There are few portions of our country more beautiful,
and none more rich with historic recollections, than the valley
of the Mohawk. Yet few, probably, of the throngs
who, steam-impelled, pass daily through this beautiful region,
yielding to its many scenes of enchantment the tribute
of admiration, pause to reflect upon the fearful and
momentous deeds of which it has been the scene, and which
are destined in after ages to render every inch of its soil
classic ground.

But not of thee, beautiful river, peacefully gliding
through the broad and verdant champagne, laving with thy
silvery waters the lips of the bending flowers upon thy margin,
or with gentle wrath foaming, glistening and leaping
amid the cataracts of Astorogan; nor yet of you, oh,

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towering mountains, still forest-clad; not of you, as ye now
exist, the scenes and the occasions of innocent enjoyment,
is the historic muse about to speak. But of man, staining
your soil with blood, freighting your gales with groans, and
startling your frightened echoes with war's discordant notes,
and yet of man, too, thank Heaven, in holier and gentler
mood, and less at war with the beauty and harmony of
creation.

It was in the twilight of a calm July evening, just seventy
years ago, that two young men, lightly clad, and
each bearing a rifle, might have been seen loitering upon
the bank of the Mohawk, at a point near to what is now a
large and populous town. Although at first sight the casual
observer would have taken them for sportsmen in pursuit
of game, a little closer investigation would have convinced
him that such was not the case, but that their arms
were carried only as part of an habitual system of precaution
in those troublous times, when no man knew at what
moment he might stumble upon a deadly foe. Charles
Dudley and Enoch Waldon were citizens of one neighborhood,
and had been acquaintances from their boyhood.
They were not, however, and never had been, friends.
There was no approach to congeniality in their dispositions,
the first being frank and generous, while the other was characterized
by qualities in every respect the reverse of these
noble traits. They had now met by accident, and stopped
to exchange such few words of constrained civility as people
are wont to utter, who, while they entertain for each
other a secret dislike, are still willing to avoid an open
quarrel. But the deportment of Waldon was marked with
a sort of obsequiousness to his companion, which might have
indicated to one less suspicious than Dudley some sinister
design.

“Stirring times are these,” he said, glancing at his

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weapon, after a moment's pause in conversation—“It becomes
one to look well to flint and flask.”

“It does, indeed,” replied Dudley. “I hope there have
been no new massacres committed.”

“I don't know exactly about the massacres,” said Waldon,
emphasizing the word; “Indians have their way of
fighting and we have ours. But there certainly was a
night attack made at Shell's Bush night before last, and
houses burnt, lives lost, and prisoners taken, as usual.”

“This is fearful intelligence, Mr. Waldon, and, what is
worse, we know not at what hour the bolt may fall upon us.
You will, of course, join the Life Guard which we are organizing?”

“I intend to join quite a different service, I assure you,”
said Waldon, “and one in which a little more honor and
profit can be gained than in guarding a few old women and
their spinning-wheels. Col. St. Leger is now on his approach
to Fort Stanwix, and under his banner I shall enlist
without delay. Nay, hear me,” he said, as the withering
scorn which had gathered on the face of his companion
indicated a scathing rebuke, “St. Leger will reduce Fort
Stanwix in three days. With the aid of the loyalists in
this county, the rebellion in this section is sure to be immediately
quelled, with little or no bloodshed. Intelligence
from the south and east is equally favorable to the royal
cause. If, therefore, you desire to serve your country effectually,
Dudley, be persuaded to go with me. The most
brilliant inducements are held out, and for you, in particular,
influential and brave, a commission would be certain—
I may say, indeed, that I am authorized to offer it by those
who have the full confidence of St. Leger.”

“Enough has been said,” replied Dudley, with dignity;
“let us part while our blood is cool. Go, join St. Leger
to devastate your native land, or join, if you prefer, the

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savage brigands and their more savage allies, whose atrocities
you palliate. When we meet again, it will be as enemies.”
Thus saying, he turned to depart.

“Hold!” exclaimed the other, snatching his rifle, as if
he would enforce attention, “We are enemies now!”
Stung by resentment and maddened by the thought that
his plans had been prematurely and uselessly disclosed, his
eye now gleamed with undisguised rage. That still another
element entered into his wrath became evident by his words:
“We are enemies now,” he repeated, “and I have a warning
to bestow. You have had thoughts of Miss Welles.
She is mine, affianced and plighted by her father, who with
me is about to join the royal standard. See to it that my
rights are regarded. Any invasion of them in that quarter
will be visited by punishment summary and condign.”
He tapped his weapon significantly as he concluded.

Dudley's eyes flashed with anger.

“Do you dare to threaten me?” he said, laying hold of
his companion's rifle with a firm grasp—“Me, who know
you, Enoch Waldon, to be as cowardly as perfidious? If
you are affianced to Ellen Welles, it is because her pure
heart has never detected your baseness. But words between
us are useless. I leave, however, no armed foe in
my rear.” So saying, he wrested the weapon of the other
suddenly from his grasp, discharged its contents into the
air, and flinging it upon the ground, disappeared in the
forest.

Mortified and infuriated, Waldon gave utterance to some
impotent imprecations, and then, having recovered and reloaded
his gun, rapidly departed in an opposite direction.

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