Most of the fighting men in the garrison had
now drawn round this place of combat. The besiegers
had foreseen this, and had placed a body of
men in ambush, who were to attempt gaining the
place, by scaling the steep ledge of rocks which
formed the northern angle of the enclosure. This
party had already risen from the bushes, and was
running to that part which was defended only by
the natural steepness of the ascent, when Shadrach,
who was the only one that saw this manœuvre, gave
the alarm; but in the confusion and horror of the
moment, he had no chance of being understood.
In the agony of despair, he ran to the spot alone.
They were already climbing the face of the rock,
and pulling themselves up by the bushes that grew
out of its clefts. The large trunk of an oak tree
had been placed along the top of the ledge, where
it served as a sort of breast work for about twenty
feet. The thoughts that he might instantly be dispatched,
gave him new strength and quickened his
ingenuity. He seized a stake, which he applied as
a lever to the middle of the log. It moved—tottered
a moment on the edge of the precipice—he plied
all his strength—it fell—and Shadrach darted back
with all his speed. Never, even in ancient days,
was a more dreadful missile put in motion. The
face of the rock was covered with assailants, and
the base was crowded with others waiting to ascend.
The ruin swept and crushed all before it.
Those who escaped, retired and paused for a

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

moment, but observing no one above, ventured the
attempt, and a few gained the top.

Meanwhile those who defended the gate were on
the point of being overpowered, when the troops
under Standish and Dudley emerged from the woods.
They saw how critical the moment was, and rushed
to their aid. A full fire of musketry and arrows
was poured in upon the savages, and bayonets,
swords, and tomahawks, were immediately in contact.
Weshop and Du Quesne alarmed at the dangerous
situation of their friends, and personally exasperated
at the enemy, were directly merged in
the middle of the combat.

A conflict like this could not last long. The
savages were amazed at an attack so unexpected;
they fled hastily in every direction, and were followed
by Standish to the woods, where he ordered the
grass and bushes to be set on fire. It was instantly
done, in a hundred different places. He then blew
his horn to call in the men, (who might be in danger
of an ambush) and entered the garrison.

The women and children had been shut up in a
sort of block house, and escaped unhurt. Few
who belonged to the garrison, but were wounded
or killed. Van Tromp was much hurt, and Jonathan
would never have found his way from the gate,
had not Shadrach lifted him in his arms.

Du Quesne, in almost breathless eagerness, met
him as he was staggering under his burden.

“Where is Weshop?” said he.

The African's heart was undergoing such mixed
emotions of joy and sorrow, as almost choaked his
utterance. He could only say—“Dead.”

Du Quesne stopped, and for a moment, friends,
country, all were forgot, but poor Weshop.

Almost all the garrison were by this time assembled
at the gate. Weshop lay covered with his

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

wounds, in the midst of his foes; his bow was near
him, and his bloody tomahawk was clenched in his
hand. He was bitterly lamented by more than one.
Du Quesne's grief could not be silent. “He lifted
up his voice and wept.”

Weshop was buried with military honors; his
grave is still marked by a pile of large stones, on
one of which there seems to have been an inscription,
but it cannot now be read.

The newly arrived troops took up their quarters
for the present in the garrison, for several of them
were unable to march, and the new settlers had
been so reduced in number, and were so many of
them wounded, that they could not well be left in
their present condition.

One chilly evening in November, most of the personages
mentioned in the MS. were sitting in the
best room of the garrison round a cheerful fire,
ruminating, some on the past and some on the future,
but saying little to disturb one another's
thoughts. Van Tromp was still an invalid, Dubourg
now and then smiled to see the attentions of
his new found daughter to one whose first wounds
were received in her service, and whose modest eye,
when he felt an occasional twinge of pain from
wounds more recent, seemed to look to her for relief.
Standish was saying to Dudley, (who was
thinking of something else) that the Winnebagoes
and the Potawatomies would never join on the
other side of the river after this, and that the
French would soon be obliged to confine themselves
to the Canada line; and Du Quesne was thinking,
almost to tears, of the virtues, the services, and the
end of Weshop, when Shadrach entered the room
with Du Quesne's watch in his hand.

“Massa Du Quesne, (said he) here's your watch—
you left it when you went a hunting—I buried it

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

the night of the battle, so it don't go. I have been
trying to put it to rights, but I can't make out.”

“Thank ye, Weshop, I mean Shadrach,” said
Du Quesne.

Du Bourg's eye was on the watch.

“Let me see it, (said he to Du Quesne) it's a
very elegant one.”

He took it, opened and examined it with surprise.

“Where did you get it?—pardon my inquiry.”

Du Quesne told him all he knew about it or
about himself.

“You see, sir, (said he) our stories are intimately
connected.”

“My young friend, (said Du Bourg) tell me
when and where you was born.”

Du Quesne told him.

“But you are unwell, sir,” said he, as he took
back the watch.

“Slightly, (said he)—Captain Dudley, I wish
to speak with you.”

“Me, sir?” said Dudley, who had been twirling
his sword with the becket, as sailors call it, that
was fastened to the hilt, and whose mind had been
so absent that he had heard only the last request,
as it was particularly addressed to him. “Me,
sir? I'll wait on you, sir.”

“There's a good fire in t'other room,” said Shadrach,
as he showed the way.

“Captain Dudley, (said Du Bourg) that young
man is my lost son!—he is!—he is! Captain
Dudley.”

“A worthier or a nobler one (said Dudley) you
could not claim. The probability of such a thing
occurred to me when you told me, on board the
Martyr, why you wanted to visit the banks of this
lake, that you had two children in this country,
though you expected to find but one left. This

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

gentleman was my classmate—and more, he was
my bosom friend. I know all his story.”

“Sit down then, sir, I will tell you mine without
being tedious. I came to this country as a captain
in the 33d regiment of Royal Infantry. The regiment
was never assembled that I know of. I
was employed as an inspecting officer—went from
port to port—was occasionally at New-York, and
often at different places on the lake, and on the
Hudson.

“I was married at Sandy-Hill, to a lady of the
most respectable connections, but whose friends
were averse to the match, owing to my commission
in a marching regiment, and my liability to be
ordered away. I lived in New-York with my wife
until my eldest child was two years old, when I
was required to join a battalion of our regiment
assembled near Jake Champlain, from which it was
soon to remove to Detroit, or the upper lakes.

“The little boy could not be at once removed
to so great a distance, considering the hazards and
difficulties of such a journey; and I provided for
his immediate support at New-York, in the family
where I had lived, intending to send for him when
I should find my family permanently settled. This
time never arrived, and I was afterwards assured
of his death. I lost my wife after the birth of a
daughter. I was soon obliged to go to Montreal—
thence to Quebec: and instead of being ordered
to Detroit, as was expected, I was embarked with
a part of the regiment, and sent to the French settlements
in the East Indies, where a war had unexpectedly
broken out, and where troops were immediately
wanted. I had only time to make provision
for my infant daughter, by entrusting her to
the care of the lady with whom she had always

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

lived, the widow of an officer of my acquaintance,
with whom, as you know, I found her.

“Upon the birth of my first child, I had written
to my brother younger than myself, whom I left in
France to manage my paternal estate, that I intended
to call him Du Quesne, after a distinguished
soldier of that country. His own name is Carlos
Du Bourg. The ship in which I sailed was
wrecked on the coast of Mysore; a few of us gained
the shore in the boat; but the news in Europe
(as I afterwards learned) was, that she was lost
with all her crew. My brother succeeded to my
property in France, which this son should have
inherited on my death. The salique law of France,
you know, would exclude the daughter. But in
the management of this boy, I fear I see the hand
of my brother. That watch is mine; I left it with
Voorhies, my host in New-York, with an earnest
request that the child might be enjoined to keep it
till I should see him again.”

Dudley felt assured that Du Bourg had found
his son, and took upon himself to break the tidings
to his friend. “Nothing more (added he) can be
wanting, than the letters from France, which can
be procured through New-York.”

The hour was now late, and the garrison was
silent. Shadrach, who had remained a wondering
listener to this strange recital, declared his resolution
to awake his master, and tell him all about
it.

The first light of the morning discovered the
garrison in different groups. Dudley and Du
Quesne—Du Bourg and his daughter—Shadrach
and his master, with Miles Standish, who said it
fairly put him in mind of the story of Joseph.

When these groups collected, Du Quesne presented
himself to his father and sister. His feelings

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

had been of late too much agitated to admit of
any stronger sensations than calm satisfaction, at
the discovery of a family connection of so respectable
a character.

The answer to Dudley's inquiries brought the
letters, which Du Bourg knew to be in the hand
writing of his brother; and they were accompanied
with the intelligence that the gentleman who
was engaged in the duel, and who had been absent
from New-York ever since, had sent from the
southern plantations an account of that affair,
which completely exculpated Du Quesne.