my story. The army had been surprised. The troops had fallen into an
ambuscade, and had been cut up almost to a man. All the officers were
taken down by the French marksmen and the savages. The General had been
wounded, and carried off the field in his sash. Four days afterwards the
report was that the General was dead, and scalped by a French Indian.

Ah, what a scream poor Mrs. Mountain gave when Gumbo brought this news
from across the James River, and little Fanny sprang crying to her
mother's arms! "Lord God Almighty, watch over us, and defend my boy!"
said Mrs. Esmond, sinking down on her knees and lifting her rigid hands
to heaven. The gentlemen were not at home when the rumour arrived, but
they came in an hour or two afterwards, each from his hunt for news. The
Scotch tutor did not dare to meet the widow's agonising looks. Harry
Warrington was as pale as his mother. It might not be true about the
manner of the General's death--but he was dead. The army had been
surprised by Indians, and had fled, and been killed without seeing the
enemy. An express had arrived from Dunbar's camp. Fugitives were pouring
in there. Should he go and see? He must go and see. He and stout little
Dempster armed themselves and mounted, taking a couple of mounted
servants with them.

They followed the northward track which the expeditionary army had hewed
out for itself, and at every step which brought them nearer to the scene
of action, the disaster of the fearful day seemed to magnify. The day
after the defeat a number of the miserable fugitives from the fatal
battle of the 9th of July had reached Dunbar's camp, fifty miles from the
field. Thither poor Harry and his companions rode, stopping stragglers,
asking news, giving money, getting from one and all the same gloomy tale.
A thousand men were slain--two-thirds of the officers were down--all the
General's aides-de-camp were hit. Were hit--but were they killed? Those
who fell never rose again. The tomahawk did its work upon them. Oh,
brother brother! All the fond memories of their youth, all the dear
remembrances of their childhood, the love and the laughter, the tender
romantic vows which they had pledged to each other as lads, were recalled
by Harry with pangs inexpressibly keen. Wounded men looked up and were
softened by his grief; rough men melted as they saw the woe written on
the handsome young face; the hardy old tutor could scarcely look at him
for tears, and grieved for him ev