AND STREAM. 26S 
QcT. s, 1901.1 
hold my own almost with the older hands. After a few 
days of this, we were ordered out on a regular scout to 
^Villiam Henry, which even in its desolation continued 
<<: disturb General Webb, as well it might, if the ghosts 
of its murdered garrison could rise before him. 
We found nothing to denote any recent presence of 
the enemy. The silence of desolation and desertion was 
upon the dismantled fort, that was guarded now but by 
the new-made graves of the victims of the fearful tragedy, 
and some few bodies overlooked in the hasty burial, and 
discovered now, to sicken a young soldier of savage war- 
fare. I was moving apart from my comrades in the edge 
of the woods, when a crow flapped up suddenly before 
me, startled, but silent as if he had a secret to keep, and 
at the next step I came upon the half-naked body of a 
woman, young and with hair of gold, like my Mercy's. 
The scalp had been torn from among the disordered locks, 
and some were clotted over the cruel gash of a tomahawk. 
I called some comrades and we gave the poor unknown 
body as decent burial as we could. . 
Our comrade Murphy went nosing about, very keen for 
forgotten booty, but keener eyes than his had left scant 
gleaning. That night we camped inside the walls, and 
next morning scouted some distance along the lake, but 
discovered nothing, and so returned to Fort Edward. 
Here we were not permitted many hours of idleness, for 
i iiir busy commander had us out scouting every day_ in 
llie woods, where we came upon nothing more alarming 
than the sudden burst of a partridge booming out of a 
silent thicket beside us, or a startled deer bounding away 
with long, resounding leaps, while tlie hateful tell-tale 
i:i\ s loudly proclaimed our whereabouts. Major Rogers 
:• ( ( iTied to be everywhere at once, instructing, directing. 
)ii ;iising. and reprimanding, each one of us in turn, and in 
every way doing his utmost to make every man of his 
command perfect in the art of this service, till at last, if 
we envied the gaily attired regulars of the garrison, fheir 
lighter duties of parade and guard mounting, we felt our- 
selves their superiors in such warfare as we were like to 
encounter. In return, they despised us for a lot of back- 
woods bushwhackers, and so there was little love lost 
between us. 
At last, in November, fifty picked men were ordered 
out on a scout to the northward. Arriving at Fort Will- 
iam " Henry, which was yet more desolate with three 
months' desertion, and there embarking in our batteaux. 
we went down the lake, whose beauty wa^ so perfect, 
even in this forlorn autumnal aspect, that I wondered 
how a blither season could further beautify it. With in- 
creased caution we neared the outlet, and in the evening 
of the second day landed and secreted the boats, and 
made our cainp. We privates were going like men 
blindfolded, we knew not whither, but now began to 
guess that it was for an observation of the French forts 
on Lake Champlain, the more certainly when at early 
dawn we began marching forward in that direction with 
particular caution. 
Two or three times we heard the firing of great guns 
forward on our left, and again, much nearer, the report 
of a musket, which we took to be some hunting party 
of the enemy. ' Four of the keenest scouts were sent out 
on a tour of discovery, and in less than an hour returned, 
bringing in a Frenchman, whom they had badly wounded 
in capturing, he having made a desperate fight. The 
Major asked him many questions, Avhich, as well as the 
answers being in French, I could make nothing of. 
When it was attempted to march him along with us, he 
could not move but by the help of two men. and Major 
Rogers, being informed of-it, said after very short con- 
sideration: 
"Well, if he cannot go with us he must not be left 
behind to tell tales. Cutheart and Chamberlain! take 
charge of the prisoner!" 
The two men named stepped to the side of the 
wounded man, who, faint with pain and loss of blood, 
sat on a fallen tree. As we moved on in three files, he 
looked anxiously after us, making an appealing gesture 
that few saw and none heeded. Chatnberlain, a survivor 
of the William Heniy massacre, stood behind him, 
bending a hard, merciless face upon the helpless man as 
he drew the hatchet from his belt with a slow, cautious 
motion. 
With a strange fascination I could' not keep my eyes 
from them, and I was glad when intervening trees shut 
the group from my sight. In the next instant Cut- 
h.eart and Chamberlain rejoined us. 
We began the ascent of a very high mountahi, and 
when we came to the top we saw the French fort they 
called Carrillon, and we by the name of Ticonderogue 
or Ticonderoga, lying beneath us like an engineer's plan 
of a fortification unrolled for our inspection. There 
V, ere the French soldiers, swarming about the parade 
like a horde of white ants, along with duskier figures 
that we took to be Canadians and Indians, and above 
lliem all flaunted the baimer of France, vexing the soul 
of English subjects to see it displayed here in His 
Majesty's own province of New York. 
"By George!" cried the Major, "if we but had one 
of the big guns of Fort Edward up hei'c we could drop 
:i -hot in there, and set the French a-liumming!" 
Indeed, it seemed an easy thing to do, and it is a won- 
der that none bethought to try it till the fortres,*; had 
thrice changed owners. 
When Major Rogers hid reckoned the strength of the . 
gjurison, we moved down to the foot of the mountain 
and encamped, passing Ji comfortless night, without 
fires, for fear of discovery by the enemy's Indian scouts. 
Next morning we went on over a difficult route to the 
neighborhood of Fort St. Frederic, and going on to a 
mountain that overlooked the place, got almost as fair a 
\icw of it as we had of the other. It stood on the very 
brink of the Lake Champlain, Avhere ii widens at the 
place called by us Crown Point. There was a lofty 
citadel or tower within the walls, also a church, and on a 
- point above the fortress was a windmill, serving the 
purpose of war as well as of peace, wifti loopholes for 
muskets and patereros, but now looking very peaceable, 
the sails flying merrily in the brisk north wind to grind 
the people corn. Over toward us, on the shore of a 
sreat bay lying between us and the fort, there was a pop- 
ulous village of neat houses, regularly built along several 
streets, with an extent of outlying fields, in some of 
which cattle were grazing and in others stood stacks of 
wheat and shacks of corn not yet husked. Out this way 
ran .a thoroughfare, along which we observed people 
occasionally passing, making it a likely place to cap- 
ture a prisoner, as wm greatly desired. 
So, when the Major h,-jd computed the strength of 
(he garrison, he led us down to the low ground, where 
he posted the main body and took twenty men, I being 
of the number, to ambush the road. We had not been 
posted in cover half an hour, when along came a careless 
iM-enchman singing vcrj- blythely an outlandish song of 
Old France, till he was in the midst of us, and we stepped 
out before and behind him. when his song ended with 
comical abruptness. I was glad he wa"s taken un- 
harmed, for it was enough to have one ghost continually 
haunting me, as did that of yesterday's prisoner. While 
we were busied with securing him, another appeared, 
coming out from the village; but, perceiving us, stood a 
moment dumb with amazement, and then, getting sim- 
ultaneous use of legs and tongue, ran back shouting 
lustily, and making such speed that wc could not over- 
take him. 
Now, being discovered, we fell to firing the grain 
slacks and killing the cattle till the drums at the fort 
bcatmg to arms warned us that it was time to make off, 
which we did with all speed, but without confusion. We 
heard the alarm guns bellowing behind us at St. Frederic, 
and the dull thunder of Ticonderoga's answer echord 
before us, but wc got safely past tha't dangerous neigh- 
borhood and back to our boats, whence thfe path" to 
Fort Edward was safe and easy. 
[to be cgntin ueti. 1 
Old Nantucket. 
As you appproack Nantucket you see a low line of 
moorland running east by west for five or six miles. Pret- 
l-' ."•^cc" gulls are fishing all about the shoaly waters and 
filling the air with their nuLsical cries. When you round 
Nantucket light two little jetties run out to meet you 
and take you in their arms and welcome you into Nan- 
tucket Harbor. Arrived there, you immediately fall into 
a re very, ijtrnck by a subtle influence of the past. You 
feel you are in contact with a seventeenth-century scene. 
But you have no time for dreaming now, so, arousing 
yourself, you go ashore and wander up through old Nan- 
tucket. At every step your attention is anested by some- 
thing all unfamiliar to your eyes. The decaying 
wharf, co\'ered with barnacles; the old-time whale- 
boat and harpoons; the little gray cottage, with the irregu- 
lar, diamond-paned windows and latch on the door; its 
larger neighbor, with the platform on the roof which, you 
are told, was used as a lookout for returnig whalers ; "the 
primitive well, with the rusty dipper still clinging to the 
worm-eaten post ; the stone steps at the head of the nar- 
row street, worn away by generations of ascending and 
descending feet; the half-ruined wall, covered with 
creepers; the tall hollyhocks and blue hydrangeas, the 
thick ivy hedges and clustering vines — these and similar 
sights present themselves continually. You drop into the 
old sea captains' club and find three or four worthies 
there, smoking their pipes, Avho arise and receive you 
with the utmost courtesy. You are asked to sit down, 
and immediately you are listening to tales anent the past 
glories of Nantucket— of the Avhalers and the battleships 
that congregated there; of the heroes the island sent forth, 
especially to the war of 1812 (whose echoes seem to be still 
ringing in' the captains' cars) ; of the great sperm oil in- 
dustry and the fabulous wealth of the natives; of thrilling 
rescues ofi: the coast and of this and of that wonder as 
long as you care to listen. But perchance you grow 
surfeited, so take your leave of the captains, with profuse 
ceremony on their part and a cordial invitation to call 
again, and continue j'our exploration. 
You have not gone far when, perhaps, you run into the 
town crier, with his bell and horn, calling attention, Avith 
great clanging and vociferation, to an auction sale or some" 
such matter. He smiles good naturedly, but somewhat 
compassionately, at 3'our open-eyed wonder, and you 
pass on. 
What is this dilapidated, deserted building? This is the 
jail of Nantucket. The tradition connected with it is that 
somebody once lodged there, but objecting to the sheep 
and cattle forcing their way in, to find shelter jjt night, he 
left. And this other large, white, lonely building — what 
is this? This is the almshouse, and this also has a tradi- 
tion, which is that the only inmate of which there is anj^ 
mention turned up his nose'at the fare and, after an indig- 
nant protest, took his departure. You visit the museum 
and see the arrow heads, the wampum, and other thing-, 
belonging to the aboriginal Indians, but not, unfortunate - 
Ij-, the two beaver hats for which, with a trifle of money, 
the island was bought of them. 
Froiu the museum to the old mill is not far, so you 
stroll thither by devious, narrow ways. Here it is — the 
sole survivor of a number of its kind which ground corn 
for the great-great-grandfathers of the present genera- 
tion of Nantucketers. How well put together, though 
rude, it is. With a little lubrication it is conceivable 
that it might still grind corn. _ The old sea captain in 
J S LA N D A RCHITRCTURE. 
charge will dilate learnedly on it if you have a mind to 
listen, but you catch a glimpse of the moors through 
the open window and are drawn thither as by a magnet. 
Away they stretch to the east and the west, fascinating in 
their solitude. 
But you are not satisfied with a mere view of the moors ; 
3 on must cross theiu ; so you_take a cicerone and set out. 
As you proceed you notice that the soil is light and sandy, 
with great patches of bay scrub, or bracken, here and 
there. Heather also blooms in spots, but coyly and secret- 
ly, and is hard to find. To the west a stretch of low- 
woods is seen, and to the east an expanse of scraggy, 
stunted firs. This is the only timber visible; yet you 
are told that at one time the island was covered with 
oaks. It appears that after these had been all cut down 
for ship building and other purposes, an enterprising 
native introduced the Scotch fir, but it never prospered. 
You pass one or two little farmhouses, and see others in 
the distiince, like lonely sentries, scattered aboi!it. A sweet, 
familiar note falls upon A'our ear: it is the call of the 
mcadowlark. Occasionally a swallow, or a kingbird, flits 
across your path, or a little brown denizen of the bracken 
(species unrecognized), ri.ses at your feet. These, with a 
solitary crow now and then, are the only birds you hear 
or see. Bttt this is the summer season. Later on the 
luoors will swarm with plover and the surrounding waters 
with duck. Now you are nearing the end of your tramp 
and the air begins to be filled with a dull, booming sound. 
Is it distant thunder? You regard your cicerone, and 
he says '"Wait !" ■ You wait, and presentlj' you come upon 
the brow of the moors and behold the luighty ocean roll- 
ing in and forming a tniniature Niagara for miles. The 
moors slope their tawnv sides down to the strand, which 
glinuners almost white in the sunlight; the pretty "tee" 
gulls float about or suddenly plunge head downward ; a 
ship's .sail is discernible on the far horizon and you stand 
there fascinated, with that grand music of the ocean in 
your ears. , - _ 
