them are obliged to cover their
eyes." "The Indians ask," says the governor, "'Do you think us such
fools as to believe that a king who cannot clothe his soldiers can
protect us from the French, with their fourteen hundred men all well
equipped?'"[9]

The forts were no better than their garrisons. The governor complains
that those of Albany and Schenectady "are so weak and ridiculous that
they look more like pounds for cattle than forts." At Albany the rotten
stockades were falling from their own weight.

If New York had cause to complain of those whom she sheltered, she
herself gave cause of complaint to those who sheltered her. The Five
Nations of the Iroquois had always been her allies against the French,
had guarded her borders and fought her battles. What they wanted in
return were gifts, attentions, just dealings, and active aid in war; but
they got them in scant measure. Their treatment by the province was
short-sighted, if not ungrateful. New York was a mixture of races and
religions not yet fused into a harmonious body politic, divided in
interests and torn with intestine disputes. Its Assembly was made up in
large part of men unfitted to pursue a consistent scheme of policy, or
spend the little money at their disposal on any objects but those of
present and visible interest. The royal governors, even when personally
competent, were hampered by want of means and by factious opposition.
The Five Nations were robbed by land-speculators, cheated by traders,
and feebly supported in their constant wars with the French.
Spasmodically, as it were, on occasions of crisis, they were summoned to
Albany, soothed with such presents as could be got from unwilling
legislators, or now and then from the Crown, and exhorted to fight
vigorously in the common cause. The case would have been far worse but
for a few patriotic men, with Peter Schuyler at their head, who
understood the character of these Indians, and labored strenuously to
keep them in what was called their allegiance.

The proud and fierce confederates had suffered greatly in the late war.
Their numbers had been reduced about one half, and they now counted
little more than twelve hundred warriors. They had learned a bitter and
humiliating lesson, and their arrogance had changed to distrust and
alarm. Though hating the French, they had learned to respect their
military activity and prowess, and to look askance on the Dutch and
English, who rarely struck a blow in