The General here intimated to them to retire. Hemlock started as if from a reverie. Going close to the General, he stretched out his right hand after the manner of Indian orators. “You meet the Yankees as soldier meets soldier. The red man meets them as the robbers of his lands, the destroyers of his villages, the slayers of his race. The land was ours, and they have driven us to the setting sun and left us not even standing-room for our lodges. You have called us savages. Who made us savages? The Indian forgets no kindness and forgives no wrong. The hand that has despoiled and struck at us, we will seek late and early, in light and dark, to smite. Our enemy for generations, the enemy we are always at war with, is your enemy today. You may make peace with him tomorrow. We never will. When the Indian dies, he gives his hatchet to his sons. We offer you our help. Tell me to go and do what I will, and the Americans will not drink of the St Lawrence. Ten score Iroquois will keep up the war-whoop along the frontier until they turn.” The General seemed annoyed and said sharply, “We take you as scouts, not as comrades-in-arms. I will have no barbarian warfare.” Hemlock drew himself up with dignity as he said: “We are your allies, not your hirelings. Our tribes declared war against the Americans before you did, and if you will not accept our aid we withdraw this night from your camp and shall fight on our own hand.” Major Henry perceived the mistake made by the General and hastened to undo it. “King George,” he said, “is true to the treaty made with his Indian allies and I am sure you will stand by it too. The General is preparing his plans for receiving the Americans and the Indians will have their place in it.” Without apparently heeding these words, Hemlock approached close to the General. “I warn you,” he said, “if you reject our aid, great soldier as you may be across the sea, in the warfare of these woods your light will go out like this,” and with a wave of his hand he put out the light of one of the two candles on the table. Turning on his heel, he walked with stately stride out of the room. That night he and his band left the camp and ceased to receive orders from headquarters. CHAPTER X. “Well, Morton, our days of inglorious idleness are ended,” exclaimed Col. Vanderberg. “I return from headquarters with orders for an immediate advance.” “Thank heavens!” ejaculated Morton. “What! Do you rejoice at an attack on your country? Come, my good friend, I see your judgment is overcoming your feelings, and you are going to cast in your lot with us--the latest convert from monarchism to republicanism.” “No, no: you need not banter me. What I rejoice at is the ending of a policy of inaction that has kept you, my friend, and your humble prisoner alike in wearisome suspense.”