On that part of Lake Champlain, or Corlear, as it was called by the Indians, where, quitting the narrow basin which it occupies, from its southern extremity to some distance northward of Ticonderoga, it opens out into a broader sheet of water, and sweeps round the small peninsula of Crown Point, a large canoe was seen crossing to the Canada side, with about sixteen or seventeen persons on board. There was no attempt at concealment, no creeping along under the shelter of the banks; but boldly and openly the Indians paddled on within range of the guns of the French fort, and then directly across the bows of two large, flat-bottomed boats, or bateaux, accompanied by several light canoes, each containing six or seven men, which were going down the lake in the direction of Ticonderoga.
From each of the larger boats, the flag of France was conspicuously displayed; but, as the canoe above mentioned seemed bearing straight for the shore fully in possession of France, its movements for a time appeared to excite no attention. Neither the bateaux, nor the canoes, altered their course, the men on board the former continuing a shouted conversation in a mixed jargon, part French, part Indian, with their dusky companions in the lesser craft, who kept as nearly alongside as possible.
At length, however, it would seem some suspicion was excited. Perhaps it might have been by the sight of two figures, male and female, in the stern of the canoe, whose dress at once showed them to belong to none of the Indian tribes, and was also somewhat different from that of either the Canadian colonists, or the native French. The two parties were now within less than a hundred yards of each other, and it seemed doubtful whether the large canoes would clear the eastern boat without trouble. But suddenly a voice was raised loudly in the foremost bateau, and a question was put in French, as to whither the others were bound, and who they were.
The Indians were silent, for they did not understand the words addressed to them; but Woodchuck whispered to Edith, eagerly, "Answer, answer! if you can speak their jargon. Better be in the hands of French officers, than these incarnate devils."
Edith's eyes had been cast down, and were so full of bitter tears, that she had seen nothing since they left the western shore. But now she looked up, and, in an instant, her presence of mind returned. It is true, she did not speak at once, for she feared her voice would not reach the boat; but it was nearing the canoe fast; and, in a moment after, the question was repeated in a more peremptory and distinct tone.
"Tell them we are allies of the great French chief," said Apukwa, who seemed to comprehend, in some degree, the meaning of the call; "say we are going to join our Canada Father." And he glared at her, fiercely, as he spoke.
"We are English," exclaimed Edith, exerting her utmost power of voice; "we are English, and Iroquois, going I know not whither."
Instantly, at a signal from the bateaux, the light canoes dashed out with extraordinary rapidity; and, before any effectual effort could be made to escape, the larger canoe was surrounded, while the yells of the Hurons announced that they recognized, at length, a band of ancient enemies. With a fiend-like look at Edith, Apukwa drew his tomahawk from his belt; but, the brother of the Snake spoke some words to him in a low tone, the weapon was replaced, the men ceased to work the paddles, and every face assumed the stillness of perfect indifference.
The yells and whoops of the Hurons still continued, and their canoes came rushing nearer, so that one danger seemed only to be escaped to encounter a still greater. Their fierce faces, and dark, half-naked forms, tattooed and painted, were seen all round, and the tomahawk and the knife were brandished as if for immediate action. But one of the larger boats bore right down amongst them, and soon grappled the canoe in which Edith and her companion were. A handsomely-dressed middle-aged man stood up in the stern as it came near, and, turning to an Indian by his side, who seemed a chief, said to him in French--
"Keep your people quiet, Great Elk."