ON A GLASS ROOF 137 



gone thither, but by a better path. His father 

 still lives, the oldest man of his tribe. He com- 

 manded the Waubanakee warriors at the battle 

 of Plattsburg. My new acquaintance had fleshed 

 his war-arrows, having served in a New York regi- 

 ment in the Civil War, and he looked as if he might 

 have done good service. I wondered if then any 

 of the old savagery had been awakened in him — if 

 the war-whoop had risen to his lips when his regi- 

 ment charged, or if he had been tempted to scalp a 

 fallen foe. I heard of a Caughnawaga in one of 

 our Vermont regiments who, when reproached for 

 kicking a wounded rebel, justified himself by say- 

 ing, "Me 'list, to kill um!" That was setting forth 

 the truth with unpleasant plainness. 



The ice was now whooping like a legion of In- 

 dians. Its wild, mysterious voice would first be 

 heard faint and far away, then come rushing to- 

 ward us swifter than the wind, with increasing 

 volume of groans and yells, till it seemed as if the 

 ice was about to yawn beneath us and devour us. 

 The fish quit biting — as well they might, with a 

 pother overhead enough to frighten a hungry saint 

 from his meals. If I had been alone I should have 

 fled to the shore; but, seeing my companion un- 

 disturbed by the uproar, I tried to feel at ease. 

 When I asked him what made this noise, he simply 

 answered, "The ice." That was reason enough 

 for him, and he evidently thought it should satisfy 



