“It is as thou sayest, hard to determine,” answered the Knight; “but if Indians were concerned in this most lamentable deed, strange has been their conduct.  Such truly is not the customary manner of the natives to dispose of their enemies.  Wonderful forbearance indeed, and disregard of the traditions and superstitions of the tribes must it require, to allow an enemy, when it can be prevented, to step upon the happy hunting grounds, bearing the unviolated honors of his head.”

“It may be,” replied Dudley, “that his foes were unable to tear away the bloody trophy; that before they could do so his body was rescued by his companions.”

“But how account for his being launched upon the deep?  Is this an Indian mode of disposing of friends?”

“My mind is as perplexed as thine.  I will consider the thing more maturely hereafter.  Thou knowest their heathen tongue.  Step forward, may it please thee, and try to calm their irritated spirits, assuring them of our friendship and grief at what we cannot explain.”

Thus requested, the Knight advanced, and commenced a speech to the savages, to which they listened in moody silence.  What he said was of course unintelligible to all except the Indians, but it appeared not to produce a favorable impression.  No sound, whether of approval or the contrary, escaped their lips, as, surrounding the corpse of their companion, they regarded it with ominous brows, until the Knight concluded, when an Indian addressed him in reply.

“How hast thou prevailed?” inquired Dudley, when the Taranteen stopped.

“Alas!” replied Sir Christopher, “no representations which I can make are sufficient to soothe their exasperation or allay their suspicions.”

“Ask them,” said Dudley, “after their other companions.”

A howl of rage, and a few rapid words, were the return to the inquiry.

“What means that?” said the Deputy Governor.

“They say that they suppose they are following the footsteps of Pieskaret.”

“If such be their belief, then farewell to any treaty or relations of amity with them.  They will soon turn their backs upon both our hospitality and friendship.”

The words of the Deputy Governor were indeed prophetic, for the Taranteens, now stooping down, raised their friends’ corpse from the ground, and bearing it in their arms, proceeded to their canoes, which were lying at a little distance on the beach.  In one of them (not without efforts on the part of the whites to induce them to change their determination) they deposited the body, and covering it with skins, took their paddles into their hands and pushed from the shore.

“They are gone,” said Dudley, as they receded from view; “and many a weeping wife and mother may rue this miserable day.  Better that the tawny heathen had remained in their trackless forests, listening to the deluding lies of the French emissaries, than come hither as spies upon our condition, and to take advantage of our supposed weakness.”