My neighbours are all dead or gone away, they say. My house is a heap of wind-stirred ashes,—as are all houses in Fonda's Bush save only Stoner's. My cleared land sprouts young forests; my fences are gone; wolves travel my paths; deer pasture my hill; and my new orchard stands dead and girdled by wood-mouse and rabbit.... And still I be sick for a sight of it that was once my home,—and ever shall be while I possess a handful of mother earth to call mine own.
It is near the end of April and I seem sick, but would not have Billy Alexander think I mope.
I have a letter from Penelope. She lately saw a small scout on the Mohawk, it being a part of M'Kean's corps; and she recognized and conversed with several men who once composed my first war party—Jean de Silver, Benjamin De Luysnes, Joe de Golyer of Frenchman's Creek, and Godfrey Shew of Fish House.
They were on their way to Canada by way of Sacandaga, to learn what Sir John might be about.... God knows I also desire very earnestly to know what the sinister Baronet may be planning.
Penelope writes me that Tahioni the Wolf is dead in his glory; and that Hiakatoo took his scalp and heart.... I suppose that is glory enough for any dead young warrior, but the intelligence fills me with foreboding. And Kwiyeh the Screech-owl is dead at Lake Desolation, and so is Hanatoh the Water-snake, where some Praying Indians caught them in a canoe and made a dreadful example of my two young comrades.... But at least they were permitted to sing their death-songs, and so died happy—if that indeed be happiness....
The Cadys, who were gone off to Canada, and John and Phil Helmer, have been seen in green uniforms and red; and Adam Helmer has sworn an oath to seek them, follow them, and slay them for the bloody turncoat dogs they are. Lord, Lord, how hast Thou changed Thy children into creatures of the wild to prey one upon another till all the Northland becomes once more a desert and empty of human life!
It is May. I sicken for Penelope and for my home.
I am given a furlough! I asked it not. Lord Stirling dismisses me—with a grin. Pretense of inspection covering the Johnstown district, and to count the batteaux between Schenectady and the Creek of Askalege! Which is but sheer nonsense; and I had as well spend the time a-telling of my thumbs—which Lord Stirling knows as well as I is the pastime of an idiot.... God bless him!
I am given a month, to arrange my personal affairs. I have asked for nothing; and am given a month!... And stand here at the tent door all a-tremble while my mare is saddled, not trusting my voice lest it break and shame me before all....