_St. L_. But this was a quarrel among the Indians, and no fault of ours.
_Bur_. No matter. You will see what Schuyler will make of it. His wordy
proclamation will have its living sequel now. A young and innocent girl,
seeking the protection of our camp, is inhumanly murdered by Indians in
our pay. A single tale like this is enough to undo at a blow all that we
have accomplished here. With ten thousand wild aggravations, it will be
told in every cottage of these borders before to-morrow's sunset.
(_Another Officer enters hastily_.)
_Off_. Here is Arnold, with a thousand men, on the brow of the next
hill. One of the rebel guard escaped, and the news of the massacre here
has reached their camp below.
_Bur_. Said I right?
(_The three Officers go out together_.)
_Andre_. This story is spreading fast, there will be throngs here
presently. Maitland,--nay, do not let me startle you thus, but--
_Mait_. Is it you? What was it we were saying yesterday?--we should have
noted it. This were a picture worth your pencilling now. Those silken
vestments,--that long, golden hair,--this youthful shape,--there's that
same haughty grace about it, that the smile of these thought-lit eyes
would disown with every glance.
Pages:
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166