e amateur of the beauties of
nature, who, in the train of his four-in-hand, now rolls through the
scenes we have attempted to describe, in quest of information, health,
or pleasure, or floats steadily toward his object on those artificial
waters which have sprung up under the administration of a statesman* who
has dared to stake his political character on the hazardous issue, is
not to suppose that his ancestors traversed those hills, or struggled
with the same currents with equal facility. The transportation of a
single heavy gun was often considered equal to a victory gained; if
happily, the difficulties of the passage had not so far separated it
from its necessary concomitant, the ammunition, as to render it no more
than a useless tube of unwieldy iron.

* Evidently the late De Witt Clinton, who died governor of
New York in 1828.

The evils of this state of things pressed heavily on the fortunes of the
resolute Scotsman who now defended William Henry. Though his adversary
neglected the hills, he had planted his batteries with judgment on the
plain, and caused them to be served with vigor and skill. Against
this assault, the besieged could only oppose the imperfect and hasty
preparations of a fortress in the wilderness.

It was in the afternoon of the fifth day of the siege, and the fourth of
his own service in it, that Major Heyward profited by a parley that
had just been beaten, by repairing to the ramparts of one of the water
bastions, to breathe the cool air from the lake, and to take a survey
of the progress of the siege. He was alone, if the solitary sentinel who
paced the mound be excepted; for the artillerists had hastened also to
profit by the temporary suspension of their arduous duties. The evening
was delightfully calm, and the light air from the limpid water fresh and
soothing. It seemed as if, with the termination of the roar of artillery
and the plunging of shot, nature had also seized the moment to assume
her mildest and most captivating form. The sun poured down his parting
glory on the scene, without the oppression of those fierce rays that
belong to the climate and the season. The mountains looked green,
and fresh, and lovely, tempered with the milder light, or softened in
shadow, as thin vapors floated between them and the sun. The numerous
islands rested on the bosom of the Horican, some low and sunken, as if
embedded in the waters, and others appearing to hover about the element,
in