University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

While the squatter was thus occupied in arranging his
toilet, previously to taking his morning meal, I had a moment
of leisure to look about in. We had ascended to the
level of the mill, where was an open, half-cleared space, of
some sixty acres in extent, that was under a rude cultivation.

Stubs and stumps abounded, and the fences were of
logs, showing that the occupancy was still of recent date.
In fact, as I afterwards ascertained, Thousandacres, with
his family of hopeful sons and daughters, numbering in all
more than twenty souls, had squatted at that spot just four
years before. The mill-seat was admirable, nature having
done for it nearly all that was required, though the mill
itself was as unartificial and make-shift as such a construction
very well could be. Agriculture evidently occupied
very little of the time of the family, which tilled just enough
land “to make a live on't,” while everything in the shape
of lumber was “improved” to the utmost. A vast number
of noble pines had been felled, and boards and shingles were
to be seen in profusion on every side. A few of the first
were being sent to market, in order to meet the demands
of the moment, in the way of groceries; but, the intention
was to wait for the rise in the little stream, after the fallrains,
in order to send the bulk of the property into the
common artery of the Hudson, and to reap the great reward
of the toil of the summer and spring.

I saw, also, that there must be additions to this family, in
the way of marriage, as they occupied no less than five
cabins, all of which were of logs, freshly erected, and had
an air of comfort and stability about them, that one would
not have expected to meet where the title was so flimsy.
All this, as I fancied, indicated a design not to remove very
soon. It was probable that some of the oldest of the sons
and daughters were married, and that the patriarch was
already beholding a new generation of squatters springing up
about him. A few of the young men were visible, lounging
about the different cabins, and the mill was sending forth
that peculiar, cutting, grating sound, that had so distinctly
attracted the attention of Susquesus, even in the depths of
the forest.

“Walk in, Trackless,” cried Thousandacres, in a hearty,
free manner, which proved that what came easily went as
freely; “walk in, fri'nd; I don't know your name, but
that 's no great matter, where there 's enough for all, and a
wilcome in the bargain. Here 's the old woman, ready and
willing to sarve you, and looking as smiling as a gal of
fifteen.”

The last part of this statement, however, was not precisely
accurate. “Miss Thousandacres,” as the squatter
sometimes magnificently called his consort, or the dam of
his young brood, was far from receiving us with either
smiles or welcomes. A sharp-featured, keen, grey-eyed old
woman, her thoughts were chiefly bent on the cares of her
brood; and her charities extended little beyond them. She
had been the mother of fourteen children herself, twelve of
which survived. All had been born amid the difficulties,
privations and solitudes of stolen abodes in the wilderness.
That woman had endured enough to break down the constitutions
and to destroy the tempers of half a dozen of the
ordinary beings of her sex; yet she survived, the same enduring,
hard-working, self-denying, suffering creature she
had been from the day of her bloom and beauty. These
two last words might be supposed to be used in mockery,
could one have seen old Prudence, sallow, attenuated, with
sunken cheeks, hollow, lack-lustre eyes, and broken-mouthed,
as I now saw her; but there were the remains of great
beauty, notwithstanding, about the woman; and I afterwards
learned that she had once been among the fairest of the
fair, in her native mountains. In all the intercourse I subsequently
had with her family, the manner of this woman
was anxious, distrustful, watchful, and bore a strong resemblance
to that of the dam that is overseeing the welfare of
its cubs. As to her welcome at the board, it was neither
hearty nor otherwise; it being so much a matter of course
for the American to share his meal with the stranger, that
little is said or thought of the boon.

Notwithstanding the size of the family of Thousandacres,
the cabin in which he dwelt was not crowded. The younger
children of the settlement, ranging between the ages of four
and twelve, appeared to be distributed among all the habitations
indifferently, putting into the dishes wherever there
was an opening, much as pigs thrust themselves in at any
opening at a trough. The business of eating commenced
simultaneously throughout the whole settlement, Prudence
having blown a blast upon a conch-shell, as the signal. I
was too hungry to lose any time in discourse, and set to,
with the most hearty good will, upon the coarse fare, the
moment there was an opportunity. My example was imi

tated by all around our own particular board, it being the
refined and intellectual only, who habitually converse at
their meals. The animal had too great a preponderance
among the squatters, to leave them an exception to the
rule.

At length, the common hunger was appeased, and I could
see that those who sat around began to examine me with a
little more curiosity than they had previously manifested.
There was nothing in the fashion of my attire to excite
suspicion, perhaps, though I did feel some little concern on
account of its quality. In that day, the social classes were
broadly distinguished by dress, no man even affecting to
assume the wardrobe of a gentleman, without having certain
pretensions to the character. In the woods, however,
it was the custom to throw aside every thing like finery, and
I wore the hunting-shirt already mentioned, as my outer
garment. The articles most likely to betray my station in
life were beneath this fortunate covering, and might escape
observation. Then our party was small, consisting, besides
the parents and the two guests, of only one young man, and
one young woman, of about the ages of two and twenty and
sixteen, whom the mother addressed as Zephaniah and
Lowiny, the latter being one of the very common American
corruptions of some fine name taken from a book—Lavinia,
quite likely.[1] These two young persons deported themselves
with great modesty at the table, old Thousandacres
and his wife, spite of their lawless lives, having maintained
a good deal of the ancient puritan discipline among their
descendants, in relation to things of this nature. Indeed, I

was struck with the singular contrast between the habitual
attention that was paid by all in the settlement to certain
appearances of the sort, and that certainty which every one
must have possessed that they were living daily in the commission
of offences opposed not only to the laws of the land,
but to the common, inherent convictions of right. In this
particular, they exhibited what is often found in life, the
remains of ancient habits and principles, existing in the
shape of habits, long after the substance that had produced
them had disappeared.

“Have you asked these folks about Chainbearer?” said
Prudence abruptly, as soon as the knives and forks were
laid down, and while we still continued in our seats at the
table. “I feel a consarn of mind, about that man, that I
never feel about any other.”

“Never fear Chainbearer, woman,” answered the husband.
“He 's got his summer's work afore him, without
coming near us. By the last accounts, this young Littlepage,
that the old rogue of a father has sent into the country,
has got him out in his own settlement; where he 'll be
apt to keep him, I calcerlate, till cold weather sets in. Let
me once get off all the lumber we 've cut, and sell it, and I
kear very little about Chainbearer, or his master.”

“This is bold talk, Aaron; but jist remember how often
we 've squatted, and how often we 've been driven to move.
I s'pose I 'm talking afore fri'nds, in sayin' what I do.”

“No fear of any here, wife.—Trackless is an old acquaintance,
and has as little relish for law-titles, as any on
us; and his fri'nd is our fri'nd.” I confess, that I felt a
little uncomfortable, at this remark; but the squatter going
on with his conversation, there was no opportunity for saying
anything, had I been so disposed.—“As for moving,” continued
the husband, “I never mov'd, but twice, without
getting pay for my betterments.—Now, I call that a good
business, for a man who has squatted no less than seventeen
times. If the worst comes to the worst, we 're young
enough to make an eighteenth pitch. So that I save the
lumber, I kear but little for your Littlepages, or Greatpages;
the mill is no great matter, without the gear; and that has
travelled all the way from Varmount, as it is, and is used to
moving. It can go farther.”

“Yes, but the lumber, Aaron! The water 's low, now,
and you can never get it to market, until the rivers rise,
which mayn't be these three months. Think how many
days' labour that lumber has cost you, and all on us, and
what a sight of it there would be to lose!”

“Yes, but we wunt lose it, woman,” answered Thousandacres,
compressing his lips, and clenching his hands, in a
way to show how intensely he felt on the subject of property,
himself, however dishonestly acquired. “My sweat and
labour be in them boards; and it 's as good as sap, any day.
What a man sweats for, he has a right to.”

This was somewhat loose morality, it is true, since a man
might sweat in bearing away his neighbour's goods; but a
portion of the human race is a good deal disposed to feel
and reason on principles but little more sound than this of
old Thousandacres.

“Wa-a-ll,” answered the woman, “I 'm sure I don't
want to see you and the b'ys lose the fruits of your labours;
not I. You 've honestly toiled and wrought at 'em logs, in
a way I never seed human beings outdo; and 't would be
hard,” looking particularly at me, “now that they 've cut
the trees, hauled 'em to mill, and sawed the boards, to see
another man step in and claim all the property. That could
never be right, but is ag'in all justice, whether Varmount
or York. I s'pose there 's no great harm in jist askin' what
your name may be, young man?”

“None in the world,” I answered, with a self-command
that I could see delighted the Onondago. “My name is
Mordaunt.”

“Mordaunt!” repeated the woman, quickly. “Don't we
know suthin' of that name?—Is that a fri'ndly name, to us
Varmounters?—How is it, Aaron? you ought to know.”

“No, I hadn't ought to, for I never heerd tell of any sich
name, afore. So long as 'tis n's Littlepage, I kear nothin'
about it.”

I felt relieved at this reply, for I will own, that the idea
of falling into the power of these lawless men was far from
pleasant to me. From Thousandacres, down to the lad
of seventeen, they all stood six feet in their stockings; and
a stouter, more broad-shouldered, sinewy race, was not
often seen. The idea of resisting them by force, was out

of the question. I was entirely without arms; though the
Indian was better provided; but no less than four rifles
were laid on brackets in this one cabin; and I made no
doubt that every male of the family had his own particular
weapon. The rifle was the first necessary, of men of this
stamp, being as serviceable in procuring food, as in protecting
them from their enemies.

It was at this moment that Prudence drew a long sigh,
and rose from table in order to renew her domestic labours.
Lowiny followed her motions in submissive silence, and we
men sauntered to the door of the cabin, where I could get a
new view of the nature of those “betterments” that Thousandacres
so highly prized, and of the extent of the depredations
that had been committed on colonel Follock and my
father. The last were by no means insignificant; and, at
a later day, they were estimated, by competent judges, to
amount to fully a thousand dollars in value. Of course
these were a thousand dollars totally lost, inasmuch as redress,
in a pecuniary sense, was entirely out of the question
with men of the stamp of Thousandacres and his sons.
This class of persons are fond of saying, “I 'll guarantee,”
and “I 'll bind myself” to do this or that; but the guaranty
and obligation are equally without value. In fact, those
who are the least responsible are usually the freest with
such pledges.

“This is a handsome spot,” said Thousandacres, whose
real name was Aaron Timberman. “This is a handsome
spot, Mr. Mordaunt, and one it would go kind o' hard to
give it up at the biddin' of a man who never laid eye on 't.
Be you any way acquainted with law?”

“A very little; no more than we all get to be as we
move along through life.”

“You 've not travelled far on that journey, young man,
as any one can see by your face. But you 've had opportunities,
as a body can tell by your speech, which isn't exactly
like our'n, out here in the woods, from which I had
kind o' thought your schoolin' might be more than common.
A body can tell, though his own l'arnin' amounts to no great
matter.”

This notion of Aaron's, that my modes of speech, pronunciation,
accent and utterance had come from the schools,

was natural enough, perhaps; though few persons ever acquire
accuracy in either, except in the familiar intercourse
of their childhood. As for the “common schools” of New
York, they are perpetuating errors in these respects, rather
than correcting them; and one of the largest steps in their
improvement would be to have a care that he who teaches,
teaches accurately as to sounds, as well as to significations.
Under the present system, vicious habits are confirmed by
deliberate instruction and example, rather than corrected.

“My schooling,” I answered, modestly enough, I trust,
“has been a little better than common, though it has not
been good enough, as you see, to keep me out of the woods.”

“All that may be inclination. Some folks have a nat'ral
turn for the wilderness, and it's workin' ag'in the grain,
and nearly useless, to try to make settlement-bodies of 'em.
D 'ye happen to know what lumber is likely to bring this
fall?”

“Everything is looking up since the peace, and it is fair
to expect lumber will begin to command a price, as well as
other property.”

“Wa-a-l, it 's time it should! During the whull war a
board has been of little more account than a strip of bark,
unless it happened to be in the neighbourhood of an army.
We lumbermen have had an awful time on it these last eight
years, and more than once I 've felt tempted to gi'n in, and
go and settle down in some clearin', like quieter folks; but
I thought, as the 'arth is to come to an eend, the war must
sartainly come to an eend afore it.”

“The calculation was a pretty safe one; the war must
have truly made a dull time for you; nor do I see how you
well got along during the period it lasted.”

“Bad enough; though war-times has their wind-falls as
well as peace-times. Once, the inimy seized a sight of continental
stores, sich as pork, and flour, and New England
rum, and they pressed all the teams, far and near, to carry
off their plunder, and my sleigh and horses had to go along
with the rest on 'em. Waal, go we did; and I got as
handsome a load as ever you seed laid in a lumber-sleigh;
what I call an assortment, and one, too, that was mightily
to my own likin', seein' I loaded it up with my own hands.
'T was in a woody country, as you may s'pose, or I wouldn't

have been there; and, as I know'd all the by-roads, I watched
my chance, and got out of the line without bein' seen, and
druv' as straight up to my own hum' as if I 'd just come
from tradin' in the nearest settlement. That was the most
profitablest journey I ever tuck, and, what is more, it was a
short one.”

Here old Thousandacres stopped to laugh, which he did
in as hearty, frank a manner as if his conscience had never
known care. This story, I fancy, was a favourite with him,
for I heard no less than three other allusions to the exploit
on which it was based, during the short time our communication
with each other lasted. I observed the first smile I
had seen on the face of Zephaniah, appear at the recital of
this anecdote; though I had not failed to notice that the
young man, as fine a specimen of rustic, rude, manly proportions
as one could wish to see, had kept his eyes on me
at every occasion, in a manner that excited some uneasiness.

“That was a fortunate service for you,” I remarked, as
soon as Aaron had had his laugh; “unless, indeed, you felt
the necessity of giving back the property to the continental
officers.”

“Not a bit of it! Congress was poor enough, I 'm willin'
to own, but it was richer than I was, or ever will be. When
property has changed hands once, title goes with it; and
some say that these very lands, coming from the king, ought
now to go to the people, jist as folks happen to want 'em.
There 's reason and right, I 'm sartain, in the idee, and I
shouldn't wonder if it held good in law, one day!”

Alas! alas! for poor human nature again. Seldom does
man commit a wrong but he sets his ingenuity to work to
frame excuses for it. When his mind thus gets to be perverted
by the influence of his passions, and more especially
by that of rapacity, he never fails to fancy new principles
to exist to favour his schemes, and manifests a readiness in
inventing them, which, enlisted on the side of goodness,
might render him a blessing instead of a curse to his race.
But roguery is so active, while virtue is so apt to be passive,
that in the eternal conflict that is waged between them, that
which is gained by the truth and inherent power of the last
is, half the time, more than neutralized by the unwearied

exertions of the first! This, I fear, may be found to contain
the weak spot of our institutions. So long as law represents
the authority of an individual, individual pride and
jealousy may stimulate it to constant watchfulness; whereas,
law representing the community, carries with it a divided
responsibility, that needs the excitement of intolerable abuses
ere it will arouse itself in its own vindication. The result
is merely another proof that, in the management of the
ordinary affairs of life, men are usually found to be stronger
than principles.

“Have you ever had occasion to try one of your titles of
possession in a court of law, against that of a landholder
who got his right from a grant?” I asked, after reflecting a
moment on the truth I have just narrated.

Thousandacres shook his head, looked down a moment,
and pondered a little, in his turn, ere he gave me the following
answer:

“Sartain,” he said. “We all like to be on the right
side, if we can; and some of our folks kind o' persuaded
me I might make out, once, ag'in a reg'lar landlord. So I
stood trial with him; but he beat me, Mr. Mordaunt, just
the same as if I had been a chicken, and he the hawk that
had me in his talons. You 'll never catch me trusting myself
in the claws of the law ag'in, though that happened as
long ago as afore the old French war. I shall never trust
to law any more. It may do for them that 's, rich, and
don't kear whether they win or lose; but law is a desp'rate
bad business for them that hasn't got money to go into it,
right eend foremost.”

“And, should Mr. Littlepage discover your being here,
and feel disposed to come to some arrangement with you,
what conditions would you be apt to accept?”

“Oh! I 'm never ag'in trade. Trade 's the spirit of life;
and seein' that gin'ral Littlepage has some right, as I do
s'pose is the case, I shouldn't want to be hard on him. If
he would keep things quiet, and not make a fuss about it,
but would leave the matter out to men, and they men of the
right sort, I shouldn't be difficult; for I 'm one of that kind
that hates law-suits, and am always ready to do the right
thing; and so he 'd find me as ready to settle as any man
he ever had on his lands.”

“But on what terms? You have not told me the
terms.”

“As to tarms, I 'd not be hard, by any means. No man
can say old Thousandacres ever druv' hard tarms, when
he had the best on't. That 's not in my natur', which runs
altogether towards reason and what 's right. Now you see,
Mordaunt, how matters stand atween this Littlepage and
myself. He 's got a paper title, they tell me, and I 've got
possession, which is always a squatter's claim; and a good
one 'tis, where there 's plenty of pine and a mill-seat, with a
handy market!”

Here Thousandacres stopped to laugh again, for he
generally indulged in this way, in so hearty and deep a
tone, as to render it difficult to laugh and talk in the same
breath. As soon as through, however, he did not forget to
pursue the discourse.

“No, no man that understands the woods will gainsay
them advantages,” added the squatter; “and of all on 'em
am I now in the enj'yment. Wa-a-l, gin'ral Littlepage, as
they call him about here, has a paper title; and I 've got
possession. He has the courts on his side, I 'll allow; but
here are my betterments—sixty-three as large acres chopped
over and hauled to mill, as can be found in all Charlotte,
or Washington, as they tell me the county is now called.”

“But general Littlepage may not fancy it an improvement
to have his land stripped of its pine. You know,
Thousandacres, as well as I do, that pine is usually thought
to greatly add to the value of land hereabouts, the Hudson
making it so easy to get it to market.”

“Lord! youngster, do you think I hadn't all that in my
mind, when I made my pitch here? You can't teach old
bones where it 's best to strike the first blow with an axe.
Now, I 've got in the creek,” (this word is used, in the parlance
of the State, for a small river, nine times in ten);
“now, I 've got in the creek, on the way to the Hudson, in
the booms below the mill, and in the mill-yard yonder, a
hundred and twenty thousand feet of as handsome stuff as
ever was cribbed, or rafted; and there 's logs enough cut
and hauled to make more than as much more. I some sort
o' think you know this Littlepage, by your talk; and, as I
like fair dealin's, and what 's right atween man and man,

I 'll just tell you what I 'll do, so that you can tell him, if
you ever meet, and the matter should come up atween you,
as sich things sometimes do, all in talk like, though a body
has no real consarn in the affair; and so you can tell this
gin'ral that old Thousandacres is a reasonable man, and is
willing to settle on these tarms; but he won't gi'n a grain
more. If the gin'ral will let me get all the lumber to market
peaceably, and take off the crops the b'ys have put in
with their own hands, and carry off all the mill-gear, and
take down the doors and windows of the houses, and all the
iron-work a body can find about, I 'm willing to agree to
quit 'arly enough in the spring to let any man he chooses
come into possession in good season to get in spring grain,
and make garden. There; them 's my tarms, and I 'll not
abate on one on 'em, on no account at all. But that much
I 'll do for peace; for I do love peace and quiet, my woman
says, most desp'ately.”

I was about to answer this characteristic communication
—perfectly characteristic as to feelings, one-sided sense of
right, principles and language—when Zephaniah, the tall
son of the squatter, suddenly laid a hand on his father's
arm, and led him aside. This young man had been examining
my person, during the whole of the dialogue at the
door of the cabin, in a way that was a little marked. I
was disposed at first to attribute these attentions to the
curiosity natural to youth, at its first meeting with one who
might be supposed to enjoy opportunities of ascertaining the
newest modes of dress and deportment. Rustics, in America,
ever manifest this feeling, and it was not unreasonable
to suppose that this young squatter might have felt its influence.
But, as it soon appeared, I had altogether mistaken
my man. Although both he and his sister, Lowiny,
had never turned their eyes from my person, I soon discovered
that they had been governed by totally opposing
feelings.

The first intimation I got of the nature of the mistake
into which I had fallen, was from the manner of Thousandacres,
as soon as his son had spoken to him, apart, for a
single minute. I observed that the old squatter turned suddenly,
and began to scrutinize my appearance with a scowling,
but sharp eye. Then he would give all his attention

to his son; after which, I came in for a new turn of examination.
Of course, such a scene could not last a great
while, and I soon felt the relief of being, again, face to face
with the man whom I now set down for an enemy.

“Harkee, young man,” resumed Thousandacres, as soon
as he had returned and placed himself directly before me,
“my b'y, Zeph, there, has got a suspicion consarning you,
that must be cleared up, fairly a-tween us, afore we part.
I like fair dealin's, as I've told you more than once, already,
and despise underhandedness from the bottom of my heart.
Zeph tells me that he has a kind o' suspicion that you 're
the son of this very Littlepage, and have been sent among
us to spy us out, and to l'arn how things stood, afore you let
on your evil intentions. Is it so, or not?”

“What reason has Zeph for such a suspicion?” I answered,
with as much coolness as I could assume. “He is
a perfect stranger to me, and I fancy this is the first time
we have ever met.”

“He agrees to that, himself; but mankind can sometimes
see things that isn't put directly afore their eyes. My son
goes and comes, frequently, between the Ravensnest settlement
and our own, though I don't suppose he lets on any
great deal about his proper hum'—He has worked as much
as two months, at a time, in that part of the country, and I
find him useful in carrying on a little trade, once and awhile,
with 'squire Newcome.”

“You are acquainted, then, with Mr. Jason Newcome, or
'squire Newcome, as you call him?”

“I call him what 's right, I hope!” answered the old man
sharply. “He is a 'Squire, and should be called a 'Squire.
Give the devil his due; that 's my principle. But Zephaniah
has been out a considerable spell this summer to work
at Ravensnest. I tell him he has a gal in his eye, by his
hankering so much after the 'Nest folks, but he won't own
it: but out he has been, and he tells me this Littlepage's
son was expected to come into the settlement about the time
he last left there.”

“And you are acquainted with 'Squire Newcome?” I said,
pursuing the subject as its points presented themselves to my
own mind, rather than following the thread of the squatter's

discursive manner of thinking; “so well acquainted as to
trade with him?”

“Sartain; well acquainted I may say. The 'Squire tuck
(took) all the lumber I cut 'arly in the spring, rafting and
selling it on his own account, paying us in groceries, womans'
cloth, and rum. He made a good job of it, I hear tell, and
is hankerin' round a'ter what is now in the creek; but I
rather think I 'll send the b'ys off with that. But what 's
that to the purpose? Didn't you tell me, young man, that
your name is Mordaunt?”

“I did; and in so saying I told no more than the truth.”

“And what may you call your given name? A'ter all,
old woman,” turning to the anxious wife and mother, who
had drawn near to listen, having most probably been made
acquainted with the nature of her son's suspicions—“a'ter
all the b'y may be mistaken, and this young man as innocent
as any one of your own flesh and blood.”

“Mordaunt is what you call my `given name,' I answered,
disdaining deception, “and Littlepage—” The hand of the
Indian was suddenly placed on my mouth, stopping further
utterance.

It was too late, however, for the friendly design of the
Onondago, the squatters readily comprehending all I had
intended to say. As for Prudence, she walked away; and
I soon heard her calling all her younger children by name,
to collect them near her person, as the hen gathers its
chickens beneath the wing. Thousandacres took the matter
very differently. His countenance grew dark, and he whispered
a word to Lowiny, who departed on some errand
with reluctant steps, as I thought, and eyes that did not
always look in the direction she was walking.

“I see how it is!—I see how it is!” exclaimed the squatter,
with as much of suppressed indignation in his voice and
mien as if his cause were that of offended innocence; “we 've
got a spy among us, and war-time 's too fresh not to let us
know how to deal with sich folks. Young man, what 's your
arr'n'd down here, in my betterments, and beneath my ruff?”

“My errand as you call it, Thousandacres, is to look
after the property that is entrusted to my care. I am the
son of General Littlepage, one of the owners of this spot,
and the attorney of both.”

“Oh! an attorney be you!” cried the squatter, mistaking
the attorney in fact for an attorney at law—a sort of being
for whom he necessarily entertained a professional antipathy.
“I'll attorney ye! If you or your gin'ral father thinks
that Aaron Thousandacres is a man to have his territories
invaded by the inimy, and keep his hands in his pockets the
whull time, he's mistaken. Send 'em along, Lawiny, send
along the b'ys, and let's see if we can't find lodgin's for
this young attorney gin'ral, as well as board.”

There was no mistaking the aspect of things now. Hostilities
had commenced in a certain sense, and it became
incumbent on me for the sake of safety to be on the alert.
I knew that the Indian was armed; and, determined to defend
my person if possible, I was resolved to avail myself of the
use of his weapon should it become necessary. Stretching
out an arm, and turning to the spot where Susquesus had
just stood, to lay hold of his rifle, I discovered that he had
disappeared.