Riflemen, drovers, batt-men, frontier farmers, and some of the dirty flotsam—­ trappers, forest-runners, and the like—­ were continually moving about the parade, going and coming on petty, sordid business of their own; and there were women there, too—­ pallid refugees from distant farms, and now domiciled within the stockade; gaunt wives of neighbouring settlers, bringing baskets of eggs or pails of milk to sell; and here and there some painted camp-wanton lingering by the gateway on mischief bent, or gossiping with some sister trull, their bold eyes ever roving.

Presently our mincing ensign came to us again, saying that the Sagamore and I were to report ourselves to the Major.

“Jimmy Parr is in good humour,” he whispered.  “Leave him in that temper, for mercy’s sake, Loskiel; he’s been scarcely amiable since you left to catch this six-foot savage for him.”

He was a brave soldier, our Major, a splendid officer, and a kind and Christian man, but in no wise inclined to overlook the delinquencies of youthful ensigns; and he had rapped our knuckles soundly more than once.  But we all loved him in our small mess of five—­ Captain Simpson, Lieutenant Boyd, and we two ensigns; and I think he knew it.  Had we disliked him, among ourselves we would have dubbed him James, intending thereby disrespect; but to us he was Jimmy, flippantly, perhaps, but with a sure affection under all our impudence.  And I think, too, that he knew we spoke of him among ourselves as Jimmy, and did not mind.

“Well, sir,” he said sternly, as I entered with the Sagamore and gave him the officer’s salute, “I have a good report of you from Lieutenant Boyd.  I am gratified, Mr. Loskiel, that my confidence in your ability and in your knowledge of the Indians was not misplaced.  And you may inform me now, sir, how it is proper for me to address this Indian guide.”

I glanced at Captain Simpson and Lieutenant Boyd, hesitating for a moment.  Then I said: 

“Mayaro is a Sagamore, Major—­ a noble and an ensign of a unique clan—­ the Siwanois, or magic clan, of the Mohican tribe of the great Delaware nation.  You may address him as an equal.  Our General Schuyler would so address him.  The corps of officers in this regiment can scarce do less, I think.”

Major Parr nodded, quietly offered his hand to the silent Siwanois, and, holding that warrior’s sinewy fist in an iron grip that matched it, named him to Captain Simpson.  Then, looking at me, he said slowly, in English: 

“Mayaro is a great chief among his people—­ great in war, wise in council and debate.  The Sagamore of the Siwanois Mohicans is welcome in this army and at the headquarters of this regiment.  He is now one of us; his pay is the pay of a captain in the rifles.  By order of General Clinton, commanding the Fourth, or New York, Brigade, I am requested to say to the Mohican Sagamore that valuable presents will be offered him for his services by General Sullivan, commander-in-chief of this army.  These will be given when the Mohican successfully conducts this army to the Genessee Castle and to Catharines-town.  I have spoken.”