Shouldering up his blanket and grasping a short rifle.
What say you!—
Leaping to the turf parapet as he spoke, and preparing to throw himself over.
God of our Fathers—cried the Major, Is it possible! who are you?
A Mohawk! a Mohawk! shouted all that saw him on the parapet; even those who beheld the transfiguration were aghast with awe; they could hardly believe their own eyes.
What say you!—one word is enough ... will you give up?
For the love of God, Mr. Burroughs! cried the Major, putting forth his hand to catch at the blanket as it was blown out by a strong breeze.... I do pray you——
He was too late; for Burroughs bounded over with a shout which appeared to be understood by the savages, who received him with a tremendous war-whoop. A shriek followed ... a cry from the people within the fort of—treachery!—treachery!—and after a moment or two every-thing was quiet as the grave outside.
The garrison were still with fear—still as death.... Were they deserted or betrayed? Whither should they fly?—What should they do? Their deliverer ... where was he? Their Joshua ... what had become of him?
The attack was renewed after a few minutes with tenfold fury, and the brave Major was driven to capitulate, which he did to the Sieur Hertel, under a promise that the survivors of the garrison should be safely conducted to Saco, the next English fort and that they and their children, their aged and their sick should be treated with humanity.