“The sword was the one I had the honor to use in my campaigns under Marlborough, and the rapier”—here Lord Fairfax smiled a little—“I had concealed about me when I entered Bouchain in disguise.”
After supper was over Lance showed George into a room with one of the gigantic four-posters in it. The floor was covered with bear-skins, and Billy was instructed to roll himself up in them for a bed, which he did with much satisfaction, with Rattler on top of him, as soon as George was in bed, which was not long in being accomplished.
Next morning George was up and around early, looking about the place. He had never seen the mountains before, and was deeply impressed by their grandeur, but in his heart he preferred blue water.
The scenery was even more striking in the blaze of the morning light than he had supposed. On every side, beyond the valley, giant peaks rose into the blue air, covered with vegetation to the very top. He understood then the profusion of bear-skins in the house, and thought what fine sport might be had in tracking big game through the deep gorges and dark forests of the region. Lance came up to him as he stood on the broad stone steps drinking in the wild beauty of the scene, and inhaling the keen, sharp air, so unlike the softness of the lowland atmosphere.
“There is great sport hereabouts, Lance,” cried George.
“Yes, sir; bears and Injuns, mostly—and rattlesnakes in season. Did you ever eat bear meat, Mr. Washington?”
“No,” answered George; “but I have been told it is fine.”
“I’ve got some, sir, for supper to-night. The bears have been feeding on persimmons and chinquapins and walnuts, and that always makes the meat of a good flavor.”
“And how about the Indians?” asked George, smiling.
“Injuns and rattlesnakes have their seasons together,” answered Lance, with a grim smile in reply. “They and their French friends generally keep pretty close this time of year. I don’t know which I would rather receive—the French and Injuns coming as friends or enemies. Sometimes half a dozen of ’em turn up, usually in the summer—the French always pretending to be traders or something of that sort—and they bring two or three Injun bucks with them, to carry their luggage, they say; but whoever saw an Injun carrying anything but a firelock—if he can get one? They always profess to belong to a peaceable tribe; but that’s all in my eye, sir. They hang about for a day or two, asking for fresh meat or vegetables, and making out that they don’t know how to get across the mountains, and all the time the French are drawing maps in their note-books and the Injuns making maps in their heads; for, Mr. Washington, your Injun is full of horse-sense about some things. He can’t look ahead, or plan, or wait—all the Injuns in North America couldn’t have taken Bouchain—but for killing people, quick and sure, I don’t know of any soldiers quite so good as Injuns. The French, sir, have a regular plan in all their expeditions here. The last party that turned up got me to talking about the way we had repulsed the redskins—for we have stood a siege or two, sir. For answer I took the Frenchmen inside the house. I showed them that we had water, the source of which was hidden; I showed them a regular magazine, all bricked up in the cellar, and an arsenal next my lord’s room, and another cellar-room full of dried provisions; and then I showed them two swivels with a plenty of suitable shot, and I said to them, very plain spoken: