Chapter 1 - Page 2

growth of but
little more than the time that is frequently fulfilled by a single
human life.

The incidents of this tale occurred between the years 1740 and 1745,
when the settled portions of the colony of New York were confined
to the four Atlantic counties, a narrow belt of country on each
side of the Hudson, extending from its mouth to the falls near its
head, and to a few advanced "neighborhoods" on the Mohawk and the
Schoharie. Broad belts of the virgin wilderness not only reached the
shores of the first river, but they even crossed it, stretching away
into New England, and affording forest covers to the noiseless moccasin
of the native warrior, as he trod the secret and bloody war-path.
A bird's-eye view of the whole region east of the Mississippi
must then have offered one vast expanse of woods, relieved by a
comparatively narrow fringe of cultivation along the sea, dotted
by the glittering surfaces of lakes, and intersected by the waving
lines of river. In such a vast picture of solemn solitude, the
district of country we design to paint sinks into insignificance,
though we feel encouraged to proceed by the conviction that, with
slight and immaterial distinctions, he who succeeds in giving an
accurate idea of any portion of this wild region must necessarily
convey a tolerably correct notion of the whole.

Whatever may be the changes produced by man, the eternal round of
the seasons is unbroken. Summer and winter, seed-time and harvest,
return in their stated order with a sublime precision, affording
to man one of the noblest of all the occasions he enjoys of proving
the high powers of his far-reaching mind, in compassing the laws
that control their exact uniformity, and in calculating their
never-ending revolutions.

Centuries of summer suns had warmed the tops of the same noble oaks
and pines, sending their heats even to the tenacious roots, when
voices were heard calling to each other, in the depths of a forest,
of which the leafy surface lay bathed in the brilliant light of a
cloudless day in June, while the trunks of the trees rose in gloomy
grandeur in the shades beneath. The calls were in different tones,
evidently proceeding from two men who had lost their way, and
were searching in different directions for their path. At length
a shout proclaimed success, and presently a man of gigantic mould
broke out of the tangled labyrinth of a small swamp, emerging into
an opening that appeared to have been formed partly by the ravages
of the wind, and partly by those of fire. This little area, which
afforded a good view of the sky, although it was pretty well filled
with dead trees, lay on the side of one of the high hills, or low
mountains, into which nearly the