[Seneca River.]

And now, for these doomed people of the Kannonsi, but one rite remained to be accomplished.  And the solemn thunder of the last drum-roll must summon them to the great Festival of the Dead.

CHAPTER XV

 Block-house no. 2

On the 14th the army lay supine.  There was no news from Otsego.  One man fell dead in camp of heart disease.  The cattle-guard was fired on.  On the 15th a corporal and four privates, while herding our cattle, were fired on, the Senecas killing and scalping one and wounding another.  On the 16th came a runner from Clinton with news that the Otsego army was on the march and not very far distant from the Ouleout; and a detachment of eight hundred men, under Brigadier General Poor, was sent forward to meet our Right Wing and escort it back to this camp.

By one of the escort, a drummer lad, I sent a letter directed to Lois, hoping it might be relayed to Otsego and from thence by batteau to Albany.  The Oneida runner had brought no letters, much to the disgust of the army, and no despatches except the brief line to our General commanding.  The Brigadiers were furious.  So also was I that no letters came for me.

On the 17th our soldier-herdsmen were again fired on, and, as before, one poor fellow was killed and partly scalped, and one wounded.  The Yellow Moth, Tahoontowhee, and the Grey-Feather went out at night on retaliation bent, but returned with neither trophies nor news, save what we all knew, that the Seneca scouts were now swarming like hornets all around us ready to sting to death anyone who strayed out of bounds.

On the 18th the entire camp lay dull, patiently expectant of Clinton.  He did not come.  It rained all night.

On Thursday, the 19th, it still rained steadily, but with no violence—­ a fine, sweet, refreshing summer shower, made golden and beautiful at intervals by the momentary prophecy of the sun; yet he did not wholly reveal himself, though he smiled through the mist at us in friendly fashion.

I had been out fishing for trouts very early, the rain making it favourable for such pleasant sport, and my Indians and I had finished a breakfast of corn porridge and the sweet-fleshed fishes that I took from the brook where it falls into the Susquehanna.

It was still very early—­ near to five o’clock, I think —­ for the morning gun had not yet bellowed, and the camp lay very still in the gentle and fragrant rain.

A few moments before five I saw a company of Jersey troops march silently down to the river, hang their cartouche-boxes on their bayonets, and ford the stream, one holding to another, and belly deep in the swollen flood.

Thinks I to myself, they are going to protect our cattle-guards; and I turned and walked down to the ford to watch the crossing.

Then I saw why they had crossed:  there were some people come down to the landing place on the other bank in two batteaux and an Oneida canoe—­ soldiers, boatmen, and two women; and our men were fording the river to protect the crossing of this small flotilla.