emplations.
The fire raged with amazing fury and power,--stimulated to madness
as it were, by the pitch, and tar, and dried timbers, and other
combustible materials used in the constriction of the boat. The lurid
flames ascended to a great height,--the smoke rolled upward in majestic
volumes, while the light, red as the flames of AEtna, streamed across
the lake, gilding the crumbling battlements of the old fort, flushing
the face of the waters, and tinging the mountain sides to their very
crests. The night-bird screamed with terror, and the beasts of prey
fled in wild affright into the deep and visible darkness beyond.

This is truly a gloomy place for a lone person to stand in of a dark
night--particularly if he has a touch of superstition. There have been
fierce conflicts on this spot--sieges, and battles, and fearful
massacres. Here have the Briton, and the Gaul, and the painted savage,
mingled in the dread fight,--steed rushing upon steed, hands clenched
in hands with grappling vigor, while the climbing fire, and the
clashing steel, and eyes flashing with maddened fury, and the appalling
war-whoop of the Indian, have all combined in adding terror to "the
rough frowns of war." Here "hath mailed Mars sat on his altar up to his
ears in blood," smiling grimly at the music of echoing cannons, the
shrill trump, and all the rude din of arms, until, like the waters of
Egypt, the lake became red as the crimson flowers that blossom upon its
margin.[1] And if at "the witching hour of night," the unquiet ghosts
of murdered sinners _do_ stalk forth to re-visit earth by the pale
glimpses of the moon, the slaughter of Fort William Henry might have
furnished a goodly number of shadowy companions for the hero of a tale
which is no fiction. But I am not aware that any of them came forth to
add to the troubles of that memorable night, or divert his mind from
what must then have been the absorbing subject of his contemplations.
Still, if they had had any desire of mustering for a midnight review,
or for a goblin-dance, they lost the best opportunity, probably, that
will again occur for ages;--since another such illumination of the
beautiful esplanade in front of the old fortress where the massacre
took place, and where the skeleton platoons would of course have
mustered, will never again be presented--at least not until another
Doctor Wheelwright shall build and watch over the fortunes of another
Lady-of-the-Lake.

In the course of a