48 THE WAR. ON THE BORDERS. [1763, July. 



tude ; the silence, broken only by the moan of the 

 wind, the caw of the crow, or the cry of some 

 prowling tenant of the waste ; the mystery of the 

 verdant labyrinth, which the anxious wayfarer 

 strained his eyes in vain to penetrate ; the con- 

 sciousness that in every thicket, behind every rock, 

 might lurk a foe more fierce and subtle than the 

 cougar or the lynx ; and the long hours of dark- 

 ness, when, stretched on the cold ground, his 

 excited fancy roamed in nightmare visions of a 

 horror but too real and imminent, — such was 

 the experience of many an unfortunate who never 

 lived to tell it. If the messenger was an Indian, 

 his greatest danger was from those who should 

 have been his friends. Friendly Indians were told, 

 whenever they approached a fort, to make them- 

 selves known by carrying green branches thrust 

 into the muzzles of their guns ; and an order was 

 issued that the token should be respe ted. This 

 gave them tolerable security as regarded soldiers, 

 but not as regarded the enraged backwoodsmen, 

 who would shoot without distinction at any thing 

 with a red skin. 



To return to Bouquet, who lay encamped at 

 Carlisle, urging on his preparations, but met by 

 obstacles at every step. Wagons and horses had 

 been promised, but promises were broken, and 

 all was vexation and delay. The province of 

 Pennsylvania, from causes to be shown hereafter, 

 would do nothing to aid the troops who were 

 defending it ; and even the people of the frontier, 

 partly from the apathy and confusion of terror, and 



