CHAPTER I.

“Mine ear is open, and my heart prepared:

The worst is worldly 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 Sacrément.” 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.”[1]

[1]

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.[2]

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.

[2]

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.