ling cry
lasted, without interruption, for many minutes, and was then as
abruptly checked as it had been unexpectedly delivered. A considerable
pause succeeded, and then again it rose with even more startling
vehemence than before. By one unaccustomed to those devilish sounds, no
distinction could have been made in the two several yells that had been
thus savagely pealed forth; but those to whom practice and long
experience in the warlike habits and customs of the Indians had
rendered their shouts familiar, at once divined, or fancied they
divined, the cause. The first was, to their conception, a yell
expressive at once of vengeance and disappointment in pursuit,--perhaps
of some prisoner who had escaped from their toils; the second, of
triumph and success,--in all probability, indicative of the recapture
of that prisoner. For many minutes afterwards the officers continued to
listen, with the most aching attention, for a repetition of the cry, or
even fainter sounds, that might denote either a nearer approach to the
fort, or the final departure of the Indians. After the second yell,
however, the woods, in the heart of which it appeared to have been
uttered, were buried in as profound a silence as if they had never yet
echoed back the voice of man; and all at length became satisfied that
the Indians, having accomplished some particular purpose, had retired
once more to their distant encampments for the night. Captain Erskine
was the first who broke the almost breathless silence that prevailed
among themselves.

"On my life De Haldimar is a prisoner with the Indians. He has been
attempting his escape,--has been detected,--followed, and again fallen
into their hands. I know their infernal yells but too well. The last
expressed their savage joy at the capture of a prisoner; and there is
no one of us missing but De Haldimar."

"Not a doubt of it," said Captain Blessington; "the cry was certainly
what you describe it, and Heaven only knows what will be the fate of
our poor friend."

No other officer spoke, for all were oppressed by the weight of their
own feelings, and sought rather to give indulgence to speculation in
secret, than to share their impressions with their companions. Charles
de Haldimar stood a little in the rear, leaning his head upon his hand
against the box of the sentry, (who was silently, though anxiously,
pacing his walk,) and in an attitude expressive of the deepest
dejection and sorrow.

"I suppose