noontide of his

spirits, to slumber in a long night of forgetfulness.

It was in this scene of strife and bloodshed that the

incidents we shall attempt to relate occurred, during the

third year of the war which England and France last waged

for the possession of a country that neither was destined to

retain.

The imbecility of her military leaders abroad, and the fatal

want of energy in her councils at home, had lowered the

character of Great Britain from the proud elevation on which

it had been placed by the talents and enterprise of her

former warriors and statesmen. No longer dreaded by her

enemies, her servants were fast losing the confidence of

self-respect. In this mortifying abasement, the colonists,

though innocent of her imbecility, and too humble to be the

agents of her blunders, were but the natural participators.

They had recently seen a chosen army from that country,

which, reverencing as a mother, they had blindly believed

invincible--an army led by a chief who had been selected

from a crowd of trained warriors, for his rare military

endowments, disgracefully routed by a handful of French and

Indians, and only saved from annihilation by the coolness

and spirit of a Virginian boy, whose riper fame has since

diffused itself, with the steady influence of moral truth,

to the uttermost confines of Christendom.* A wide frontier

had been laid naked by this unexpected disaster, and more

substantial evils were preceded by a thousand fanciful and

imaginary dangers. The alarmed colonists believed that the

yells of the savages mingled with every fitful gust of wind

that issued from the interminable forests of the west. The

terrific character of their merciless enemies increased

immeasurably the natural horrors of warfare. Numberless

recent massacres were still vivid in their recollections;

nor was there any ear in the provinces so deaf as not to

have drunk in with avidity the narrative of some fearful

tale of midnight murder, in which the natives of the forests

were the principal and barbarous actors. As the credulous

and excited traveler related the hazardous chances of the

wilderness, the blood of the timid curdled with terror, and

mothers cast anxious glances even at those children which

slumbered within the security of the largest towns. In

short, the magnifying influence of fear began to set at

naught the calculations of reason, and to render those who

should have remembered their manhood, the slaves of the

basest passions. Even the most confident and the stoutest

hearts began to think the issue of the contest was becoming

doubtful; and that abject class was hourly increasing in

numbers, who thought they foresaw all the possessions of the

English crown in America subdued by their Christian foes, or

laid waste by the inroads of their relentless allies.

* Washington, who, after uselessly admonishing the

European general of the danger into which he was heedlessly

running, saved the remnants of the British army, on this

occasion, by his decision and courage. The reputation

earned by Washington in this battle was the principal cause

of his being selected to command the American armies at a

later day. It is a circumstance worthy of observation, that

while all America rang with his well-merited reputation, his

name does not occur in any European account of the battle;

at least the author has searched for it without success. In

this manner does the mother country absorb even the fame,

under that system of rule.

When, therefore, intelligence was received at the fort which

covered the southern termination of the portage between the

Hudson and the lakes, that Montcalm had been seen moving up

the Champlain, with an army "numerous as the leaves on the

trees," its truth was admitted with more of the craven

reluctance of fear than with the stern joy that a warrior

should feel, in finding an enemy within reach of his blow.

The news had been brought, toward the decline of a day in

midsummer, by an Indian runner, who also bore an urgent

request from Munro, the commander of a work on the shore of

the "holy lake," for a speedy and powerful reinforcement.

It has already been mentioned that the distance between

these two posts was less than five leagues. The rude path,

which originally formed their line of communication, had

been widened for the passage of wagons; so that the distance

which had been traveled by the son of the forest in two

hours, might easily be effected by a detachment of troops,

with their necessary baggage, between the rising and setting

of a summer sun. The loyal servants of the British crown

had given to one of these forest-fastnesses the name of

William Henry, and to the other that of Fort Edward, calling

each after a favorite prince of the reigning family. The

veteran Scotchman just named held the first, with a regiment

of regulars and a few provincials; a force really by far too

small to make head against the formidable power that

Montcalm was leading to the foot of his earthen mounds. At

the latter, however, lay General Webb, who commanded the

armies of the king in the northern provinces, with a body of

more than five thousand men. By uniting the several

detachments of his command, this officer might have arrayed

nearly double that number of combatants against the

enterprising Frenchman, who had ventured so far from his

reinforcements, with an army but little superior in numbers.

But under the influence of their degraded fortunes, both

officers and men appeared better disposed to await the

approach of their formidable antagonists, within their

works, than to resist the progress of their march, by

emulating the successful example of the French at Fort du

Quesne, and striking a blow on their advance.

After the first surprise of the intelligence had a little

abated, a rumor was spread through the entrenched camp,

which stretched along the margin of the Hudson, forming a

chain of outworks to the body of the fort itself, that a

chosen detachment of fifteen hundred men was to depart, with

the dawn, for William Henry, the post at the northern

extremity of the portage. That which at first was only

rumor, soon became certainty, as orders passed from the

quarters of the commander-in-chief to the several corps he

had selected for this service, to prepare for their speedy

departure. All doubts as to the intention of Webb now

vanished, and an hour or two of hurried footsteps and

anxious faces succeeded. The novice in the military art

flew from point to point, retarding his own preparations by

the excess of his violent and somewhat distempered zeal;

while the more practiced veteran made his arrangements with

a deliberation that scorned every appearance of haste;

though his sober lineaments and anxious eye sufficiently

betrayed that he had no very strong professional relish for

the, as yet, untried and dreaded warfare of the wilderness.

At length the sun set in a flood of glory, behind the

distant western hills, and as darkness drew its veil around

the secluded spot the sounds of preparation diminished; the

last light finally disappeared from the log cabin of some

officer; the trees cast their deeper shadows over the mounds

and the rippling stream, and a silence soon pervaded the

camp, as deep as that which reigned in the vast forest by

which it was environed.

According to the orders of the preceding night, the heavy

sleep of the army was broken by the rolling of the warning

drums, whose rattling echoes were heard issuing, on the damp

morning air, out of every vista of the woods, just as day

began to draw the shaggy outlines of some tall pines of the

vicinity, on the opening brightness of a soft and cloudless

eastern sky. In an instant the whole camp was in motion;

the meanest soldier arousing from his lair to witness the

departure of his comrades, and to share in the excitement

and incidents of the hour. The simple array of the chosen

band was soon completed. While the regular and trained

hirelings of the king marched with haughtiness to the right

of the line, the less pretending colonists took their

humbler position on its left, with a docility that long

practice had rendered easy. The scouts departed; strong

guards preceded and followed the lumbering vehicles that

bore the baggage; and before the gray light of the morning

was mellowed by the rays of the sun, the main body of the

combatants wheeled into column, and left the encampment with

a show of high military bearing, that served to drown the

slumbering apprehensions of many a novice, who was now about

to make his first essay in arms. While in view of their

admiring comrades, the same proud front and ordered array

was observed, until the notes of their fifes growing fainter

in distance, the forest at length appeared to swallow up the

living mass which had slowly entered its bosom.

The deepest sounds of the retiring and invisible column

had ceased to be borne on the breeze to the listeners, and

the latest straggler had already disappeared in pursuit; but

there still remained the signs of another departure, before

a log cabin of unusual size and accommodations, in front of

which those sentinels paced their rounds, who were known to

guard the person of the English general. At this spot were

gathered some half dozen horses, caparisoned in a manner

which showed that two, at least, were destined to bear the

persons of females, of a rank that it was not usual to meet

so far in the wilds of the country. A third wore trappings

and arms of an officer of the staff; while the rest, from

the plainness of the housings, and the traveling mails with

which they were encumbered, were evidently fitted for the

reception of as many menials, who were, seemingly, already

waiting the pleasure of those they served. At a respectful

distance from this unusual show, were gathered divers groups

of curious idlers; some admiring the blood and bone of the

high-mettled military charger, and others gazing at the

preparations, with the dull wonder of vulgar curiosity.

There was one man, however, who, by his countenance and

actions, formed a marked exception to those who composed the

latter class of spectators, being neither idle, nor

seemingly very ignorant.

The person of this individual was to the last degree

ungainly, without being in any particular manner deformed.

He had all the bones and joints of other men, without any of

their proportions. Erect, his stature surpassed that of his

fellows; though seated, he appeared reduced within the

ordinary limits of the race. The same contrariety in his

members seemed to exist throughout the whole man. His head

was large; his shoulders narrow; his arms long and dangling;

while his hands were small, if not delicate. His legs and

thighs were thin, nearly to emaciation, but of extraordinary

length; and his knees would have been considered tremendous,

had they not been outdone by the broader foundations on

which this false superstructure of blended human orders was

so profanely reared. The ill-assorted and injudicious

attire of the individual only served to render his

awkwardness more conspicuous. A sky-blue coat, with short

and broad skirts and low cape, exposed a long, thin neck,

and longer and thinner legs, to the worst animadversions of

the evil-disposed. His nether garment was a yellow nankeen,

closely fitted to the shape, and tied at his bunches of

knees by large knots of white ribbon, a good deal sullied by

use. Clouded cotton stockings, and shoes, on one of the

latter of which was a plated spur, completed the costume of

the lower extremity of this figure, no curve or angle of

which was concealed, but, on the other hand, studiously

exhibited, through the vanity or simplicity of its owner.

From beneath the flap of an enormous pocket of a soiled vest

of embossed silk, heavily ornamented with tarnished silver

lace, projected an instrument, which, from being seen in

such martial company, might have been easily mistaken for

some mischievous and unknown implement of war. Small as it

was, this uncommon engine had excited the curiosity of most

of the Europeans in the camp, though several of the

provincials were seen to handle it, not only without fear,

but with the utmost familiarity. A large, civil cocked hat,

like those worn by clergymen within the last thirty years,

surmounted the whole, furnishing dignity to a good-natured

and somewhat vacant countenance, that apparently needed such

artificial aid, to support the gravity of some high and

extraordinary trust.

While the common herd stood aloof, in deference to the

quarters of Webb, the figure we have described stalked into

the center of the domestics, freely expressing his censures

or commendations on the merits of the horses, as by chance

they displeased or satisfied his judgment.

"This beast, I rather conclude, friend, is not of home

raising, but is from foreign lands, or perhaps from the

little island itself over the blue water?" he said, in a

voice as remarkable for the softness and sweetness of its

tones, as was his person for its rare proportions; "I may

speak of these things, and be no braggart; for I have been

down at both havens; that which is situate at the mouth of

Thames, and is named after the capital of Old England, and

that which is called 'Haven', with the addition of the word

'New'; and have seen the scows and brigantines collecting

their droves, like the gathering to the ark, being outward

bound to the Island of Jamaica, for the purpose of barter

and traffic in four-footed animals; but never before have I

beheld a beast which verified the true scripture war-horse

like this: 'He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his

strength; he goeth on to meet the armed men. He saith among

the trumpets, Ha, ha; and he smelleth the battle afar off,

the thunder of the captains, and the shouting' It would seem

that the stock of the horse of Israel had descended to our

own time; would it not, friend?"

Receiving no reply to this extraordinary appeal, which in

truth, as it was delivered with the vigor of full and

sonorous tones, merited some sort of notice, he who had thus

sung forth the language of the holy book turned to the

silent figure to whom he had unwittingly addressed himself,

and found a new and more powerful subject of admiration in

the object that encountered his gaze. His eyes fell on the

still, upright, and rigid form of the "Indian runner," who

had borne to the camp the unwelcome tidings of the preceding

evening. Although in a state of perfect repose, and

apparently disregarding, with characteristic stoicism, the

excitement and bustle around him, there was a sullen

fierceness mingled with the quiet of the savage, that was

likely to arrest the attention of much more experienced eyes

than those which now scanned him, in unconcealed amazement.

The native bore both the tomahawk and knife of his tribe;

and yet his appearance was not altogether that of a warrior.

On the contrary, there was an air of neglect about his

person, like that which might have proceeded from great and

recent exertion, which he had not yet found leisure to

repair. The colors of the war-paint had blended in dark

confusion about his fierce countenance, and rendered his

swarthy lineaments still more savage and repulsive than if

art had attempted an effect which had been thus produced by

chance. His eye, alone, which glistened like a fiery star

amid lowering clouds, was to be seen in its state of native

wildness. For a single instant his searching and yet wary

glance met the wondering look of the other, and then

changing its direction, partly in cunning, and partly in

disdain, it remained fixed, as if penetrating the distant

air.

It is impossible to say what unlooked-for remark this short

and silent communication, between two such singular men,

might have elicited from the white man, had not his active

curiosity been again drawn to other objects. A general

movement among the domestics, and a low sound of gentle

voices, announced the approach of those whose presence alone

was wanted to enable the cavalcade to move. The simple

admirer of the war-horse instantly fell back to a low,

gaunt, switch-tailed mare, that was unconsciously gleaning

the faded herbage of the camp nigh by; where, leaning with

one elbow on the blanket that concealed an apology for a

saddle, he became a spectator of the departure, while a foal

was quietly making its morning repast, on the opposite side

of the same animal.

A young man, in the dress of an officer, conducted to their

steeds two females, who, as it was apparent by their

dresses, were prepared to encounter the fatigues of a

journey in the woods. One, and she was the more juvenile in

her appearance, though both were young, permitted glimpses

of her dazzling complexion, fair golden hair, and bright

blue eyes, to be caught, as she artlessly suffered the

morning air to blow aside the green veil which descended low

from her beaver.

The flush which still lingered above the pines in the

western sky was not more bright nor delicate than the bloom

on her cheek; nor was the opening day more cheering than the

animated smile which she bestowed on the youth, as he

assisted her into the saddle. The other, who appeared to

share equally in the attention of the young officer,

concealed her charms from the gaze of the soldiery with a

care that seemed better fitted to the experience of four or

five additional years. It could be seen, however, that her

person, though molded with the same exquisite proportions,

of which none of the graces were lost by the traveling dress

she wore, was rather fuller and more mature than that of her

companion.

No sooner were these females seated, than their attendant

sprang lightly into the saddle of the war-horse, when the

whole three bowed to Webb, who in courtesy, awaited their

parting on the threshold of his cabin and turning their

horses' heads, they proceeded at a slow amble, followed by

their train, toward the northern entrance of the encampment.

As they traversed that short distance, not a voice was heard

among them; but a slight exclamation proceeded from the

younger of the females, as the Indian runner glided by her,

unexpectedly, and led the way along the military road in her

front. Though this sudden and startling movement of the

Indian produced no sound from the other, in the surprise her

veil also was allowed to open its folds, and betrayed an

indescribable look of pity, admiration, and horror, as her

dark eye followed the easy motions of the savage. The

tresses of this lady were shining and black, like the

plumage of the raven. Her complexion was not brown, but it

rather appeared charged with the color of the rich blood,

that seemed ready to burst its bounds. And yet there was

neither coarseness nor want of shadowing in a countenance

that was exquisitely regular, and dignified and surpassingly

beautiful. She smiled, as if in pity at her own momentary

forgetfulness, discovering by the act a row of teeth that

would have shamed the purest ivory; when, replacing the

veil, she bowed her face, and rode in silence, like one

whose thoughts were abstracted from the scene around her.

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