This was one creature that would not usually move to escape an approaching human, but would sometimes move forward to attack. Ethan knew them well, from his own observations and because they were a favorite subject of frontiersmen’s stories, mostly true but sometimes exaggerated, of their size and the dramatic nature of their encounters. The snakes were easily identified. The cottonmouth, to which Kindred liked to refer in exaggerated tones of foreboding as Agkistrodon piscivorus, was the only water snake that swam with a few inches of its neck in the air. It had a broad head, and its eyes were not round like those of other water snakes but catlike, vertical slits, a pair of which now fixed on him. He knew there was a small heat-sensitive pit between the eyes and nostrils, with which it could locate its prey. So far, the reptile seemed to be relatively dormant, not yet recovered from its months of winter hibernation and not disturbed enough to give the warning signal of a wide-open mouth that exposed the cottonlike interior surrounding the glands of poison, much more lethal than that of copperheads and rattlesnakes. There was nothing within the hollow with which he could defend himself, so his only choice was to be still and quiet, fortunately the same tactic that was the best defense against his other enemies with the bayonets, who were not more than fifty yards away.

Ethan attempted to control his pounding heart, at first presuming that the roaring in his own ears might be reverberating around him, enough to arouse the cottonmouth. He soon realized the foolishness of this assumption and was relieved to observe as the seconds passed that the snake remained still, coiled in a depression in the rotting wood particles that seemed to be its habitual resting place. Ethan began to assess his other chances for survival, attempting to put himself in the position of his British pursuers. He knew from his own experience a few minutes ago that it was extremely unpleasant to wade and swim through the slowly moving water, in some places more than chest deep, between his hummock and the high ground where Kindred’s body lay and where his assassins still lingered and argued among themselves.

Neither the Redcoats nor the revolutionary soldiers had boats, since the colonists had certainly not foreseen a military engagement in the middle of an enormous lake, and the British had made a forced march of more than forty miles before launching their surprise attack. Only the local militiamen, who lived and farmed in this area, seemed to know how to accommodate, like the wild animals, the streams’ transformation into a tremendous current that spread over a hundred square miles just a few hours after a heavy downpour upstream. It was this knowledge of the local terrain that had brought Ethan and Kindred from their homes to the unanticipated battle site.