When we got to Sabbath Day Point, we found the rest of our men there, and a number of good fires. We warmed ourselves at them, and our companions brought us some warm food and drink.

Amos's ear was puffed up, and his toes were so sore he could hardly walk.

We were very tired, and rolled ourselves up in our blankets near the fires, and had a sound sleep.

The next day we marched as far as Long Island, and camped there that night.

At sunrise one of our Indians brought word that a large herd of deer was on the lake near the west side.

[Sidenote: A HERD OF DEER]

McKinstry, Martin, Amos, and I got leave to go after them with some other Rangers and Indians. Amos started with us too.

"This is f-fun, Ben. A whole herd of d-deer waiting to be knocked over. Oh, my feet!"

He limped along, and the sweat stood out on his face. "It's no use, Ben. I can't do it. I call that t-tough luck—to be cheated out of the best chance for hunting I ever had. Good-by."

He felt as bad over it as a boy of twelve would to lose Thanksgiving dinner.

We divided into two parties. A half a dozen Indians walked up the lake beyond the deer, so as to drive them toward us; and the rest of us went to the west side of the lake and up into the woods, till we were hidden from the lake.

We walked along on a path that was near the shore of the lake, till we were opposite the deer, and the Indians were already in a line on the further side of them.

"Now, boys," said McKinstry, "spread out, so that they can't run to the shore, and in this going we ought to get them all."

We went down on the ice and drove them toward the Indians and then formed a circle around them.

As we had rackets on, and the snow was deep, we could outrun the deer, and we killed the whole herd—twelve in all. Most of us shot our deer, but the Indians ran alongside of them and killed their deer with their hunting-knives.

"No more salt beef for us for a week or so," said McKinstry. "I've been longing for a bit of venison."

We cut up our deer, and making some rude sleds out of bark, placed our venison on them, and soon overtook the rest of our party, for they moved slowly.

Rogers had sent word to Fort Edward that many of the men were frost-bitten and unable to walk; and one hundred men with a number of Indian sleds were sent to us and met us on the lake. Amos got on one of these sleds, and we marched back to Fort Edward.



CHAPTER XV

CAMP DISCIPLINE—AMHERST'S ANGELS—A BRUSH WITH THE FRENCH, AND THE LOSS OF CAPTAIN JACOB

In the spring the provincial troops began to meet at Albany. Some of our officers had been recruiting during the winter, and they returned with their men.

John Stark had gone home in the fall to get married, and he brought back one hundred men whom he had enlisted at Amoskeag Falls. Two companies of Stockbridge Indians also joined us. There were fifty men in each of these companies.

By the first of June Amherst arrived at Fort Edward with part of the army, and Gage came up the river with the rest in boats. He brought the artillery and provisions with him.

The river was so high that the men could not use setting poles, and it took them two weeks to row up against the swift current.

Most of the provincial troops were without uniforms, and, as I have said, were ignorant of military life and discipline. Their officers wore a uniform of blue faced with scarlet, with metal buttons, and had laced waistcoats and hats. They were sober, sensible men.

When the provincials reached Fort Edward, they were drilled daily and taught to fire by platoon and to shoot at a mark. They were sent into the woods to learn how to fight.

One company from each regiment of the regulars was fitted out as light infantry and clothed lightly. Plenty of powder and ball was given to these men, and we used to go into the woods with them and give them an idea of wood-fighting. We had a good deal of fun out of all this. It was solid comfort to go out with a batch of conceited fellows and show them how very green they were.

The soldiers were sent in bathing daily. The sick, if they had sufficient strength, had to go to the doctor for their medicines and to the river to wash and bathe. Amherst thought that spruce beer was a remedy against scurvy and made great quantities of it. We could have all we wanted at the rate of half a penny for a quart.

[Sidenote: MILITARY PUNISHMENTS]

Discipline was very rigid. Men were constantly being flogged. And one sometimes saw the drummers give a man two or three hundred stripes with the cat-o'-nine-tails, at the head of his regiment. Every now and then the drummers would rest, and a surgeon would examine the man to see if he could endure the remainder of the punishment. Some were punished by riding the wooden horse, and a couple were hanged for stealing cattle.

The woods along the path from Fort Edward were cut down for quite a distance on either side of the path, that the enemy might not ambuscade our parties. And little forts were built every three or four miles along the road. No one died of idleness that spring.

Our old uniforms were pretty well used up. When a jacket or a pair of breeches gave out, we replaced them with a deerskin shirt or breeches, which we made ourselves.

In the spring General Amherst gave the Rangers a new uniform. It was a blue cap or bonnet, such as the Highlanders wore, and a waistcoat and short jacket of black frieze lapelled with blue. There were no arms to the waistcoat or jacket, only armholes, and on the shoulders were little wings, such as the drummers and grenadiers wore. Hector called us Amherst's angels. The buttons were of white metal. We had drawers of linen or light canvas, and over them leggings of black frieze reaching to the thighs. From the calf down, they were buttoned with white metal buttons, and came over the feet like splatterdashes. At our waist was fastened a short kilt of blue stuff, which reached nearly to the knees. Our dress was much like that of the Highlanders.

Most of the regulars who had joined us since the last campaign came from Louisburg, and had been sufficiently long in the land to lose a portion of that feeling of immense superiority which Englishmen have when fresh from the old country. Still they laughed heartily at the awkward appearance of the green provincial troops. And no one could help it who had experience in military life.

[Sidenote: "YANKEE DOODLE"]

"Ben," said Donald, "just listen to the green gawks singing and whistling that 'Yankee Doodle.' They think it is the finest tune on earth, and the latest martial music from England. I remember the bit of a surgeon who wrote that in fun two years ago, just to make sport of them."

"Well, Donald, I like it myself; and as our boys have taken it up, they're apt to fight well under it."

"'Deed, man, they'll no do anything with it. It's just a poor foolish tune."

How little we foresaw the popularity of that air. For years the bands of the British regiments played it in derision of the provincials. Percy's troops marched to Lexington to this music. They did not play it on their return. During the Revolution our men played it whenever the British were defeated, and the tune gradually became unpopular in the British army.

"Donald, our men may be green and awkward, but they are God-fearing men, most of them, members of the church; and they don't drink like fish, nor swear like pirates, as these newcomers do, whose conceit and overbearing ways are hard to endure."

"You're right there, Ben. It's no bad thing to have a gude opinion of oneself, provided it's not altogether too gude. And I maun say that these men put themselves too high. And a man should have a bridle on his tongue, and not be drinking too much of this nasty rum."

"They laugh at our ways of speaking, and say we speak through our noses. You of the Black Watch talk differently from them. I heard a captain, the other day, telling of pumpkins, which he called pompions. 'Yes,' he said, 'the pompion is a good vegetable, and an excellent succedaneum to the cabbage, in the latter part of the winter.' What do you think of succedaneum, Donald?"

"'Deed, I think it's a fine word. I don't know what it means, but it has a grand sound. I'll manage to bring it in, in the future, when I hear people using big words. Benjamin, I'm obliged to you."

"A few days later, I heard this captain talking about the fogs in Nova Scotia, which he said, 'are owing to the steamy breath of fish and sea animals.' I put that down at once. If I could only hear him talk right along, I think I'd learn a good deal about nature. How do you like it?"

[Sidenote: THE ARMY MARCHES TO LAKE GEORGE]

"He's a grand talker, Ben, and has an uncommon gude grip on the language. But I think his philosophy's gone to his head. He never lived among our Scotch mists, or he wouldn't be so befogged in his ideas."

When General Gage reached Fort Edward, he was sent over to Lake George with part of the army. Three companies of Rangers, under Captain Stark, went with him. The other three companies, under Rogers, remained behind.

On the 20th of June the rest of the army, under Amherst, marched to the lake.

Our three companies of Rangers, under Rogers, formed the advanced guard, and threw out flanking parties to scour the woods near by. The artillery and baggage brought up the rear.

Then nearly a month was consumed in building boats and rafts to carry the artillery, in raising boats which had been sunk the previous fall, and in digging up cannon and stores that had been buried.

Amherst wished for information about the French, and Captain Jacob was sent on a scout to Lake Champlain. At the same time Rogers, McKinstry, Martin, and I set out to see what force the enemy had at Crown Point.

We put our birches into the water after dark. As I stepped into our birch, Jacob said: "Good-by, Ben Comee! Never see you again. Heap Canawaugha Indians at Crown Point. Gray Wolf's friends. All want Ben Comee's scalp. Me heap sorry."

"Good-by, Jacob. Take care you don't lose your own hair."

The Indians went along the south shore, and we struck across for the other side. The enemy had several batteaux on the lake, and we paddled quietly in the dark till we reached the other shore. As it became light, we lifted our canoe from the water, and hid it in the bushes.

Rogers started off through the woods, and we followed him in a file. We climbed a mountain near Ticonderoga and had a good view of the fort. We stayed there for a couple of hours, counting the different bodies of soldiers. There seemed to be about three thousand men in the garrison,—regulars, Canadians, and Indians. Then we came down and went north to Crown Point. We ascended a hill, and looked down on the fort. It was deserted. The French had concentrated all their men at Ticonderoga.

[Sidenote: CAPTAIN JACOB IN HOT WATER]

McKinstry called out: "Look up the lake. Captain Jacob is in hot water. Those two birches that are being chased are his, certain."

"Yes; he and his men are in those two, and there are seven birches after them. About thirty men. It's a pretty slim chance he's got. Now they're firing."

Both parties were shooting at each other. As they neared the shore, we lost sight of them behind a point, but could still hear them popping away.

Rogers said: "Captain Jacob is in a fix. Presence of mind is a good thing, but absence of body is a great deal better in a case like this, and we'd better light out of here at once, and get out of the way before they run across our trail. There's too few of us to help him. We must look out for our own scalps. Hurry up."

We went back into the woods a long distance before we turned south to go to Lake George. We reached camp the next evening, and on the following day a wounded Indian came in and said that Captain Jacob and the other four Indians were captured.

There was a report that he was sent to Montreal, but it is more likely that he was tortured and sang his death-song at the stake.

At last the rafts were ready for the artillery, and on the 21st day of July the army embarked and moved down the lake in four columns. The Rangers headed the column on the right. To the left of us was a column of two brigades of regulars. The third column was mainly made up of boats and rafts carrying the artillery and provisions, and the provincials formed the fourth column.

[Sidenote: THE ARMY EMBARKS]

A raft called the Invincible Radeau, which carried nine twelve-pounders, led the army, and the Halifax sloop brought up the rear.

From these, signals were displayed which informed us what to do. The weather was hazy. There was a strong wind which made quite a sea, and put the artillery in considerable danger. Whenever the wind was favourable, we spread our blankets for sails, which helped us very much. There were in all about eleven thousand men,—regulars and provincials.



CHAPTER XVI

THE RANGERS TO THE FRONT—CAPTAIN STARK'S TALE OF CAPTURE—TO ATTACK THE ST. FRANCIS INDIANS

We reached the outlet at night, and remained in the boats, tossed about on the water, which was quite rough. The Rangers were the first to land. We marched by the portage path to the sawmills, and crossed the bridge to the rising ground on the further side.

A party of the enemy met us there, but we killed some of them, drove them off, and took several prisoners. Soon after, the grenadiers and light infantry came up, and were followed by the rest of the army, which remained over-night at the sawmills. The Canadians and Indians crept up again, and fired on us from the bushes.

"S-Some of your Canawaugha friends, B-Ben, come to pay you a call."

[Sidenote: RANGERS ADVANCE TO LAKE CHAMPLAIN]

We got behind trees and bushes, and we and the French picked each other off till night came.

Several of our men were wounded. How much the enemy suffered I do not know, as the Indians drag off their dead. This would seem to be a matter of no consequence, but I can assure you, that after you have been four or five hours behind a tree, and heard the bullets plug into it, or zip through the grass and bushes, close by, it's a great downfall when the enemy have been driven off, to search the ground in front of you, and find no dead or wounded, when you could take your oath that you had hit three or four.

On the 23d, the Rangers were sent across the plain, to take a position on the cleared land, next to Lake Champlain, near the breastwork.

When we got there, we found ourselves close to a small intrenchment, and the men in it opened fire on us.

"There's no sense, Ben, in standing here, to be shot at," said Martin.

"No; let's drive them out of that intrenchment, and get behind it ourselves. Come on, boys."

We ran toward this earthwork, firing as we advanced, and the French cleared out as we were climbing over the bank.

The army now came over to the lake, and the artillery was brought up by the provincials. Although the breastworks had been greatly strengthened, the enemy abandoned them, and withdrew to the fort. The breastworks afforded a good shelter for our men.

Our army began to throw up earthworks, and at night the Rangers were sent into the trenches to pick off the enemy, and distract their attention from the workmen.

All of our cannon had now been brought over; and on the night of the twenty-fourth Bourlemaque, the French commander, abandoned the fort with most of his army, and rowed down the lake, leaving four hundred men to defend the place.

As soon as our guns were in place, a sharp cannonade began from both sides.

Amherst wished to know what the soldiers under Bourlemaque were doing, and a number of Rangers had been sent down the lake to watch them, and some of them were constantly returning with news of the movements of the enemy.

[Sidenote: THE FRENCH ABANDON TICONDEROGA]

A batteau and two whaleboats had been brought over from Lake George; and on the night of the twenty-fifth Rogers ordered sixty of the Rangers to embark in these boats, to cut a boom which the French had placed across the lake, just above the fort.

When we were halfway to the boom, we saw lights moving at the fort, and the enemy ran down to the shore, and began to get into their boats.

Rogers cried out: "They're getting ready to leave. Go for them, boys!"

Our boats attacked some of the enemy's batteaux which were separated from the main body. We rowed among them and fired right and left. One of the crews showed fight, but we killed three or four of them, and the rest jumped overboard and swam ashore. Rogers sent our boat after another boat. I was in the bow, and kept firing at them, till at last they turned to the shore, and escaped into the woods. At about ten o'clock, while we were still fighting, the fort blew up with a tremendous noise.

We remained at this place, and in the morning took possession of the boats that we had driven ashore. They contained a large quantity of baggage,—fifty kegs of powder, and a number of cannon ball. Later in the day I examined the fort. It was completely destroyed by the explosion of its powder magazine.

Two hundred Rangers, under Captain Brewer, were sent to watch the enemy at Crown Point. The rest of us were sent to the sawmills, to look out for flying parties of the enemy. We remained there two weeks.

On the 12th of August we were ordered to the front of the army, and the whole army marched to the fort at Crown Point, which had been blown up and destroyed by the enemy.

I had not had a chance to talk to Captain Stark for a long time, and when we camped at Crown Point, I went over to his quarters. He took me into his hut and gave me a pipe.

[Sidenote: A FOOLISH ERRAND]

"I'm glad to see you, Comee. It's been some time since we met, and I shall not see you again this campaign. I received orders to-day to take two hundred men and cut a path through the woods to Fort No. 4. I am very glad of it, for it will take me out of a fix I should have been in, if I had remained here."

"How's that, Captain John?"

"General Amherst has sent Captain Kennedy and some other officers to try and gain over the St. Francis Indians. I think it is a foolish errand, which will breed trouble. I don't want to fight them. That is, I don't mind fighting them, if they come down here, spoiling for a row. But I don't want to go and attack them in their own region, for I am a member of that tribe: I was adopted by them. You never suspected that I was a full-fledged Indian warrior, did you, Ben?"

"No, indeed. How in the world can that be?"

"When I grew up, I went trapping and hunting at Baker's River, in the spring of 1752, with David Stinson, Amos Eastman, and my brother William. We made a camp with bark and boughs. There was plenty of game, and we trapped over L500 worth of furs before the first of April. On the twenty-seventh day of that month we saw the tracks of Indians, and decided to get out of that region at once. I was twenty-three years old, the youngest of our party, and was sent to take up the traps."

"Seems to me, Captain John, if I had L500 of furs, and saw tracks of Indians, I'd have lit out with my furs, and not waited to pick up traps."

"That would have been the right thing to do. That's what a sensible man would have done. But if you had been there, you'd probably have been just as big a fool as we were. You see if we had come back without our traps, some one in the settlements would have been sure to laugh at the scare we had over nothing. And we were young idiots, and took the risk.

"Just about sunset, I was stooping over the water, taking up a trap, when I heard a sound like 'O whish!' I looked up, and saw several redskins pointing their guns at me.

[Sidenote: THE CAPTIVES]

"They asked me where our camp was, and I led them two miles away from it up the river.

"As I did not return to camp, the boys began to fire their guns to call me back. The Indians ran through the woods, and got below them on the river in order to head off the canoe as it came down.

"Eastman was on shore, and Stinson and my brother William were in the canoe. Just after daybreak they caught Eastman as he was walking along the bank. The Indians told me to hail the others, and call them to the shore. I shouted to them: 'The Indians have got Eastman and me. Go down the further shore.' They paddled away, and the Indians rose and fired. I knocked up the muzzles of the guns of those near me, and as the rest fired, I hit all the guns I could. One shot killed Stinson, and a bullet went through the paddle which my brother held.

"I cried out, 'They've all fired, Bill. Get away as quick as you can.' He paddled off, and the Indians gave me a good pounding, for which I could not blame them."

"They must have been pretty angry with you."

"They were just boiling over, and at the same time they kind of liked me for it, too.

"They were St. Francis Indians. There were ten of them under their chief, Francis Titigaw. They took us up to the Connecticut River, where we were joined by two Indians who had been left there. Then we went to the upper Coos Intervale. Three of the Indians were sent with Eastman to the village of St. Francis. The rest of us hunted on a small creek. They let me do a little trapping, and gave me the skins of a couple of beavers that I killed.

"Early in June we arrived at St. Francis, and they made Eastman and me run the gauntlet. The young Indians formed two lines, and we were to run down between them. Each Indian had a club or stick, and they gave Eastman and me two poles about eight feet long, with the skin of an animal or bird tied to the end.

"They taught us some words to sing as we passed down the line, and pretty sassy words they were. Eastman sang, 'I'll beat all your young men.' This made the young braves angry and every one struck at him, so that he was pretty well used up when he got through the lines.

[Sidenote: RUNNING THE GAUNTLET]

"When my turn came, I sang, 'I'll kiss all your young women.' I had a good, strong pole, and made up my mind that I would not be the only one who got the blows. As I ran through the lines, I whacked away, right and left, and this surprised them so much that I got through with but little harm. Perhaps you think, as others do, that there is no fun in an Indian. But the old men who sat near by were immensely tickled as their young men went down, and they showed their pleasure.

"The first man who struck me was a young fellow eighteen or nineteen years old. I knocked him down, and he felt so small about it that I did not see him again while I was with them.

"An Indian doesn't work. He makes his squaws and prisoners do that. They set me at work with the squaws, hoeing corn. I hoed up the corn instead of the weeds. They tried to make me hoe the right way. But I made up my mind that if they wouldn't hoe corn, I wouldn't. I threw my hoe into the river, and told them that I was a warrior and not a squaw to hoe corn.

"Instead of being angry with me, they liked me for this, and the old chief adopted me.

"They called me the young chief and treated me well. I learned something of their language and ways of fighting that has been of advantage to me. I never saw any prisoner of war treated with so much kindness as I was by those St. Francis Indians. After I had been at the village five weeks, Mr. Wheelwright, of Boston, and Captain Stevens, of No. 4, came to Montreal, to redeem some Massachusetts prisoners. But not finding them, they bought Eastman and me, and we returned with them by the way of Albany. I worked hard afterward, and paid off my debt to the Massachusetts Province. If there is to be any fight with these Indians, I shall be glad if I am at work cutting out a road to Fort No. 4."

Early in September we heard that Captain Kennedy, who had been sent to these St. Francis Indians, to persuade them to abandon the French and make peace with us, had been made a prisoner by them with the men who accompanied him, and had been sent to Montreal.

[Sidenote: CAPTAIN KENNEDY MADE PRISONER]

General Amherst was very angry at their treachery. On the afternoon of September 13 we received orders to be in readiness to explore the country west of us. We were told that we should go a short distance in boats and then strike out to the west.

"This seems a silly trip, Ben," said Martin. "Fooling about in the woods where there is no enemy. Our army ought to be following the French, driving them down to the St. Lawrence. Then we could join our forces with Wolfe's, and finish up the war."

"Sergeant Munro tells me that Amherst thinks he should restore the fort and build some boats and ships first."

"Maybe, maybe; I'm not a general, but I believe that when you've got the enemy on the run, you ought to keep them on the run till they give in, and not sit down and give them a chance to get strong again."

That night we embarked in whaleboats. There were about two hundred men in our party. It was made up of a few of Gage's light infantry, under Captain Dunbar, and the rest were Rangers, among whom were fifty Mohegan Indians from Stockbridge. We rowed over to the east shore and went down the lake. Several canoes were sent ahead to warn us if any of the enemy were out. Cloth was wound round our oars where they rested in the rowlocks. We had orders not to utter a word, to make no noise.

The boats moved in single file close to the shore where it was darkest. Before daybreak we landed and lifted the boats from the water and carried them into the woods. We lay hidden there during the day. We did not believe that we were going to the west, but could not guess the purpose of the expedition.

The next night we embarked again, and rowed slowly in perfect silence with an advanced guard of canoes.

Night after night we did this, always keeping in the shadow of the shore; and as we got toward the lower part of the lake, we did not start till late at night, and pulled our boats up into the bushes long before the day began to break. Several times our scouts came back and whispered that the enemy's boats were out. Then we went in close to the shore and waited till they were out of hearing distance.

[Sidenote: A MYSTERIOUS EXPEDITION]

We were not allowed to make fires, and as we approached the lower end of the lake and lay hidden in the woods, we could see sloops and boats of the enemy out on the lake in the daytime. We had to proceed slowly and with the utmost caution.

If we had not been on a perilous expedition into the enemy's country to some unknown point and for some mysterious purpose, about which we were worrying, this trip down the lake would have been delightful. The leaves were just changing colour. The days were perfect. The lake was beautiful, and we should have gazed with pleasure at the boats that we saw, had we not known that they were full of enemies who would have been well pleased to take our scalps and roast us at the stake.

On the fifth day out, by some accident there was an explosion of gunpowder, and several of the men were burned and had to be sent back. Some were sick, and returned with them, so that by the time we reached Missisquoi Bay at the lower end of the lake our force was reduced to one hundred and forty-five men.

It was apparent that this was no expedition to the west, and we were astonished as we advanced night after night into the enemy's country and close to their camp.

Edmund knew where we were going, but he was as close-mouthed as an oyster.

"What in the w-world are we up to? Are we going to attack the French army with one hundred and fifty men? I don't like these expeditions of Major Rogers. I wish we had a good safe commander like that c-colonel who was sent out on the lake to stop a party of French and Indians, and landed on an island and formed his men in a circle round him, and p-p-prayed that the Lord would send us a long war and a b-b-bloodless war, and kept on praying till the enemy went by. A fellow has some chance to keep his hair on his head with a g-good c-careful commander like that; but this Rogers don't care where he g-goes or how many get k-killed, so long as he can do something startling. What in time are we up to?"

[Sidenote: AMOS PREFERS A CAREFUL COMMANDER]

I had been thinking over my talk with Captain Stark, and said:—

"I know what Rogers is about to do. We are going right up into Canada to the St. Lawrence River, to attack the St. Francis Indians who made Captain Kennedy and his men prisoners."

As I said this, Edmund laughed, and I knew that I had hit it.

"By the g-great Horn Spoon! That b-beats anything that Weaver David ever dreamed of. Is that it, Edmund?"

"I can't tell you where we are going, but don't say a word of what you suspect; for if any of our party were caught and knew where we were going, it would be sure death for the rest of us; so just hold your mouth and don't talk."



CHAPTER XVII

MARCH TO THE VILLAGE—THE RETREAT

We landed at Missisquoi Bay and pulled our boats up into the woods. Near them we hid the provisions for our return. We distributed the rest of the food among us, put it on our backs in sacks, and started off to the northeast.

We left behind us a couple of Stockbridge Indians to watch the boats and give us notice if they were discovered. We had only marched two days when these two Indians caught up with us.

"Frenchmen and Indians find boats. Heap big party follow us. Three hundred men."

Rogers said: "Boys, we are out to punish some Indians, and the only course for us is to outmarch the enemy, do our work, and get out of the way."

We plodded along day after day, from daybreak to dark, most of the time through spruce bogs where the water was sometimes ankle-deep, and at times up to our thighs. We were wet all the time, and our shoes began to rot and go to pieces.

[Sidenote: DAMP WALKING]

At night we cut down trees, laid boughs from one tree to another, and slept on them to keep out of the water. Nine days we marched and slept in this manner. It was a terrible strain even to hardy men such as we were, accustomed to forest life.

Amos said: "We're just like a procession of cold, miserable frogs, h-hopping along through the water. This is the biggest fool trip I ever heard of."

"Think of the glory, Amos, of going into the heart of the enemy's country and punishing these Indians."

"Glory be h-hanged! I wish I was with Davy, hunting foxes and listening to his big stories of what he did do, or would have done if something hadn't happened."

"But when you get back, Amos, you can crush him by telling of this trip."

"Yes, when I g-get back. When I get back! I should rather be b-back without the story. L-Looks to me as if Davy's chance of hearing it is rather slim."

On the tenth day after we left Missisquoi Bay we reached a river.

Rogers said: "Boys, this is the St. Francis River. You have of course guessed by this time that we are going to punish the St. Francis Indians for making Captain Kennedy and his companions prisoners when they went to them with a flag of truce. I did not tell you before, because it was not safe to do so. If any of you had been waylaid, it was better he should not know where the party was going, for the Indians would torture him to make him tell all he knew, and then the French and Indians would be warned. Now they can only guess where we are to strike. The village of St. Francis is on the St. Lawrence River, at the mouth of this river, and on the further side. It is some fifteen miles from here. We shall attack them in the night. You need have no feelings of pity for them or mercy. They are the tribe who have been harassing our frontier for the past ninety years. I know that they have killed four or five hundred good New England men, beside the women and children they have slain and carried off. This river has a swift current, and we must put our packs on our shoulders and join arms, with the tallest and strongest up the river, so as to help each other. Come, Martin, and you, Comee, let's see how you can keep your legs to-day."

[Sidenote: CROSSING THE RIVER]

Rogers put me near the head of the line, as I was considered a strong man. We went into the water with arms locked, and struggled against the current. Though the river was over four feet deep, we got across with few accidents.

Several men were swept off their feet, and some guns were lost, but we arrived safely at the further shore.

We made a small raft, put our powder-horns on it, and pulled it to and fro across the stream till all were carried over.

Scouts were sent ahead, and flanking parties were thrown out. We advanced cautiously in three files. I did not like this kind of an expedition, and said so to Martin, who was next to me.

"I can't bear this sneaking up on the Indians, and jumping on them in the dead of night when they are sound asleep. I like a good square fight of give and take."

"Don't be a fool, Ben. Those Indians have killed and scalped two of your family. If you had lived on the frontier all your life as I have, you would be glad to pay them back in their own coin, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, scalp for scalp. I have had so many friends killed by them, good quiet people, who never harmed any one. Almost every year, and sometimes several times a year, I have gone with others to help drive these devils away from some fort or town. And the sights that I have seen make me hate the redskins worse than poison. And, Ben, you know enough of them yourself. How many Rangers have been tormented by them and scalped? Remember John McKeen! How he was stripped and tied to a tree; then the red devils danced around him, howled at him, taunted him, and threw their knives at him till he was full of holes from head to foot. Have you forgotten what they did then? Put a pine splinter in every wound he had, set them on fire and made a living torch of him."

[Sidenote: McKINSTRY'S SCORE]

"Yes, Martin, one does not forget such things, nor how they tortured others, and then made them run the gauntlet, hacked at them with knives and tomahawks till they fell, and then scalped them. They deserve to be killed like snakes, but I don't like to do it. No matter how mean or treacherous my enemy, I want a good stand-up fair fight. I am a soldier. I am under orders, and I shall do the work; but I hate it."

"You needn't be squeamish, Ben. They are double our number, and if we don't kill them by a surprise, they will kill us."

McKinstry had been listening, and said: "It's plain, Ben, that you have never lived where there were Injuns. Your injuries are too far off. They don't touch you. I have a score to pay that I have been wiping off for the past thirty years. Here's my tally-stick. Look at the notches."

He pulled at a string that was round his neck, and showed me a little stick with seventeen notches in it.

"I have killed that number of Indians. Every notch I have added made my heart feel lighter. Every chance I have to kill a St. Francis Indian, awake or asleep, makes me happy. I want to see the whole tribe wiped off the earth."

The land on this side of the river was higher than the region through which we had been travelling, and we were not so much troubled by mosquitoes, which had nearly driven us crazy in the swamps.

The clear, crisp air dried our clothes before nightfall, and we slept sound, breathing in the clean smell of the fir balsams.

On the next day, the twenty-second, after we left Crown Point, we made a cautious advance. Rogers halted us and climbed a tree. He said that he could see the village about three miles off.

Rogers went ahead with Lieutenant Turner and Ensign Avery to inspect the village, and we lay down and waited. The moon was about three-quarters full. He returned at two in the morning, and said:—

"We crawled up close to their village. The Indians are having a great frolic. They have a keg of rum and are drinking it, and are dancing round the fires. I think there must be a wedding going on. They will sleep sound."

[Sidenote: THEY ATTACK THE VILLAGE]

At three o'clock we crept up to within five hundred yards of the village, and laid aside our packs and prepared for the fight. We had one hundred and forty-two men, all told.

We lay concealed in the forest till the Indians were asleep. Rogers divided us into three parties, and about an hour before daylight ordered us to attack the village on three sides. The St. Lawrence River was on the fourth side. We rushed into the village, through its lanes, kicking the yelping dogs aside, and stationed ourselves before the huts. Above the doors were poles, from which dangled rows of scalps, as if they were garlands of flowers.

I stood by the door of a hut, and as an Indian came out I shot him; and when the next appeared, with a dazed, frightened look on his face, I brained him with the butt of my gun, and then pulled out my hatchet and chopped away at them as they ran by. Martin, Edmund, and Amos were near me. Sometimes several Indians made a rush, and we closed up and fought them.

It was cruel, bloody butchery. But the sight of the poles with the scalps of English men, women, and children hanging from them made us mad with rage, and we killed the Indians like rats as they dashed out of their huts. Some reached the canoes, but were followed and cut down. Few escaped. Some squaws were killed too. We were all mixed up. It was impossible to spare them. They fought like wildcats with knives and hatchets, and we had to kill them or be killed ourselves.

By sunrise the bloody work was over. Almost all the Indians had been slain. As we looked round and saw nearly six hundred English scalps dangling in front of the huts, we felt no sorrow for what we had done.

Still, it was a grim, dreadful piece of work. The dead Indians lay around in the lanes between the huts, in some places in heaps, stiffening in death, smeared with blood, and the Stockbridge Indians were already at work scalping them.

[Sidenote: A GRIM PIECE OF WORK]

We ourselves were covered with blood, and looked like butchers from the shambles. It was not all Indian blood. They were not lambs, and gave us many a wound before we got the better of them. Edmund and Amos came to me.

"How did you get through it, Ben?"

"All right, but a few cuts. I hope I don't look as villanous as you or Amos."

"I d-don't know how I look. B-But if I saw you or Edmund round my place looking as you d-do now, I'd shoot you at sight."

Rogers ordered us to set fire to all the houses except those which were storehouses for corn. One house was a mass-house with pictures hanging up inside. We found some silver cups and plates in it, and a silver image some ten inches high. In the other houses we found many things which they had carried off from the settlements.

Most of the Rangers had lost relatives and friends in these Indian fights, and were examining the scalps carefully. McKinstry was looking them over with an intense, eager air. Seeing me, he said: "It's a foolish search. Thirty years have passed since they killed my sweetheart and ruined my life. I was looking for a lock of hair like this."

He pulled a little pouch from his breast, opened it, and unfolding some fine cloth, showed me a lock of golden hair.

"The Indians surprised the garrison house where she lived and killed all but her. We got word of it soon. We started out with a large party and pursued them. We followed them day and night, and as they were being overtaken they killed and scalped her. I found her dead body on the ground, and from that day to this I have sought revenge. Last night was the happiest I have had for years. The tribe that killed her is wiped out, and I killed six of them myself."

Rogers had been questioning some of the prisoners. He turned to us and said:—

"Hurry up, boys; we must get out of this place quick. There's no time to go back after our packs. There's a party of three hundred French and Indians four miles below, on the St. Lawrence, looking for us, and two hundred Frenchmen and sixteen Indians went to Wigwam Martinac a few days ago, expecting we would attack that place. They will all be after us soon. Load yourselves up with corn from the corn houses. Take all you can, for we shall have little else to live upon, as the game is scanty in the country through which we shall pass."

[Sidenote: THE VILLAGE IN FLAMES]

We put the corn in our pockets and in any sacks that we could find, placed them on our backs, and left the village a mass of flames.

"We must strike through the woods to the head waters of the Connecticut River, and follow it down to Fort No. 4. We can't go back by the way we came, for the French and Indians could easily collect a force that would overpower us. I sent word to Amherst to have plenty of provisions for us at the mouth of the Ammonusuc River, and we can get there all right."

We released all our prisoners but a couple of boys, and started off, taking with us six Englishmen whom we found in captivity. Edmund said:—

"I'm glad to leave this place. It's too much like a slaughter-house. Orders are orders, and we have to execute them. But faith! I can't see but that we have been doing just what these Indians have done for the last ninety years."

"The work had to be done, and we did it. I can't say I feel proud of it either. I wonder how we are going to get out of this scrape."

"At the l-little end of the h-horn. It seems that we shall starve in the region th-through which we shall travel; and we should all be killed if we w-went in any other direction; and I guess these Indians will follow us p-pretty sharp, whichever way we go."

We marched in a body to the southeast at the top of our speed. At night we stopped, parched our corn and ate it. In the morning at daybreak we started on again.

In eight days we reached Lake Memphremagog. The corn was giving out, and Rogers separated us into small parties, each with a guide who had been up the Connecticut River. He told the different parties to keep away from one another, that they might the more readily find sufficient game to support them, and to meet at the Coos Intervale land at the mouth of the Ammonusuc River. That was the place to which he had requested Amherst to send the supplies.

[Sidenote: THE AMBUSCADE]

Our Mohegan Indians left us, and went south toward their home, for they thought the hunting would be better in that direction and the risk no greater. They reached home without losing a man.

Edmund, McKinstry, Amos, and I were with Rogers's party. The Indians pursued us closely. We came to a narrow valley, and Rogers said:—

"We'll try an ambuscade on them, and see how they like it. After you enter the valley, get up into the woods on either side. Don't fire till they are well in the valley."

The rear portion of our party were exchanging shots with the Indians, dodging from tree to tree. They came down the valley followed by the redskins. When they were well in the trap, we opened fire on the Indians and killed a number. They began to run back. We reloaded hastily, and, after pouring a second volley into them, rushed on them. McKinstry knocked an Indian down, but was shot by another, whom I killed with my hatchet. I turned to McKinstry. He lay on the ground gasping for breath, shot through the body.

"It's all up with me, Ben."

I tried to staunch the blood.

"It's no use; I feel I'm dying. I always liked you, Ben. May your life be happy. Good-by."

He closed his eyes, and his breast heaved hard as he drew short, quick breaths. Presently he opened his eyes again. He did not notice me, but seemed to see something above him. A smile came over his face, and he said:—

"Yes, Mary, I'm coming, dear."

Then his breathing ceased. We buried him in the valley, levelled the grave, threw wood on it, and burnt the brush around that the ashes might conceal the spot where he was laid. Then we hurried on again.

Three days later two of Ensign Avery's men joined us, and reported that some of them had been captured by the Indians, and that several had been tortured and burnt at the stake. These two had escaped in the night, while the Indians were dancing round their companions. The next day the few who were left of Avery's party met us.

[Sidenote: A CHOICE MORSEL]

We marched along, keeping a sharp lookout for squirrels, chipmunks, or any kind of animal that might serve as food. Thus we travelled over rocky mountains and through wet swamps, pursued by Indians, faint from hunger, worn out with fatigue and exposure, hardly able to walk. We had no blankets or shelter. The nights were cold and frosty, and when it rained we were soaked and chilled to the bone.

We found almost no game. Edmund had the luck to shoot a big white owl. We plucked it, cut it up, and drew lots for the different portions. I got a leg. It was tough—almost as tough as our fate. But after one has been chewing leather straps for sustenance, an old owl's leg tastes good. I would not have sold it for its weight in the most precious stones.

I shall not tell all the horrors of that march,—the pangs of hunger that we suffered, the greed for food, the sights that I saw, nor what men did in their despair. Some things had better remain unwritten.



CHAPTER XVIII

STARVATION—DRIFTING DOWN THE AMMONUSUC—FORT NO. 4, AND GOOD FORTUNE AT LAST

At last we arrived at the Ammonusuc River, where our provisions were to meet us, and found nothing.

Fires were still burning which showed us that the relief party had been there, and had left just before we arrived. We shouted and fired our guns, but got no response. We learned afterward that the lieutenant who had brought the supplies had waited two days for us, and then quitted the place two hours before we arrived, taking the provisions with him. He heard our guns, but thought that they were fired by Indians, and kept on his way down the river.

Our condition was terrible. We had been stumbling along, feeble, gaunt, half crazed by hunger and fatigue. But the expectation of food, the certainty that we should find plenty at the Ammonusuc, had nerved us up to the effort to reach it, and now it was gone. It had been there and was gone. We broke down completely and cried and raved. Some became insane.

I have already said that I did not like Rogers for several good reasons. But he was a man of tremendous nerve, energy, and resource. Though his great strength had been wasted by starvation, so that he could hardly walk, he still remained the leader, and said:—

"Don't lose your courage, men. I'll save all of you. It is sixty miles from here to Fort No. 4. Bring some dry logs. Hurry up. I am going to make a raft, and float down to No. 4 and fetch back food and help."

We brought logs and made a raft.

"You can find enough lily-roots and ground-nuts to keep you alive till I return. If any of you do not know how to clean and cook them, Captain Grant will show you. I promise you I will have all the food you want at this place in ten days."

[Sidenote: STARVATION]

He got on the raft with Captain Ogden, an Indian boy and Martin, who had been over the river before. They poled and paddled it to the middle of the river, and drifted down the stream out of sight.

The next day two more men crept into camp and reported that the Indians had attacked their party several days before, and had killed Lieutenant Turner of the Rangers, Lieutenant Dunbar of Gage's light infantry, and that of all their party they alone had escaped.

It was horrible to see the wild, haggard men stagger in, and to witness their despair when they received nothing to eat but such lily-roots and ground-nuts as we could find and boil. There was but little nourishment in them.

Ben Bradley left camp with three companions. They put on their packs. Ben looked at his compass, and said:—

"Good-by, boys. In three days we shall be at home."

They were never afterward seen alive. Several years later some hunters from the Merrimac found a skeleton in the White Mountains. They knew it was Bradley's from the hair, and the peculiar leather strap with which his cue was tied.

After Rogers had been gone three days, I said to Edmund:—

"I can't stand this any longer. This place is like a mad-house. We shall go crazy if we stay here. Let us get some logs, make a raft, and drift down the river."

We talked it over that afternoon, and the next morning began building a raft. It was a rickety little affair. We finished it in one day, but were so feeble that we found it hard work. We cut a couple of saplings for poles, and took some wood, from which we whittled a couple of paddles.

One of the men, who had been over the river before, said:—

"Look out for a waterfall and rapids, some twenty miles down, boys. Don't get carried over them, or you'll be lost. And there's another bad fall and rapids below that."

We poled the raft into the current, and let it drift. Toward night we paddled to the shore and camped there.

[Sidenote: THE RAFT IS LOST]

In the morning we shot a squirrel, and during the day got another. Toward evening we heard the sound of the falls, and poled to the shore. The night was cold. We had no shelter. It rained heavily. We were drenched and almost frozen. In the morning our little strength was gone. We got on our raft, and poled it along till we were close to the falls; and then put in to the shore. Amos held the raft, while Edmund and I went below, in the hope that it might not be badly broken, as it came over, and that we could save it. We waded into the cold water, and Amos let the raft go. It was dashed on the rocks, as it passed over the falls, and was completely broken up. The logs drifted out of our reach. Thoroughly chilled, exhausted, and discouraged, we climbed the bank. We saw that fires had been made and trees burnt down, and then burnt into lengths.

"This is some of Rogers's work," said Edmund.

"He must have lost his raft as we did, and burned the trees to get logs of the right lengths to make a new raft."

"I hope he didn't spend much time over it. For I can't go any further, and B-Ben is all of a shake, and looks mighty poor."

"I guess last night did for me, Amos. I've got some kind of fever coming on. Start a fire if you can, and let us try to warm ourselves."

The ground was wet, but Amos and Edmund collected an armful of dry wood from sheltered spots. We rubbed some gunpowder into a rag, and sprinkled more over it. We held it near the lock of the gun, and flashed some powder in the pan. This lighted the rag, and we covered it with fine shavings which we had whittled, and made a fire.

"A canoe from below ought to reach here by to-morrow. I can keep up till then."

"Hush! I heard a p-partridge, and I've g-got strength enough to go after him." The tough, wiry fellow took his gun, and went into the woods.

[Sidenote: WELCOME VISITORS]

We heard a bang, and he came out with a partridge, which we roasted and divided among us. It only served to sharpen our hunger.

"There must be more of these p-partridges in there. I'm g-going to try again. I feel b-better."

"I will go too," said Edmund.

They walked into the woods, and in half an hour I heard a couple of shots, and they came out with two birds. We roasted them, ate them, and felt that we were saved. We kept a good fire going, built a rough shelter of boughs, and slept quite comfortably that night, though the fever troubled me somewhat. The next morning we made an attempt to find more birds, but were unsuccessful. A little after noon we saw a birch coming up the stream with three men in it. They waved their hands to us, and landed where we were at the foot of the falls. They shook hands, and one of them said:—

"You look pretty peaked, boys. I guess a little food and drink won't hurt you."

We ate greedily, and the food put warmth and life into us. We asked about Rogers.

"He's at No. 4. His raft was swept over these falls, and he and his men had a narrow escape. Then he made a new raft and was nearly lost at the falls below. We'd like to stop longer with you, boys, but can't. We're carrying food to the fellows up the river."

"You must get there as quick as you can. We left about seventy men up there, starving and going mad for want of food."

"Some more birches are to follow us in a couple of days, and you'll meet them on your way down."

They gave us some food and then made the carry, up by the falls, and left us. We ate and drank some more, and then slept for an hour. When we woke up, we felt much stronger, and went to work making another raft. The next day we completed the raft early in the morning; and drifted down to the waterfall of which they had spoken. We kept our ears and eyes open, and went ashore in time to avoid it. We had built a fire and were making a shelter, when three more canoes came up, and we camped together with the men. We had all that we could eat and it was delightful to us to meet these clean, healthy, robust men, full of life.

[Sidenote: FORT NO. 4]

In the morning they helped us lower our raft down the fifty feet of rapids. They gave us some nails, and we added to our raft and made it stronger, and then poled it out into the river, and drifted down with the current. We arrived at Fort No. 4 at sunset. It was the 9th of November. We had spent two months in that dreadful, barren wilderness. When we came in sight of the fort, and poled our raft to the shore, men and women in good Christian dress came running down to meet us. Our hearts rose up in our throats. We could not speak from our happiness. The tears rolled down our cheeks and we sobbed from joy.

How fine they looked, those men with their clean-shaven faces, and their hair neatly done up in cues! And how beautiful and kind the women!

Such few clothes as we still had were in rags. Our hair and beards were long and matted together; our faces and hands black from exposure and dirt and grime. We felt ashamed of our appearance and would gladly have sneaked in unseen. But they made of us as if we had been three prodigal sons. And the flesh-pots, the fatted calf, and the honey were all offered to us.

Rogers claimed us for a short time, to get news from the camp, and told us he was going up the next morning.

We had a supper of the best there was in the fort, and you can guess how it looked and tasted to men who had lived for weeks on corn and leather straps and nothing; and who had watched with greedy eyes the cutting up of an old white owl.

They gave us a room, with soap and tubs of warm water, and we got rid of some of the grime, cut off our beards, shaved our faces, and put on the clothes they left for us. Amos said:—

"B-Ben, I feel as if No. 4 must be p-pretty near h-heaven."

"Yes! But it isn't up the river."

When we came out, the men crowded round to hear our adventures. Amos started to tell the story, and when he got hung up on a word, Edmund would go on with the tale.

[Sidenote: BEN HAS A FEVER]

I felt hot and feeble and sick. My head ached. I became dizzy, and finally asked some one to take me to a room where I could lie down, and I went to bed. I haven't any clear idea of what happened afterward. I have a faint recollection of Edmund and Amos bending over me, saying good-by. But I do remember that Indian who tried again and again to scalp me. John Stark drove him off several times, but he kept coming back, and at last caught me by the hair, ran his knife round my head, braced his foot on my shoulder, pulled, and I felt my scalp go. Then I knew nothing more till I opened my eyes, and saw the rafters above, and the bedclothes about me.

I smelt smoke, and heard the wood snap and crackle. Beside the fireplace a girl was seated, knitting. Such a pretty girl, the loveliest I had ever seen. I watched her knit, and then stop and count the stitches. How beautiful she was, with her light brown hair, the pretty side face, with the fresh colour in it! Her figure was lithe, supple, full of grace. I thought at once of Shakespeare's Rosalind. My heart went out to her. As I gazed, she looked up, and turned a pair of big brown eyes at me. I had never been in love before. But, as she rose and came over to the bed, I said to myself:—

"This is she. This is the one for whom I have waited."

She smiled, and a little dimple came in her cheek.

"Ah! I'm glad you've come to your senses again. How do you feel?"

"Perfectly content and happy. I seem to be in a pleasant dream."

"That's good. You've had dreams enough, in the last month, that didn't seem pleasant. You must keep quiet. I'll be back in a minute."

She returned with her mother, who gave me some medicine, and a drink of broth, and I fell asleep. When I awoke, the pretty girl was knitting by the fire. She got me some broth, and after I had drunk it brought a flax-wheel and sat down by it. I was sick and weak, but the joy of Michael Wigglesworth's saints in heaven was nothing compared to mine. That is, until the dreadful thought occurred that she might have been already sought and won by some one else. But I said: "Keep your courage up, Ben. She isn't over seventeen. I'm sick, and she's here, and I won't get well in a hurry."

[Sidenote: RUTH]

How well I remember her, sitting by the flax-wheel, spinning,—even the pepper and salt homespun dress, the blue and white checked apron, the little shoes with the silver buckles, and the glimpse of gray stocking.

"Will you please tell me your name?"

"Ruth. Ruth Elliot."

"Ruth? That's the sweetest name of all. It suits you too. But where am I, and what good fortune brought me here?"

"You are at Fort No. 4, or Charlestown as they call it now. You were with Rogers in the woods, and floated down the river with Sergeant Munro and Amos Locke. You have been out of your head with a fever for nearly a month."

"Yes, yes. I remember now. How many of the Rangers got back?"

"About one hundred. They came in at different places. Twelve days after you arrived, Rogers came down with those who were at the Ammonusuc. Some were insane, and some had died before he reached them. It was good to see them back again. But they were terribly wasted and worn. After they had been here a few days, they started for Crown Point, over the road which Captain Stark has just cut through the woods."

"One hundred out of one hundred and forty-five? Well, it might have been worse. And what news is there of General Wolfe and his army? When I last heard of them, they were on their way up the St. Lawrence to Quebec."

"Quebec is taken."

"That's good. General Wolfe will get great praise and reward for that."

"If he were alive, he might, but there was a desperate fight, and Wolfe was killed in it, and Montcalm too."

"Both dead? They were brave men and skilful soldiers. Cut off in their prime like Lord Howe. And what is Amherst doing?"

[Sidenote: BEN TELLS HIS ADVENTURES]

"Amherst is rebuilding the fort at Crown Point. He will do nothing more this year. It is too late. In the spring he will go down and take Montreal, and end the war."

"And the Rangers—what about them?"

"Most of them have gone home. Sergeant Munro and Mr. Locke passed through here a few days ago. They would have stopped, but the fort is full of sick soldiers, and as they could be of no help, they went on their way."

When she had given me the news, it was her turn to question, and mine to answer. I had to tell her all of our adventures during the war, and she laughed and cried over them. I grew more and more deeply in love. I was in no haste to get well, but nature was against me. Every bit of food she gave me seemed to have some wonderful life-giving power in it and my health came back in bounds. After it returned, I nearly fell sick again from the dreadful fear that I might lose her. As the time for my departure approached, our conversation would halt and stop, and we sat in silence. I felt down-hearted and hadn't the courage to test my fate, till one day I saw the tears gather in her eyes and trickle down her cheeks. Then we soon had an understanding, and our light-heartedness came back.

"Oh, Ben, I couldn't bear to have you leave, and now I'm so happy."

But she was a wilful thing, and though her name was Ruth, she objected to following the example of her namesake in the Bible.

"I may be Ruth, but you're not Boaz."

I stoutly asserted that I was baptized Benjamin Boaz Comee, but I could not bring her to see that she should leave all and follow me.

"No, no, Benjamin Boaz. You're a pretender, and times have changed. I might not like your people, and they might not like me. Father thinks a deal of you, and mother loves you as if you were her own son. And you repay their love by trying to steal me away from them. Is that fair to them, Boaz? Don't you think they would miss their little girl? And that their life would be gloomy without me? And besides, Ben, you told me that they had all the blacksmiths in Lexington that were needed, and that your chances would be poor. And here we're just pining for another blacksmith. The new road through the woods puts us on the main highway to Canada, and there's no better place for a blacksmith than this. Now that the Indians are gone, you could take up some of that intervale land up the river, that they talk about, and then I'm here, and if Benjamin Boaz Comee wants Ruth, he must follow her. Ben, I like my own way."

[Sidenote: WANTED: A BLACKSMITH]

"I like your own way too, and will live wherever you please, provided it be with you."

I returned home, and found Amos telling Davy of our adventures. For a time Davy had little to say about his hunting stories.

I went back to No. 4, opened a blacksmith's shop, and in the fall married Ruth. We have lived here ever since, and have prospered. Much of my success is due to my wife's clear head and wonderful common sense. Folks regard Colonel Comee as a very shrewd and able business man. But my friends laugh, and say:—

"Colonel Ben's just a figure-head. He never takes an important step without talking it over with Aunt Ruth."

John Stark and I have always remained close friends. When he was a colonel at Bunker's Hill, I was a lieutenant in his regiment, and served under him throughout the Revolution. He became a general, and showed the ability that we recognized in the French War.

By the end of the Revolution I had risen to the rank of colonel. Hardly a year has passed since that time that one of us has not made the other a visit of a few days. He has always retained a great admiration and tender affection for Lord Howe.

After the French War was over, Rogers was appointed to the command of the post at Michilimackinac. His accounts did not come out right. He always had that failing, and he went to England to explain matters. While over there, he was riding one night in a stage-coach over Hounslow Heath, when a masked highwayman stopped the coach, and thrusting his pistols in at the window, told the passengers to hand over their money and watches. They were doing so, when Rogers, who was wonderfully strong, quickly reached out, grabbed the highwayman by the collar of his coat, pulled him into the coach, sat on him, took away his pistols, tied him up, and delivered him over to the authorities. He was an old offender, for whose apprehension a reward of L50 had been offered, which Rogers claimed and received.

[Sidenote: A SURPRISED HIGHWAYMAN]

Rogers remained in England till the Revolution, and then came over here, and after a while offered his services to Washington. He came to Stark's headquarters at Medford, and John and I had a long talk with him.

Stark believed he would be true to us, and so did I. But he had been on such close terms of intimacy with the British that Washington distrusted him and would not give him a command.

Soon after he received a commission from the British, and raised the Queen's Rangers, who were badly defeated in a fight in Connecticut.

Rogers then returned to England, and led a rather shady life; and I believe was finally killed while fighting in Algiers. He was a curious compound. If he had only been a man of honour, he would have become a great man. But his tricky, unscrupulous nature was his ruin.

Edmund Munro served again at Crown Point in 1762-63, as a lieutenant, and as adjutant of the four provincial regiments stationed there.

I met him often in the Revolution. He was captain of the Lexington company. Poor fellow, he was killed by a cannon ball at Monmouth, at the head of his company. He died poor, and his widow had a hard time till the little ones grew up.

Of our old playmate, John Hancock, you have all heard, how he inherited the wealth of his Uncle Thomas, and in his turn was the richest man in Boston, and lived in the stone house on Beacon Hill.

You remember how he risked his great fortune and his head, and sided with his countrymen. His bold signature heads the signers of the Declaration of Independence. Riches and honours came to him. Year after year he was chosen governor of Massachusetts.

[Sidenote: GOVERNOR HANCOCK]

I did not meet him from the time I went to the French War till some ten years after the Revolution.

I called on him in Boston, and he was glad to see me, and had me up to his house to dinner and to spend the night.

Everything was magnificent. John was kind, but condescending—something like a great mogul receiving an inferior.

I had no favour to ask of him. I saw no reason why I should look up to and revere him. I had played my own part in life well and boldly and stood firm on my feet. When John found I was not in awe of his rank and magnificence, he gave up his grand airs and was again the bright, lively fellow I knew as a boy.

Hector and Donald Munro remained in this country. After the French War was over, they visited their kinsmen in Lexington, and then went to Rehoboth, where there is another branch of the family, and settled in that town.

My old wrestling-master, Jonas Parker, was killed on the common at Lexington, on the 19th of April, 1775. He had said in his grim way, "Some may run from the British, but I won't budge a foot."

He was in the front rank of the minutemen. He laid his hat on the ground before him, and in it placed his powder-horn and bullets.

When the British fired, he was wounded, and fell to his knees. He returned their fire, and was reloading, when the regulars ran forward and killed him with their bayonets.

Amos and Davy were in the Revolution, too. They never got over their love for fox-hunting and pigeon-shooting.

As I finish this record, sixty years have passed since we had the pigeon shoot on Bull Meadow Hill. Those of us who survive are old, but some of us are still hale and hearty.

[Sidenote: AMOS HAS A STORY, TOO]

I received a letter the other day from a friend in Lexington, in which he says:—

"About a week ago I saw your old friend, Amos Locke, ploughing in a field which joins on to my farm. I walked over to the wall. When he saw me, he left his plough, came to the wall, and said,—

"'Morning! M-mighty good day to go after p-pigeons. P-Puts me in mind of the d-day I was with Weaver David and B-Ben Comee, up on Bull Meadow Hill, and shot fifty-two p-pigeons at one shot. One for every week in the year. I'll t-tell you about it.'"

Printed in the United States of America.



- Transcriber's Note: Typographical errors corrected in the text: Page 160 c-could'nt changed to c-couldn't -

THE END