Ticonderoga; A Story of Early Frontier Life in the Mohawk Valley

<h4>CHAPTER XXXVI</h4> <br/> <p>From the bloody field of Ticonderoga Abercrombie retreated, as is well known, after having in vain attempted to take the inner abattis without cannon, and sacrificed the lives of many hundred gallant men to his own want of self-reliance. I need dwell no more upon the painful subject, but it was a sad day for the whole army, a sad day for the whole province, and a sadder day still for one small domestic circle, when the bodies of the gallant Lord H---- and his beautiful promised bride were brought to rest for a night at the house of Mr. Prevost before they were moved down to Albany. A body of the young nobleman's own regiment carried the coffins by turns; another party followed with arms reversed; but between the biers and the escort walked four men, with hearts as sad as any upon earth. It may seem strange, but none of the four shed a tear. The tall Indian warrior, though he grieved as much as if he had lost a child, had no tears for any earthly sorrow. The fountain in the heart of Mr. Prevost had been dried up by the fiery intensity of his grief. Walter had wept long and secretly, and the pride of manhood would not let him stain his cheeks in the presence of soldiers. Woodchuck's eyes were dry, too, for during six long months he had disciplined his heart to look upon the things of the earth so lightly, that although he grieved for Edith's fate, it was with the sort of sorrow he might have felt to see a beautiful flower trampled down by a rough foot: and there was bright hope, too, mingled with the shadow of his woe, for he said to himself frequently: &quot;They have but parted for to-day to meet in a happier place to-morrow.&quot;</p> <p>As the procession approached the house the servants came forth to meet it, with a young and beautiful girl at their head, clad in the Indian garb. She bore two little wreaths in her hand, one woven of bright spring flowers, the other of dark evergreens; and when the soldiers halted for a moment with their burden, she laid the flowers upon the coffin of Edith, the evergreen upon the soldier's bier. Then turning, with the tears dropping from her eyes, but with no clamorous grief, she walked before them back into the house.</p> <br/> <p>Some four years after, a less painful scene might be beheld at the house of Mr. Prevost. He himself sat in a great chair under the veranda, with his hair become as white as snow, and his head a good deal bowed. Seated on the ground near him was a tall Indian chief, very little changed in appearance, grave, calm, and still as ever. On the step of the veranda sat two young people, a tall, handsome, powerful man, of about one and twenty, and a beautiful girl, whose brown cheek betrayed some mixture of the Indian blood. On the green grass before them, with a black nurse sitting by, was as lovely a child of about two years of age as ever the sun shone upon. They had gathered a number of beautiful flowers, and she was sporting with them with the grace and with the happiness that only children can display or know. The eyes of all were fixed upon her, and they called her Edith.</p> <p>There was one wanting to that party out of those who had assembled at the door four years before. Woodchuck was no longer there. He had gone where he longed to be. When he felt sickness coming upon him, some two years after the death of Lord H----, he had left the house of Mr. Prevost, which he had lately made his home, and gone, as he said, to wander in the mountains. There he became worse. An Indian runner came down to tell his friends that he was dying; and when Mr. Prevost went up to see him, he found him in a Seneca lodge, with but a few hours of life before him.</p> <p>Woodchuck was very glad to see the friendly face near him, and as his visitor bent over him, he said: &quot;I am very much obliged to you for coming, Prevost, for I want to ask you one thing, and that is, to have me buried in the churchyard at Albany, just beside your dear girl. I know it's all nonsense, and that the flesh sees corruption; but still I've a fancy that I shall rest quieter there than anywhere else. If ever there was an angel she was one, and I think her dust must sanctify the ground.&quot;</p> <p>It was his only request, and it was not forgotten.</p> <br/> <br/> <h4>THE END</h4> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />