prompt:
Chapter: "Then go we in, to know his embassy;
  Which I could, with ready guess, declare,
  Before the Frenchman speak a word of it."

  _King Henry V._

A few succeeding days were passed amid the privations, the uproar, and
the dangers of the siege, which was vigorously pressed by a power
against whose approaches Munro possessed no competent means of
resistance. It appeared as if Webb, with his army, which lay slumbering
on the banks of the Hudson, had utterly forgotten the strait to which
his countrymen were reduced. Montcalm had filled the woods of the
portage with his savages, every yell and whoop from whom rang through
the British encampment, chilling the hearts of men who were already but
too much disposed to magnify the danger.

Not so, however, with the besieged. Animated by the words, and
stimulated by the examples, of their leaders, they had found their
courage, and maintained their ancient reputation, with zeal that did
justice to the stern character of their commander. As if satisfied with
the toil of marching through the wilderness to encounter his enemy, the
French general, though of approved skill, had neglected to seize the
adjacent mountains; whence the besieged might have been exterminated
with impunity, and which, in the more modern warfare of the country,
would not have been neglected for a single hour. This sort of contempt
for eminences, or rather dread of the labor of ascending them, might
have been termed the besetting weakness of the warfare of the period. It
originated in the simplicity of the Indian contests, in which, from the
nature of the combats, and the density of the forests, fortresses were
rare, and artillery next to useless. The carelessness engendered by
these usages descended even to the war of the Revolution, and lost the
States the important fortress of Ticonderoga, opening a way for the army
of Burgoyne into what was then the bosom of the country. We look back at
this ignorance, or infatuation, whichever it may be called, with wonder,
knowing that the neglect of an eminence, whose difficulties, like those
of Mount Defiance, have been so greatly exaggerated, would, at the
present time, prove fatal to the reputation of the engineer who had
planned the works at their base, or to that of the general whose lot it
was to defend them.

The tourist, the valetudinarian, or the amateur of the beauties of
nature, who, in the train of his four-in-hand, now rolls through the
scenes we have attempted to describe, in quest of information, health,
or pleasure, or floats steadily towards his object on those artificial
waters which have sprung up under the administration of a statesman[21]
who has dared to stake his political character on the hazardous issue,
is not to suppose that his ancestors traversed those hills, or struggled
with the same currents with equal facility. The transportation of a
single heavy gun was often considered equal to a victory gained; if,
happily, the difficulties of the passage had not so far separated it
from its necessary concomitant, the ammunition, as to render it no more
than an useless tube of unwieldy iron.

The evils of this state of things pressed heavily on the fortunes of the
resolute Scotsman who now defended William Henry. Though his adversary
neglected the hills, he had planted his batteries with judgment on the
plain, and caused them to be served with vigor and skill. Against this
assault, the besieged could only oppose the imperfect and hasty
preparations of a fortress in the wilderness.

It was in the afternoon of the fifth day of the siege, and the fourth of
his own service in it, that Major Heyward profited by a parley that had
just been beaten, by repairing to the ramparts of one of the water
bastions, to breathe the cool air from the lake, and to take a survey of
the progress of the siege. He was alone, if the solitary sentinel who
paced the mound be excepted; for the artillerists had hastened also to
profit by the temporary suspension of their arduous duties. The evening
was delightfully calm, and the light air from the limpid water fresh and
soothing. It seemed as if, with the termination to the roar of artillery
and the plunging of shot, nature had also seized the moment to assume
her mildest and most captivating form. The sun poured down his parting
glory on the scene, without the oppression of those fierce rays that
belong to the climate and the season. The mountains looked green and
fresh and lovely; tempered with the milder light, or softened in shadow,
as thin vapors floated between them and the sun. The numerous islands
rested on the bosom of the Horican, some low and sunken, as if imbedded
in the waters, and others appearing to hover above the element, in
little hillocks of green velvet; among which the fishermen of the
beleaguering army peacefully rowed their skiffs, or floated at rest on
the glassy mirror, in quiet pursuit of their employment.

The scene was at once animated and still. All that pertained to nature
was sweet, or simply grand; while those parts which depended on the
temper and movements of man were lively and playful.

Two little spotless flags were abroad, the one on a salient angle of the
fort, and the other on the advanced battery of the besiegers; emblems of
the truce which existed, not only to the acts, but it would seem, also,
to the enmity of the combatants.

Behind these, again, swung, heavily opening and closing in silken folds,
the rival standards of England and France.

A hundred gay and thoughtless young Frenchmen were drawing a net to the
pebbly beach, within dangerous proximity to the sullen but silent cannon
of the fort, while the eastern mountain was sending back the loud shouts
and gay merriment that attended their sport. Some were rushing eagerly
to enjoy the aquatic games of the lake, and others were already toiling
their way up the neighboring hills, with the restless curiosity of their
nation. To all these sports and pursuits, those of the enemy who watched
the besieged, and the besieged themselves, were, however, merely the
idle, though sympathizing spectators. Here and there a picket had,
indeed, raised a song, or mingled in a dance, which had drawn the dusky
savages around them, from their lairs in the forest. In short,
everything wore rather the appearance of a day of pleasure, than of an
hour stolen from the dangers and toil of a bloody and vindictive
warfare.

Duncan had stood in a musing attitude, contemplating this scene a few
minutes, when his eyes were directed to the glacis in front of the
sally-port already mentioned, by the sounds of approaching footsteps. He
walked to an angle of the bastion, and beheld the scout advancing, under
the custody of a French officer, to the body of the fort. The
countenance of Hawkeye was haggard and careworn, and his air dejected,
as though he felt the deepest degradation at having fallen into the
power of his enemies. He was without his favorite weapon, and his arms
were even bound behind him with thongs, made of the skin of a deer. The
arrival of flags, to cover the messengers of summons, had occurred so
often of late, that when Heyward first threw his careless glance on this
group, he expected to see another of the officers of the enemy, charged
with a similar office; but the instant he recognized the tall person,
and still sturdy, though downcast features of his friend the woodsman,
he started with surprise, and turned to descend from the bastion into
the bosom of the work.

The sounds of other voices, however, caught his attention, and for a
moment caused him to forget his purpose. At the inner angle of the mound
he met the sisters, walking along the parapet in search, like himself,
of air and relief from confinement. They had not met from that painful
moment when he deserted them on the plain, only to assure their safety.
He had parted from them worn with care, and jaded with fatigue; he now
saw them refreshed and blooming, though timid and anxious. Under such an
inducement, it will cause no surprise that the young man lost sight, for
a time, of other objects in order to address them. He was, however,
anticipated by the voice of the ingenuous and youthful Alice.

"Ah! thou truant! thou recreant knight! he who abandons his damsels in
the very lists!" she cried; "here have we been days, nay, ages,
expecting you at our feet, imploring mercy and forgetfulness of your
craven backsliding, or, I should rather say, back-running--for verily
you fled in a manner that no stricken deer, as our worthy friend the
scout would say, could equal!"

"You know that Alice means our thanks and our blessings," added the
graver and more thoughtful Cora. "In truth, we have a little wondered
why you should so rigidly absent yourself from a place where the
gratitude of the daughters might receive the support of a parent's
thanks."

"Your father himself could tell you, that though absent from your
presence, I have not been altogether forgetful of your safety," returned
the young man; "the mastery of yonder village of huts," pointing to the
neighboring entrenched camp, "has been keenly disputed; and he who holds
it is sure to be possessed of this fort, and that which it contains. My
days and my nights have all been passed there since we separated,
because I thought that duty called me thither. But," he added with an
air of chagrin, which he endeavored, though unsuccessfully, to conceal,
"had I been aware that what I then believed a soldier's conduct could so
be construed, shame would have been added to the list of reasons."

"Heyward!--Duncan!" exclaimed Alice, bending forward to read his
half-averted countenance, until a lock of her golden hair rested on her
flushed cheek, and nearly concealed the tear that had started to her
eye; "did I think this idle tongue of mine had pained you, I would
silence it forever, Cora can say, if Cora would, how justly we have
prized your services, and how deep--I had almost said, how fervent--is
our gratitude."

"And will Cora attest the truth of this?" cried Duncan, suffering the
cloud to be chased from his countenance by a smile of open pleasure.
"What says our graver sister? Will she find an excuse for the neglect of
the knight in the duty of a soldier?"

Cora made no immediate answer, but turned her face towards the water, as
if looking on the sheet of the Horican. When she did bend her dark eyes
on the young man, they were yet filled with an expression of anguish
that at once drove every thought but that of kind solicitude from his
mind.

"You are not well, dearest Miss Munro!" he exclaimed; "we have trifled
while you are in suffering."

"'Tis nothing," she answered, refusing his offered support with feminine
reserve. "That I cannot see the sunny side of the picture of life, like
this artless but ardent enthusiast," she added, laying her hand lightly,
but affectionately, on the arm of her sister, "is the penalty of
experience, and, perhaps, the misfortune of my nature. See," she
continued, as if determined to shake off infirmity, in a sense of duty;
"look around you, Major Heyward, and tell me what a prospect is this for
the daughter of a soldier whose greatest happiness is his honor and his
military renown."

"Neither ought nor shall be tarnished by circumstances over which he has
had no control," Duncan warmly replied. "But your words recall me to my
own duty. I go now to your gallant father, to hear his determination in
matters of the last moment to the defence. God bless you in every
fortune, noble--Cora--I may and must call you." She frankly gave him her
hand, though her lip quivered, and her cheeks gradually became of an
ashy paleness. "In every fortune, I know you will be an ornament and
honor to your sex. Alice, adieu"--his tone changed from admiration to
tenderness--"adieu, Alice; we shall soon meet again; as conquerors, I
trust, and amid rejoicings!"

Without waiting for an answer from either, the young man threw himself
down the grassy steps of the bastion, and moving rapidly across the
parade, he was quickly in the presence of their father. Munro was
pacing his narrow apartment with a disturbed air and gigantic strides as
Duncan entered.

"You have anticipated my wishes, Major Heyward," he said; "I was about
to request this favor."

"I am sorry to see, sir, that the messenger I so warmly recommended has
returned in custody of the French! I hope there is no reason to distrust
his fidelity?"

"The fidelity of 'The Long Rifle' is well known to me," returned Munro,
"and is above suspicion; though his usual good fortune seems, at last,
to have failed. Montcalm has got him, and with the accursed politeness
of his nation, he has sent him in with a doleful tale, of 'knowing how I
valued the fellow, he could not think of retaining him.' A Jesuitical
way, that, Major Duncan Heyward, of telling a man of his misfortunes!"

"But the general and his succor?"

"Did ye look to the south as ye entered, and could ye not see them?"
said the old soldier, laughing bitterly. "Hoot! hoot! you're an
impatient boy, sir, and cannot give the gentlemen leisure for their
march!"

"They are coming, then? The scout has said as much?"

"When? and by what path? for the dunce has omitted to tell me this.
There is a letter, it would seem, too; and that is the only agreeable
part of the matter. For the customary attentions of your Marquis of
Montcalm--I warrant me, Duncan, that he of Lothian would buy a dozen
such marquisates--but, if the news of the letter were bad, the gentility
of this French monsieur would certainly compel him to let us know it."

"He keeps the letter, then, while he releases the messenger!"

"Ay, that does he, and all for the sake of what you call your
'_bonhommie_,' I would venture, if the truth was known, the fellow's
grandfather taught the noble science of dancing."

"But what says the scout? he has eyes and ears, and a tongue: what
verbal report does he make?"

"O! sir, he is not wanting in natural organs, and he is free to tell all
that he has seen and heard. The whole amount is this: there is a fort of
his majesty's on the banks of the Hudson, called Edward, in honor of his
gracious highness of York, you'll know; and it is well filled with armed
men, as such a work should be."

"But was there no movement, no signs of any intention to advance to our
relief?"

"There were the morning and evening parades; and when one of the
provincial loons--you'll know, Duncan, you're half a Scotsman
yourself--when one of them dropped his powder over his porretch, if it
touched the coals, it just burnt!" Then suddenly changing his bitter,
ironical manner, to one more grave and thoughtful, he continued; "and
yet there might, and must be, something in that letter which it would be
well to know!"

"Our decision should be speedy," said Duncan, gladly availing himself of
this change of humor, to press the more important objects of their
interview; "I cannot conceal from you, sir, that the camp will not be
much longer tenable; and I am sorry to add, that things appear no better
in the fort; more than half the guns are bursted."

"And how should it be otherwise? Some were fished from the bottom of the
lake; some have been rusting in the woods since the discovery of the
country; and some were never guns at all--mere privateersmen's
playthings! Do you think, sir, you can have Woolwich Warren in the midst
of a wilderness, three thousand miles from Great Britain!"

"The walls are crumbling about our ears, and provisions begin to fail
us," continued Heyward, without regarding this new burst of indignation;
"even the men show signs of discontent and alarm."

"Major Heyward," said Munro, turning to his youthful associate with the
dignity of his years and superior rank; "I should have served his
majesty for half a century, and earned these gray hairs, in vain, were I
ignorant of all you say, and of the pressing nature of our
circumstances; still, there is everything due to the honor of the king's
arms and something to ourselves. While there is hope of succor, this
fortress will I defend, though it be to be done with pebbles gathered on
the lake shore. It is a sight of the letter, therefore, that we want,
that we may know the intentions of the man the Earl of Loudon has left
among us as his substitute."

"And can I be of service in the matter?"

"Sir, you can; the Marquis of Montcalm has, in addition to his other
civilities, invited me to a personal interview between the works and his
own camp; in order, as he says, to impart some additional information.
Now, I think it would not be wise to show any undue solicitude to meet
him, and I would employ you, an officer of rank, as my substitute; for
it would but ill comport with the honor of Scotland to let it be said
one of her gentlemen was outdone in civility by a native of any other
country on earth."

Without assuming the supererogatory task of entering into a discussion
of the comparative merits of national courtesy, Duncan cheerfully
assented to supply the place of the veteran in the approaching
interview. A long and confidential communication now succeeded, during
which the young man received some additional insight into his duty, from
the experience and native acuteness of his commander, and then the
former took his leave.

As Duncan could only act as the representative of the commandant of the
fort, the ceremonies which should have accompanied a meeting between the
heads of the adverse forces were of course dispensed with. The truce
still existed, and with a roll and beat of the drum, and covered by a
little white flag, Duncan left the sally-port, within ten minutes after
his instructions were ended. He was received by the French officer in
advance with the usual formalities, and immediately accompanied to a
distant marquee of the renowned soldier who led the forces of France.

The general of the enemy received the youthful messenger, surrounded by
his principal officers, and by a swarthy band of the native chiefs, who
had followed him to the field, with the warriors of their several
tribes. Heyward paused short, when, in glancing his eyes rapidly over
the dark group of the latter, he beheld the malignant countenance of
Magua, regarding him with the calm but sullen attention which marked the
expression of that subtle savage. A slight exclamation of surprise even
burst from the lips of the young man; but instantly recollecting his
errand, and the presence in which he stood, he suppressed every
appearance of emotion, and turned to the hostile leader, who had already
advanced a step to receive him.

The Marquis of Montcalm was, at the period of which we write, in the
flower of his age, and, it may be added, in the zenith of his fortunes.
But, even in that enviable situation, he was affable, and distinguished
as much for his attention to the forms of courtesy, as for that
chivalrous courage which, only two short years afterwards, induced him
to throw away his life on the plains of Abraham. Duncan, in turning his
eyes from the malign expression of Magua, suffered them to rest with
pleasure on the smiling and polished features, and the noble military
air, of the French general.

"Monsieur," said the latter, "j'ai beaucoup de plaisir a--bah!--ou est
cet interprete?"

"Je crois, monsieur, qu'il ne sera pas necessaire," Heyward modestly
replied; "je parle un peu Francais."

"Ah! j'en suis bien aise," said Montcalm, taking Duncan familiarly by
the arm, and leading him deep into the marquee, a little out of
ear-shot; "je deteste ces fripons-la; on ne sait jamais sur quel pie on
est avec eux. Eh, bien! monsieur," he continued, still speaking in
French; "though I should have been proud of receiving your commandant, I
am very happy that he has seen proper to employ an officer so
distinguished, and who, I am sure, is so amiable, as yourself."

Duncan bowed low, pleased with the compliment, in spite of a most heroic
determination to suffer no artifice to allure him into forgetfulness of
the interest of his prince; and Montcalm, after a pause of a moment, as
if to recollect his thoughts, proceeded,--

"Your commandant is a brave man, and well qualified to repel my assault.
Mais, monsieur, is it not time to begin to take more counsel of
humanity, and less of your courage? The one as strongly characterizes
the hero as the other."

"We consider the qualities as inseparable," returned Duncan, smiling;
"but while we find in the vigor of your excellency every motive to
stimulate the one, we can, as yet, see no particular call for the
exercise of the other."

Montcalm, in his turn, slightly bowed, but it was with the air of a man
too practised to remember the language of flattery. After musing a
moment, he added,--

"It is possible my glasses have deceived me, and that your works resist
our cannon better than I had supposed. You know our force?"

"Our accounts vary," said Duncan, carelessly; "the highest, however, has
not exceeded twenty thousand men."

The Frenchman bit his lip, and fastened his eyes keenly on the other as
if to read his thoughts; then, with a readiness peculiar to himself, he
continued, as if assenting to the truth of an enumeration which quite
doubled his army,--

"It is a poor compliment to the vigilance of us soldiers, monsieur,
that, do what we will, we never can conceal our numbers. If it were to
be done at all, one would believe it might succeed in these woods.
Though you think it too soon to listen to the calls of humanity," he
added, smiling archly, "I may be permitted to believe that gallantry is
not forgotten by one so young as yourself. The daughters of the
commandant, I learn, have passed into the fort since it was invested?"

"It is true, monsieur; but, so far from weakening our efforts, they set
us an example of courage in their own fortitude. Were nothing but
resolution necessary to repel so accomplished a soldier as M. de
Montcalm, I would gladly trust the defence of William Henry to the elder
of those ladies."

"We have a wise ordinance in our Salique laws, which says, 'The crown of
France shall never degrade the lance to the distaff,'" said Montcalm,
dryly, and with a little hauteur; but instantly adding, with his former
frank and easy air, "as all the nobler qualities are hereditary, I can
easily credit you; though, as I said before, courage has its limits, and
humanity must not be forgotten. I trust, monsieur, you come authorized
to treat for the surrender of the place?"

"Has your excellency found our defence so feeble as to believe the
measure necessary?"

"I should be sorry to have the defence protracted in such a manner as to
irritate my red friends there," continued Montcalm, glancing his eyes at
the group of grave and attentive Indians, without attending to the
other's question; "I find it difficult, even now, to limit them to the
usages of war."

Heyward was silent; for a painful recollection of the dangers he had so
recently escaped came over his mind, and recalled the images of those
defenceless beings who had shared in all his sufferings.

"Ces messieurs-la," said Montcalm, following up the advantage which he
conceived he had gained, "are most formidable when baffled: and it is
unnecessary to tell you with what difficulty they are restrained in
their anger. Eh bien, monsieur! shall we speak of the terms?"

"I fear your excellency has been deceived as to the strength of William
Henry, and the resources of its garrison!"

"I have not sat down before Quebec, but an earthen work, that is
defended by twenty-three hundred gallant men," was the laconic reply.

"Our mounds are earthen, certainly--nor are they seated on the rocks of
Cape Diamond; but they stand on that shore which proved so destructive
to Dieskau and his army. There is also a powerful force within a few
hours' march of us, which we account upon as part of our means."

"Some six or eight thousand men," returned Montcalm, with much apparent
indifference, "whom their leader wisely judges to be safer in their
works than in the field."

It was now Heyward's turn to bite his lip with vexation, as the other so
coolly alluded to a force which the young man knew to be overrated. Both
mused a little while in silence, when Montcalm renewed the conversation,
in a way that showed he believed the visit of his guest was solely to
propose terms of capitulation. On the other hand, Heyward began to throw
sundry inducements in the way of the French general, to betray the
discoveries he had made through the intercepted letter. The artifice of
neither, however, succeeded; and after a protracted and fruitless
interview, Duncan took his leave, favorably impressed with an opinion of
the courtesy and talents of the enemy's captain, but as ignorant of what
he came to learn as when he arrived. Montcalm followed him as far as the
entrance of the marquee, renewing his invitations to the commandant of
the fort to give him an immediate meeting in the open ground, between
the two armies.

There they separated, and Duncan returned to the advanced post of the
French, accompanied as before; whence he instantly proceeded to the
fort, and to the quarters of his own commander.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Five days into the siege of Fort William Henry, Heyward discovers that the French have captured Hawkeye. Inside the fort, Heyward sees Alice, who teases him for not seeing her and her sister enough, and Cora, who seems distressed. Though the French forces eventually release Hawkeye, the French leader Montcalm keeps the letter that Hawkeye carried from General Webb. Montcalm requests a meeting with Munro, but Munro sends Heyward in his place. The French general urges Major Heyward to surrender, reminding him that France's bloodthirsty Indian allies are difficult to hold in check


prompt:
Chapter: "_Edg._--Before you fight the battle, ope this letter."

  _King Lear._

Major Heyward found Munro attended only by his daughters. Alice sat upon
his knee, parting the gray hairs on the forehead of the old man with her
delicate fingers; and, whenever he affected to frown on her trifling,
appeasing his assumed anger by pressing her ruby lips fondly on his
wrinkled brow. Cora was seated nigh them, a calm and amused looker-on;
regarding the wayward movements of her more youthful sister, with that
species of maternal fondness which characterized her love for Alice. Not
only the dangers through which they had passed, but those which still
impended above them, appeared to be momentarily forgotten, in the
soothing indulgence of such a family meeting. It seemed as if they had
profited by the short truce, to devote an instant to the purest and best
affections: the daughters forgetting their fears, and the veteran his
cares, in the security of the moment. Of this scene, Duncan, who in his
eagerness to report his arrival had entered unannounced, stood many
moments an unobserved and a delighted spectator. But the quick and
dancing eyes of Alice soon caught a glimpse of his figure reflected from
a glass, and she sprang blushing from her father's knee, exclaiming
aloud,--

"Major Heyward!"

"What of the lad?" demanded the father; "I have sent him to crack a
little with the Frenchman. Ha! sir, you are young, and you're nimble!
Away with you, ye baggage; as if there were not troubles enough for a
soldier, without having his camp filled with such prattling hussies as
yourself!"

Alice laughingly followed her sister, who instantly led the way from an
apartment where she perceived their presence was no longer desirable.
Munro, instead of demanding the result of the young man's mission, paced
the room for a few moments, with his hands behind his back, and his head
inclined towards the floor, like a man lost in thought. At length he
raised his eyes, glistening with a father's fondness, and exclaimed,--

"They are a pair of excellent girls, Heyward, and such as any one may
boast of."

"You are not now to learn my opinion of your daughters, Colonel Munro."

"True, lad, true," interrupted the impatient old man; "you were about
opening your mind more fully on that matter the day you got in; but I
did not think it becoming in an old soldier to be talking of nuptial
blessings and wedding jokes when the enemies of his king were likely to
be unbidden guests at the feast! But I was wrong, Duncan, boy, I was
wrong there; and I am now ready to hear what you have to say."

"Notwithstanding the pleasure your assurance gives me, dear sir, I have
just now a message from Montcalm--"

"Let the Frenchman and all his host go to the devil, sir?" exclaimed the
hasty veteran. "He is not yet master of William Henry, nor shall he ever
be, provided Webb proves himself the man he should. No, sir! thank
Heaven, we are not yet in such a strait that it can be said Munro is too
much pressed to discharge the little domestic duties of his own family.
Your mother was the only child of my bosom friend, Duncan; and I'll just
give you a hearing, though all the knights of St. Louis were in a body
at the sally-port, with the French saint at their head, craving to speak
a word under favor. A pretty degree of knighthood, sir, is that which
can be bought with sugar-hogsheads! and then your two-penny marquisates!
The thistle is the order for dignity and antiquity; the veritable _nemo
me impune lacessit_ of chivalry! Ye had ancestors in that degree,
Duncan, and they were an ornament to the nobles of Scotland."

Heyward, who perceived that his superior took a malicious pleasure in
exhibiting his contempt for the message of the French general, was fain
to humor a spleen that he knew would be short-lived; he therefore
replied with as much indifference as he could assume on such a
subject,--

"My request, as you know, sir, went so far as to presume to the honor of
being your son."

"Ay, boy, you found words to make yourself very plainly comprehended.
But, let me ask ye, sir, have you been as intelligible to the girl?"

"On my honor, no," exclaimed Duncan, warmly; "there would have been an
abuse of a confided trust, had I taken advantage of my situation for
such a purpose."

"Your notions are those of a gentleman, Major Heyward, and well enough
in their place. But Cora Munro is a maiden too discreet, and of a mind
too elevated and improved, to need the guardianship even of a father."

"Cora!"

"Ay--Cora! we are talking of your pretensions to Miss Munro, are we not,
sir?"

"I--I--I was not conscious of having mentioned her name," said Duncan,
stammering.

"And to marry whom, then, did you wish my consent, Major Heyward?"
demanded the old soldier, erecting himself in the dignity of offended
feeling.

"You have another, and not less lovely child."

"Alice!" exclaimed the father, in an astonishment equal to that with
which Duncan had just repeated the name of her sister.

"Such was the direction of my wishes, sir."

The young man awaited in silence the result of the extraordinary effect
produced by a communication which, as it now appeared, was so
unexpected. For several minutes Munro paced the chamber with long and
rapid strides, his rigid features working convulsively, and every
faculty seemingly absorbed in the musings of his own mind. At length, he
paused directly in front of Heyward, and riveting his eyes upon those of
the other, he said, with a lip that quivered violently,--

"Duncan Heyward, I have loved you for the sake of him whose blood is in
your veins; I have loved you for your own good qualities; and I have
loved you, because I thought you would contribute to the happiness of my
child. But all this love would turn to hatred, were I assured that what
I so much apprehend is true."

"God forbid that any act or thought of mine should lead to such a
change!" exclaimed the young man, whose eye never quailed under the
penetrating look it encountered. Without adverting the impossibility of
the other's comprehending those feelings which were hid in his own
bosom, Munro suffered himself to be appeased by the unaltered
countenance he met, and with a voice sensibly softened, he continued,--

"You would be my son, Duncan, and you're ignorant of the history of the
man you wish to call your father. Sit ye down, young man, and I will
open to you the wounds of a seared heart, in as few words as may be
suitable."

By this time, the message of Montcalm was as much forgotten by him who
bore it as by the man for whose ears it was intended. Each drew a chair,
and while the veteran communed a few moments with his own thoughts,
apparently in sadness, the youth suppressed his impatience in a look and
attitude of respectful attention. At length the former spoke:--

"You'll know, already, Major Heyward, that my family was both ancient
and honorable," commenced the Scotsman; "though it might not altogether
be endowed with that amount of wealth that should correspond with its
degree. I was, may be, such an one as yourself when I plighted my faith
to Alice Graham, the only child of a neighboring laird of some estate.
But the connection was disagreeable to her father, on more accounts than
my poverty. I did therefore what an honest man should--restored the
maiden her troth, and departed the country in the service of my king. I
had seen many regions, and had shed much blood in different lands,
before duty called me to the islands of the West Indies. There it was my
lot to form a connection with one who in time became my wife, and the
mother of Cora. She was the daughter of a gentleman of those isles, by a
lady whose misfortune it was, if you will," said the old man, proudly,
"to be descended, remotely, from that unfortunate class who are so
basely enslaved to administer to the wants of a luxurious people. Ay,
sir, that is a curse entailed on Scotland by her unnatural union with a
foreign and trading people. But could I find a man among them who would
dare to reflect on my child, he should feel the weight of a father's
anger! Ha! Major Heyward, you are yourself born at the south, where
these unfortunate beings are considered of a race inferior to your own."

"'Tis most unfortunately true, sir," said Duncan, unable any longer to
prevent his eyes from sinking to the floor in embarrassment.

"And you cast it on my child as a reproach! You scorn to mingle the
blood of the Heywards with one so degraded--lovely and virtuous though
she be?" fiercely demanded the jealous parent.

"Heaven protect me from a prejudice so unworthy of my reason!" returned
Duncan, at the same time conscious of such a feeling, and that as deeply
rooted as if it had been ingrafted in his nature. "The sweetness, the
beauty, the witchery of your younger daughter, Colonel Munro, might
explain my motives, without imputing to me this injustice."

"Ye are right, sir," returned the old man, again changing his tones to
those of gentleness, or rather softness; "the girl is the image of what
her mother was at her years, and before she had become acquainted with
grief. When death deprived me of my wife I returned to Scotland,
enriched by the marriage; and would you think it, Duncan! The suffering
angel had remained in the heartless state of celibacy twenty long years,
and that for the sake of a man who could forget her! She did more, sir;
she over-looked my want of faith, and all difficulties being now
removed, she took me for her husband."

"And became the mother of Alice?" exclaimed Duncan, with an eagerness
that might have proved dangerous at a moment when the thoughts of Munro
were less occupied than at present.

"She did, indeed," said the old man, "and dearly did she pay for the
blessing she bestowed. But she is a saint in heaven, sir; and it ill
becomes one whose foot rests on the grave to mourn a lot so blessed. I
had her but a single year, though; a short term of happiness for one who
had seen her youth fade in hopeless pining."

There was something so commanding in the distress of the old man, that
Heyward did not dare to venture a syllable of consolation. Munro sat
utterly unconscious of the other's presence, his features exposed and
working with the anguish of his regrets, while heavy tears fell from his
eyes, and rolled unheeded from his cheeks to the floor. At length he
moved, as if suddenly recovering his recollection; when he arose, and
taking a single turn across the room, he approached his companion with
an air of military grandeur, and demanded,--

"Have you not, Major Heyward, some communication that I should hear from
the Marquis de Montcalm?"

Duncan started, in his turn, and immediately commenced, in an
embarrassed voice, the half-forgotten message. It is unnecessary to
dwell upon the evasive, though polite manner, with which the French
general had eluded every attempt of Heyward to worm from him the purport
of the communication he had proposed making, or on the decided, though
still polished message, by which he now gave his enemy to understand,
that unless he chose to receive it in person, he should not receive it
at all. As Munro listened to the detail of Duncan, the excited feelings
of the father gradually gave way before the obligations of his station,
and when the other was done, he saw before him nothing but the veteran,
swelling with the wounded feelings of a soldier.

"You have said enough, Major Heyward!" exclaimed the angry old man:
"enough to make a volume of commentary on French civility. Here has this
gentleman invited me to a conference, and when I send him a capable
substitute, for ye're all that, Duncan, though your years are but few,
he answers me with a riddle."

"He may have thought less favorably of the substitute, my dear sir; and
you will remember that the invitation, which he now repeats, was to the
commandant of the works, and not to his second."

"Well, sir, is not a substitute clothed with all the power and dignity
of him who grants the commission? He wishes to confer with Munro! Faith,
sir, I have much inclination to indulge the man, if it should only be to
let him behold the firm countenance we maintain in spite of his numbers
and his summons. There might be no bad policy in such a stroke, young
man."

Duncan, who believed it of the last importance that they should speedily
come at the contents of the letter borne by the scout, gladly encouraged
this idea.

"Without doubt, he could gather no confidence by witnessing our
indifference," he said.

"You never said truer word. I could wish, sir, that he would visit the
works in open day, and in the form of a storming party: that is the
least failing method of proving the countenance of an enemy, and would
be far preferable to the battering system he has chosen. The beauty and
manliness of warfare has been much deformed, Major Heyward, by the arts
of your Monsieur Vauban. Our ancestors were far above such scientific
cowardice!"

"It may be very true, sir; but we are now obliged to repel art by art.
What is your pleasure in the matter of the interview?"

"I will meet the Frenchman, and that without fear or delay; promptly;
sir, as becomes a servant of my royal master. Go, Major Heyward, and
give them a flourish of the music; and send out a messenger to let them
know who is coming. We will follow with a small guard, for such respect
is due to one who holds the honor of his king in keeping; and harkee,
Duncan," he added, in a half whisper, though they were alone, "it may be
prudent to have some aid at hand, in case there should be treachery at
the bottom of it all."

The young man availed himself of this order to quit the apartment; and,
as the day was fast coming to a close, he hastened, without delay, to
make the necessary arrangements. A very few minutes only were necessary
to parade a few files, and to despatch an orderly with a flag to
announce the approach of the commandant of the fort. When Duncan had
done both these, he led the guard to the sally-port, near which he found
his superior ready, waiting his appearance. As soon as the usual
ceremonials of a military departure were observed, the veteran and his
more youthful companion left the fortress, attended by the escort.

They had proceeded only a hundred yards from the works, when the little
array which attended the French general to the conference, was seen
issuing from the hollow way, which formed the bed of a brook that ran
between the batteries of the besiegers and the fort. From the moment
that Munro left his own works to appear in front of his enemies, his air
had been grand, and his step and countenance highly military. The
instant he caught a glimpse of the white plume that waved in the hat of
Montcalm, his eye lighted, and age no longer appeared to possess any
influence over his vast and still muscular person.

"Speak to the boys to be watchful, sir," he said, in an undertone, to
Duncan; "and to look well to their flints and steel, for one is never
safe with a servant of these Louises; at the same time, we will show
them the front of men in deep security. Ye'll understand me, Major
Heyward!"

He was interrupted by the clamor of a drum from the approaching
Frenchmen, which was immediately answered, when each party pushed an
orderly in advance, bearing a white flag, and the wary Scotsman halted,
with his guard close at his back. As soon as this slight salutation had
passed, Montcalm moved towards them with a quick but graceful step,
baring his head to the veteran, and dropping his spotless plume nearly
to the earth in courtesy. If the air of Munro was more commanding and
manly, it wanted both the ease and insinuating polish of that of the
Frenchman. Neither spoke for a few moments, each regarding the other
with curious and interested eyes. Then, as became his superior rank and
the nature of the interview, Montcalm broke the silence. After uttering
the usual words of greeting, he turned to Duncan, and continued with a
smile of recognition, speaking always in French,--

[Illustration: _Copyright by Charles Scribner's Sons_

THE MEETING OF THE GENERALS

_As soon as this slight salutation had passed, Montcalm moved towards
them with a quick but graceful step, baring his head to the veteran, and
dropping his spotless plume nearly to the earth in courtesy_]

"I am rejoiced, monsieur, that you have given us the pleasure of your
company on this occasion. There will be no necessity to employ an
ordinary interpreter; for, in your hands, I feel the same security as if
I spoke your language myself."

Duncan acknowledged the compliment, when Montcalm, turning to his guard,
which, in imitation of that of their enemies, pressed close upon him,
continued,--

"En arriere, mes enfans--il fait chaud; retirez-vous un peu."

Before Major Heyward would imitate this proof of confidence, he glanced
his eyes around the plain, and beheld with uneasiness the numerous dusky
groups of savages, who looked out from the margin of the surrounding
woods, curious spectators of the interview.

"Monsieur de Montcalm will readily acknowledge the difference in our
situation," he said, with some embarrassment, pointing at the same time
towards those dangerous foes, who were to be seen in almost every
direction. "Were we to dismiss our guard, we should stand here at the
mercy of our enemies."

"Monsieur, you have the plighted faith of _un gentilhomme Francais_; for
your safety," returned Montcalm, laying his hand impressively on his
heart; "it should suffice."

"It shall. Fall back," Duncan added to the officer who led the escort;
"fall back, sir, beyond hearing, and wait for orders."

Munro witnessed this movement with manifest uneasiness; nor did he fail
to demand an instant explanation.

"Is it not our interest, sir, to betray no distrust?" retorted Duncan.
"Monsieur de Montcalm pledges his word for our safety, and I have
ordered the men to withdraw a little, in order to prove how much we
depend on his assurance."

"It may be all right, sir, but I have no overweening reliance on the
faith of these marquesses, or marquis, as they call themselves. Their
patents of nobility are too common to be certain that they bear the seal
of true honor."

"You forget, dear sir, that we confer with an officer distinguished
alike in Europe and America for his deeds. From a soldier of his
reputation we can have nothing to apprehend."

The old man made a gesture of resignation, though his rigid features
still betrayed his obstinate adherence to a distrust, which he derived
from a sort of hereditary contempt of his enemy, rather than from any
present signs which might warrant so uncharitable a feeling. Montcalm
waited patiently until this little dialogue in demi-voice was ended,
when he drew nigher, and opened the subject of their conference.

"I have solicited this interview from your superior, monsieur," he said,
"because I believe he will allow himself to be persuaded that he has
already done everything which is necessary for the honor of his prince,
and will not listen to the admonitions of humanity. I will forever bear
testimony that his resistance has been gallant, and was continued as
long as there was hope."

When this opening was translated to Munro, he answered with dignity, but
with sufficient courtesy,--

"However I may prize such testimony from Monsieur Montcalm, it will be
more valuable when it shall be better merited."

The French general smiled, as Duncan gave him the purport of this reply,
and observed,--

"What is now so freely accorded to approved courage, may be refused to
useless obstinacy. Monsieur would wish to see my camp, and witness, for
himself, our numbers, and the impossibility of his resisting them, with
success?"

"I know that the king of France is well served," returned the unmoved
Scotsman, as soon as Duncan ended his translation; "but my own royal
master has as many and as faithful troops."

"Though not at hand, fortunately for us," said Montcalm, without
waiting, in his ardor, for the interpreter. "There is a destiny in war,
to which a brave man knows how to submit, with the same courage that he
faces his foes."

"Had I been conscious that Monsieur Montcalm was master of the English,
I should have spared myself the trouble of so awkward a translation,"
said the vexed Duncan, dryly; remembering instantly his recent by-play
with Munro.

"Your pardon, monsieur," rejoined the Frenchman, suffering a slight
color to appear on his dark cheek. "There is a vast difference between
understanding and speaking a foreign tongue; you will, therefore, please
to assist me still." Then after a short pause, he added, "These hills
afford us every opportunity of reconnoitring your works, messieurs, and
I am possibly as well acquainted with their weak condition as you can be
yourselves."

"Ask the French general if his glasses can reach to the Hudson," said
Munro, proudly; "and if he knows when and where to expect the army of
Webb."

"Let General Webb be his own interpreter," returned the politic
Montcalm, suddenly extending an open letter towards Munro, as he spoke;
"you will there learn, monsieur, that his movements are not likely to
prove embarrassing to my army."

The veteran seized the offered paper, without waiting for Duncan to
translate the speech, and with an eagerness that betrayed how important
he deemed its contents. As his eye passed hastily over the words, his
countenance changed from its look of military pride to one of deep
chagrin: his lip began to quiver; and, suffering the paper to fall from
his hand, his head dropped upon his chest, like that of a man whose
hopes were withered at a single blow. Duncan caught the letter from the
ground, and without apology for the liberty he took, he read at a glance
its cruel purport. Their common superior, so far from encouraging them
to resist, advised a speedy surrender, urging in the plainest language
as a reason, the utter impossibility of his sending a single man to
their rescue.

"Here is no deception!" exclaimed Duncan, examining the billet both
inside and out; "this is the signature of Webb, and must be the captured
letter."

"The man has betrayed me!" Munro at length bitterly exclaimed: "he has
brought dishonor to the door of one where disgrace was never before
known to dwell, and shame has he heaped heavily on my gray hairs."

"Say not so," cried Duncan; "we are yet masters of the fort, and of our
honor. Let us then sell our lives at such a rate as shall make our
enemies believe the purchase too dear."

"Boy, I thank thee," exclaimed the old man, rousing himself from his
stupor; "you have, for once, reminded Munro of his duty. We will go
back, and dig our graves behind those ramparts."

"Messieurs," said Montcalm, advancing towards them a step, in generous
interest, "you little know Louis de St. Veran, if you believe him
capable of profiting by this letter to humble brave men, or to build up
a dishonest reputation for himself. Listen to my terms before you leave
me."

"What says the Frenchman?" demanded the veteran, sternly; "does he make
a merit of having captured a scout, with a note from headquarters? Sir,
he had better raise this siege, to go and sit down before Edward if he
wishes to frighten his enemy with words."

Duncan explained the other's meaning.

"Monsieur de Montcalm, we will hear you," the veteran added, more calmly,
as Duncan ended.

"To retain the fort is now impossible," said his liberal enemy; "it is
necessary to the interests of my master that it should be destroyed;
but, as for yourselves, and your brave comrades, there is no privilege
dear to a soldier that shall be denied."

"Our colors?" demanded Heyward.

"Carry them to England, and show them to your king."

"Our arms?"

"Keep them; none can use them better."

"Our march; the surrender of the place?"

"Shall all be done in a way most honorable to yourselves."

Duncan now turned to explain these proposals to his commander, who heard
him with amazement, and a sensibility that was deeply touched by such
unusual and unexpected generosity.

"Go you, Duncan," he said; "go with this marquess, as indeed marquess he
should be; go to his marquee and arrange it all. I have lived to see two
things in my old age, that never did I expect to behold. An Englishman
afraid to support a friend, and a Frenchman too honest to profit by his
advantage."

So saying, the veteran again dropped his head to his chest, and returned
slowly towards the fort, exhibiting, by the dejection of his air, to the
anxious garrison, a harbinger of evil tidings.

From the shock of this unexpected blow the haughty feelings of Munro
never recovered; but from that moment there commenced a change in his
determined character, which accompanied him to a speedy grave. Duncan
remained to settle the terms of the capitulation. He was seen to
re-enter the works during the first watches of the night, and
immediately after a private conference with the commandant, to leave
them again, It was then openly announced, that hostilities must
cease--Munro having signed a treaty, by which the place was to be
yielded to the enemy, with the morning; the garrison to retain their
arms, their colors, and their baggage, and consequently, according to
military opinion, their honor.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Heyward goes to find Munro, planning to report Montcalm's message that the English should surrender. He finds Munro idling with his daughters. To Heyward's surprise, Munro seems uninterested in Montcalm's proposal. He accuses Heyward of racism for preferring Alice to Cora. Munro reveals that Cora and Alice have different mothers. Cora's mother, Munro's first wife, was from the West Indies and was part "Negro. When Munro's first wife died, he returned to Scotland and married his childhood sweetheart. Heyward heartily denies that he thinks less of Cora because of her mixed race, but silently he admits his racism. Munro and Heyward return to the French encampment to meet with Montcalm, who hands over Webb's letter advising Munro to surrender the fort to the French. Montcalm tells Munro that if the English surrender, they will get to keep their arms, baggage, and colors, and the French will ensure that the Indians do not attack them. Munro accepts the offer and leaves Heyward to finalize the details


prompt:
Chapter: "Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.
  The web is wove. The work is done."

  GRAY.

The hostile armies, which lay in the wilds of the Horican, passed the
night of the 9th of August, 1757, much in the manner they would had they
encountered on the fairest fields of Europe. While the conquered were
still, sullen, and dejected, the victors triumphed. But there are limits
alike to grief and joy; and long before the watches of the morning came,
the stillness of those boundless woods was only broken by a gay call
from some exulting young Frenchman of the advanced pickets, or a
menacing challenge from the fort, which sternly forbade the approach of
any hostile footsteps before the stipulated moment. Even these
occasional threatening sounds ceased to be heard in that dull hour which
precedes the day, at which period a listener might have sought in vain
any evidence of the presence of those armed powers that then slumbered
on the shores of the "holy lake."

It was during these moments of deep silence, that the canvas which
concealed the entrance to a spacious marquee in the French encampment
was shoved aside, and a man issued from beneath the drapery into the
open air. He was enveloped in a cloak that might have been intended as a
protection from the chilling damps of the woods, but which served
equally well as a mantle, to conceal his person. He was permitted to
pass the grenadier, who watched over the slumbers of the French
commander, without interruption, the man making the usual salute which
betokens military deference, as the other passed swiftly through the
little city of tents, in the direction of William Henry. Whenever this
unknown individual encountered one of the numberless sentinels who
crossed his path, his answer was prompt, and as it appeared
satisfactory; for he was uniformly allowed to proceed, without further
interrogation.

With the exception of such repeated, but brief interruptions, he had
moved, silently, from the centre of the camp, to its most advanced
outposts, when he drew nigh the soldier who held his watch nearest to
the works of the enemy. As he approached he was received with the usual
challenge,--

"Qui vive?"

"France," was the reply.

"Le mot d'ordre?"

"La victoire," said the other, drawing so nigh as to be heard in a loud
whisper.

"C'est bien," returned the sentinel, throwing his musket from the charge
to his shoulder; "vous vous promenez bien matin, monsieur!"

"Il est necessaire d'etre vigilant, mon enfant," the other observed,
dropping a fold of his cloak, and looking the soldier close in the face,
as he passed him, still continuing his way towards the British
fortification. The man started; his arms rattled heavily, as he threw
them forward, in the lowest and most respectful salute; and when he had
again recovered his piece, he turned to walk his post, muttering between
his teeth,--

"Il faut etre vigilant, en verite! je crois que nous avons la, un
caporal qui ne dort jamais!"

The officer proceeded, without affecting to hear the words which escaped
the sentinel in his surprise; nor did he again pause until he had
reached the low strand, and in a somewhat dangerous vicinity to the
western water bastion of the fort. The light of an obscure moon was just
sufficient to render objects, though dim, perceptible in their outlines.
He, therefore, took the precaution to place himself against the trunk of
a tree, where he leaned for many minutes, and seemed to contemplate the
dark and silent mounds of the English works in profound attention. His
gaze at the ramparts was not that of a curious or idle spectator; but
his looks wandered from point to point, denoting his knowledge of
military usages, and betraying that his search was not unaccompanied by
distrust. At length he appeared satisfied; and having cast his eyes
impatiently upwards towards the summit of the eastern mountain, as if
anticipating the approach of the morning, he was in the act of turning
on his footsteps, when a light sound on the nearest angle of the bastion
caught his ear, and induced him to remain.

Just then a figure was seen to approach the edge of the rampart, where
it stood, apparently contemplating in its turn the distant tents of the
French encampment. Its head was then turned towards the east, as though
equally anxious for the appearance of light, when the form leaned
against the mound, and seemed to gaze upon the glassy expanse of the
waters, which, like a submarine firmament, glittered with its thousand
mimic stars. The melancholy air, the hour, together with the vast frame
of the man who thus leaned, in musing, against the English ramparts,
left no doubt as to his person, in the mind of his observant spectator.
Delicacy, no less than prudence, now urged him to retire; and he had
moved cautiously round the body of the tree for that purpose, when
another sound drew his attention, and once more arrested his footsteps.
It was a low and almost inaudible movement of the water, and was
succeeded by a grating of pebbles one against the other. In a moment he
saw a dark form rise, as it were out of the lake, and steal without
further noise to the land, within a few feet of the place where he
himself stood. A rifle next slowly rose between his eyes and the watery
mirror; but before it could be discharged his own hand was on the lock.

"Hugh!" exclaimed the savage, whose treacherous aim was so singularly
and so unexpectedly interrupted.

Without making any reply, the French officer laid his hand on the
shoulder of the Indian, and led him in profound silence to a distance
from the spot, where their subsequent dialogue might have proved
dangerous, and where it seemed that one of them, at least, sought a
victim. Then, throwing open his cloak, so as to expose his uniform and
the cross of St. Louis which was suspended at his breast, Montcalm
sternly demanded,--

"What means this! Does not my son know that the hatchet is buried
between the English and his Canadian Father?"

"What can the Hurons do?" returned the savage, speaking also, though
imperfectly, in the French language. "Not a warrior has a scalp, and the
pale-faces make friends!"

"Ha! Le Renard Subtil! Methinks this is an excess of zeal for a friend
who was so late an enemy! How many suns have set since Le Renard struck
the war-post of the English?"

"Where is that sun!" demanded the sullen savage. "Behind the hill; and
it is dark and cold. But when he comes again, it will be bright and
warm. Le Subtil is the sun of his tribe. There have been clouds, and
many mountains between him and his nation; but now he shines, and it is
a clear sky!"

"That Le Renard has power with his people, I well know," said Montcalm;
"for yesterday he hunted for their scalps, and to-day they hear him at
the council-fire."

"Magua is a great chief."

"Let him prove it, by teaching his nation how to conduct itself towards
our new friends."

"Why did the chief of the Canadas bring his young men into the woods,
and fire his cannon at the earthen house?" demanded the subtle Indian.

"To subdue it. My master owns the land, and your father has been ordered
to drive off these English squatters. They have consented to go, and now
he calls them enemies no longer."

"'Tis well. Magua took the hatchet to color it with blood. It is now
bright; when it is red, it shall be buried."

"But Magua is pledged not to sully the lilies of France. The enemies of
the great king across the salt lake are his enemies; his friends, the
friends of the Hurons."

"Friends!" repeated the Indian, in scorn. "Let his father give Magua a
hand."

Montcalm, who felt that his influence over the warlike tribes he had
gathered was to be maintained by concession rather than by power,
complied reluctantly with the other's request. The savage placed the
finger of the French commander on a deep scar in his bosom, and then
exultingly demanded,--

"Does my father know that?"

"What warrior does not? 'tis where a leaden bullet has cut."

"And this?" continued the Indian, who had turned his naked back to the
other, his body being without its usual calico mantle.

"This!--my son has been sadly injured, here; who has done this?"

"Magua slept hard in the English wigwams, and the sticks have left their
mark," returned the savage, with a hollow laugh, which did not conceal
the fierce temper that nearly choked him. Then recollecting himself,
with sudden and native dignity, he added, "Go; teach your young men, it
is peace. Le Renard Subtil knows how to speak to a Huron warrior."

Without deigning to bestow further words, or to wait for any answer, the
savage cast his rifle into the hollow of his arm, and moved silently
through the encampment towards the woods where his own tribe was known
to lie. Every few yards as he proceeded he was challenged by the
sentinels; but he stalked sullenly onward, utterly disregarding the
summons of the soldiers, who only spared his life because they knew the
air and tread no less than the obstinate daring of an Indian.

Montcalm lingered long and melancholy on the strand, where he had been
left by his companion, brooding deeply on the temper which his
ungovernable ally had just discovered. Already had his fair fame been
tarnished by one horrid scene, and in circumstances fearfully resembling
those under which he now found himself. As he mused he became keenly
sensible of the deep responsibility they assume who disregard the means
to attain their end, and of all the danger of setting in motion an
engine which it exceeds human power to control. Then shaking off a train
of reflections that he accounted a weakness in such a moment of triumph,
he retraced his steps towards his tent, giving the order as he passed,
to make the signal that should arouse the army from its slumbers.

The first tap of the French drums was echoed from the bosom of the fort,
and presently the valley was filled with the strains of martial music,
rising long, thrilling, and lively above the rattling accompaniment. The
horns of the victors sounded merry and cheerful flourishes, until the
last laggard of the camp was at his post; but the instant the British
fifes had blown their shrill signal, they became mute. In the meantime
the day had dawned, and when the line of the French army was ready to
receive its general, the rays of a brilliant sun were glancing along the
glittering array. Then that success, which was already so well known,
was officially announced; the favored band who were selected to guard
the gates of the fort were detailed, and defiled before their chief; the
signal of their approach was given, and all the usual preparations for a
change of masters were ordered and executed directly under the guns of
the contested works.

A very different scene presented itself within the lines of the
Anglo-American army. As soon as the warning signal was given, it
exhibited all the signs of a hurried and forced departure. The sullen
soldiers shouldered their empty tubes and fell into their places, like
men whose blood had been heated by the past contest, and who only
desired the opportunity to revenge an indignity which was still wounding
to their pride, concealed as it was under all the observances of
military etiquette. Women and children ran from place to place, some
bearing the scanty remnants of their baggage, and others searching in
the ranks for those countenances they looked up to for protection.

Munro appeared among his silent troops firm but dejected. It was evident
that the unexpected blow had struck deep into his heart, though he
struggled to sustain his misfortune with the port of man.

Duncan was touched at the quiet and impressive exhibition of his grief.
He had discharged his own duty, and he now pressed to the side of the
old man, to know in what particular he might serve him.

"My daughters," was the brief but expressive reply.

"Good heavens! are not arrangements already made for their convenience?"

"To-day I am only a soldier, Major Heyward," said the veteran. "All that
you see here, claim alike to be my children."

Duncan had heard enough. Without losing one of those moments which had
now become so precious, he flew towards the quarters of Munro, in quest
of the sisters. He found them on the threshold of the low edifice,
already prepared to depart, and surrounded by a clamorous and weeping
assemblage of their own sex, that had gathered about the place, with a
sort of instinctive consciousness that it was the point most likely to
be protected. Though the cheeks of Cora were pale, and her countenance
anxious, she had lost none of her firmness; but the eyes of Alice were
inflamed, and betrayed how long and bitterly she had wept. They both,
however, received the young man with undisguised pleasure; the former,
for a novelty, being the first to speak.

"The fort is lost," she said, with a melancholy smile; "though our good
name, I trust, remains."

"'Tis brighter than ever. But, dearest Miss Munro, it is time to think
less of others, and to make some provision for yourself. Military
usage,--pride,--that pride on which you so much value yourself, demands
that your father and I should for a little while continue with the
troops. Then where to seek a proper protector for you against the
confusion and chances of such a scene?"

"None is necessary," returned Cora; "who will dare to injure or insult
the daughter of such a father, at a time like this?"

"I would not leave you alone," continued the youth, looking about him in
a hurried manner, "for the command of the best regiment in the pay of
the king. Remember, our Alice is not gifted with all your firmness, and
God only knows the terror she might endure."

"You may be right," Cora replied, smiling again, but far more sadly than
before. "Listen! chance has already sent us a friend when he is most
needed."

Duncan did listen, and on the instant comprehended her meaning. The low
and serious sounds of the sacred music, so well known to the eastern
provinces, caught his ear, and instantly drew him to an apartment in an
adjacent building, which had already been deserted by its customary
tenants. There he found David, pouring out his pious feelings, through
the only medium in which he ever indulged. Duncan waited, until, by the
cessation of the movement of the hand, he believed the strain was ended,
when, by touching his shoulder, he drew the attention of the other to
himself, and in a few words explained his wishes.

"Even so," replied the single-minded disciple of the King of Israel,
when the young man had ended; "I have found much that is comely and
melodious in the maidens, and it is fitting that we who have consorted
in so much peril, should abide together in peace. I will attend them,
when I have completed my morning praise, to which nothing is now wanting
but the doxology. Wilt thou bear a part, friend? The metre is common,
and the tune, 'Southwell.'"

Then, extending the little volume, and giving the pitch of the air anew
with considerate attention, David recommenced and finished his strains,
with a fixedness of manner that it was not easy to interrupt. Heyward
was fain to wait until the verse was ended; when, seeing David relieving
himself from the spectacles, and replacing the book, he continued,--

"It will be your duty to see that none dare to approach the ladies with
any rude intention, or to offer insult or taunt at the misfortune of
their brave father. In this task you will be seconded by the domestics
of their household."

"Even so."

"It is possible that the Indians and stragglers of the enemy may
intrude, in which case you will remind them of the terms of the
capitulation, and threaten to report their conduct to Montcalm. A word
will suffice."

"If not, I have that here which shall," returned David, exhibiting his
book, with an air in which meekness and confidence were singularly
blended. "Here are words which, uttered, or rather thundered, with
proper emphasis, and in measured time, shall quiet the most unruly
temper:--

  "'Why rage the heathen furiously!'"--

"Enough," said Heyward, interrupting the burst of his musical
invocation: "we understand each other; it is time that we should now
assume our respective duties."

Gamut cheerfully assented, and together they sought the females. Cora
received her new, and somewhat extraordinary protector, courteously at
least; and even the pallid features of Alice lighted again with some of
their native archness as she thanked Heyward for his care. Duncan took
occasion to assure them he had done the best that circumstances
permitted, and, as he believed, quite enough for the security of their
feelings; of danger there was none. He then spoke gladly of his
intention to rejoin them the moment he had led the advance a few miles
towards the Hudson, and immediately took his leave.

By this time the signal of departure had been given, and the head of the
English column was in motion. The sisters started at the sound, and
glancing their eyes around, they saw the white uniforms of the French
grenadiers, who had already taken possession of the gates of the fort.
At that moment, an enormous cloud seemed to pass suddenly above their
heads, and looking upward, they discovered that they stood beneath the
wide folds of the standard of France.

"Let us go," said Cora; "this is no longer a fit place for the children
of an English officer."

Alice clung to the arm of her sister, and together they left the parade,
accompanied by the moving throng that surrounded them.

As they passed the gates, the French officers, who had learned their
rank, bowed often and low, forbearing, however, to intrude those
attentions which they saw, with peculiar tact, might not be agreeable.
As every vehicle and each beast of burden was occupied by the sick and
wounded, Cora had decided to endure the fatigues of a foot march, rather
than interfere with their comforts. Indeed, many a maimed and feeble
soldier was compelled to drag his exhausted limbs in the rear of the
columns, for the want of the necessary means of conveyance, in that
wilderness. The whole, however, was in motion; the weak and wounded,
groaning, and in suffering; their comrades, silent and sullen; and the
women and children in terror, they knew not of what.

As the confused and timid throng left the protecting mounds of the fort,
and issued on the open plain, the whole scene was at once presented to
their eyes. At a little distance on the right, and somewhat in the rear,
the French army stood to their arms, Montcalm having collected his
parties, so soon as his guards had possession of the works. They were
attentive but silent observers of the proceedings of the vanquished,
failing in none of the stipulated military honors, and offering no taunt
or insult, in their success, to their less fortunate foes. Living masses
of the English, to the amount in the whole of near three thousand, were
moving slowly across the plain, towards the common centre, and gradually
approached each other, as they converged to the point of their march, a
vista cut through the lofty trees, where the road to the Hudson entered
the forest. Along the sweeping borders of the woods, hung a dark cloud
of savages, eying the passage of their enemies, and hovering, at a
distance, like vultures, who were only kept from swooping on their prey,
by the presence and restraint of a superior army. A few had straggled
among the conquered columns, where they stalked in sullen discontent;
attentive, though, as yet, passive observers of the moving multitude.

The advance, with Heyward at its head, had already reached the defile,
and was slowly disappearing, when the attention of Cora was drawn to a
collection of stragglers, by the sounds of contention. A truant
provincial was paying the forfeit of his disobedience, by being
plundered of those very effects which had caused him to desert his place
in the ranks. The man was of powerful frame, and too avaricious to part
with his goods without a struggle. Individuals from either party
interfered; the one side to prevent, and the other to aid in the
robbery. Voices grew loud and angry, and a hundred savages appeared, as
it were by magic, where a dozen only had been seen a minute before. It
was then that Cora saw the form of Magua gliding among his countrymen,
and speaking with his fatal and artful eloquence. The mass of women and
children stopped, and hovered together like alarmed and fluttering
birds. But the cupidity of the Indian was soon gratified, and the
different bodies again moved slowly onward.

The savages now fell back, and seemed content to let their enemies
advance without further molestation. But as the female crowd approached
them, the gaudy colors of a shawl attracted the eyes of a wild and
untutored Huron. He advanced to seize it, without the least hesitation.
The woman, more in terror than through love of the ornament, wrapped her
child in the coveted article, and folded both more closely to her bosom.
Cora was in the act of speaking, with an intent to advise the woman to
abandon the trifle, when the savage relinquished his hold of the shawl,
and tore the screaming infant from her arms. Abandoning everything to
the greedy grasp of those around her, the mother darted, with
distraction in her mien, to reclaim her child. The Indian smiled grimly,
and extended one hand, in sign of a willingness to exchange, while with
the other, he flourished the babe over his head, holding it by the feet
as if to enhance the value of the ransom.

"Here--here--there--all--any--everything!" exclaimed the breathless
woman; tearing the lighter articles of dress from her person, with
ill-directed and trembling fingers; "take all, but give me my babe!"

The savage spurned the worthless rags, and perceiving that the shawl had
already become a prize to another, his bantering but sullen smile
changing to a gleam of ferocity, he dashed the head of the infant
against a rock, and cast its quivering remains to her very feet. For an
instant, the mother stood, like a statue of despair, looking wildly down
at the unseemly object, which had so lately nestled in her bosom and
smiled in her face; and then she raised her eyes and countenance towards
heaven, as if calling on God to curse the perpetrator of the foul deed.
She was spared the sin of such a prayer; for, maddened at his
disappointment, and excited at the sight of blood, the Huron mercifully
drove his tomahawk into her own brain. The mother sank under the blow,
and fell, grasping at her child, in death, with the same engrossing love
that had caused her to cherish it when living.

At that dangerous moment Magua placed his hands to his mouth, and raised
the fatal and appalling whoop. The scattered Indians started at the
well-known cry, as coursers bound at the signal to quit the goal; and,
directly, there arose such a yell along the plain, and through the
arches of the wood, as seldom burst from human lips before. They who
heard it listened with a curdling horror at the heart, little inferior
to that dread which may be expected to attend the blasts of the final
summons.

More than two thousand raving savages broke from the forest at the
signal, and threw themselves across the fatal plain with instinctive
alacrity. We shall not dwell on the revolting horrors that succeeded.
Death was everywhere, and in his most terrific and disgusting aspects.
Resistance only served to inflame the murderers, who inflicted their
furious blows long after their victims were beyond the power of their
resentment. The flow of blood might be likened to the outbreaking of a
torrent; and, as the natives became heated and maddened by the sight,
many among them even kneeled to the earth, and drank freely, exultingly,
hellishly, of the crimson tide.

The trained bodies of the troops threw themselves quickly into solid
masses, endeavoring to awe their assailants by the imposing appearance
of a military front. The experiment in some measure succeeded, though
far too many suffered their unloaded muskets to be torn from their
hands, in the vain hope of appeasing the savages.

In such a scene none had leisure to note the fleeting moments. It might
have been ten minutes (it seemed an age), that the sisters had stood
riveted to one spot, horror-stricken, and nearly helpless. When the
first blow was struck, their screaming companions had pressed upon them
in a body, rendering flight impossible; and now that fear or death had
scattered most, if not all, from around them, they saw no avenue open,
but such as conducted to the tomahawks of their foes. On every side
arose shrieks, groans, exhortations, and curses. At this moment Alice
caught a glimpse of the vast form of her father, moving rapidly across
the plain, in the direction of the French army. He was, in truth,
proceeding to Montcalm, fearless of every danger, to claim the tardy
escort for which he had before conditioned. Fifty glittering axes and
barbed spears were offered unheeded at his life, but the savages
respected his rank and calmness, even in their fury. The dangerous
weapons were brushed aside by the still nervous arm of the veteran, or
fell of themselves, after menacing an act that it would seem no one had
courage to perform. Fortunately, the vindictive Magua was searching for
his victim in the very band the veteran had just quitted.

"Father--father--we are here!" shrieked Alice, as he passed, at no great
distance, without appearing to heed them. "Come to us, father, or we
die!"

The cry was repeated, and in terms and tones that might have melted a
heart of stone, but it was unanswered. Once, indeed, the old man
appeared to catch the sounds, for he paused and listened; but Alice had
dropped senseless on the earth, and Cora had sunk at her side, hovering
in untiring tenderness over her lifeless form. Munro shook his head in
disappointment, and proceeded, bent on the high duty of his station.

"Lady," said Gamut, who, helpless and useless as he was, had not yet
dreamed of deserting his trust, "it is the jubilee of the devils, and
this is not a meet place for Christians to tarry in. Let us up and fly."

"Go," said Cora, still gazing at her unconscious sister; "save thyself.
To me thou canst not be of further use."

David comprehended the unyielding character of her resolution, by the
simple but expressive gesture that accompanied her words. He gazed, for
a moment, at the dusky forms that were acting their hellish rites on
every side of him, and his tall person grew more erect, while his chest
heaved, and every feature swelled, and seemed to speak with the power of
the feelings by which he was governed.

"If the Jewish boy might tame the evil spirit of Saul by the sound of
his harp, and the words of sacred song, it may not be amiss," he said,
"to try the potency of music here."

Then raising his voice to its highest tones, he poured out a strain so
powerful as to be heard even amid the din of that bloody field. More
than one savage rushed towards them, thinking to rifle the unprotected
sisters of their attire, and bear away their scalps; but when they found
this strange and unmoved figure riveted to his post, they paused to
listen. Astonishment soon changed to admiration, and they passed on to
other and less courageous victims, openly expressing their satisfaction
at the firmness with which the white warrior sang his death song.
Encouraged and deluded by his success, David exerted all his powers to
extend what he believed so holy an influence. The unwonted sounds caught
the ears of a distant savage, who flew raging from group to group, like
one who, scorning to touch the vulgar herd, hunted for some victim more
worthy of his renown. It was Magua, who uttered a yell of pleasure when
he beheld his ancient prisoners again at his mercy.

"Come," he said, laying his soiled hands on the dress of Cora, "the
wigwam of the Huron is still open. Is it not better than this place?"

"Away!" cried Cora, veiling her eyes from his revolting aspect.

The Indian laughed tauntingly, as he held up his reeking hand, and
answered,--"It is red, but it comes from white veins!"

"Monster! there is blood, oceans of blood, upon thy soul; thy spirit has
moved this scene."

"Magua is a great chief!" returned the exulting savage; "will the dark
hair go to his tribe?"

"Never! strike, if thou wilt, and complete thy revenge."

He hesitated a moment; and then catching the light and senseless form of
Alice in his arms, the subtle Indian moved swiftly across the plain
towards the woods.

"Hold!" shrieked Cora, following wildly on his footsteps; "release the
child! wretch! what is't you do?"

But Magua was deaf to her voice; or rather he knew his power, and was
determined to maintain it.

"Stay--lady--stay," called Gamut, after the unconscious Cora. "The holy
charm is beginning to be felt, and soon shalt thou see this horrid
tumult stilled."

Perceiving that, in his turn, he was unheeded, the faithful David
followed the distracted sister, raising his voice again in sacred song,
and sweeping the air to the measure, with his long arm, in diligent
accompaniment. In this manner they traversed the plain, through the
flying, the wounded, and the dead. The fierce Huron was, at any time,
sufficient for himself and the victim that he bore; though Cora would
have fallen, more than once, under the blows of her savage enemies, but
for the extraordinary being who stalked in her rear, and who now
appeared to the astonished natives gifted with the protecting spirit of
madness.

Magua, who knew how to avoid the more pressing dangers, and also to
elude pursuit, entered the woods through a low ravine, where he quickly
found the Narragansetts, which the travellers had abandoned so shortly
before, awaiting his appearance, in custody of a savage as fierce and as
malign in his expression as himself. Laying Alice on one of the horses,
he made a sign to Cora to mount the other.

Notwithstanding the horror excited by the presence of her captor, there
was a present relief in escaping from the bloody scene enacting on the
plain, to which Cora could not be altogether insensible. She took her
seat, and held forth her arms for her sister, with an air of entreaty
and love that even the Huron could not deny. Placing Alice, then, on the
same animal with Cora, he seized the bridle, and commenced his route by
plunging deeper into the forest. David, perceiving that he was left
alone, utterly disregarded, as a subject too worthless even to destroy,
threw his long limb across the saddle of the beast they had deserted,
and made such progress in the pursuit as the difficulties of the path
permitted.

They soon began to ascend, but as the motion had a tendency to revive
the dormant faculties of her sister, the attention of Cora was too much
divided between the tenderest solicitude in her behalf, and in listening
to the cries which were still too audible on the plain, to note the
direction in which they journeyed. When, however, they gained the
flattened surface of the mountain-top, and approached the eastern
precipice, she recognized the spot to which she had once before been led
under the more friendly auspices of the scout. Here Magua suffered them
to dismount; and, notwithstanding their own captivity, the curiosity
which seems inseparable from horror, induced them to gaze at the
sickening sight below.

The cruel work was still unchecked. On every side the captured were
flying before their relentless persecutors, while the armed columns of
the Christian king stood fast in an apathy which has never been
explained, and which has left an unmovable blot on the otherwise fair
escutcheon of their leader. Nor was the sword of death stayed until
cupidity got the mastery of revenge. Then, indeed, the shrieks of the
wounded and the yells of their murderers grew less frequent, until,
finally, the cries of horror were lost to their ear, or were drowned in
the loud, long, and piercing whoops of the triumphant savages.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: After dawn, the English slowly file out of the fort, surrounded by columns of solemn French soldiers and leering Indians. One of the Indians tries to take a shawl from an Englishwoman as she passes by. When she pulls the shawl away from him, he seizes her baby and smashes it against the rocks. Then he sinks his tomahawk into the mother's skull. Magua begins yelling the frenzied Indian war whoop, and the Indians attack the English, slaughtering them and drinking their blood. Munro storms through the battle to find Montcalm, ignoring even Alice's cries for help. Magua sees Alice fainting and hurries away with her. Cora chases after him, followed by Gamut, who has been singing throughout the battle in order to confuse the Indians and keep them away from the young women. As the battle abates, the Indians begin looting the bodies of their victims.