Bur. At a crisis like this we might better have lost a thousand men in battle! Ah! ah!—a sight for our enemies, Lady Ackland! Where is this Indian?
St. L. We have sent out for him. No one has seen him as yet.
Bur. Let him be found. Look to it. We will give them an example for once. I say, at a crisis like this we might better have lost a thousand men in battle, for it will turn thousands against us, and rouse the slumbering spirit of resistance here, at the very crisis when, had it slumbered on a little longer, all was ours.
St. L. But this was a quarrel among the Indians, and no fault of ours.
Bur. No matter. You will see what Schuyler will make of it. His wordy proclamation will have its living sequel now. A young and innocent girl, seeking the protection of our camp, is inhumanly murdered by Indians in our pay. A single tale like this is enough to undo at a blow all that we have accomplished here. With ten thousand wild aggravations, it will be told in every cottage of these borders before to-morrow's sunset.
(Another Officer enters hastily.)
Off. Here is Arnold, with a thousand men, on the brow of the next hill. One of the rebel guard escaped, and the news of the massacre here has reached their camp below.
Bur. Said I right?
(The three Officers go out together.)
Andre. This story is spreading fast, there will be throngs here presently. Maitland,—nay, do not let me startle you thus, but—