Page 15 - A Hero of Ticonderoga
P. 15

Powder and lead were too precious to waste much of them on fish, so the
               old hunter made his pupil a hornbeam bow and arrows with spiked heads.

               With these weapons the boy soon became so skilled that he kept the table
               well supplied with this agreeable variation of its frugal fare.



                Song-birds came in fewer numbers in those days of wide wildernesses than
               now, but there were bluebirds and song sparrows enough to enliven the

               clearing with sweet songs, and little Martha found squirrel cups blooming
               in the warmest corners of the field. As the days grew longer and warmer

               they grew busier, for Seth was diligently getting his crops in among the
               black stumps.



               Job, having foreseen his friend’s need of some sort of water craft when the
               lake should open, had fashioned for him a log canoe from the trunk of a

               great pine, and modelled it as gracefully as his own birch, though it was
               many times a heavier, as it was a steadier, craft.



               One pleasant afternoon in early May, when the lake was quite clear of ice,
                Seth and his son, with Job as their instructor in the art of canoe navigation,

               made a trip in the new boat. They paddled down the creek, now a broad bit
               of water from the spring overflow. When they came to the lake, rippled
               with a brisk northern breeze, they found their visit well timed, for a rare

               and pretty sight was before them, so rare and pretty that Job paddled back
               with all speed for the mother and daughter that they, too, might see it.



               A mile below the mouth of the creek a large vessel was coming, under all
                sail, with the British flag flying bravely above the white cloud of canvas.

               They could hear the inspiring strains of martial music, and, when the noble
               vessel swept past not half a mile away, they could see the gayly dressed

               officers and the blue-jacketed sailors swarming on her deck.


                "It’s the sloop from St. Johns," said Job. "She comes two or three times,

               whilst the lake’s open, with stores for the garrison to the Fort. It’s an easier
               trail than the road from Albany. Pretty soon you’ll hear her speak."
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