The
lake of Onondaga lay glittering in the sunshine, surrounded by green
valleys, green hills, and crimsoning forests. As they arrived at the
palisade and fort, Du Puys, sighting them, fired a salute of welcome.
The echoes awoke, and hurried to the hills and back again with
thrilling sound. The deer lifted his lordly antlers and trembled; the
bear, his jaws dripping with purloined honey, flattened his ears
restlessly; the dozing panther opened his eyes, yellow and round as a
king's louis; and from the dead arms of what was once a kingly pine,
the eagle rose and described circles as he soared heavenward. The gaze
of the recent captives roved. Here were fruitful valley and hill;
pine, oak, beech, maple and birch; luscious grape and rosy apple; corn
and golden pumpkin. They saw where the beaver burrowed in his dams,
and in the golden shallows and emerald deeps of the lake caught
glimpses of trout, bass, salmon and pickerel. And what a picture met
their eyes as they entered the palisades: the black-robed priests, the
shabby uniforms of the soldiers and their quaint weapons and dented
helmets, the ragged garbs of the French gentlemen who had accompanied
the expedition, the painted Indian and his ever-inconsolable dog.
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