Chapter VI.

Within Sound of the Shouting Waters.



If I relied upon my memory, I could not tell when the French war ended. It
had practically terminated, so far as our Valley was concerned, with the
episode already related. Sir William Johnson was away much of the time
with the army, and several of the boys older than myself--John Johnson,
John Frey, and Adam Fonda among them--went with him. We heard vague news
of battles at distant places, at Niagara, at Quebec, and elsewhere. Once,
indeed, a band of Roman Catholic Indians appeared at Fort Herkimer and did
bloody work before they were driven off, but this time there was no panic
in the lower settlements.

Large troops of soldiers continually passed up and down on the river in
the open seasons, some of them in very handsome clothes.

I remember one body of Highlanders in particular whose dress and mien
impressed me greatly. Mr. Stewart, too, was much excited by the memories
this noble uniform evoked, and had the officers into the house to eat and
drink with him. I watched and listened to these tall, fierce, bare-kneed
warriors in awe, from a distance. He brought out bottles from his rare
stock of Madeira, and they drank it amid exclamations which, if I mistake
not, were highly treasonable. This was almost the last occasion on which I