Chapter 20

"Now all is done that man can do,
And all is done in vain!
My love! my native land, adieu
For I must cross the main, My dear,
For I must cross the main."

Robert Burns, "It was a' for our Rightfu' King," II. 7-12.

The last chapter we left the combatants breathing in their narrow
lists. Accustomed to the rude sports of wrestling and jumping,
then so common in America, more especially on the frontiers, Hurry
possessed an advantage, in addition to his prodigious strength,
that had rendered the struggle less unequal than it might otherwise
appear to be. This alone had enabled him to hold out so long,
against so many enemies, for the Indian is by no means remarkable
for his skill, or force, in athletic exercises. As yet, no one
had been seriously hurt, though several of the savages had received
severe falls, and he, in particular, who had been thrown bodily
upon the platform, might be said to be temporarily hors de combat.
Some of the rest were limping, and March himself had not entirely
escaped from bruises, though want of breath was the principal loss
that both sides wished to repair.

Under circumstances like those in which the parties were placed, a
truce, let it come from what cause it might, could not well be of
long continuance. The arena was too confined, and the distrust
of treachery too great, to admit of this. Contrary to what might
be expected in his situation, Hurry was the first to recommence
hostilities. Whether this proceeded from policy, an idea that he
might gain some advantage by making a sudden and unexpected assault,
or was the fruit of irritation and his undying hatred of an Indian,
it is impossible to say. His onset was furious, however, and at
first it carried all before it. He seized the nearest Huron by the
waist, raised him entirely from the platform, and hurled him into
the water, as if he had been a child. In half a minute, two more
were at his side, one of whom received a grave injury by the friend
who had just preceded him. But four enemies remained, and, in a
hand to hand conflict, in which no arms were used but those which
nature had furnished, Hurry believed himself fully able to cope
with that number of red-skins.

"Hurrah! Old Tom," he shouted - "The rascals are taking to the
lake, and I'll soon have 'em all swimming!" As these words were
uttered a violent kick in the face sent back the injured Indian,
who had caught at the edge of the platform, and was endeavoring
to raise himself to its level, helplessly and hopelessly into the
water. When the affray was over, his dark body was seen, through
the limpid element of the Glimmerglass, lying, with outstretched
arms, extended on the bottom of the shoal