University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I

There are few portions of our country more beautiful,
and none more rich with historic recollections,
than the valley of the Mohawk, Yet few, probably, of
the throngs, who, steam-impelled, pass daily through
this beautiful region, yielding to its many scenes of enchantment
the tribute of admiration, pause to reflect
upon the fearful and momentous deeds of which it has
been the scene, and which are destined in after ages to
render every inch of its soil classic ground.

But not of thee, beautiful river, peacefully gliding
through the broad and verdant champaign, laving with
thy silvery waters, the lips of the bending flowers upon
thy margin, or with gentle wrath foaming, glistening
and leaping amid the cataracts of Astorogan; nor yet
of you, oh towering mountains, still forest-clad; not of
you, as ye now exist, the scenes and the occasions of

innocent enjoyment, is the historic muse about to speak.
But of man, staining your soil with blood, freighting
your gales with groans, and startling your frightened
echoes with war's discordant notes; and yet of man,
too, thank Heaven, in holier and gentler mood, and less
at war with the beauty and harmony of creation.

It was in the twilight of a calm July evening, just
seventy years ago, that two young men, lightly clad,
and each bearing a rifle, might have been seen loitering
upon the bank of the Mohawk, at a point near to what
is now a large and populous town. Although at first
sight the casual observer would have taken them for
sportsmen in pursuit of game, a little closen investigation
would have convinced him that such was not the
case, but that their arms were carried only as part of
an habitual system of precaution in those troublous
times, when no man knew at what moment he might
stumble upon a deadly foe. Charles Dudley and Enoch
Waldon were citizens of one neighborhood, and had
been acquaintances from their boyhood. They were
not, however, and never had been, friends. There was
no approach to congeniality in their dispositions, the
first being frank and generous, while the other was
characterized by qualities in every respect the reverse
of those noble traits. They had now met by accident,
and stopped to exchange such few words of constrained
civility as people are wont to utter, who, while they
entertain for each other a secret dislike, are still willing
to avoid an open quarrel. But the deportment of Waldon
was marked with a sort of obsequiousness to his
companion, which might have indicated to one less suspicious
than Dudley, some sinister design.

“Stirring times are these,” he said, glancing at his
weapon, after a moment's pause in conversation. “It
becomes one to look well to his flint and flask.”

“It does, indeed,” replied Dudley. “I hope there
have been no new massacres committed.”

“I do n't know exactly about the massacres,” said
Waldon, emphasising the word. “Indians have their
way of fighting and we have ours. But there certainly
was a night attack made at Shell's Bush night before
last, and houses burnt, lives lost, and prisoners taken,
as usual.”

“This is fearful intelligence, Mr. Waldon, and, what
is worse, we know not at what hour the bolt may fall
upon us. You will, of course, join the Life Guard which
we are organizing?”

“I intend to join quite a different service, I assure
you,” said Waldon, “and one in which a little more
honor and profit can be gained than in guarding a few
old women and their spinning wheels. Col. St. Leger
is now on his approach to Fort Stanwix, and under his
banner I shall enlist without delay. Nay, hear me,” he
said, as the withering scorn which had gathered on the
face of his companion indicated a scathing rebuke, “St.
Leger will reduce Fort Stanwix in three days. With
the aid of the loyalists in this country, the rebellion in
this section is sure to be immediately quelled, with little
or no bloodshed. Intelligence from the south and east
is equally favorable to the royal cause. If, therefore,
you desire to serve your country effectually, Dudley, be
persuaded to go with me. The most brilliant inducements
are held out, and for you, in particular, influential
and brave, a commission would be certain—I may
say, ineded, that I am authorized to offer it, by those
who have the full confidence of St. Leger.”

“Enough has been said,” replied Dudley, with dignity;
“let us part while our blood is cool. Go,—join
St. Leger to devastate your native land, or join, if you

prefer, the savage brigands and their more savage allies,
whose atrocities you palliate. When we meet again, it
will be as enemies.” Thus saying, he turned to depart.

“Hold!” exclaimed the other, snatching his rifle, as
if he would enforce attention, “we are enemies now!”

Stung by resentment, and maddened by the thought
that his plans had been prematurely and uselessly disclosed,
his eye now gleamed with undisguised rage.
That still another element entered into his wrath became
evident by his words.

“We are enemies now,” he repeated, “and I have a
warning to bestow. You have had thoughts of Miss
Welles. She is mine, affianced and plighted by her
father, who, with me, is about to join the royal standard.
See to it that my rights are regarded. Any invasion
of them in that quarter will be visited by punishment
summary and condign.”

He tapped his weapon significantly as he concluded.

Dudley's eyes flashed with anger.

“Do you dare to threaten me?” he said, laying hold
of his companion's rifle with a firm grasp. “Me, who
know you, Enoch Waldon, to be as cowardly as perfidious?
If you are affianced to Ellen Welles, it is because
her pure heart has never detected your baseness. But
words between us are useless. I leave however, no
armed foe in my rear.” So saying, he wrested the
weapon of the other suddenly from his grasp, discharged
its contents into the air, and flinging it upon the
ground, disappeared in the forest.

Mortified and infuriated, Waldon gave utterance to
some impotent imprecations, and then, having recovered
and re-loaded his gun, rapidly departed in an opposite
direction.