“And what said he?” demanded Captain Howard.
“The delegation declare that he said, ‘Woe!’”
“Whoa!” echoed Captain Howard, in blank amaze.
“Yes, sir,—that was his answer to them in conclave in their beloved square. ‘Woe!’”
“Whoa!” repeated Captain Howard, stuck fast in misapprehension. “I think he means, Get-up-and-go-’long!”
Raymond had a half-hysteric impulse to laugh, and yet it was independent of any real amusement.
“I fancy he meant, ‘Woe is unto him if he preach not the gospel,’” he said. “The Indians remember one word only—‘Woe!’”
“He shall preach the gospel hereafter at Fort Prince George! Is there no way to quiet the man?”
“You know the Indians’ methods, sir. I think they have some demand to make of you, but they will not enter on it for twenty-four hours. They want accommodations and a conference to-morrow.”
“Zounds!” exclaimed Captain Howard, in the extremity of impatience. In this irregular frontier warfare he had known many a long-drawn, lingering agony of suspense—but he felt as if he could not endure the ordeal with all he now had at stake, his daughter, his sister, as hostages to the fortunes of war. He had an impulse to take the crisis as it were in the grasp of his hand and crush it in the moment. He could not wait—yet wait he must.