and very gallantly, as soldiers usually do when
they respect their commander. They were left
to face cruel odds and a merciless foe, and they
knew it; but no voice was raised for flight,
though there was just a chance of escape on
foot over the ice. They eagerly aided the
females to embark, and stood around, prepared
for the worst. Willy Kendal got the yacht's
head round to the south-east, and amid wild
outbursts of grief from those we were taking
away, and many a cheer and hearty blessing
from the brave fellows left behind, we glided
off across the glassy ice, and heard the last
English hurrah die away behind us.

It was now dawn, but the sun was hidden by
thick grey clouds, and a dull mist, through
which the familiar headlands of the coast
loomed gigantic, until we lost them too, and
trusted to the compass for our guide. The
ladies were put in possession of the cabin, the
stove was lighted, and such few preparations
as we could make for their comfort were made.
The soldiers' wives and their children crouched
on the deck forward, and we were sorely put
to it to provide the poor things with warm
clothing to defend them from the piercing
cold.

Three hours after daybreak it was still very
foggy and dark. We were far out on the lake—
at that part very narrow—and within sight, no
doubt, if the weather had been clear, of the
American shore. The women and children were
fretful and low spirited. Miss Lee had covered
her face with a shawl, and lay in a corner of
the cabin, in an agony of speechless sorrow, and
not answering a word to the voluble talk of her
rather empty-headed aunt: a fussy worldly
personage, who thought she had laid her brother
the major under immense obligations by coming
out, when her husband died insolvent, to share
his home in Canada.

"Kendal," said I, "we're very much south
of Port Hope; can't we bear up a bit?"

But the young colonist pointed out to me
how very unstable and light the wind was,
constantly veering from point to point, and always
unfavourable to a direct course. He also told
me, in a whisper, that there were "seams" in
the ice, and he only hoped we should not come
to "cl'ar water" presently.

It might have been half an hour after this
when Susannah, the negress, as she came up from
the tiny cabin, suddenly started and cried out,

"O massa, we 'rived! Poor 'Sannah see
bay'net of sodger shine, dar."

She pointed south, where something shone
through the fog.

"Wagh!" grunted Elk-that-runs, rising to
his feet with the noiseless agility of a panther.
"Kesnakupak blind squaw—deaf stupid Indian
—let listen a bit."

He put his head on one side, and listened
like a stag for the hunters. Then he drew himself
up, folded his arms—naked but for the heavy
silver bracelets on his medalled breast—and
said:

"Men talk—Mohawk—out yonder."

"Impossible!" cried Kendal and I, with one
accord.

"Elk-that-runs speak truth," answered the
Indian, stoically. "Some talk English talk,
dem Yankee soldier—some talk Mohawk—dem
warriors of de Six Nations. Dat all."

"Hist!" cried Willy, very cautiously.

A shrill quavering sound reached our ears
through the mist, and we recognised an
American air, though the words could not be
distinguished. At the same moment the curtain of
fog lifted sufficiently to enable us to discern a
sight appalling enough under the circumstances.
A small sandy islet, specked with trees, visible
above the ice, and on it and around it the
temporary encampment of a large body of armed
men. No tents, but many a rude "lodge" of
skins and branches, while a number of
hand-sleighs, probably containing provisions and
ammunition, were scattered about. Most of those
in sight were white men, of whom the majority
wore the uniform of the New York militia,
though many were in the fringed hunting-shirts
or the suits of blanketing commonly worn in
winter by the dwellers in Oswego county.
There were a number of grim forms whose paint
and fantastic head-gear of plumes and
fox-tails, whose buffalo-robes and gaudy-coloured
blankets, sufficiently denoted their stock. I
saw no cannon, but bayonets glanced far and
near, and the bright barrels of muskets and
the clouded tubes of rifles bristled on all sides.

"We've poked our heads into a wild bees'
nest, lieutenant," whispered the brave young
Kendal. "Our best hope is, that the fog may
fall again."

But a sudden yell from some sharp-eyed
Indian announced that we were seen. Hundreds
of voices took up the cry, and a huge clamour
and confusion began. Rallying squares were
formed by the Americans, while the savages
huddled together in dusky groups.

"Hurrah! I see how 'tis," cried Willy
Kendal; "the scamps think we're Britishers
coming over to attack 'em. They're that struck
of a heap, we might gain a couple of mile before
a shot's fired, if—-"

Flash! A rifle had been fired at us already,
and the ball was so well aimed that it cut
one of the feathers from the head-dress of
Elk-that-runs, and sent it fluttering to the deck.
The chief never moved a muscle, but sucked on
at his pipe, and waited a full minute before he
uttered his eternal "Wagh!"

But after this tribute to the etiquette of his
stoical race, the intelligent savage proved
anything but a drone in the hive. While Willy
clutched the helm, and I did my best to trim
sails and haul ropes so as to make the most of
the sluggish breeze, the Indian rose to his feet,
cast a piercing glance at the enemy, and then
stood beside young Kendal, perfectly regardless
of repeated discharges of fire-arms.

"Ice no good, dere!" cried Elk-that-runs.
"More to east, young chief. Tell you, current
dar, and you no sheer off we break through and
all lose scalp, sure."