jammed into a big crescent of rearing, trampling horses. We could see they were American soldiers. We all lowered our guns.
"Who are you?" one of them shouted.
"Citizens," my father answered.
"Why are you armed?"
"To fight Injuns."
A chorus of laughter came from the cavalry.
They loosed rein, letting their horses advance.
"My dear man," said one of them, a big shako on his head, "there ain't an Indian 'tween here an' St. Regis. We thought you were British, an' it's lucky we did n't charge in the dark; we 'd have cut you all to pieces before we knew who you were."
A body of infantry was marching down the pike. They were the volunteers of Captain Darius Hawkins, on their way to Ogdensburg, with an escort of cavalry from Sackett's Harbor. The scare was over. Women came out, laughing and chattering. In a few moments they were all in the road, going home—men, women, and children.
I enlisted with Captain Hawkins, and hurried to the house, and packed my things, and bade them all good-by.
