measures proposed,
and consequently the treaty thus signed on the 26th day of December,
1759, might have been expected to prove of but slight cohesive
properties. The hostages remained of necessity at Fort Prince George;
the few Indians of the unfortunate embassy who retained their freedom
began to scatter, sullen, fierce, disconsolate, to their towns; the
army, already discontented, mutinous, and eager to be gone because of
the devastations of the smallpox in a neighboring Indian village, and
the appearance of that disease among a few of the volunteers, set out
upon its homeward march, without striking a blow, from an expedition
that cost the province the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds sterling.

Oconostota and Willinawaugh, sitting together on the ground, in the
flickering sunlight and the sparse wintry shadows of the leafless woods,
looking like two large rabbits of some strange and very savage variety,
watched the rear-guard file over the hill in the narrow blazed way that
seemed a very tolerable road in that day. When the last man had
vanished, they listened for a long time to the throb of the drum--then
the sound was lost in the distance; a mere pulsing in the air continued,
discriminated by the keen discernment of the Indians. At last, when not
even a faint ripple of sound-waves could be felt in the still
atmosphere, Oconostota keeled over suddenly and laid his ear to the
ground. No vague reverberation, no electrical thrill, no stir of atom of
earth striking against atom; nothing! The army was gone! The two savage
old rabbits squatted again upright and seemed to ruminate on the
situation. Then, as if with a single impulse, they looked at each other
and broke into sudden harsh gutturals of triumphant laughter.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote I: Buffalo.]

CHAPTER VIII

Peace was welcome--so welcome. Hence the turning of the soil by the
pioneers commenced betimes in the chill spring with heartfelt
thankfulness to be anew between the stilts of a plow. The sap was
rising; the winter had gone like a quiet sleep ensuing on the heavy
tumults of troubled dreams.

One day a wren came and perched in a loop-hole of the block-house of the
northwestern bastion and sang very loud and sweet and clear, till all
the men sitting about the fire turned to look at it, amazed at its
temerity, and enjoying in a lazy, sensuous way the jubilance and
thrilling crystalline purity of its tone. Two of the youngsters,
Lieutenant G