Neville Trueman the Pioneer Preacher

th a force of about nine hundred redcoats and militia, made a circuitous march through the village of St. David's, and thus gained the crest of the he

outly stood their ground; but, soon perceiving the hopelessness of resistance, they everywhere gave way, and retreated precipitately down the hill to their place of landing. The Indians, like sleuth hounds that had broken leash, unhappily could not be restrained, and, shrieking their blood- curdling war-whoops, pursued with tomahawk and reeki

Some were impaled upon the jagged pines, others reached the bottom bruised and bleeding, and others, attempting to swim the rapid stream, were drowned in its whirling eddies. One wh

erced the lungs of the younger, a boy of seventeen, with a fair, innocent face. His brother bore hi

id to die," and as the blood gushed from

those dying words, and in his ear there rang a wild refrain, which nerved his ar

e drum bea

ide me in

ther says, '

annon's a

loud hallo

the

the

so l

happier times we look back upon the stern experiences of those iron days, they inspire a blended feeling of pity and regret, not unmingled with a vague remorse, shot through and through our patriotic pride and exultation,

ow the infinit

agony, the

he ages that hav

rberations r

with such disc

ursed instrum

ature's sweet a

the celestia

*

uture, through l

nds grow fainte

, with solemn,

the voice of Ch

longer from its

's great organ s

as songs of

lodies of l

y officers and privates as prisoners of war. But this victory, brilliant as it was, was dearly bought with the death of the lo

hout in whelming

self unwilling

the cloud of

triumph died on

guns of both the British and American forts attested the honour and esteem in which the dead soldiers were held by friends and foes alike. Amid the tears of war-bronzed soldiers and even of stoical Indians they were laid in one common grave in a bastion of Fort George. A gratefu

way from the solemn pageant of which they ha

t chief. As he couldn't come, he wrote these verses, which he wished me to post to the York Gazette. He said I might read them to

g o'er the

drops the mo

parted, val

e field of de

all fondly t

on the scro

ht laurels, wh

row of one

sh vernal o'

graceful tribute wit

rema

ways, I suppose so. He read them himself to Kate this

e squire. "I fear it will be long

"He said Kate would be his Elaine, to nurse the

try fellows, I'll be bound," s

Sir Thomas Mallory's book of King Arthur; but he did not seem to relish the compar