For all that, it was a night to live long in the memory,—­that last night we spent at Dearborn.  It remains a rare jumble in my mind,—­its varied incidents crowding so fast upon each other as to leave small room for thought regarding any one of them.  Without, the dim black plain stretched away in unbroken solemnity and silence; nor did the sentinels posted along the walls catch glimpse of so much as a skulking Indian form amid the grass and sand.  A half-moon was in the sky, with patches of cloud now and then shadowing it, and in the intervals casting its faint silver over the lonely expanse and tipping the crest of the waves as they crept in upon the beach.  The great Indian village to the westward was fairly ablaze with fires; while the unending procession of black dots that flitted past them, together with the echo of constant uproar, showed that the savages were likewise astir in eager preparation for the morrow.  We could hear the pounding of wooden drums, mingled with shrill yells that split the night-air like so many war-missiles.  Only those above, upon the platform, could mind these things; for the bustle within the enclosure below continued unabated until long after midnight.

The report of our mission spread rapidly, and the pledge of protection given by the chiefs greatly heartened the men, so that they worked now with many a peal of laughter and careless jest.  The women and children, ever quick to feel the influence of the soldiers, responded at once to this new feeling of confidence, which was encouraged by the officers, however they may have secretly doubted the good-faith of the savages.  So the children tumbled about in the red glare of the flames, the soldiers swung their traps into the waiting wagons with good-natured badinage, their brawny breasts bare and glistening with sweat in the hot night; while, as the hour grew late and discipline sensibly relaxed, the women danced in the open and sang songs of home.

It was hard enough to realize what it all meant,—­what hardship and suffering and death lay just before these rejoicing people; what depths of cruel treachery and murder lurked for them so few hours away.  We did not suspect it then; not even those among us who had long learned the deceit of Indian nature could unroll the shadowing veil of that morrow and reveal the forthcoming tragedy of those silent plains.  I remember that, doubtful as I felt about the future, I could look on with interest at the busy scene, and that more than once a smile lay upon my lips.  What an odd variety of figures that congested place disclosed! what strange life-histories were having their culmination there!  I saw Ensign Ronan, young, slender, smooth of face, appearing scarce more than a boy, his short fatigue-jacket buttoned to the throat in spite of the heat, hurrying here and there in his enthusiasm, ever upon his lips some happy phrase to take the sting from his word of command.  Lieutenant Helm, calm but observant of every detail,