Title: The Rangers; or, The Tory's Daughter
 - A Tale Illustrative of the Revolutionary History of Vermont and the Northern Campaign of 1777
Author: Thompson, Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce)
Language: English
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 - A Tale Illustrative of the Revolutionary History of Vermont and the Northern Campaign of 1777" ***


THE RANGERS

OR, THE TORY’S DAUGHTER

A Tale Illustrative Of The Revolutionary History Of Vermont And The
Northern Campaign Of 1777

By D. P. Thompson

The Author Of “The Green Mountain Boys”


Two Volumes In One

Tenth Edition



VOLUME I.


On commencing his former work, illustrative of the revolutionary history
of Vermont,--THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS,--it was the design of the author
to have embraced the battle of Bennington, and other events of historic
interest which occurred in the older and more southerly parts of the
state; but finding, as he proceeded, that the unity and interest of his
effort would be endangered by embracing so much ground, a part of the
original design was relinquished, or rather its execution was deferred
for a new and separate work, wherein better justice could be done to the
rich and unappropriated materials of which his researches had put him in
possession. That work, after an interval of ten years, and the writing
and publishing of several intermediate ones, is now presented to the
public, and with the single remark, that if it is made to possess less
interest, as a mere tale, than its predecessor, the excuse must be found
in the author’s greater anxiety to give a true historic version of the
interesting and important events he has undertaken to illustrate.



THE RANGERS;

OR,

THE TORY’S DAUGHTER



CHAPTER I.

  “Sing on! sing on! my mountain home,
   The paths where erst I used to roam,
   The thundering torrent lost in foam.
   The snow-hill side all bathed in light,--
   All, all are bursting on my sight!”



Towards night, on the twelfth of March, 1775, a richly-equipped double
sleigh, filled with a goodly company of well-dressed persons of the
different sexes, was seen descending from the eastern side of the Green
Mountains, along what may now be considered the principal thoroughfare
leading from the upper navigable portions of the Hudson to those of the
Connecticut River. The progress of the travellers was not only slow,
but extremely toilsome, as was plainly evinced by the appearance of
the reeking and jaded horses, as they labored and floundered along the
sloppy and slumping snow paths of the winter road, which was obviously
now fast resolving itself into the element of which it was composed. Up
to the previous evening, the dreary reign of winter had continued wholly
uninterrupted by the advent of his more gentle successor in the changing
rounds of the seasons; and the snowy waste which enveloped the earth
would, that morning, have apparently withstood the rains and suns of
months before yielding entirely to their influences. But during the
night there had occurred one of those great and sudden transitions from
cold to heat, which can only be experienced in northern climes, and
which can be accounted for only on the supposition, that the earth, at
stated intervals, rapidly gives out large quantities of its internal
heats, or that the air becomes suddenly rarefied by some essential
change or modification in the state of the electric fluid. The morning
had been cloudless; and the rising sun, with rays no longer dimly
struggling through the dense, obstructing medium of the dark months gone
by, but, with the restored beams of his natural brightness, fell upon
the smoking earth with the genial warmth of summer. A new atmosphere,
indeed, seemed to have been suddenly created, so warm and bland was
the whole air; while, occasionally, a breeze came over the face of the
traveller, which seemed like the breath of a heated oven. As the day
advanced, the sky gradually became overcast--a strong south wind sprung
up, before whose warm puffs the drifted snow-banks seemed literally to
be cut down, like grass before the scythe of the mower; and, at length,
from the thickening mass of cloud above, the rain began to descend in
torrents to the mutely recipient earth. All this, for a while, however,
produced no very visible effects on the general face of nature; for the
melting snow was many hours in becoming saturated with its own and water
from above. Nor had our travellers, for the greater part of the day,
been much incommoded by the rain, or the thaw, that was in silent, but
rapid progress around and beneath them; as their vehicle was a covered
one, and as the hard-trodden paths of the road were the last to be
affected. But, during the last hour, a great change in the face of the
landscape had become apparent; and the evidence of what had been going
on unseen, through the day, was now growing every moment more and more
palpable. The snow along the bottom of every valley was marked by a
long, dark streak, indicating the presence of the fast-collecting waters
beneath. The stifled sounds of rushing streams were heard issuing from
the hidden beds of every natural rill; while the larger brooks were
beginning to burst through their wintry coverings, and throw up and push
on before them the rending ice and snow that obstructed their courses to
the rivers below, to which they were hurrying with increasing speed, and
with seemingly growing impatience at every obstacle they met in their
way. The road had also become so soft, that the horses sunk nearly to
the flank at almost every step, and the plunging sleigh drove heavily
along the plashy path. The whole mass of the now saturated and
dissolving snow, indeed, though lying, that morning, more than three
feet deep on a level, seemed to quiver and move, as if on the point of
flowing away in a body to the nearest channels.

The company we have introduced consisted of four gentlemen and two
ladies, all belonging, very evidently, to the most wealthy, and, up to
that time, the most honored and influential class of society. But though
all seemed to be of the same caste, yet their natural characters, as any
physiognomist, at a glance, would have discovered, were, for so small a
party, unusually diversified. Of the two men occupying the front seat,
both under the age of thirty, the one sitting on the right and acting
as driver was tall, showily dressed, and of a haughty, aristocratic air;
while his sharp features, which set out in the shape of a half-moon,
the convex outline being preserved by a retreating forehead, an aquiline
nose, and a chin sloping inward, combined to give him a cold, repulsive
countenance, fraught with expressions denoting selfishness and
insincerity. The other occupant of the same seat was, on the contrary,
a young man of an unassuming demeanor, shapely features, and a mild,
pleasing countenance. The remaining two gentlemen of the party were much
older, but scarcely less dissimilar in their appearance than the two
just described. One of them was a gaunt, harsh-featured man, of the
middle ago, with an air of corresponding arrogance and assumption. The
other, who was still more elderly, was a thick-set and rather portly
personage, of that quiet, reserved, and somewhat haughty demeanor,
which usually belongs to men of much self-esteem, and of an unyielding,
opinionated disposition. The ladies were both young, and in the full
bloom of maidenly beauty. But their native characters, like those of
their male companions, seemed to be very strongly contrasted. The one
seated on the left was fair, extremely fair, indeed; and her golden
locks, clustering in rich profusion around her snowy neck and temples,
gave peculiar effect to the picture-like beauty of her face. But her
beauty consisted of pretty features, and her countenance spoke rather
of the affections than of the mind, being of that tender, pleading cast,
which is better calculated to call forth sympathy than command respect,
and which, showed her to be one of those confiding, dependent persons,
whose destinies are in me hands of those whom they consider their
friends, rather than in their own keeping. The other maiden, with
an equally fine form and no less beautiful features, was still of
an entirely different appearance. She, indeed, was, to the one first
described what the rose, with its hardy stem, is to the lily leaning on
the surrounding herbage for its support; and though less delicately fair
in mere complexion, she was yet more commandingly beautiful; for there
was an expression in the bright, discriminating glances of her deep
hazel eyes, and in the commingling smile that played over the whole of
her serene and benignant countenance, that told of intellects that could
act independently, as well as of a heart that glowed with the kindly
affections.

“Father,” said the last described female, addressing the eldest
gentleman, for the purpose, apparently, of giving a new turn to the
conversation, which had now, for some time, been lagging,--“father, I
think you promised us, on starting from Bennington this morning, not
only a fair day, but a safe arrival at Westminster Court-House, by
sunset, did you not?”

“Why, yes, perhaps I did,” replied the person addressed; “for I know I
calculated that we should get through by daylight.”

“Well, my weatherwise father, to say nothing about this storm, instead
of the promised sunshine, does the progress, made and now making, augur
very brightly for the other part of the result?”

“I fear me not, Sabrey,” answered the old gentleman, “though, with the
road as good as when we started, we should have easily accomplished it.
But who would have dreamed of a thaw so sudden and powerful as this?
Why, the very road before us looks like a running river! Indeed, I think
we shall do well to reach Westminster at all to-night. What say you, Mr.
Peters,--will the horses hold out to do it?” he added, addressing the
young man of the repulsive look, who had charge of the team, us before
mentioned.

“They _must_ do it, at all events, Squire Haviland,” replied Peters.
“Sheriff Patterson, here,” he continued, glancing at the hard-featured
man before described, “has particular reasons for being on the ground
to-night. I must also be there, and likewise friend Jones, if we can
persuade him to forego his intended stop at Brattleborough; for, being
of a military turn, we will give him the command of the forces, if he
will go on immediately with us.”

“Thank you, Mr. Peters,” replied Jones, smiling. “I do not covet the
honor of a command, though I should be ready to go on and assist, if I
really believed that military forces would be needed.”

“Military forces needed for what?” asked Haviland, in some surprise.

“Why, have you not heard, Squire Haviland,” said the sheriff, “that
threats have been thrown out, that our coming court would not be
suffered to sit?”

“Yes, something of the kind, perhaps,” replied Haviland, contemptuously;
“but I looked upon them only as the silly vaporings of a few disaffected
creatures, who, having heard of the rebellious movements in the Bay
State, have thrown out these idle threats with the hope of intimidating
our authorities, and so prevent the holding of a court, which they fear
might bring too many of them to justice.”

“So I viewed the case for a while,” rejoined Patterson; “but a few days
ago, I received secret information, on which I could rely, that these
disorganizing rascals were actually combining, in considerable numbers,
with the intention of attempting to drive us from the Court-House.”

“Impossible! impossible! Patterson,” said the squire; “they will never
be so audacious as to attempt to assail the king’s court.”

“They are making a movement for that purpose, nevertheless,” returned
the former; “for, in addition to the information I have named, I
received a letter from Judge Chandler, just as I was leaving my house in
Brattleborough, yesterday morning, in which the judge stated, that
about forty men, from Rockingham, came to him in a body, at his house in
Chester, and warned him against holding the court; and had the boldness
to tell him, that blood would be shed, if it was attempted, especially
if the sheriff appeared with an armed posse.”

“Indeed! why, I am astonished at their insolence!” exclaimed the squire.
“But what did the judge tell them?”

“Why the judge, you know, has an oily way of getting along with ugly
customers,” replied the sheriff, with a significant wink; “so he thanked
them all kindly for calling on him, and gravely told them he agreed with
them, that no court should be holden at this time. But, as there was one
case of murder to be tried, he supposed the court must come together
to dispose of that; after which they would immediately adjourn. And
promising them that he would give the sheriff directions not to appear
with any armed assistants, he dismissed them, and sat down and wrote me
an account of the affair, winding off with giving me the directions he
had promised, but adding in a postscript, that I was such a contrary
fellow, that he doubted whether I should obey his directions; and he
should not be surprised to see me there with a hundred men, each with a
gun or pistol under his great-coat. Ha ha! The judge is a sly one.”

“One word about that case of murder, to which you have alluded, Mr.
Patterson,” interposed Jones, after the jeering laugh with which the
sheriff’s account was received by Haviland and Peters, had subsided. “I
have heard several mysterious hints thrown out by our opponents about
it, which seemed to imply that the prosecution of the prisoner was got
up for private purposes; and I think I have heard the name of Secretary
Brush coupled with the affair. Now, who is the alleged murderer? and
where and when was the crime committed?”

“The fellow passes by the name of Herriot, though it is suspected
that this is not his true name,” responded the sheriff. “The crime was
committed at Albany, several years ago, when he killed, or mortally
wounded, an intimate friend of Mr. Brush.”

“Under what circumstances?”

“Why, from what I have gathered, I should think the story might be
something like this: that, some time previous to the murder, this
Herriot had come to Albany, got into company above his true place,
dashed away a while in high life, gambled deeply, and, losing all his
own money, and running up a large debt to this, and other friends of
Brush, gave them his obligations and absconded. But coming there again,
for some purpose, a year or two after, with a large sum of money, it was
thought, which had been left or given him by a rich Spaniard, whose life
he had saved, or something of the kind, those whom he owed beset him
to pay them, or play again. But he refused to play, pretending to have
become pious, and also held back about paying up his old debts. Their
debts, however, they determined to have, and went to him for that
purpose; when an affray arose, and one of them was killed by Herriot,
who escaped, and fled, it seems, to this section of the country, where
he kept himself secluded in some hut in the mountains, occasionally
appear-ing abroad to preach religion and rebellion to the people, by
which means he was discovered, arrested, and imprisoned in Westminster
jail, where he awaits his trial at the coming term of the court. And
I presume he will be convicted and hung, unless he makes friends with
Brush to intercede for a pardon, which he probably might do, if the
fellow would disgorge enough of his hidden treasures to pay his debts,
and cease disaffecting the people, which is treason and a hanging matter
of itself, for which he, and fifty others in this quarter, ought, in
justice, to be dealt with without benefit of the clergy.--What say you,
Squire Haviland?”

“I agree with you fully,” replied the squire. “But to return to Judge
Chandler’s communication: what steps have you taken, if any, in order to
sustain the court in the threatened emergency?”

“Why, just the steps that Chandler knew I should take--sent off one
messenger to Brush, there on the ground at Westminster; another to
Rogers, of Kent; and yet another to a trusty friend in Guilford,
requesting each to be on, with a small band of resolute fellows; while
I whipped over to Newfane myself, fixed matters there, and came round to
Bennington to enlist David Redding, and a friend or two more; as I did,
after I arrived, last night, though I was compelled to leave them my
sleigh and horses to bring them over, which accounts for my begging a
passage with you. So, you see, that if this beggarly rabble offer to
make any disturbance, I shall be prepared to teach them the cost of
attempting to put down the king’s court.”

“Things are getting to a strange pass among these deluded people, that
is certain. I cannot, however, yet believe them so infatuated as to take
this step. But if they should, decided measures should be taken--such,
indeed, as shall silence this alarming spirit at once and forever.”

“I hope,” observed Miss Haviland, who had been a silent but attentive
listener to the dialogue, “I hope no violence is really intended, either
on the part of the authorities or their opponents. But what do these
people complain of? There must be some cause, by which they, at least,
think themselves justified in the movement, surely. Do they consider
themselves aggrieved by any past decisions of the court?”

“O, there are grumblers enough, doubtless, in that respect,” answered
the sheriff. “And among other things, they complain that their property
is taken and sold to pay their honest debts, when money is so scarce,
they say, that they cannot pay their creditors in currency--just as
if the court could make money for the idle knaves! But that is mere
pretence. They have other motives, and those, too, of a more dangerous
character to the public peace.”

“And what may those motives be, if it be proper for me to inquire, sir?”
 resumed the fair questioner.

“Why, in the first place,” replied the sheriff, “they have an old and
inveterate grudge against New York, whose jurisdiction they are much
predisposed to resist. But to this they might have continued to demur
and submit, as they have done this side of the mountain, had New York
adopted the resolves of the Continental Congress of last December, and
come into the _American Association_, as it is called, which has no
less for its object, in reality, than the entire overthrow of all royal
authority in this country. But as our colony has nobly refused to do
this, they are now intent on committing a double treason--that of making
war on New York and the king too.”

“Well, I should have little suspected,” remarked Haviland, “that
the people of this section, who have shown themselves commendably
conservative, for the most part, had any intention of yielding to the
mob-laws of Ethan Allen, Warner, and others, who place the laws of New
York at defiance on the other side of the mountains; and much less that
they would heed the resolves of that self-constituted body of knaves,
ignoramuses, and rebels, calling themselves the Continental Congress.”

“Are you not too severe on that body of men, father?” said Miss
Haviland, lifting her expressive eye reprovingly to the face of the
speaker. “I have recently read over a list of the members of the
Congress; when I noticed among them the names of men, who, but a short
time since, stood very high, both for learning and worth, as I have
often heard you say yourself. Now, what has changed the characters of
these men so suddenly?”

“Why is it, Sabrey,” said the old gentleman, with an air of
petulance, and without deigning any direct answer to the troublesome
question,--“why is it that you cannot take the opinion of your friends,
who know so much more than you do about these matters, instead of
raising, as I have noticed you have lately seemed inclined to do,
questions which seem to imply doubts of the correctness of the measures
of our gracious sovereign and his wise ministers?”

“Why, father,” replied the other, with an ingenuous, but somewhat
abashed look, “if I have raised such questions, in relation to the
quarrel between the colonies and the mother country, I have gone on the
ground that the party which has the most right on its side would, of
course, have the best reasons for its measures; and as I have not always
been able to perceive good reasons for all the king’s measures, I had
supposed you would be proud to give them.”

The old gentleman, though evidently disturbed and angry at this reply,
did not seem inclined to push the debate any further with his daughter.
The other gentlemen, also, looked rather glum; and for many moments not
a word was spoken; when the other young lady, who had not yet spoken,
after glancing round on the gentlemen in seeming expectation that those
better reasons would be given, at length ventured to remark,--

“Well, for my part, it is enough for me that my friends all belong to
the loyal party; and whatever might be said, I know I should always feel
that they were in the right, and their opposers in the wrong.”

“And in that, Jane, I think you are wise,” responded Jones, with an
approving smile. “The complaints of these disaffected people are based
on mistaken notions. They are too ill informed, I fear, to appreciate
the justice and necessity of the measures of our ministers, or to
understand very clearly what they are quarrelling about.”

“Ah, that is it,” warmly responded Haviland. “That is what I have always
said of them. They don’t understand their own rights, or what is for
their own good, and should be treated accordingly. And I think some of
our leading men miss it in trying to reason with them. Reason with them!
Ridiculous! As if the common people could understand an argument!”

“You are perfectly right, squire,” responded Peters, with eager
promptness. “My own experience among the lower classes fully confirms
your opinion. My business, for several years past, has brought me often
in contact with them, in a certain quarter; and I have found them
not only ignorant of what properly belongs to their own rights and
privileges, but jealous and obstinate to a degree that is excessively
annoying.”

“Friend Peters probably alludes to his experience in the great republic
of Guilford,” said Jones, archly.

“There and elsewhere,” rejoined the former; “though I have seen quite
enough of republicanism _there_, for my purpose. One year, the party
outvoting their opponents, and coming into power, upsets every thing
done by their predecessors. The next year the upsetters themselves get
upset; and all the measures they had established are reversed for others
no better; and so they go on from year to year, forever quarrelling and
forever changing.”

“And yet, Peters,” resumed Jones, banteringly, “I doubt whether _you_
have been much the loser by their quarrels.”

“How so, Mr. Jones?” asked Haviland, who noticed that Peters had
answered only by a significant smile.

“Why, you know, Squire Haviland,” replied Jones, “that I have been on
to attend several of the last sessions of your court, as the agent of
Secretary Fanning, [Footnote: Edward Fanning, secretary to Governor
Tryon, New York, before the revolution, obtained, by an act of
favoritism from his master, a grant of the township of Stratton, which,
in 1780, Fanning having been appointed a colonel of a regiment of
tories, was confiscated, and re-granted, by the legislature of Vermont,
to William Williams and others. Kent, afterwards Londonderry, which had
been granted to James Rogers, who has been introduced, and who became a
tory officer, was also, in like manner, confiscated and re-granted.] to
see to his landed interests in this quarter. Well, friend Peters, here,
who has gone considerably into land speculations east of the mountains,
you know, had brought, it seems, several suits for the possession of
lands, mostly in this same Guilford; and among the rest, one for a right
of land in possession of a sturdy young log-roller, whom they called
Harry Woodburn, who appeared in court in his striped woollen frock, and
insisted on defending his own case, as he proceeded to do with a great
deal of confidence. But when he came to produce his deed for the land he
contended was his own, it was found, to his utter astonishment, to bear
a later date than the one produced by Peters. This seemed to settle the
case against him. But he appeared to have no notion of giving up so;
and, by favor of court, the further hearing of the case was deferred
a day or two, to enable him to procure the town records, which, he
contended, would show the priority of his deed. So he posted back to
Guilford for the purpose; but, on arriving there, found, to his dismay,
that the records were nowhere to be found. One of the belligerent
parties of that town, it seems, had broken into the clerk’s office,
stolen the records, and buried them somewhere in the ground. The fellow,
therefore, had to return, and submit to a judgment against him.
Still, however, he clung to his case, and obtained a review of it, in
expectation that the records would be found before the next court. But
the poor fellow seemed doomed to disappointment. At the next court, no
records were forthcoming; and though he defended his case with great
zeal, he was thrown in his suit again; when he concluded, I suppose, to
yield to his fate without further ado.”

“Not by any means,” said Peters, in a tone of raillery. “He has
petitioned for a new trial; and the question is to come on at this
court.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Jones, laughing. “Well, I must confess I have never
seen so much dogged determination exhibited in so hopeless a case. And I
really could not help admiring the fellow’s spirit and uncultured force
of mind, as much misapplied as, of course, I suppose it to have been.
Your lawyer, Stevens, really appeared, once or twice, to be quite
annoyed at his home thrusts; while lawyer Knights, or Rough-hewn Sam,
as they call him, who, either from a sly wish to see his friend Stevens
bothered, or from a real wish to help Harry, volunteered to whisper a
few suggestions in his ear occasionally, sat by, and laughed out of
his eyes, till they ran over with tears, to see a court lawyer so hard
pushed by a country bumpkin.”

“Pooh! you make too much of the fellow,” said Peters, with assumed
contempt. “Why, he is a mere obstinate boor, whose self-will and vanity
led him to set up and persevere in a defence in which he knows there is
neither law nor justice.”

“And yet, Mr. Peters,” observed Miss Haviland, inquiringly, “the young
man must have known that he was making great expense for himself, in
obtaining delays and new trials, in the hope that the lost records
would be found. If he was not very confident those records would have
established his right, why should he have done this?”

“O, that was a mere pretence about the records altering the case,
doubtless,” replied Peters, with the air of one wishing to hear no more
on the subject.

“It may have been so,” rejoined the former, doubtfully; “but I should
have hardly inferred it from Mr. Jones’s description of the man and his
conduct.”

“Nor I,” interposed the other lady, playfully, but with considerable
spirit. “Mr. Jones has really excited my curiosity by his account of
this young plough-jogger. I should like to get a sight of him--shouldn’t
you, Sabrey?”

But the latter, though evidently musing on the subject, and mentally
discussing some unpleasant doubts and inferences which it seemed to
present to her active mind, yet evaded the question, and turned the
conversation, by directing the attention of her companion and the rest
of the company to a distant object in the wild landscape, which here
opened to their view. This was the tall, rugged mountain, which, rising
from the eastern shore of the Connecticut, was here, through an opening
in the trees, seen looming and lifting its snowy crest to the clouds,
and greeting the gladdened eyes of the way-worn travellers with the
silent but welcome announcement that they were now within a few miles
of the great river, and in the still more immediate vicinity of their
intended halting-place--the thriving little village which was then just
starting into life, under the auspices of the man from whom its name was
derived--the enterprising Colonel Brattle, of Massachusetts.

Having now the advantage of a road, which, as it received the
many concentrating paths of a thicker settlement, here began to be
comparatively firm, the travellers passed rapidly over the descending
grounds, and, in a short time, entered the village. As they were dashing
along towards the village inn, at a full trot, a man, with a vehicle
drawn by one horse, approaching in an intersecting road from the south,
struck into the same street a short distance before them. His whole
equipment was very obviously of the most simple character,--a rough
board box, resting on four upright wooden pins inserted into a couple
of saplings, which were bent up in front for runners--the whole making
what, in New England phrase, is termed a _jumper_, constituted his
sleigh. And this vehicle was drawn by a long switch-tailed young pony,
whose unsteady gait, as he briskly ambled along the street, pricking up
his ears and veering about at every new object by the way-side, showed
him to be but imperfectly broken. The owner of this rude contrivance for
locomotion was evidently some young farmer from the neighboring
country. But although his dress and mode of travelling seemed thus to
characterize him, yet there was that in his personal appearance, as
plain as was his homespun garb, which was calculated to command at once
both attention and respect. And as he now rose and stood firmly planted
in his sleigh, occasionally looking back to watch the motions of the
team behind him, with his long, toga-like woollen frock drawn snugly
over his finely-sloping shoulders and well-expanded bust, and closely
girt about at the waist by a neatly-knotted Indian belt, while the
flowing folds below streamed gracefully aside in the wind, he displayed
one of those compact, shapely figures, which the old Grecian sculptors
so delighted to delineate. And in addition to these advantages of
figure, he possessed an extremely fine set of features, which were shown
off effectively by the profusion of short, jetty locks, that curled
naturally around his white temples and his bold, high forehead.

“Miss McRea--Jane,” said Jones, turning round to the amiable girl,
and tapping her on the shoulder, with the confiding smile and tender
playfulness of the accepted lover, as he was,--“Jane, you said, I think,
that you should like to get a sight of that spunky opponent of Mr.
Peters, whom we were talking of a little while since--did you not?”

“O, yes, yes, to be sure I did,” replied the other briskly; “but why
that question, just at this time?”

“Because, if I do not greatly mistake, that man who is pushing on before
us, in yon crazy-looking establishment, is the self-same young fellow.
Is it not so, Peters?”

“I have not noticed him particularly, nor do I care whether it is he
or not,” answered Peters, with an affected indifference, with which
his uneasy and frowning glances, as he kept his eye keenly fixed on the
person in question, but illy comported. “Well that is the fellow--that
is Harry Woodburn, you may rely on it, ladies,” rejoined Jones, gayly,
as he faced about in his seat.

Both young ladies now threw intent and curious glances forward on the
man thus pointed out to them, till they caught, as they did the next
moment, a full and fair view of his personal appearance; when they
turned and looked at each other with expressions of surprise, which
plainly indicated that the object of their thoughts was quite a
different person from what they had been led to expect.

“His dress, to be sure, _is_ rather coarse,” observed Miss Haviland
to her companion, in a low tone; “but he is no boor; nor can every one
boast of--” Here she threw a furtive glance at Peters, when she appeared
to read something in his countenance which caused her to suspend the
involuntary comparison which was evidently passing in her mind, and to
keep her eye fixed on his motions.

The arrogant personage last named, wholly unconscious of this scrutiny,
now began to incite his horses afresh, frequently applying the lash with
unwonted severity, and then suddenly curbing them in, till the spirited
animals became so frantic that they could scarcely be restrained from
dashing off at a run. The young farmer, in the mean while, finding
himself closely pressed by those behind him, without any apparent
disposition on their part to turn out and pass by him, now veered partly
out of the road, to give the others, with the same change in their
course to the opposite side, an opportunity, if they chose, of going by,
as might easily have been done with safety to all concerned.

“Mr. Peters!” suddenly exclaimed Miss Haviland, in a tone of energetic
remonstrance, at the same time catching at his arm, as if to restrain
him from some intended movement, which her watchful eye had detected.

This appeal, however, which was rather acted than spoken, was unheeded,
or came too late; for, at that instant, the chafing and maddened horses
dashed furiously forward, directly over the exposed corner of the young
man’s vehicle, which, under the iron-bound feet of the fiercely-treading
animals, and the heavy sleigh runners that followed, came down with a
crash to the ground, leaving him barely time to clear himself from the
wreck, by leaping forward into the snow. Startled by the noise behind
him, the frightened pony made a sudden but vain effort to spring forward
with the still connected remains of the jumper, which were, at the
instant confined down by the passing runners of the large sleigh; when
snorting and wild with desperation, he reared himself upright on his
hinder legs, and fell over backwards, striking, with nearly the whole
weight of his body, upon his doubled neck, which all saw at a glance was
broken by the fall.

With eyes flashing with indignation, young Woodburn bounded forward to
the head of the aggressing team, boldly seized the nearest horse by his
nostrils and bridle curb, and, in spite of his desperate rearing and
plunging, under the rapidly applied whip of the enraged driver, soon
succeeded, by daring and powerful efforts, in bringing him and his mate
to a stand.

“Let go there, fellow, on your peril!” shouted Peters, choking with rage
at his defeat in attempting to ride over and escape his bold antagonist.

“Not till I know what all this means, sir!” retorted Woodburn, with
unflinching spirit.

“Detain us if you dare, you young ruffian!” exclaimed the sheriff,
protruding his harsh visage from one side of the sleigh. “Begone! or I
will arrest you in the king’s name, sir!”

“You will show your warrant for it first, Mr. Sheriff,” replied the
former, turning to Patterson with cool disdain. “I have nothing to
do with you, sir; but I hold this horse till the outrage I have just
received is atoned for, or at least explained.”

“My good friend,” interposed Jones, in a respectful manner, “you must
not suppose we have designedly caused your disaster. Our horses, which
are high-mettled, as you see, took a sudden start, and the mischief was
done before they could be turned or checked.”

“Now, let go that horse, will you, scoundrel?” again exclaimed Peters,
still chafing with anger, but evidently disturbed and uneasy under the
cold, searching looks of the other.

“Hear me first, John Peters!” replied Woodburn, with the same determined
manner as before. “I care not for your abusive epithets, and have only
to say of them, that they are worthy of the source from which they
proceed. But you have knowingly and wickedly defrauded me of my farm;
unless I obtain redress, as I little expect, from a court which seems so
easily to see merits in a rich man’s claim. Yes, you have defrauded me,
sir, out of my hard-earned farm; and there,” he continued, pointing
to his gasping horse,--“there lies nearly half of all my remaining
property--dead and gone! ay, and by your act, which, from signs I had
previously noticed, and from the tones of that young lady’s exclamation
at the instant, (and God bless her for a heart which could be kind in
such company,) I shall always believe was wilfully committed. And if I
can make good my suspicions and a court of law will not give me justice,
I will have it elsewhere! There, sir, go,” he added, relinquishing his
hold on the horse, and stepping aside,--“go! but remember I claim a
future reckoning at your hands!”

The sleigh now passed on to the yard of the inn, where the company
alighted, and soon disappeared within its doors, leaving the young
man standing alone in the road, gazing after them with that moody and
disquieted kind of countenance which usually settles on the face on the
subsidence of a strong gust of passion.

“Poor pony!” he at length muttered, sadly, as, rousing himself, he
now turned towards his petted beast, that lay dead in his rude
harness,--“poor pony! But there is no help for you now, nor for me
either, I fear, as illy as I can afford to lose you. But it is not so
much the loss, as the manner--the manner!” he repeated, bitterly, as
he proceeded to undo the fastenings of the tackle, with the view of
removing the carcass and the broken sleigh from the road.

While he was thus engaged, a number of men, most of them his townsmen,
who being, like himself, on their way to court, had stopped at the inn,
or store, near by, where the noise of the fray had aroused them, now
came hastening to the spot.

“What is all this, Harry?” exclaimed the foremost, as he came up and
threw a glance of surprise and concern on the ruins before him.

“You can see for yourselves,” was his moody reply, as others now
arrived, and, with inquiring looks, gathered around him.

“Yes, yes; but how was it done?”

“John Peters, who just drove up to the tavern, yonder, with a load of
court gentry, run over me--that’s all,” he answered, with an air that
showed his feelings to be still too much irritated to be communicative.

But the company, among whom he seemed to be a favorite were not to be
repulsed by a humor for which they appeared to understand how to make
allowance, but continued to press him with inquiries and soothing words,
till their manifestations of sympathy and offers of assistance had
gradually won him into a more cheerful mood; when, throwing off his
reserve, he thanked them kindly, and frankly related what he knew of
the affair, the particulars of which obviously produced a deep sensation
among the listeners. All present, after hearing the recital of the
facts, and on coupling them with the well-known disposition of Peters,
and his previous injuries to Woodburn, at once declared their belief
that the aggression was intentional, and warmly espoused this cause of
their outraged friend and townsman. A sort of council of war was then
holden; the affair was discussed and set down as another item in the
catalogue of injuries and oppressions of which the court party had been
guilty. Individuals were despatched into all the nearest houses,
and elsewhere, for the purpose of discovering what evidence might be
obtained towards sustaining a prosecution. It was soon ascertained,
however, that no one had seen the fracas, except the parties in
interest,--all Peters’s company being so accounted,--and that,
consequently, no hope remained of any legal redress. On this, some
proposed measures of club-law retaliation, some recommended reprisals
on the same principle, and others to force Peters, as soon as he
should appear in the street, to make restitution for the loss he had
occasioned. And so great was the excitement, that had the latter then
made his appearance,--which, it seemed, he was careful not to do,--it is
difficult to say what might have been his reception. But contrary to the
expectations of all, Woodburn, who had been thoughtfully pacing up and
down the road, a little aloof from the rest, during the discussion,
now came forward, and, in a firm and manly manner, opposed all the
propositions which had been made in his behalf.

“No,” said he, in conclusion, “such measures will not bear thinking of.
I threatened him myself with something of the kind you have proposed.
But a little reflection has convinced me I was wrong; for should I take
this method of obtaining redress, nowever richly he might deserve it
at my hands, I should but be doing just what I condemn in him, and thus
place myself on a level with him in his despicable conduct. No, we will
let him alone, and give him all the rope he will take; and if he
don’t hang for his misdeeds, he will doubtless, by his conduct, aid in
hastening on the time, which, from signs not to be mistaken, cannot, I
think, be far distant, when a general outbreak will place him, and all
like him, who have been riding over us here rough-shod for years, in a
spot where he and they will need as much of our pity as they now have of
our hatred and fear.”

“Ay, ay,” responded several, with significant nods and looks; “that time
will come, and sooner than they dream of.”

“And then,” said one, “it will not be with us as it was with one last
fall; when, just as the winter was coming on, and milk was half our
dependence for the children, our only cow was knocked off by a winking
sheriff, for eleven and threepence, to this same Peters.”

“Nor as it was with me,” said another poorly-clad man of the crowd,
“when for a debt, which, before it was sued, was only the price of a
bushel of wheat I bought to keep wife and little ones from starving, my
pair of two-year-olds and seven sheep were all seized and sold under the
hammer, for just enough to pay the debt and costs, to Squire Gale, the
clerk of the court, who is another of those conniving big bugs, who are
seen going round with the sheriff, at such times, with their pockets
full of money to buy up the poor man’s property for a song, though never
a dollar will they lend him to redeem it with.”

“No, my friends,” said a tall, stout, broad-chested man, with a clear,
frank, and fearless countenance, who, having arrived at the spot
as Woodburn began to speak, had been standing outside of the crowd,
silently listening to the remarks of the different speakers,--“no, my
friends; when the time just predicted arrives, it will no longer be as
it has been with _any_ of us. We shall _then_, I trust, all be allowed
to exercise the right which, according to my notions, we have from
God--that of choosing our own rulers, who, then, would be men from among
ourselves, knowing something about the wants and wishes of the people,
and willing to provide for their distresses in times like these. I have
little to say about individual men, or their acts of oppression; for
such men and such acts we may expect to see, so long as this accursed
system of foreign rule is suffered to remain. We had better, therefore,
not waste much of our ammunition on this or that tool of royalty, but
save it for higher purposes. And, for this reason, I highly approve of
the course that my young neighbor, Woodburn, has just taken, in _his_
case; although, from what I have heard I suspect it was an outrageous
one.”

“Thank you, thank you, Colonel Carpenter,” said Woodburn, coming forward
and cordially offering the other his hand; “the approbation of a man
like you more than reconciles me to the course which, I confess, cost me
a hard struggle to adopt.”

“Ay, you were right, Harry,” rejoined the former, “though a hard matter
to bear; and though I am willing this, and all such outrages, should go
in to swell the cup of our grievances, that it may the sooner overflow,
yet you were right; and it was spoken, too, like a man. But let me
suggest, whether you, and all present, had not better now disperse. The
powers that be will soon have their eyes upon us, and I would rather not
excite their jealousy, at this time, on account of certain measures we
have in contemplation, which I will explain to you hereafter.”

“Your advice is good,” returned Woodburn, “and I will see that it is
followed, as soon as I can find some one to dispose of the body of my
luckless pony; for then I propose to throw the harness into some sleigh,
and join such of the company here as are on foot on their way to court.”

“Put your harness aboard my double sleigh standing in the tavern yard
yonder, Harry. And I am sorry I have too much of a load to ask you to
ride yourself. But where shall I leave the arness?”

“At Greenleaf’s store, at the river, if you will; for I conclude you are
bound to Westminster, as well as the rest of us.”

“I am, and shall soon be along after you, as I wish to go through
to-night, if possible, being suspicious of a flood, that may prevent me
from getting there with a team, by to-morrow. Neither the rain nor thaw
is over yet, if I can read prognostics. How strong and hot this south
wind blows! And just cast your eye over on to West River mountain,
yonder--how rapidly those long, ragged masses of fog are creeping up its
sides towards the summit! That sign is never failing.”

Woodburn’s brief arrangements were soon completed; when he and his
newly-encountered foot companions, each provided with a pair of rackets,
or snow-shoes,--articles with which foot-travellers, when the snow was
deep, often, in those times, went furnished,--took up their line of
march down the road leading to the Connecticut, leaving Peters and his
company, as well as all others who had teams, refresing themselves or
their horses at the village inn.

But, before we close this chapter, in order that the reader not versed
in the antiquarian lore of those times may more clearly understand
some of the allusions of the preceding pages, and also that he may
not question the probability that such a company as we have introduced
should be thus brought together, and be thus on their way to a court so
far into the interior of a new settlement, it may not be amiss here to
observe, that the sale and purchase of lands in Vermont at this period
constituted one of the principal matters of speculation among men
of property, not only those residing here, but those residing in the
neighboring colonies, and especially in that of New York; and that the
frequent controversies, arising out of disputed titles, made up the
chief business of the court, which, on the erection of a new county by
the legislature of New York, embracing all the south-eastern part of the
_Grants_, and known by the name of Cumberland, had here, several years
before, been established. And it was business of this kind, and the
personal, in addition to the political, interest they had in sustaining
a court, the judges of which were themselves said to be engaged in
these speculations, and therefore expected to favor, as far as might
be decent, their brother speculators, that led to the journey of the
present company of loyalists, consisting as before seen, of Haviland, a
large landholder of Bennington; Peters, an unconscientious speculator in
the same kind of property, belonging to a noted family of tories of that
name, residing in Pownal, and an adjoining town in New York; and Jones,
the agent of Fanning, from the vicinity of Fort Edward; the fated
Miss McRea, of sad historical memory, from the same place, having been
induced to come on with her lover, at the previous solicitation of her
friend, Miss Haviland, to join her, her father, and Peters, to whom she
was affianced in their proposed excursion over the mountains to court.



CHAPTER II.

  “Now forced aloft, bright bounding through the air
   Moves the bleak ice, and sheds a dazzling glare;
   The torn foundations on the surface ride,
   And wrecks of winter load the downward tide.”


After travelling a short distance in the road, Woodburn and his
companions halted, put on their snow-shoes, and, turning out to the left
into the woods, commenced, with the long, loping step peculiar to the
racket-shod woodsman, their march over the surface of the untrodden
snow. The road just named, which formed the usual route from the village
they had quitted to their place of destination, led first directly to
the Connecticut, in an easterly direction, and then, turning to the
north, passed up the river near its western banks, thus describing in
its course a right angle, at the point of which, resting on the river,
stood the store of Stephen Greenleaf, the first, and, for a while, the
only merchant in Vermont; whose buildings, with those perhaps of one or
two dependants, constituted the then unpromising nucleus around
which has since grown up the wealthy and populous village of East
Brattleborough. Such being the course of the travelled route, it will
readily be seen, that the main object of our foot company, in leaving
it, was the saving of distance, to be effected by striking across this
angle to some eligible point on the northern road. And they accordingly
pitched their course so as to enter the road near its intersection with
the Wantastiquet, or West River,--one of the larger tributaries of the
Connecticut,--which here comes lolling down from the eastern side of
the Green Mountains, and pours its rock-lashed and rapid waters into the
comparatively quiet bosom of the ingulfing stream below.

After a walk of about half an hour, through alternating fields and
forest, they arrived, as they had calculated, at the banks of the
tributary above named, where it was crossed on the ice by the winter
road, which, owing to the failure of the rude bridge near the mouth of
the stream, and the difficulty of descending the bank in its immediate
vicinity, had been broken out through the adjoining meadow and over
the river at this point, which was consequently a considerable distance
above the ordinary place of crossing.

On reaching this spot, it was found that the flood, which, on the high
grounds, where we have last been taking the reader, was but little
observable, had made, and was evidently still making, a most rapid
progress. The rising waters had already forced themselves through the
small but constantly widening outlets of their strong, imprisoning
barriers, and were beginning to hurry along, in two dark, turbid
streams, over the surface of the ice, beneath the opposite banks, where
it was still too strongly confined to the roots and frozen earth to
permit of its rising; while the uplifting mass, in the middle of the
river, had nearly attained the level of the surrounding meadows. And,
although the main body still remained unbroken, yet the deep, dull
reports that rose in quick succession to the ear from the cracking mass
in every direction around, and the sharp, hissing, gurgling sounds
of the water, which was gushing violently upwards through the fast
multiplying fissures, together with the visible, tremor-like agitation
that pervaded the whole, plainly evinced that it could not long
withstand the tremendous pressure of the laboring column of waters
beneath.

The travellers, who were not to be turned back by a foot or two of water
in their path over the ice, so long as the foundation remained firm,
drew up a long spruce pole from a neighboring fence, and, shooting it
forward through the first stream of water, passed over upon it to the
uncovered ice; and then, drawing their spar-bridge to the water next the
other bank, went through the same process, till they had all reached the
opposite shore unwet and in safety.

Here they again paused to note the appearance of the disturbed elements;
for, in addition to the threatening aspect which the river was here
fast assuming, a slight trembling of the ground began occasionally to
be perceptible; while unusual sounds seemed to come mingling from a
distance, with the roaring of the wind and the noise of rushing waters,
as if earth, air, and water were all joining their disturbed forces for
some general commotion.

“The water and ice are strangely agitated, it appears to me,” observed
Woodburn to his companions, as they stood looking on the scene before
them. “See how like a pot the water boils up through that crevice
yonder! Then hear that swift, lumbering rush of the stream beneath!
The whole river, indeed, seems fairly to groan, like some huge animal
confined down by an insupportable burden, from which it is laboring to
free itself. I have noticed such appearances, I think, when the ice was
on the point of breaking up; but that can hardly be the case here, at
present can it?”

“On the point of breaking up, now?” said one of the company in reply.
“No, indeed! Why, the ice is more than three feet thick, and as sound
and solid as a rock. Should it rain from this time till to-morrow noon,
it won’t start.”

“Well, now, I don’t know about that,” remarked an observant old settler,
who had been silently regarding the different portents to which we have
alluded. “I don’t know about the ice staying here twenty hours, or even
one. This has been no common thaw, that we have had for the last six or
eight hours, let me tell you.”

“And still,” observed Woodburn, “I should not think the water high
enough as yet to cause a breaking up, should you?”

“With a slow rise, and in a still time, perhaps not, Harry. But when
the water is rising rapidly, as now, and especially if there is a strong
wind, like this, to increase the motion, as it does either by outward
pressure, or by forcing the air through the chinks in under the ice,
I have always noticed that the stream acts on the ice at a much less
height, and much more powerfully, than when the rise is slow and the
weather calm.”

“Then you look upon the appearances I named as indications that such an
event is soon to take place here, do you?”

“I do, Harry, much sooner than you are expecting; for the signs you name
are not the only ones which tell that story, as I will soon convince you
all, if you will be still and listen a moment.”

This remark caused the company to pause and place themselves in a
listening attitude.

“There,” resumed the speaker, pointing up to the bold, shaggy steeps
of the mountain, which we have before alluded to, and which, from the
opposite side of the Connecticut, and within a few furlongs from the
spot where they now stood, rose, half concealed in its “misty shroud,”
 like some huge battlement, to the heavens--“there! do you hear that
dull roar, with occasionally a crashing sound, away up there among those
clouds of fog near the top peaks of the mountain?”

“Ay, ay, quite distinctly.”

“Well, that is an echo, which, strangely enough, we can hear when we
can’t the original sound, and which is made by the striking up there
of the roar of the river above us; that of course must be open, having
already broken up and got the ice in motion somewhere. But hark again!
Now, don’t you hear that rumbling noise? Can’t you, now, both hear and
feel those quick, irregular, deep, jarring sounds?”

“Yes, plainly--very plainly, now--you are right. Sure enough, the ice in
the river above us is on the move!” responded all, with excited looks.

“To be sure it is; and from the noise it makes, it must be coming down
upon us with the speed of a race-horse! Let us all to the hills, boys,
where we can get a fair view of the spectacle.”

The company, accordingly, now all ran to gain the top of a neighboring
swell, which commanded a view of West River for a long distance up
the stream, as well as one of a considerable reach of the more distant
Connecticut, both of which views were obstructed, at the spot they
had just left, by a point of woods and turn in the river in the former
instance, and by intervening hills in the latter.

Among the many wild and imposing exhibitions of nature, peculiar to the
mountainous regions of our northern clime, there is no one, perhaps, of
more fearful magnificence, than that which is sometimes presented in the
breaking up of one of our large rivers by a winter flood; when the ice,
in its full strength, enormous thickness, and rock-like solidity, is
rent asunder, with loud, crashing explosions, and hurled up into ragged
mountains, and borne onward before the raging torrent with inconceivable
force and frightful velocity, spreading devastation along the banks in
its course, and sweeping away the strongest fabrics of human power which
stand opposed to its progress, like the feeble weeds that disappear from
the path of a tornado.

Such a spectacle, as they reached their proposed stand, now burst on the
view of the astonished travellers. As far as the eye could reach upwards
along the windings of the stream, the whole channel was filled with the
mighty mass of ice, driving down towards them with fearful rapidity,
and tumbling, crashing, grinding, and forcing its way, as it came,
with collisions that shook the surrounding forest, and with the din and
tumult of an army of chariots rushing together in battle. Here, tall
trees on the bank were beaten down and overwhelmed, or, wrenched off
at the roots and thrown upwards, were whirled along on the top of the
rushing volume, like feathers on the tossing wave. There, the changing
mass was seen swelling up into mountain-like elevations, to roll onward
a while, and, then gradually sinking away, be succeeded by another in
another form; while, with resistless front, the whole immense moving
body drove steadily on, ploughing and rending its way into the unbroken
sheet of ice before it, which burst, divided, and was borne down
beneath the boiling flood, or hurled upwards into the air, with a noise
sometimes resembling the sounds of exploding muskets, and sometimes the
crash of falling towers.

But the noise of another and similar commotion in an opposite direction,
now attracted their attention, They turned, and their eyes were greeted
with a scene, which, though less startling from its distance, yet
even surpassed, in picturesque grandeur, the one they had just been
witnessing. Through the whole visible reach of the Connecticut, a
long, white, glittering column of ice, with its ridgy and bristling top
towering high above the adjacent banks, was sweeping by and onward, like
the serried lines of an army advancing to the charge; while the broad
valley around even back to the summits of the far-off hills, was
resounding with the deafening din that rose from the extended line of
the booming avalanche, with the deep rumblings of an earthquake mingled
with the tumultuous roar of an approaching tempest.

The attention of the company, however, was now drawn from this
magnificent display of the power of the elements, by an object of more
immediate interest to their feelings. This was an open double sleigh,
approaching, on the opposite side of the river, towards the place at
which they had just crossed over, in the manner we have described.
The mountain mass of ice that was still forcing its way down the river
before them, with increasing impetus, was now within three hundred
yards of the pass, to which those in the sleigh were hastening, with the
evident design of crossing. And though the latter, owing to a point of
woods that intervened at a bend in the stream a short distance above,
could not see the coming ice, yet they seemed aware of its dangerous
proximity; for, as they now drove down to the edge of the water, they
paused, and a large man, who appeared to have control of the team,
rose to his feet, and with words that could not be distinguished in
the roaring of the wind and the noise from the scene above, made an
appealing gesture, which was readily understood by our foot travellers
as an inquiry whether the team would have time to cross before the ice
reached the spot.

“It is Colonel Carpenter and his company,” said Woodburn. “He will have
no time to spare, but enough, I think, if he instantly improves it, to
get safely over. He has smart horses, and is anxious to be on this side
of the river. Let him come.”

Accordingly, they returned him encouraging gestures, which being seen
and understood by him, he instantly whipped up his horses, and, forcing
them on the ice, soon effected his passage in safety, and drove
rapidly down the road, leading along the northern bank of the stream to
Connecticut, the object of his speed being obviously to keep forward of
the icy flood, which by his progress might otherwise be soon obstructed.

“There,” resumed Woodburn, breaking the silence with which he and his
companions had been witnessing the rather hazardous passage of their
friends,--“there, the colonel is well over; but his is the last sleigh
to cross this year, unless it be drawn by winged horses.”

“Well, winged, or not winged, there is another, it seems, about to make
the attempt,” said one of the company, pointing across the river, where
a covered double sleigh, with showy equipage was dashing at full speed
down the road towards the stream.

“It is a hostile craft!” “Peters and his gang!” “We owe them no favors!”
 “Let the enemy take care of themselves!” were the exclamations which
burst from the recently-incensed group, as all eyes were now turned to
the spot.

“O, no! no!” exclaimed Woodburn, with looks of the most lively concern.
“Be they foes or friends, they must not be suffered to enter upon that
river. Why, the breaking ice has already nearly reached the bend, and
unless it stops there, that path across the stream, within five minutes,
will be as traceless as the ocean! Run down to the bank, and hail them!”
 he continued, turning to those around him. “I fear they would not listen
to me. Will no one go to warn them against an attempt which must prove
their destruction?” he added, reproachfully glancing around him.

“Shall we interfere unasked?” said one, who was smarting under a sense
of former injuries; “ay, and interfere, too, to save such a man as
Peters, that he may go on robbing us of our farms?”

“And save such a man as Sheriff Patterson, also, that he may hang the
innocent and pious Herriot?” said another, bitterly.

“And save them all, that they may keep up the court which will soon hang
or rob the whole of us?” added a third, in the same spirit.

“O, wrong--wickedly wrong! and, if no one will go, I must,” cried
Woodburn, turning hastily from the spot, and making his way down the
hill towards the river with all the speed he was master of.

A few seconds sufficed to bring him to the edge of the stream, when,
in a voice that rose above the roar of the wind and waters around, he
called on Peters, who was already urging his reluctant and snorting
horses down the opposite bank into the water, warned him of the
situation of the ice, and begged him, as he valued the lives of his
friends, to desist from his perilous attempt.

“Do you think to frighten me?” shouted Peters, who, perceiving the
speaker to be his despised opponent, became suspicious, as the latter
had feared, that the warning was but a _ruse_ to prevent him from going
on that night,--“do you think to frighten me back, liar, when a heavy
team has just passed safely over before my eyes?”

And, in defiance of the timely caution he had received, and the warning
sounds, of which his senses might have apprised him, had he paused
a moment to listen, he furiously applied the whip, and plunged madly
through the water towards the middle ice But as rapidly as he drove,
the team had not passed over more than one third of the distance across,
before he and all with him became fully aware of the fearful peril they
had so recklessly incurred; for, at this critical moment, with awful
brunt, the mountain wave of icy ruins came rolling round the screening
point into full view, and not fifty yards above them. A cry of alarm
at once burst from every occupant of the menaced vehicle and Peters,
no less frightened than the rest, suddenly checked the horses, with the
half-formed design of turning and attempting to regain the shore he
had just left. But on glancing round, he beheld, to his dismay, the ice
burst upward from its winter moorings along the shore, leaving between
them and the bank a dark chasm of whirling waters, over which it
were madness to think of repassing. At that instant, with a deep and
startling report, the broad sheet of ice confining the agitated river
burst asunder parted, and was afloat in a hundred pieces around them.
Another piercing cry of terror and distress issued from the devoted
sleigh and Miss Haviland, with an involuntary impulse at the fearful
shock, leaped out on to the large cake of ice on which the sleigh and
horses were resting. She seemed instantly to perceive her error; but
before she could regain the sleigh, or even be caught by the extended
hands of her friends, the frightened horses made a sudden and desperate
lunge forward, and, with a speed that could neither be checked nor
controlled, dashed onward over the dissevering mass, leaping from piece
to piece of their sinking support, and each in turn falling in, to be
drawn out by his mate, till they reached the shore, and rushed furiously
up the bank, beyond the sweep of the dreadful torrent from which they
had so miraculously escaped.

“O God of heaven, have mercy on my daughter!” exclaimed Haviland, in
a piteous burst of anguish, as he sprang out of the sleigh among the
company, who, with horror-stricken looks, stood on the bank mutely
gazing on the fast receding form of the luckless maiden, thus
left behind, to be borne away, in all human probability, to speedy
destruction.

For a moment no one stirred or spoke, all standing amazed, and seemingly
paralyzed at the thought of her awful situation having no hope of her
rescue, and expecting every instant to see her crushed, or ingulfed
among the ice that was wildly heaving and tumbling on every side around
her. But fortunately for her, the broad, solid block, on which she had
alighted, and on which she continued still to retain her stand, was,
by the submerged and rising masses beneath, gradually and evenly forced
upwards to the top of the column, with which it was moving swiftly down
the current. And there she stood, like a marble statue on its pedestal,
sculptured for some image of woe, her bonnet thrown back from her
blanched features, and her loosened hair streaming wildly in the wind;
while one hand was extended doubtfully towards the shore, and the other
lifted imploringly to heaven, as if in supplication for that aid from
above, which she now scarcely hoped to receive from her friends below.

“O Sabrey, Sabrey! must you indeed perish?” at length burst convulsively
from Miss McRea, in the most touching accents of distress.

“Is there no help? Can no one save her?” added the agonized father.

“Yes, save her--save her!” exclaimed Peters, now eagerly addressing
the men he affected so to despise. “Can’t some of you get on to the ice
there, and bring her off? Five guineas to the man who will do it; yes,
ten! Quick! run, run, or you’ll be too late,” he added, turning, from
one to another, without offering to start himself.

Throwing a look of silent scorn on his contemptible foe, Woodburn,
having been anxiously casting about him in thought for some means of
rescuing the ill-fated girl from her impending doom, now, with the air
of one acting only on his own responsibility, hastily called on his
companions to follow him, and led the way, with rapid strides, down
along the banks of the stream, as near the main channel as the water and
ice, already bursting over the banks into the road, would permit. But
although he could easily keep abreast of the fair object of his anxiety,
of whom he occasionally obtained such glimpses through the brushwood
here lining the banks as to show him that she still retained her footing
on the same block of ice, which still continued to be borne on with
the surrounding mass, yet he could perceive no way of reaching her--no
earthly means by which she could be snatched from the terrible doom
that seemed so certainly to await her; for along the whole extent of the
moving ice, and even many rods in advance of it, the water, dammed up,
and forced from the choked channel, was gushing over the banks, and
sweeping down by their sides in a stream that nothing could withstand.
And, to add to the almost utter hopelessness with which he was compelled
to view her situation, he now soon began to be admonished that she was
immediately threatened by a danger from which she had thus far been so
providentially preserved--that of being crushed or swallowed up at once
in the broken ice. He could perceive, from the increasing commotion of
the ice around her, that her hitherto level and unbroken support was
growing every moment more insecure and uncertain. And as it rose and
fell, or was pitched forward and thrown up aslant, in the changing
volume, he could plainly hear her piteous shrieks, and see her flying
from side to side of the plunging body, to avoid being hurled into the
frightful chasms which were continually yawning to receive her.

“Lost! lost!” he uttered with a sigh; “no earthly aid can now avail
her. But stay! stay!” he continued, as his eye fell on the two or three
remaining beams or string-pieces of the old bridge still extended across
the river a short distance below. “If she reaches that place alive, and
I can but gain the spot in time, I may yet save her. O Heaven, help me
to the speed and the means of rescuing her from this dreadful death!”

And calling loudly to his companions, whom he had already outstripped,
to come on, he now set forward, with all possible speed, for the place
which afforded the last chance for the poor girl’s rescue. The banks
of the river, at the point which it was now his object to gain, were so
much more elevated than those above, that he had little fear of finding
the path leading on to the bridge obstructed by the water. And it had
glanced through his mind, as he descried this forgotten spot, and saw
the remains of the bridge still standing, that the maiden might here
be assisted to escape on to the bank, or be drawn up by a cord, or some
other implement, to the top of the bridge, which, being high above the
ordinary level of the water, would not probably be swept away by the
ice, at least not till that part of it on which she was situated should
have passed under it. There was an occupied log-house standing but a
short distance from the place, and the owner, as Woodburn drew near,
was, luckily, just making his appearance at the door.

“A rope, a rope! be ready with a rope,” shouted Woodburn, pointing to
the scene of trouble, as soon as he could make himself understood by the
wondering settler.

The man, after a hurried glance from the speaker to the indicated scene,
and thence to the bridge below, during which he seemed to comprehend
the nature of the emergency, instantly disappeared within the door.
In another moment Woodburn came up, and burst into the house, where he
found the settler and his wife eagerly running out the rope of their
bedstead, which had been hastily stripped of the bed and clothing,
and the fastenings cut, for the purpose. The instant the rope was
disengaged, was seized by the young man, who, bidding the other to
follow, rushed out of the house, and bounded forward to the bridge,
which they both reached just as the unbroken ice was here beginning
to quake and move from the impulse of the vast body above, which, now
scarcely fifty paces distant, was driving down, with deafening crash,
towards them.

“Thank Heaven, she yet lives, and is nearing us!” exclaimed Woodburn,
as he ran out on to the partially covered beams of the bridge, where he
could obtain a clear view of the channel above.

She is there, hedged in, though as yet riding securely in the midst of
that hideous jam, but, if not drawn up here, will be the next moment
lost among the spreading mass, as it is disgorged into the Connecticut
here below.”

“Shall we throw down an end of the rope for her to catch?” said the
settler, hastening to Woodburn’s side.

“I dare not risk her strength to hold on to it; I must go down myself,”
 said Woodburn, hurriedly knotting the two ends of the cord round his
body. “Now stand by me, my friend. Brace yourself back firmly on this
string-piece; let me down, and the instant I have secured her in my
arms, draw us both up together.”

“I can let you down; but to draw you both up--” replied the other,
hesitating at the thought of the hazardous attempt.

“You must try it,” eagerly interrupted the intrepid young man, “My
friends will be here in a moment to aid you. There she comes! be ready!
Now!”

Accordingly, sliding over the edge of the bridge, Woodburn was gradually
let down by the strong and steady hands of the settler, till he was
swinging in the air, on a level with that part of the approaching mass
on which stood the half-senseless object of his perilous adventure. The
foremost of the broken ice was now sweeping swiftly by, just beneath
his feet. Another moment, and she will be there! She evidently sees the
preparation for her deliverance; a faint cry of joy escapes her lips,
and her hands are extended towards the proffered aid. And now, riding
high on the billowy column, she is borne on nearer and nearer towards
those who wait, in breathless silence, for her approach. And now she
comes--she is here! She is caught in the eager grasp of the brave youth;
and, the next instant, by the giant effort of the strong man above
them, they are together drawn up within a few feet of the bending and
tottering bridge. But with all his desperate exertions, he can raise
them no higher, and there they hang suspended over the dark abyss of
whirling waters that had opened in the disrupturing mass beneath, at
the instant, as if to receive them; while a mountain billow of ice,
that must overwhelm them with certain destruction, is rolling down, with
angry roar, within a few rods of the spot. A groan of despair burst from
the exhausted man at the rope; and his grasp was about to give way.

“Hold on there, an instant! one instant longer!” cried a loud voice on
the right, where a tall, muscular form was seen bounding forward to the
spot.

“Quick, Colonel Carpenter! quick! O, for God’s sake, quick!” exclaimed
the settler, throwing an anguished and beseeching glance over his
shoulder towards the other.

The next instant, the powerful frame of the new-comer was bending over
the grasped rope; and, in another, both preservers and preserved were
on the bridge, from which they had barely time to escape, before it was
swept away, with a loud crash, and borne off on the top of the mighty
torrent. They were met on the bank by the companions of Woodburn, and
the friends of the rescued maiden, who came promiscuously running to
the spot; when loud and long were the gushing acclamations of joy and
gratitude that rang wildly up to heaven at the unexpected deliverance.



CHAPTER III.

  “The king can make a belted knight,
   Confer proud names, and a’ that;
   But pith of sense and pride of worth
   Are brighter ranks than a’ that.”


The village of Westminster yields, perhaps, in the tranquil and
picturesque beauty of its location, to few others in New England.
In addition to the advantage of a situation along the banks of that
magnificent river, of which our earliest epic poet, Barlow, in his
liquid numbers, has sung,

  “No watery glades through richer valleys shine,
   Nor drinks the sea a lovelier wave than thine,”

it stands upon an elevated plain, that could scarcely have been made
more level had it been smoothed and evened, by the instruments of art,
to fit it for the arena of some vast amphitheatre, which the place, with
the aid of a little fancy, may be very easily thought to resemble; for,
from the principal street, which is nearly a mile in extent, broad and
beautiful fields sweep away in every direction, till they meet, in the
distance, that crescent-like chain of hills, by which, with the river,
the place is enclosed.

It was probably this natural beauty of the place, together with its
proximity to the old fort at Walpole, at which a military establishment
was once maintained by the government of New Hampshire for the
protection of its frontier, that led to the early settlement and rapid
growth of this charming spot, which, having been entered by the pioneers
as far back as 1741, continued so to increase and prosper, though on the
edge of a wilderness unbroken, for many years, for hundreds of miles on
the north, that, at the opening of the American revolution, it was the
most populous and best built village in Vermont.

This place, at the period chosen for the beginning of our tale, had
been, for several years, the seat of justice for all the southern part
of this disputed territory, under the assumed jurisdiction of New
York, in which a majority of the inhabitants seemed to have tacitly
acquiesced. And the most prominent of its public buildings, as might be
expected, was the Court House, embracing the jail under the same roof.
This was a spacious square edifice conspicuously located, and of very
respectable architecture for the times. The village, also, contained
a meeting-house, school house, and the usual proportion of stores and
taverns. The whole place, indeed, had now nearly passed into the second
stage of existence, in American villages, when the pioneer log-houses
have given place to the more airy and elegant framed buildings; and,
compared with other towns, which, in this new settlement, were then just
emerging from the wilderness, it wore quite an ancient appearance.

Among the most commodious and handsome of the many respectable dwellings
which had here been erected, was that of Crean Brush, Esquire,
colonial deputy secretary of New York, and also an active member of the
legislature of that colony for this part of her claimed territory. This
house, at the sessions of the courts, especially, was the fashionable
place of resort for what was termed the court party gentry, and
other distinguished persons from abroad. To the interior of this
well-furnished and affectedly aristocratic establishment, we will now
repair, in order to resume the thread of our narrative.

In an upper chamber of the house, at a late hour of the same evening on
which occurred the exciting scenes described in the preceding pages, sat
the two young ladies, to whom the reader has already been introduced,
silently indulging in their different reveries before an open fire.
They had safely arrived in town, about an hour before, with all their
company, except Jones, who had been left at Brattleborough; and having
been consigned to the family of this mansion, with whom they had formed
a previous acquaintance at Albany, where Brush, the greater part of the
year, resided, and where both of the young ladies were educated, they
had taken some refreshment, and retired to the apartment prepared for
their reception. The demeanor of these fair companions, always widely
different, was particularly so at the present moment. Miss Haviland,
with her chin gracefully resting on one folded hand, and her calm and
beautiful, but now deeply-clouded brow, shaded by the white, taper
fingers of the other, was abstractedly gazing into the glowing coals on
the hearth before her, while the gentle, but less reflective McRea, with
a countenance disturbed only by the passing emotions of sympathy that
occasionally flitted over it, as she glanced at the downcast face of her
friend, sat quietly preparing for bed, by removing her ornaments, and
adjusting those long, golden tresses, with which, in after times,
her memory was destined to become associated in the minds of tearful
thousands, while reading the melancholy history of her tragic fate.

“Come, Sabrey,” at length said the latter, soothingly, “come, cheer
up. I cannot bear to see you so dejected. I would not brood over that
frightful scene any longer, but, feeling grateful and happy at my
escape, would dismiss it as soon as possible from my mind.”

“I am, Jane,” responded the other, partially rousing herself from her
reverie; “I am both grateful and happy at my providential escape.
But you are mistaken in supposing it is that scene which disquiets me
to-night.”

“Indeed!” replied the former, with a look of mingled surprise and
curiosity. “Why, I have been attributing your dejection and absence of
mind, this evening, to that cause alone. What else can have occurred to
disturb your thoughts to-night, let me ask?”

“Jane, in confidence, I will tell you,” replied Miss Haviland, looking
the other in the face, and speaking in a low, serious tone. “It is the
discovery which I have made, or at least think I have, this day, made,
respecting the true character of one who should command, in the relation
I stand with him, my entire esteem.”

“Mr. Peters? Though of course it is he to whom you allude. But what new
trait have you discovered in him, to-day, that leads you to distrust his
character?”

“What I wish I had not; what I still hope I may be deceived in; but
what, nevertheless, forces itself upon my mind, in spite of all my
endeavors to resist it. You recollect Mr. Jones’s account of the
lawsuit, in which Mr. Peters succeeded in obtaining the farm of this Mr.
Woodburn, whose gallant conduct we have all this afternoon witnessed?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Well, did you think that story, when rightly viewed, was very
creditable to Mr. Peters?”

“I am not sure I understood the case sufficiently to judge; did you?”

“Well enough, Jane, with the significant winks that passed between
Peters and the sheriff, to convince me that an unjust advantage had been
taken. But perhaps I could have been brought to believe myself mistaken
in this conclusion, had I seen nothing else to confirm it, and lower him
still more in my esteem.”

“What else _did_ you see?

“An exhibition of malice, Jane, which astonished as much as it
pained me. That pretended accident, in running over Woodburn, was
designed--nay, coolly designed.”

“Why, Sabrey Haviland! how can you talk, how can you believe, so about
one whose betrothing ring is now on your finger?”

“It is indeed painful to do so; but truth compels me.”

“Might you not have been mistaken?”

“No; I saw the whole movement. I had been watching him some time, and I
noticed how he prepared those fiery horses of his for a sudden spring,
and saw the look of malicious exultation accompanying the final act. And
even now, I shudder to think what guilt he might have incurred! Even as
it resulted, only in the destruction of property, how can I help being
shocked at the discovery of a secret disposition which could have
prompted such a deed? O, how different has been the conduct of him who
has thus been made the victim of his misusage!”

“Different! Why, what has he done? I was not aware--”

“True, I am reminded that I have not told you. That loquacious landlady,
where we stopped to dine, told me, as we were coming away, that there
had been a great excitement among the people in the street, about the
outrage; and that Peters would certainly have been mobbed, if Woodburn
had not interfered and prevented it.”

“Indeed! I should have hardly expected so much magnanimity in one of his
class. It was truly a noble return for the injuries he had received from
Peters.”

“Ay, and by this last act of saving my life, he has still more nobly
revenged himself upon Peters, and upon us all.”

“Assisted to save you, I conclude you mean; for I heard Peters tell
your father, that it was the settler who lived in the house near by, and
Colonel Carpenter, who finally rescued you.”

“Did he tell my father that story, without mentioning Woodburn?” asked
Miss Haviland, with a look of mingled surprise and displeasure.

“Yes, as he came back to meet us with the news, while we were getting
round with the sleigh to the spot.”

“Well, my father shall know the truth of the case; and Mr. Woodburn,
though he did not boast of his services, nor even stay to give me an
opportunity to thank him for what he had done, shall also know that we
are not insensible to his gallant conduct; for, whatever they may say,
Jane, I am indebted to him for my life. As dreadful as was my situation
among that crashing mass of ice, with which I was borne onward down
the stream, I saw all that was done. He led the way from the first,
contrived the plan, and with the assistance of the hesitating settler,
carried it into execution, with a promptitude that alone could have
saved me. It is true, that we both must have perished but for the timely
arrival of Colonel Carpenter; but that detracts nothing from the merits
of Mr. Woodburn, who, as we hung suspended over that frightful abyss, I
knew and felt, was throwing his life to the winds to save mine. O,
why could it not have been, as I have often said to myself during our
cheerless ride this evening,--why could it not have been Peters, to
perform all that I have this day seen in that poor, despised, and
persecuted young man?”

“Why, Mr. Peters certainly appeared much alarmed, and anxious that
something should be done to save you,” replied Miss McRea, after
a thoughtful pause, produced by the words and fervid manner of her
companion.

“Then why did he leave it to another to save me?” responded the former,
severely.

“That I do not know, certainly,” replied the other; “but he at once
bestirred himself, and I heard him offer five guineas, and I think he
doubled the price the next moment, to any one who would go on to the ice
and bring you off.”

“Five guineas!” exclaimed Miss Haviland, starting to her feet, with a
countenance eloquent with scorn and contempt--“five guineas, and at a
pinch, ten! What a singular fountain must that be, from which such a
thought, at such a time, could have flowed! Had it been one of those
favorite horses, it would have sounded well enough, perhaps, though I
think he would have offered more. It is well, however, that I now know
the price at which I am estimated,” she added, bitterly.

“It _does_ sound rather strangely, now you have named it,” responded
Miss McRea, abashed at the unexpected construction put on what she had
communicated, and mortified and half vexed, that every attempt she had
made to remove her friend’s difficulties only made the matter worse: “it
sounds oddly, to be sure, but I presume he did not mean any thing.”

“O, no, I dare say; nor did he do any thing, as I can learn, through the
whole affair, except attempt to deprive Woodburn of the credit he had
gained. Jane,” she continued, with softened tone, “what would you have
thought, had you been in my situation, and your lover had acted such a
part?”

“I should have thought--I don’t know what I should have thought,”
 replied the other, with a feeling which showed how quickly the appeal
had taken effect. “But I should have had no occasion to have any thought
about it; for I _know_ he would have been the one to save me, or die
with me. O, I wish Mr. Jones had come on with us, for had he been there,
so good and so brave as he is, I am sure even you need not have become
so deeply indebted to this low young fellow.”

“Low, Jane, low?” said the former, reprovingly. “Was it low to overlook
so easily the injury and affront he had received from Peters, and then
return good for evil? And was it low to rescue me from the raging flood,
by exertions and risk of life, which would have done credit to the first
hero in the land?”

“O, no, not that; I did not mean that; for his conduct has been generous
and noble indeed; and from the first, when I heard Mr. Jones’s account
of him, I was disposed to think highly of the man, for one in his
situation of life. I only meant that he did not belong to our party, but
was one of the lower classes of society.”

“It is true he may not belong to our party, Jane; but how much should
that weigh in the argument? Perhaps at this very hour, two thirds of
the American people would count it as weight to the other part of the
balance. And even I, trained as I have been by and among the highest
toned loyalists, wish I could help doubting that our party is the
only one that has right and reason on its side. And as to the claim of
belonging to what is called the first society, I can only say that I
wish many, who are allowed that claim among us, were as worthy of
the place as I think Woodburn is. I have always loved Justice for her
beautiful self and hated her opposite; and I never could see how those
who are guided by her and the kindred virtues, could be accounted low,
or how, or why, those who lack these qualities could claim to be called
high. Is it any wonder then, Jane, that I should feel troubled and
distressed at discoveries which, in my mind, reverse the situation that
my friends assign to the two individuals of whom we have been speaking?”

“O, you are too much of a philosopher for me in all that,” replied Jane,
“Come, be a woman now, Sabrey, and I will discuss the matter with
you, claiming, perhaps, a little, a very little, of the right of the
confessor. I can easily understand how painful it would be to have
doubts of the character of one’s lover, and I can also understand,” she
continued, looking a little archly, “how one, who did not love a suitor
very hard, could feel grateful--yes, very grateful--to a good-looking
young man who had behaved gallantly. And I have a good mind to half
suspect--”

“Hark!” interrupted the other, hurriedly, while a slight tinge became
visible on her cheek--“hark! did you hear the striking of the house
clock below? It is telling the hour of midnight. Let us dismiss these
embarrassing thoughts, and retire to our repose. Your prospects, Jane,”
 she continued, rising and speaking in a sad and gently expostulatory
tone--“your prospects are bright with love and happiness; and it will
be ungenerous and cruel in you to say aught which will deepen the shade
that I fear is coming over mine.”

“O, I will not, Sabrey,” warmly returned the kind-hearted Jane. “I
did not intend it. Forgive me, do; and we will dismiss the subject for
something which will give us pleasanter dreams, and then, as you say, go
to rest and enjoy them.”

Leaving these fair friends to their slumbers, disquieted or sweetened by
the various visions which the incidents of the day had been calculated
to excite in the bosom of each, we will now repair to a lower apartment
of the house, to note the doings of a select band of court dignitaries
there assembled, for a purpose concerning which a spectator, at the
first glance, might, from the appearances, be at a loss to decide
whether it was one of revelry or secret consultation, so much did it
partake of the character of both.

Around a long table, well furnished with wine and glasses, sat a select
company of gentlemen, whose dress and deportment denoted them to be
persons of the first consequence. And such, indeed, may be said to have
been the fact, till the present time, for the party embraced the judges
and officers of the court, and such of the most stanch and influential
of their supporters as could be convened for a special consultation,
which, it was considered, the portents of the times demanded. Here was
the aristocratic and haughty Brush, the host, and leading spirit of
the party, with his florid face, cracking his jokes and ridiculing “the
boorish settlers,” in which he was sure to find a ready response in the
boisterous laugh of Peters and other young supporters of the court and
loyal party. Here, too, sat the fiery and profane Gale, the clerk of
the court, with his thin, angular features, and forbidding brow,
occasionally exploding with his short, bitter, barking laugh, as, with
many an oath, he dealt out anticipated vengeance on all those who should
dare cross the path of the established authorities. And here also was
Chandler, the chief judge of the court, with his plausible manners,
affectedly sincere look, and deferential smile, as he exchanged the
whisper and meaning glance with his colleague, Judge Sabin, a stern,
reserved, and bigoted loyalist, or as he nodded approbation to the
remarks, whatever they might be, of those around him. These with
Stearns, a tory lawyer of some note, Rogers, a tory land holder,
Haviland, and a few others, all leading and trusty supporters of the
court party, constituted the company, or rather the cabinet council,
here convened, all of whom, as appeared by the entire freedom of their
remarks, were fully in each other’s confidence.

There was one person in the room, however, who had no thought or feeling
in common with the rest of those present, but who did not appear to be
deemed by them of sufficient consequence to be interrogated in relation
to his opinions, or of sufficient capacity to comprehend what was said
in his presence, at least not to any degree which might render it unsafe
that he should hear the discussion so unreservedly going forward. This
person, who was acting in the capacity of waiter to the company, being
under a temporary engagement to the master of the house, to serve him in
such work as might be wanted about the house and stables, was a youth,
of perhaps eighteen, of quite an ordinary, and even singular appearance.
His figure was low and slight, and he was made to appear the more
diminutive, perhaps, by his dress, which consisted of short trousers, a
long, coarse jacket, and a flat woollen cap, drawn down to the eyebrows.
His hair, hanging, in lank locks, to his shoulders, was light and
sandy, and his face was deeply freckled; while a pair of long, falling
eyelashes contributed to add still further to the peculiarity of his
looks, and to give his countenance, with those who did not note
the keen, bright orbs that occasionally peeped from their usually
impenetrable coverts, a sleepy and listless appearance. He now sat on
the top of a high wood-box, placed near one corner of the chimney,
with his legs dangling over one end of the box, and his head drooping
sluggishly towards the fire, apparently as unconscious of what was said
and done in the room, as the little black dog that lay sleeping on the
floor beneath his feet.

“Here, Bart,” exclaimed Brush, as the company, having dropped the
discussion of all weighty matters, were now briskly circulating the
bottle, and beginning to give way to noisy merriment--“here, Bart,
you sleepy devil, come and snuff these candles. Our chap here,” he
continued, winking archly to those around him--“our chap Bart, or
Barty Burt, to give the whole of his euphonious name, gentlemen, may be
considered an excellent specimen of the rebel party, who talk so wisely
about self-government, sitting under one’s own vine and fig-tree, and
all that sort of thing; for; in the first place, he has a great deal of
wisdom, handy to be got at, it all lying in his face. And then he is so
much for self-government that no one can govern him in anything. Then
again, as to the idea of sitting under a fig-tree, I think it is one
that Bart would most naturally entertain; for had he a tree to sit
under, be it fig or bass-wood, and enough to eat, he would sit there
till he was gray, before he would think of moving.”

“Not badly drawn, that similitude,” said Stearns, after the burst of
laughter, by which these remarks were greeted, had a little subsided;
“but methinks I see a flaw therein, friend Brush: you said our young
republican’s wisdom, alias ideas, all lay in his face; and then, in the
matter of the fig-tree, you go on to intimate he _has one_ distinct
idea in his head, thereby lessening the force and exactness of the
comparison, as I think you will allow.”

“I crave pardon, gentlemen,” cried the secretary; “I should have
qualified; for, really, I have several times seriously suspected Bart
to have ideas, or, at least, one whole idea of his own; and if you think
that is too much to allow the individuals of the party generally, with
whom I have compared him, why, then I must knock under, that’s all.”

“You are down! you are down, then, Brush!” shouted several, with another
uproarious burst of laughter.

Bart, the chief butt of this ridicule, in the mean while, was moving
quietly about the room in performance of his bidden tasks, without
appearing to notice a word that was uttered; and but for a certain
rapid twinkling that might have been seen in his eyes, which, as he
deliberately returned to his seat in the corner, were opened to an
unusual extent, one would have supposed him utterly insensible to all
the taunts and jeering laughter of which he had thus publicly been made
the victim.

“Ah! Patterson, here you are then, at last,” exclaimed Gale, as the
former, with a disturbed and angry countenance, now came pushing his way
into the midst of the company. “We have done nothing but drink and
joke since you went out, scarcely; at all events, we have concluded on
nothing, except to wait and learn the result of your discoveries: so now
for your report.”

“Ay, ay, Mr. Sheriff,” responded Brush. “But stay, take breath, and a
glass of this glorious old Madeira, first. There! now tell us how the
land lies abroad to-night.”

“It lies but little to my liking,” growled the Sheriff, with an oath.
The rascally dogs have altogether stolen the march of us. They have been
swarming into town all the evening, as thick as bees, while not more
than a dozen of our flint-and-steel men have yet got on the ground. It
beats Beelzebub!--”

“Our witnesses,” quickly interposed Judge Chandler, bowing with a
significant smile and cautionary wink, while he threw a sidelong glance
towards Bart, whom the wary eye of the judge had detected in slightly
changing his position, so as to bring his ear more directly towards the
speakers--“our witnesses and quarrelling suitors in court you mean, of
course?”

“Why, yes--yes, your honor--if you think that necessary,” replied
Patterson, following the direction of the other’s glance, and then
looking inquiringly at Brush, as if to ask whether there was any danger
to be apprehended from talking before the servant. “Pooh--nonsense!”
 said Brush, readily understanding the mute appeal. “Nonsense! You could
not make him comprehend what we are talking about in six weeks, if you
should do your prettiest. Why, the fellow has not two ideas above a
jackass!--so talk out.”

“Well, then,” resumed the sheriff, in a lower tone, “I have satisfied
myself that the rebels are plotting like so many Satans, and are in
earnest about carrying their threat into execution. Now, the question
is, what shall be done--yield the point and submit to be turned out
of the Court House to-morrow, as if we were a pack of unruly boys, or
what?”

“Yield!” fiercely exclaimed Gale--“not till my pistol bullets have drank
the heart’s blood of the d----d rascals, first.”

“Ay, Gale,” responded Brush, “that would be well enough, but for one
small difficulty, which is, that these demi-savages understand quite as
much of that kind of play as we do; and so long as they outnumber us
so greatly, the fun of doing what you would propose might be less than
talking about it. Let us have Chandler’s opinion. What course is it best
to take, judge?”

“Temporize!” replied the latter, in a low, emphatic tone, and with a
look of peculiar significance--“temporize till----”

“Till we can help ourselves,” said Patterson, taking up the sentence
where the other left it, or rather finishing in words what had been
expressed by looks.

“That’s just my notion,” remarked Stearns. “Let them see and be assured
that we are for peace, and want nothing but what is right; all of which
may be said truly. And in this manner, if the thing is well managed,
their suspicions can be allayed, and we can get possession of the
Court House as soon as our friends get on, which will be by to-morrow
noon--will it not Patterson?”

“Yes, unless this cussed flood has carried away all the roads, as well
as bridges,” gruffly replied the sheriff. “Yes, and if these mobbing
knaves can be kept quiet then, we shall be in a situation to ask no
favors.”

“And grant none,” said Sabin, with cool bitterness.

“You don’t learn,” asked Chandler, with feigned indifference--“you don’t
learn that the people have brought any offensive implements with them,
do you, Patterson? It might be done covertly, you know. Has this been
seen to, by proper measures,--such as examining the straw in the bottoms
of their sleighs, and the like?”

“Yes, thoroughly,” returned the former; “they have brought no arms with
them, at any rate. We are undoubtedly indebted to your honor’s skilful
management with them at Chester for that.”

“Ay, ay,” interposed Stearns, “nobody but the judge could have executed
that piece of diplomacy with the fellows. And no one but he can
carry out the business successfully now. His honor must be the one to
undertake it.”

“Certainly.” “The very man.” “He must do it.” “They would listen to none
of us.” “The thing is settled, and he must go” unanimously responded the
company.

“I really feel flattered, gentlemen,” replied Chandler, bowing and
waving his hand towards the company--“highly flattered by your opinion
of my capacity to negotiate in this delicate affair. But you will
understand, in case I accede to your wishes, gentlemen,” he continued,
with a look of peculiar meaning--“you will understand that I am to be
considered, on all hands, as utterly opposed to coercive measures--to
all--I am understood, I suppose, gentlemen?”

“Yes, yes, judge,” returned the others, with knowing winks and laughter,
“we will all understand that you are opposed to the whole move.”

Having thus arranged business for the morrow to their satisfaction,
these astute personages, who, like their party generally in America, at
that period, seemed to have acted on an entirely false estimate of the
intelligence and spirit of the common people, now rose and retired to
their respective lodgings, inwardly chuckling at their sagacity, in
being able to concoct what they believed would prove a successful scheme
of overreaching and putting down their opponents, and, at the same time,
of establishing their own tottering authority on a basis which might bid
defiance to all future attempts to overturn it.



CHAPTER IV.

  “But here, at least, are arms unchained
   And souls that thraldom never stained.”


As soon as the company, described in the preceding chapter, had all
retired from the room, Brush, bidding Bart to rake up the fire and go
to bed, proceeded to lock all the outer doors of the house, muttering
to himself as he did so, “It can’t be as Chandler fears, I think, about
this fellow’s going out to blab to-night; but as this will put an end to
the possibility of his doing it, I may as well make all fast, and then
there will be no chance for blame for suffering him to remain in the
room.”

So saying, and putting the different keys in his pocket, he at once
disappeared, on his way to his own apartment. When the sound of his
retiring footsteps had ceased to be heard, Bart, who had lingered in
the room, suddenly changed his sleepy, abject appearance for a prompt,
decisive look and an erect attitude.

“Two ideas above a jackass!--two ideas above a jackass, eh?” he said,
and slowly repeated, as with flashing eyes he nodded significantly in
the direction his master had taken. “You may yet find out, Squire Brush,
that my ears aint sich a disput sight longer than yourn, arter all.”

With this he blew out the last remaining light, and groped his way
to his own humble sleeping-room, in the low attic story of the back
kitchen. Here, however, he manifested no disposition to go to bed,
but sitting down upon the side of his miserable pallet, he remained
motionless and silent for fifteen or twenty minutes, when he began to
soliloquize: “Jackass!--sleepy devil!--not wit enough to see what they
are at in six weeks, eh? Barty Burt, you are one of small fishes, it is
true; but, for all that, you needn’t be walloped about at this rate,
and bamboozled, and swallowed entirely up by the big ones of this
court-and-king party. You know enough to take care of yourself; yes, and
at the same time, you can be doing something towards paying these gentry
for the beautiful compliments you have had from them to-night and at
other times. The fact is, Bart, you are a rebel now--honestly one of
them--you feel it in you, and you may as well let it out. So here goes
for their meeting, if it is to be found, if I am hanged for it.”

Having, in this whimsical manner, made a sort of manifesto of his
principles and intentions, as if to give them, with himself, a more
fixed and definite character, he now rose buttoned up his jacket,
carefully raised the window of his room, let himself down to the roof of
a shed beneath it, and from that descended to the ground, with the easy
and rapid motions of a squirrel engaged in nut-gathering. Here he cast
a furtive glance around him, and paused some moments, in apparent
hesitation, respecting the course to be taken to find those of whom he
was in quest. Soon, however, appearing to come to a determination, he
struck out into the main street, and, with a quick step, proceeded on,
perhaps a furlong, when he suddenly stopped short, and exclaimed, “Hold
up, Bart. What did that sly judge say about searching in folks’ sleighs,
for--what was that word now?--But never mind, it meant guns. And what
did the sheriff say about a dozen flint-and-steel men having come? Put
that and that together now, Bart, and see if it don’t mean that the only
guns brought into town to-night are packed away in the straw, in the
bottom of the sleighs of the court party understrappers? Let’s go and
mouse round their stopping-place a little, Bart. Perhaps you’ll get more
news to carry to the rebels,” he added, turning round and making towards
the tavern at which those in the interests of the loyalists were known
generally to put up.

On reaching the tavern, and finding all there still and dark, he
proceeded directly to the barn shed, and commenced a search, which was
soon rewarded by finding, in the different sleighs about the place,
twelve muskets, carefully concealed in hay or blankets. With a low
chuckle of delight at his discovery, Bart took as many as he could
conveniently carry at one load, and, going with them into the barn,
thrust them one by one into the hay mow, under the girts and beams,
so as effectually to conceal them. He then returned for others, and
continued his employment till the whole were thus disposed of; when
he left the place, and resumed his walk to the northerly end of the
village. After pursuing his way through the street, and some distance
down the road beyond the village, he paused against a low, long
log-house, standing endwise to the road. This house was occupied by a
middle-aged, single man, known by the name of Tom Dunning, though often
called Ditter Dunning, and sometimes Der Ditter, on account of his
frequent use of these terms as prefixes to his words and sentences,
arising from a natural impediment of speech. He was a hunter by
profession, and passed most of his lime in the woods, or round the
Connecticut in catching salmon, which, at that period, were found in
the river in considerable numbers, as far up as Bellows Falls. Though
he mingled but little in society, yet he was known to be well informed
respecting all the public movements of the times; and it was also
believed that he had enrolled himself among the far-famed band of Green
Mountain Boys, and often joined them in their operations against the
Yorkers, on the other side of the mountains. Very little however,
was known about the man, except that he was a shrewd resolute fellow,
extremely eccentric, and perfectly impenetrable to all but the few in
whom he confided.

Bart, from some remark he had overheard in the street, in the early part
of the evening, had been led to conclude that the company he now sought
were assembled at this house. And though he was personally unacquainted
with the owner, and knew nothing of his principles, yet he was resolved
to enter and trust to luck to make his introduction, if the company were
present, and, if not, to rely on his own wit to discover whether it were
safe to unfold his errand.

As he was approaching the house, Dunning hastily emerged from the door,
and, advancing with a quick step, confronted him in the path with an air
which seemed to imply an expectation that his business would be at once
announced. Bart, who was not to be discomposed by any thing of this
kind, manifested no hurry to name his errand, and seemed to prefer that
the other should be the first to break the silence.

“Ditter--seems to me I have seen you somewhere?” at length said Dunning,
inquiringly.

“Very likely. I have often been there,” replied Bart, with the utmost
gravity.

“Ditter--devil you have! And what did you--der--ditter--find there, my
foxy young friend?”

“Nothing that I was looking for.”

“Der--what was that?”

“The meeting.”

“Der--what meeting?”

“The one I’d like to go to, may be.”

“You are a bright pup; but--der--don’t spit this way; it might be
der--ditter--dangerous business to me; for you must have been eating
razors to-night.”

“No, I haven’t; don’t love ‘em. But you haven’t yet told me where the
meeting is?”

“Ditter--look here, my little chap,” said Dunning, getting impatient and
vexed that he could not decide whether the other was a knave, simpleton,
or neither--“ditter--look here;--der--don’t your folks want you? Hadn’t
you better run along now?”

“Reckon I shall, when you tell me where to go and not run against
snags.”

“Ditter well, der go back the way you come, about ditter as far again as
half way; der then, ditter turn to the ditter right, then to the ditter
left, then der--ditter--ditter--ditter--go along! you’ll get there
before I can tell you.”

“In no sort of hurry; will wait till you get your mouth off; may be it
will shoot near the mark arter all.”

“Ditter, dog, my cat, if I--der--don’t begin to believe you are
considerable of a critter: and I’ve half a mind to risk you a piece; so
come into the house, and, der--let me take a squint at your phiz in the
light.”

Taking no exceptions to the character of the invitation, Bart now
followed the other into the house, and, sitting down on a bench by the
fire, began very unconcernedly to whistle, on a low key, the tune
of Yankee Doodle, which was then just beginning to be considered a
patriotic air. Dunning, in the mean time, taking a seat in the opposite
corner, commenced his proposed scrutiny, which he continued, with one
eye partly closed, and with a certain dubious expression of countenance,
for some moments, when he observed,

“You are a ditter queer chicken, that’s a fact. But I der find now that
I know you, as the ditter divil did his pigs, by sight; I know also the
sort of folks you have been living amongst lately; and der knowing
all that, it’s reasonable that I should be a snuffing a little for the
ditter smell of brimstone. So now if you are a court party tory, and
come here for mischief, you’ve got into a place that will ditter prove
too hot for you; but if, as I rather think, you are, or der want to be,
something better, and can let us into the shape and fix of matters and
things over there at ditter head-quarters, you may be the chap we would
like to see. Ditter speak out therefore, like a man, and no more of your
ditter squizzling.”

After a few more evasive remarks, in which he succeeded in drawing out
the other more fully, and causing him the more completely to commit
himself, Bart threw aside all bantering, and proceeded to relate all his
discoveries relative to the contemplated movement of the court party.

“Ditter devils and dumplings!” exclaimed the hunter, as, with eyes
sparkling with excitement, he sprang to his feet, as the other finished
his recital. “This must be made known directly. Come--der follow me, and
I’ll take you to the company you ditter said you wished to see.”

So saying, he immediately led the way through a dark entry to a room
in the rear of the house, which the two now entered; when Bart found
himself in a company of nearly twenty grave and stern-looking men,
deliberating in a regularly organized meeting.

“Ditter here, Captain Wright,” eagerly commenced Dunning, as he entered,
addressing the chairman, a prompt, fine-looking man, and the leading
whig of the village; “here is one,” he continued, pointing to Bart, “one
who brings ditter news that--”

“Esquire Knowlton, of Townsend, has the floor now,” said the chairman,
interrupting the speaker, and directing his attention to a middle-aged
man of a gentlemanly, intelligent appearance, who was standing on one
side of the room, having suspended the remarks he was making at the
entrance of Dunning and his companion.

“As I was remarking, Mr. Chairman,” now resumed the gentleman who had
been thus interrupted in his speech, “the tory party, acting under
various disguises, have been, for several months past, secretly using
every means within their reach to strengthen their unrighteous rule in
this already sadly oppressed section of the country. They aim to
bring the people into a state of bondage and slavery. When no cash is
stirring, with which debts can be paid, they purposely multiply suits,
seize property, which they well know can never be redeemed, and take it
into their hands, that they may make the people dependent on them,
and subservient to their party purposes. And just so far as they find
themselves strengthened by these and other disguised movements, so far
they betray their intention to curtail all freedom of opinion, and to
overawe us by open acts of oppression. Here, one man has been thrown
into prison on the charge of high treason; when all they proved against
him was the remark, that if the king had signed the Quebec bill, he had
broken his coronation oath. There, another, a poor harmless recluse, as
I have ever supposed him, is dragged from his hut in the mountains and
imprisoned to await his trial for an alleged murder, committed long ago,
and in another jurisdiction; when his only crime, with his prosecutors,
probably, is his bold denunciations of their tyranny, unless, as some
suspect, even a baser motive actuates them. They even proclaim, that
_all_ who dare question the king’s right to tax us without our consent,
are guilty of high treason and worthy of death! For myself, I seek
not the suspension of this court at this time, on account of the
questionable jurisdiction of New York merely, but because the court,
itself bitterly tory in all its branches, is sustained by a colony which
refuses to adopt the resolves of the Continental Congress, and thereby
continues to force upon us the royal authority, which our brethren of
the other colonies have almost every where put down, and which in our
case, Heaven knows, is not the least deserving the fate it has met
elsewhere. And the question, then, now comes home to us, Shall we
tolerate it any longer? The hearts of the people, though their tongues
may often be awed into silence--the hearts of the people are ready to
respond their indignant _no_! And I, for one, am ready to join in the
cry, and stepping into the first rank of the opposers of arbitrary
power, breast the storm in discharging my duty to my country.”

“Amen!” was the deep and general response of the company.

“Mr. Dunning will now be heard,” said the chairman, motioning to the
former to come forward.

“Ditter well, Captain--der--ditter Mr. Moderator, I mean. I, being on
the watch against ditter interlopers, you know, have just picked up an
odd coon, here, who ditter seems to have ears in one place and tongue in
another; and his story is a ditter loud one. But let him tell it in his
own way. So now, Barty Burt,” he continued, going up to the other,
who stood by the fire, kicking the fore-stick with his usual air of
indifference; “come forward, and tell the meeting all you have der seen
and heard, in the ditter camp of the Philistines.”

Bart, then, mostly in the way of answers to a series of rapid questions,
put by the chairman, who seemed to know him, and understand the best way
of drawing him out,--Bart then related his discoveries to his astonished
and indignant auditors, giving such imitations of the manner of each
of the company, whose words he was repeating, as not only showed their
meaning in its full force, but at once convinced all present of the
truth of his story.

No sooner had Bart closed, than a half dozen of the company sprang
to their feet, in their eagerness to express their indignation and
abhorrence of the bloody plot, which their opponents under the garb of
peace and fair promises, had, it was now evident, been hatching against
them.

“Order, gentlemen!” cried the chairman: “I don’t wonder you all want
to denounce the detestable and cowardly conduct of the tyrants. But one
only can be heard at a time, and Mr. French, I rather think, was fairly
up first, and he will therefore proceed.”

While all others, on hearing this remark of the chairman, resumed their
seats, the person thus named, as privileged to speak first, remained
standing. He was a young man, of about twenty-two, of a ready, animated
appearance, while every look and motion of his ardent countenance and
restless muscles proclaimed him to be of the most sanguine temperament
and enthusiastic feelings. An almost unnatural excitement was sparkling
in his kindling eyes, and a sort of wild, fitful, sad, and prophetic air
characterized his whole appearance as he began.

“It has come at last, then! I knew it was coming. I have felt it for
months; waking and sleeping, I have felt it. In my dreams I have seen
blood in the skies, and heard sounds of battle in the air and
earth. Dreams of themselves, I know, are generally without sign or
significance; but when the spirit of a dream remains on the mind through
the waking hours, as it has on mine, I know it has a meaning. Something
has been hurrying me to be ready for the great event. I could not help
coming here to-night. I cannot help being here to-morrow. The event and
the time are at hand! I see it now--resistance, and battle, and blood!
Let it come! the victims are ready; and their blood, poured out on
the wood on the altar of liberty, will bring down fire from heaven to
consume the oppressors!”

There was a short silence among the company, who seemed to pause, in
surprise and awe at the strange words and manner of the young man, which
evidently made an impression on his hearers at the time, and which
were afterwards remembered, and often repeated, at the fireside, in
recounting his untimely fate.

“Mr. Fletcher,” at length observed the chairman, breaking the
silence--“Mr. Fletcher, of Newfane, is next entitled to speak, I
believe.”

“I rose, Mr. Chairnan,” said the latter, a fine specimen of the hardy,
resolute, and intelligent yeoman of the times--“I rose but to ask
whether the news just received can be relied on: can it be, that Judge
Chandler, after his pledge to us at Chester, would be guilty of conduct
reflecting so deeply on his character as a man?”

“I am not wholly unprepared to believe the story myself,” replied the
chairman; “our young friend here may have his peculiarities; but I
consider him a thousand times more honest and honorable, than some of
those whose sly hints and treacherous conduct he has so well described.”

“Ditter, look here, Mr. Moderator,” interposed Dunning. “I was once,
ditter travelling, in the Bay State, with a friend, when we came across
a meeting-house with eight sides, and my friend asked me what order of
architecture I called it. Ditter well, I was fairly treed, and couldn’t
tell. But I should be able to tell now. I should ditter call it the
Chandler order.”

A desultory but animated debate now arose. Various methods of
accomplishing what appeared to be the settled determination of all--that
of preventing the sitting of the court--were suggested. Some proposed
to dismantle or tear down the Court House; others were for arming
the people, seizing the building, and bidding open defiance to their
opponents. At this stage of the deliberations, Colonel Carpenter, whose
character had secured him great influence, rose, and requested to be
heard.

“From the gathering signs of the times,” said he, “we have good reason
to believe that the smouldering fires of liberty will soon burst forth
into open revolution throughout these oppressed and insulted colonies.
Our movements here may lead to the opening scene of the great drama;
and we must give our foes no advantages by our imprudence. If we are the
first to appear in arms, it may weaken our cause, while it strengthens
theirs. Let _them_ be the first to do this--let us place _them_ in the
wrong, and then, if they have recourse to violence and bloodshed, _we_
will act; and no fear but the people will find means to arm themselves.
Let us, therefore, go into the Court House to-morrow, in a body, but
without a single offensive implement, and resist peacefully, but firmly;
and then, if they dare make a martyr, his blood will do more for our
cause than would now a regiment of rifles.”

Although this prudent and far-sighted proposal was for a while opposed,
by the more ardent and unthinking part of the company, yet it was at
length adopted by the whole; and having made arrangements to carry it
into effect, the meeting broke up, and all retired to their respective
lodgings.



CHAPTER V.

  “Thou ever strong upon the strongest side”


Although many were the anxious consultations, and deep plottings,
among the belligerent parties within doors, during the fore part of the
memorable 13th of March, yet it was not till the afternoon of that day
had considerably advanced, that any indications of the events which
followed became observable in the streets of Westminster. About this
time, one of the doors of Crean Brush’s guest-filled mansion suddenly
flew open, and the crouched and cringing form of our humble friend Barty
Burt, hotly pursued by his recent employer with uplifted cane, was seen
coming down the steps of the entrance, in flying leaps, to the ground.

“There, you infernal booby! please consider this caning and kicking as a
farewell to my house and employ forever!” exclaimed the enraged master,
standing in the door-way, and looking down with ineffable scorn upon the
prostrate person of the ejected Bart, as he lay sprawled out upon the
spot where he landed, without manifesting any disposition to rise.

“I should like to know what I’ve done criminal, squire?” responded the
latter, looking back over his shoulder at the other, with a doleful
grimace.

“What have you done?” sharply retorted Brush. “Why, you impertinent
puppy, you have done every thing wrong, and nothing right, ever since
you got your lubberly carcass out of bed, at the fine time of eight
o’clock this morning! and now, to crown all, in clearing off the table,
you must go, with your load of meats and half-filled gravy dishes,
through the parlor, where you had no business to go, and there, like
a blundering jackass, as you are, you must fall down and ruin the best
carpet in the house! I’ve had quite enough of you, sir: so up with you
there and clear out, you vagabond!”

“Well, I’spose I know what you want,” muttered Bart, by way of reply to
this tirade--“you want to accuse, and drive me away, so you won’t have
to pay me the two crowns you owe me for work, and other things.”

“I don’t owe you half that sum, you lying lout,” returned Brush,
fiercely. “But to get rid of such a pest, and prevent your going round
town with that lie in your mouth, I’ll give you all you ask; and there
they are!” he continued, pulling out and disdainfully tossing the coins
down at the other’s feet. “Your dirty rags, if you have any in the
house, shall be thrown out to you; and then, if you aint off, I’ll set
the dogs on ye.”

With this, and an expressive slam of the door behind him, the secretary
returned into the house; and in a few moments, the sash of a garret
window was thrown up, and a pair of shoes, a pair of old summer
pantaloons, a spare coarse shirt, and pair of stockings, were
successively flung down into the yard, near where the owner was still
lying, by the hand of a grinning and blushing servant maid, while her
dainty-fingered master stood by, directing the operation,

“Well, Bart,” now soon began to mutter this singular being, in his usual
manner of addressing himself as a second person, when alone--“well,
Bart, your plan of getting driv away has worked to a shaving. You’ve got
your pay, too, jest in the way you calculated would fetch it; yes, all
your honest pay, and one crown more; but you charged that, you know,
when you told him two crowns, as damage for the kick and cane lick you
got. So that’s settled. And as to the other accounts against him, and
the rest of ‘em there, you’ll be in a way to square all, fore long,
guess; for you will be your own rebel, now, Bart, you know.”

While thus communing with himself, he had slowly, and with many winces
of affected pain, gathered up his limbs, risen on to his feet, pocketed
his two crowns, and collected and tied up his clothes. And he was now,
with a grieved look, as if sorrowing for the loss of his home, looking
back to the house, where several curious, half-laughing, half-pitying
countenances were seen peering through the windows to witness his
departure. He then looked hesitatingly abroad, one way and then the
other, with the sad and despairing air of one who feels there is no
place in the wide world where he can find a friendly shelter. After
this, with a wince and groan at every step, he slowly hobbled off up the
street, losing his lameness, and converting his groans into snickers of
low, exulting laughter, as soon as he was out of eye-shot of the company
he had left behind him.

“Kinder ‘pears to me, Bart,” he at length said, resuming his soliloquy,
as he glanced keenly at the tavern, which was the scene of his last
night’s exploit, and which he was now passing--“‘pears to me, there’s
a good many heads rather close together in spots, round that tory nest
over yonder. They act as if they were in a sort of stew about something.
I wonder if they lost their guns last night, or anything, that puts them
in such a pucker,” he continued with a chuckle. “But suppose, Bart, as
going this way is only a sham, suppose we now haul up here, and edge
over there among ‘em a little, to learn what they are up to, before you
go to join the company at the Court House.”

On reaching the yard of the tavern, Bart found that the company,
numbering perhaps twenty in all, had broken from the separate groups in
which they had been conversing, and had now gathered round one man, who,
having just come out of the tavern, appeared to be communicating to the
crowd something that obviously produced considerable sensation. This
person was a man of the ordinary size, of fair complexion, light
eyes, and an unsettled and vacillating countenance, rendered the more
strikingly so, perhaps, by the quick, eager, and restless motions
and manner by which his whole appearance was characterized. Bart soon
contrived to work his way into this circle, till he gained a position
from which he could hear what was said.

“You may rely on what I have told you,” said the speaker, as Bart came
within hearing; “for I have just had it from the sheriff and lawyer
Stearns. The rebels have been in possession of the Court House about an
hour, posted sentinels at all the doors, and openly declare, that the
judges and officers shall never enter to hold another court. Nobody
dreamed of their daring on such a bold step, or we should have been
before them in taking possession of the house, even with the force we
had on the ground. But, thinking it best to go strong-handed, the judges
concluded they would not go in to open the court till enough of friends
should arrive to put down all opposition at a blow. The rebels think
now, doubtless, that they have got an advantage which they will be able
to maintain. But they will find themselves a little mistaken, I fancy;
for Patterson says he has now got them in just the spot he wanted. This
act both he and Stearns decide to be overt treason, which will justify
him in taking the course he intends, unless they yield and scatter,
on the first summons. But as they won’t do that, and our forces will
shortly be here, you can all guess what we shall now soon see follow,”
 he added, with a significant wink.

“Then why not be getting out our guns at once?” asked one of the
company.

“No,” resumed the speaker; “the plan is to leave that till the last
thing before we march upon them, lest the rebels should take alarm and
go and arm themselves, and we thus thwart our own intention of taking
them by surprise. You, however, can be kinder carelessly looking up
clubs for such as may have no arms, and a few axes and crowbars for
breaking into the Court House, if that should be necessary. But, as I
said, let the guns remain hid in the sleighs till you have orders to
take them out. For it is not exactly settled yet whether we shall march
upon them as soon as our reenforcements arrive, and besiege them in the
house, or coax them out, and so get possession ourselves. But, at any
rate, you will have work on hand soon; and if we don’t see fun before
to-morrow morning, my name aint David Redding. But come, let’s all
adjourn to the bar-room, and take a drop to warm us up a little.”

Leaving Redding to his despicable task of endeavoring, in compliance
with the directions of those whose base tool he was, to inflame the
company he had collected, and work up their feelings to such a pitch of
enmity and recklessness as should prepare them to imbrue their hands in
the blood of their neighbors and countrymen, we will now proceed to note
the conduct of more important personages in the events of the day.

While the scene above described was transpiring, Patterson, Gale,
Stearns, and one or two other tory leaders, who had been consulting at
this tavern, and making their arrangements for active movements, left
the house, and, with hasty steps, took their way to the mansion of the
haughty secretary, which, by his special invitation, at this crisis, was
made the permanent quarters of the judges and principal officers of the
court, as well as of his numerous guests.

“Upon the whole, perhaps you are right, Stearns,” said Patterson, as
they were about to enter the house. “We will start off Chandler to the
Court House to make one of his smooth speeches, and play Sir Plausible
with the rebel rascals, as agreed on last night, and though he should
have done it before, yet he may, even now, succeed in flattering them
to quit the house long enough for us to get possession; if not, we will
take the other course.”

In a few moments after these worthies had disappeared within the house,
the door was again opened, and Chief Justice Chandler, the man to whose
singularly compounded character, made up of timidity, selfishness,
vanity, thirst of power, kindness, and duplicity, or rather the conduct
that flowed from it, may be mainly attributed the bloody tragedy that
ensued, now made his appearance in the street. He wore a powdered wig,
according to the fashion of the times among men of his official station,
and his whole toilet had evidently been made with much attention.
Carelessly flirting a light cane in his hand, and assuming an air of
easy unconcern, he leisurely took his way along the street, towards the
Court House, bowing low, and blandly smiling to every one he met, and
often even crossing to the opposite side of the street to exchange
salutations with the passer-by, to each of whom, whatever his party or
station, he was sure to say something complimentary, and aimed with
no little sagacity to reach the peculiar feelings and interests of the
person addressed.

“This is Mr. French, I believe,” he said, turning out of his course to
speak to the young man introduced in the last chapter, who, with the
same restless, anxious look he then wore, was unobservantly hurrying by
the other, on his way to the Court House.

“Yes, yes, sir,” replied French, slightly checking his speed, and
looking back, with a half-surprised, half-vacant expression.

“Ay, I was sure I knew you,” rejoined the judge. “How are the times with
you, Mr. French? You will pardon my freedom, sir, but the great interest
I take in the success of our enterprising and intelligent young men like
yourself--But no matter now. I see you are in haste. I will not detain
you, sir. A very good day to you, Mr. French.”

“Well, upon my word, now, here is my friend Colonel Carpenter!” he again
exclaimed, as, turning from the person he had just saluted with such
poor success, his quick and wary eye caught sight of the gentleman
thus addressed coming up behind him. “Most happy to fall in with you,
colonel,” he continued, grasping and warmly shaking the hand of the
other. “How are your family, sir? Shall I confess it, colonel? I have
really sometimes greatly envied you.”

“Why so, sir?” asked Carpenter, with a little coolness.

“Envied you your well-deserved appellation--that of _Friend of the
People_, as they call you,” replied the judge.

“The people need a friend at this crisis, I think, sir,” responded the
unbought yeoman, with cold dignity.

“If there is one title that I should covet above all others,” resumed
the judge, without appearing to notice the drift of the other’s remark,
“it would be the one I have named. What can be a more truly honorable
distinction? I have often regretted being so trammelled by my station on
the bench, as to prevent me from acting as I would otherwise like to do.
But a judge, you know, colonel, in party times, must not act openly on
any particular side.”

“He had better do that, however, than act _secretly_ on _all_ sides,”
 returned the other, with biting significance.

“O, doubtless, doubtless, sir,” rejoined the judge, with a forced
laugh, but with the air of one perfectly unsuspicious of any intended
personalities. “Yes, indeed. But, ah!” he continued, slightly motioning
towards the Court House, against which they had now arrived. “What have
we here? A public meeting?”

“Quite possible. At all events I think of going in myself,” said
Carpenter, quietly turning from the other into the Court House yard, but
soon pausing a little, though without looking round, to hear the remarks
which the other seemed intent on making.

“Indeed! Why, I had not heard of it, else I should have been pleased
to have dropped in. I came out, be sure, only for a little exercise,
but----”

Here he paused, in expectation that the other would speak; but finding
himself disappointed, and left alone in the street, he resumed his walk,
while his now unguarded countenance very plainly showed the disquiet
he felt at the rebuffs he had received in his attempts to conciliate
Colonel Carpenter, and obtain from him an invitation to go into the
meeting, which, in reality, it was his only object in coming out to
attend.

While digesting his mortification, and occupied in conjecturing how
he could have become an object of suspicion among the opponents of the
court party, as every thing now seemed to indicate, his attention was
again arrested by the sounds of approaching footsteps; and, looking
up, his eyes encountered the sarcastic countenance of Tom Dunning,
who, coming from an opposite direction, was also on his way to join the
company at the Court House.

“Ah, Mr. Dunning!” exclaimed the judge, starting from his reverie and
downcast attitude, while his face instantly brightened into smiles
summoned for the occasion; “right glad to meet you, sir. I have been
thinking I must engage some such expert and lucky sportsman, as they say
you are, to catch and send me up a fresh salmon, occasionally. I suppose
your never-failing spear will be put in requisition again, when the
spring opens; will it not?”

“Der--yes, your worship, unless I turn my attention to the
catching--ditter--eels, or other slippery varments,” returned the
hunter, with a sly, significant twinkling of his eyes, as he brushed by
the rebuked cajoler, and pushed on without waiting for a reply.

The judge did not pursue his walk much farther; but now, soon facing
about, began, with a quickened step and a look of increasing uneasiness,
to retrace his way to his quarters.

While those little incidents were occurring in the streets, about one
hundred sturdy and determined men had collected within the walls of the
Court House. As the construction of this building was somewhat peculiar,
for one designed for such purposes, it may be necessary, for a clear
understanding of the descriptions which follow, to say a few words
respecting its interior arrangements. The court-room was in the upper
story, which was all occupied as such, except the east and south
corners, that had been partitioned off for sleeping apartments. In the
lower story, there was a wide passage running through the middle of the
building, with doors at both ends; while the stairs leading up into the
court room faced the principal entrance, on the north-east side of the
house. After passing by the stairs, there was a small passage
leading from the large one, at right angles, and running back between
prison-rooms, whose doors opened into it. The part of this lower story,
on the opposite side of the main passage, consisted also of two rooms,
with doors opening into it, and an entry, or short passage, leading out
into the street. One of these rooms was used as a common, or bar-room,
and the other as a sort of parlor, being both occupied by the jailer and
his family.

Although there had been, for many weeks, a growing disposition among the
party here assembled to prevent the session of a court avowedly acting
under royal authority, and spurning all the recommendations of Congress,
yet there had been no settled intention among them to resort to any
other than the peaceful measures of petition and remonstrance, which
they believed would be sufficient to effect the desired result. It had
been decided, therefore, that the court should be permitted to come
together; when such representations and arguments were to be laid before
them, as could not fail, it was supposed, to convince any reasonable men
of the wisdom of listening to the voice of the people. But when, or,
the preceding evening, it was discovered, in the way before related, and
from other sources, that the people had been duped by the duplicity of
Chandler, and that it was the secret purpose of the court, in defiance
of all pledges to the contrary, to hold a full session, under the
protection of an armed force, the hitherto modest and quiet spirit
of patriotism was at once aroused among this resolute little band of
revolutionists, and they came to the bold determination, as we have
before seen, of seizing the Court House in advance of their opponents,
and holding it till their remonstrances should be heard and heeded.

This object, so far as respected the possession of the building, being
now obtained, the company proceeded to organize and make arrangements
for maintaining their advantage through the night. Their possession,
however, was not destined to remain long undisputed. In a short time
after they had begun to act, their new recruit, Barty Burt, who could
not forego his desire of remaining among the tories (where we left him
acting the unsuspected spy on their movements) till they should look
for their guns, that he might have the pleasure of witnessing their
discomfiture on discovering their loss, now arrived with news, that
the latter, as soon as they made the discovery that their arms had been
abstracted, were thrown into the greatest commotion; and that under
the direction of Patterson and Gale, both foaming with rage, they had
hastily collected all the offensive implements they could find, with the
avowed determination of making an immediate assault on their opponents
at the Court House. But notwithstanding this startling intelligence, no
one manifested the least disposition of quitting his post. And although
there was not a weapon of defence, beyond a cane, in the whole company,
yet they seemed none the less inclined to maintain their position in
consequence of the threatening aspect which the affair was beginning to
assume; but resolving, by acclamation, to keep possession of the house
till compelled by force of arms to relinquish it, they placed a few
strong and resolute men as guards at every door, and quietly awaited
the result. And they were not kept long in suspense. In a short time,
Patterson and his posse, armed with several old muskets, swords,
pistols, and clubs, made their appearance, and, with many hostile
manifestations, came rushing up within a few yards of the door.
Commanding a halt, the sheriff then, in a loud and arrogant tone,
summoned the company within to come forth and disperse. No voice,
however, was heard to respond to the summons. Gale, the clerk, then
proceeded, upon the intimation of the former, to read the king’s
proclamation to the outward walls of the house, or the supposed
listeners within, with great form and solemnity.

“Ditter--dickins!” exclaimed Tom Dunning, after listening a moment to
the reading of the riot act, or proclamation, as it was usually called,
as, with several others, he stood just within the entrance. “Now I
wonder if they expect to rout a body of Green Mountain Boys with that
sort of--ditter--ammunition?”

“There!” fiercely cried Patterson, as the reader concluded his task.
“There, you d----d rascals, now disperse, or, by Heaven, I will blow a
lane through ye!”

“Only--ditter--hear that!” again remarked the hunter, contemptuously,
at the menace and profanity of the haughty officer. “Natural enough,
though, mayhap, for a bag of wind to blow, if it does any thing. He is
rather smart at--der--swearing, too, I think. But even at that, I guess
he would have to haul in his horns a little, if old Ethan Allen
was here, as I wish he was, to let off a few blasts of
his--ditter--damnations at him.”

Captain Wright, after a brief consultation with the other leaders, now
coming down from the court-room, opened the door, (Dunning and another
strong-armed man having hold of it to guard against a rush,) and
addressed the besiegers.

“Why is all this, gentlemen?” he said, in a respectful, but firm
manner. “Are you come here for war? _We_ are here for no such purpose,
ourselves. _We_ came with none other than peaceful intentions. And so
long as we can say that, and say, also, above all, that we have come
together with the approbation of the chief judge of your court, who has
promised us a fair hearing of our grievances; and so long as, in direct
violation of that judge’s pledge to us, you appear here in arms, to
intimidate us, let me assure you, we shall not disperse under your
threats. We, however, will permit you to come in, if you will lay aside
your arms; or we will hold a parley with you as you are.”

“D----n your parley!” exclaimed Gale, furiously. “D----n the parley with
such d----d rascals as you are! I will hold no parley with such d----d
rascals, but by this!” he added, drawing a pistol, and brandishing it
towards his opponents.

“Ay! ay!” cried Redding, who, next to the sheriff and clerk, appeared
to be the most violent and officious among the assailants: “talk about
being here without arms, and for peace, do ye? when you have stolen
a dozen of our guns, and have now got them in there among you. Pretty
fellows, to talk about parley? We will give you a parley that will send
you all to hell before morning!”

Wright here began a denial of the charge made by the last speaker; when
he was interrupted by Dunning, who, jogging him said, in an undertone,--

“Let ‘em-der--believe it. They are such--ditter--cowards, that the
idea of a dozen guns among us will mike ‘em more mannerly than all the
preaching you could--ditter--do in a month.”

Concluding to profit by this suggestion of the sagacious hunter Wright
now retired within doors, followed by the hisses, curses and all manner
of abusive epithets, of the assailants.

The besiegers, now finding that the king’s proclamation, on whose
potency for quelling the risings of the rebellious colonists the tory
authorities, at the commencement of the revolution, seemed to have
greatly counted, did not annihilate their opponents, and, not seeing fit
to attempt to carry their threats into execution at present, they soon
drew off a short distance, and apparently held a consultation. While
they were thus occupied, a small deputation was sent out to them from
the Court House, with another offer to hold a conference. But their
proposals being received with fresh insults and abuse, they returned to
the house, while Patterson and his forces, evidently fearing to venture
an attack, with their present strength, on the other party, whom
they suspected to be armed with the lost guns, now moved off
to head-quarters, to report progress, and wait for the expected
reenforcement, to hasten whose arrival, expresses had been despatched
several hours before.

A short time after the disappearance of Patterson’s band. Judge Chandler
unexpectedly came up to the Court House, wholly unattended, and being
readily admitted, he at once ascended into the court-room, and entered
the somewhat surprised, but unmoved assembly, bowing low to individuals
on the right and left, as he passed on to an unoffered seat, with the
gratified air of one, who, after many detentions, has the satisfaction
of getting at length into the company of his friends.

After a rather embarrassing pause, the judge rose, and made a short
speech, which left his hearers but little the wiser respecting his real
wishes and intentions, though he had much to say about his solicitude
for the welfare of the people, and his anxiety that they should do
nothing to injure their cause. After he was seated, Wright, Carpenter,
and Knowlton, each in turn, addressed him, stating, in general terms,
the views and wishes of their party, and reminding him of his pledge,
that no arms should be brought by the officers of the court, the recent
violation of which they hoped he would be able to explain.

Upon this, the former rejoined, declaring with great assurance, and not
a little to the surprise of many in the room, that the arms complained
of had been brought without his knowledge and against his express
wishes; and he concluded by assuring his friends, as he said he was
proud to believe he might safely call them, that he would go and
immediately secure the arms in question; so that the company might now
retire, in full confidence that their petitions would obtain a fair
hearing, when the court came together the next morning. The speaker then
resumed his seat, and glanced persuasively around him for some tokens
of assent or approbation. But the men, whom he had thus undertaken
to wheedle, had been taught by experience to heed the caution so well
recommended by the tuneful Burns,--

  “Beware the tongue that’s smoothly hung,”--

and a chilling silence was the only response that greeted him.

“You hear his honor’s remarks,” observed the chairman, at length
breaking the ominous silence. “Have you any propositions to make before
the judge retires?”

Another long interval of deep silence ensued; when Tom Dunning’s tall,
sinewy form, and sharp, bronzed features, screwed up with an expression
of sly mischief, was seen rising from a back seat in the room.

“Seeing no one else,” he said, “seems--ditter--disposed to accept your
invitation, Mr. Moderator, I don’t--ditter--know but I will make a small
proposition on the occasion. Now, as I take it, we are to remain here
to-night; and as we have now learned that the judge and the people here
are the--ditter--best of friends, I would just move, Mr. Moderator, that
his honor be--der--ditter--invited to take up lodgings with us in the
Court House to-night, so that, if the enemy comes,” he added, imitating
the manner of the judge, as described by Bart, “he can assist us
to--ditter--‘_temporize--temporize--till_’--”

Here the hunter bobbed down into his seat, while explosive bursts of
laughter rose from several parts of the room, and a low, half-smothered
titter ran through the whole assembly, at this sly, but cutting allusion
to the part last night taken by the double-dealing judge, who now sat
before them, looking, for the moment, like a suddenly detected criminal.
He, however, while the chairman was calling to order, recovered his
command of countenance, and, by the time the tumult had subsided into
the less noisy expressions of mirth, he was smiling as gayly as the
rest, and affecting to consider the remarks of the stammering humorist
as merely a pleasant joke.

“There is no cheating our friend Dunning out of his joke. I perceive,”
 he said, rising and taking up his hat; “and, indeed, I don’t know that
I can blame a hardy woodsman for laughing at the idea of one of our
in-door and tender professional men, like myself, sleeping on floors and
benches. I am afraid we deserve it for our effeminacy. Yes, yes, a good
joke, truly! and a good laughter-moving joke is an excellent thing to
go to bed upon, they say,” he added, as with a merry, gleeful look, he
bowed himself out of the assembly.

No further comments were offered by any of the company upon the
communications of this official double-dealer, after his departure; for
all seemed to think that the single shot of Dunning had rendered all
further comments on his speech, and his motives in coming there to make
it, entirely superfluous. And they therefore proceeded, as if nothing
but an ordinary interruption had occurred, to the business on which they
were engaged when the judge came in--that of passing some fresh resolves
expressive of their determination to hold the Court House in defiance of
the threats of their opponents, and of their now settled purpose of
no longer submitting, on any conditions, to the continuance of a court
which had proved itself so corrupt and treacherous. After this, and
making arrangements for the posting and relieving of guards at the doors
for the night, a part of the company left the house to seek lodgings
elsewhere, as the usual hour of rest had now arrived.

When the nonplused and disconcerted Chandler left the Court House,
he rapidly took his way back to his quarters, from which he had been
started out by Patterson and Gale, to see if he might not be able
to accomplish by fair words what they had failed to effect by foul.
Although he had put the best possible face upon the mortifying
occurrence he had just been compelled to meet, and had made, as he
believed, a handsome exit from the company, yet he felt keenly conscious
that he had not only utterly failed in the object of his visit, but
that much of his late base conduct was known. He perceived this in
the allusions of Dunning, the pith of which he had affected not to
understand. He had seen it, he had felt it, in the significant and
knowing glances that had been exchanged on every side around him, and
especially in the bitter derisive laugh that had assailed his tingling
ears. He had also been taught a new lesson in the interview! He had
seen, in the firm manner and determined looks of those he had been
confronting--he had seen that which told him of a spirit at work among
the people, that the loyal party, with all their boasted strength, might
not long be able to quell. He began now, with the instinctive sagacity
of the true office-seeker, to perceive the possibility, perhaps
probability, that the power of dispensing office and patronage was about
to change hands, and he inwardly trembled for his own safety. He
found himself, in short, in one of those straits, to which men of his
character are not unfrequently reduced--that of being wholly at a loss
to decide which side was most likely to become the strongest. Could he
have foreseen and decided this, his mind would have been comparatively
at ease; for he could have then trimmed his sails, so as to steer clear
of the political breakers which he knew were somewhere ahead. Some
course, however, he must decide upon; and after lamenting his inability
to pierce the future, so far as to know which party was destined to
prevail, and thus secure the important advantages that might be derived
from shaping his present course accordingly, he at length resolved to
keep aloof, at present, from both parties, believing he had so adroitly
managed thus far, that whichever side might triumph, he could put in a
specious claim of having acted with it, in reality, from the first.

And having now made up his mind to this course, he avoided meeting the
tory leaders again; and, seeking out a safe messenger, and sending him
to tell them, that “he had left the company at the Court House as he
found it,” and that “a forgotten business engagement had compelled him
to be absent from their councils for a few hours,” he took his way to
a distant part of the village, where he called on an acquaintance of
neutral politics. And here becoming much engaged in conversation,
and feigning to have forgotten the hour of the night, he was at last
prevailed on to accept, as he did with great seeming reluctance, the
invitation of his host to tarry till morning.

After Patterson and his minions retreated from the Court House,
they returned to the tory tavern, and there remained several hours,
alternately cursing their opponents for rebellious obstinacy in not
yielding to their commands and menaces, and their expected friends for
their tardiness in reaching the place. And affairs remaining in this
situation till a late hour in the evening, they were on the point of
giving up all thoughts of renewing the attack that night, when the long
and anxiously looked for reenforcement, consisting of thirty or forty
armed men, came hurrying on to the ground. The sinking spirits and
waning courage of the blustering sheriff and his confederates now
instantly revived; and, exulting that they now had the power to glut
their vengeance, they resolved on making an immediate assault. And after
fortifying their courage with liberal potations of brandy, the whole
party, now swelled, not only by the freshly arrived forces, but by
Brush, Peters, Stearns, and many others, who had declined joining in the
first sally, to nearly one hundred men, eagerly set forward to the scene
of action.

The other party, in the mean time, though still maintaining a watchful
guard at the doors of the Court House, had yet been so long exempted
from an attack of their foes, that they were now in but little
expectation of being any further molested till the next morning. And
some were lying stretched upon the benches in the court-room, asleep;
some, with their great-coats under their heads, were reposing on the
floors of the different passages of the house; while others were sitting
round the fires, engaged in smoking and conversation.

Among those taking their turns as sentries, at this juncture, were
Woodburn and Bart, who, with each a stout cane or cudgel in his hand,
were now stationed at the principal entrance.

“They are coming!” cried Bart, who, having gone out into the street to
ascertain what might be the noise which they had heard at a distance,
now came running up, with an excited air to his companion; “they are
upon us again, with twice as many men as before, and plenty of guns!”

“In with the news!” said Woodburn, as the appearance of the hostile
party wheeling up towards the Court House the next instant confirmed the
other’s statement--“in with the news, and tell them to man the doors, or
in two minutes we shall be routed.”

Instantly springing into the door, which he unfortunately left open,
Bart made the announcement to French, who was restlessly moving about
in the passage, and who repeated the same in a voice which started all,
both above and below to their feet.

“They are coming for our blood!” he added, in a tone of strange, wild
glee. “Ay, there they come! I see them levelling their guns in the yard!
Now for the victims! Let us die like----”

The report of two or three muskets, and the whistling of bullets through
the passage just over his head, cut short the speaker. A moment of
breathless silence ensued; when the harsh, ruffian voice of Patterson
was heard from without,--

“Damn ye, why don’t you fire?”

A general discharge of the fire-arms of the assailants, flashing
fiercely on the surrounding darkness, and sending them deadly missiles
through the passage, windows, and sides of the house, in every
direction, instantly followed the ferocious order. And, in the expiring
light, the fated French was seen to leap into the air; and then,
spinning giddily round and round an instant, fall, with a low, short
screech, prostrate on the floor; while mingled groans, rising from a
half dozen others along the passage, told also the fearful effect of the
murderous volley.

With the discharge of their arms, the assailing force, guided by their
torch-bearers, made a rush for the Court House. As they approached the
door, Woodburn, who had kept his post, unhurt, on one side of the steps,
sprang forward to dispute their passage, and, after knocking up the
swords and bayonets that were aimed at his breast, laid about him so
lustily with his cudgel, that the whole party were, for some moments,
kept at bay. At length, however, Peters, who was near the rear of the
hostile column, perceiving it was his hated opponent who was disputing
the pass so resolutely, stealthily crept round those in front, and
coming up partly behind his intended victim, with a protruded sabre,
aimed a deadly lunge at his body, exultingly exclaiming with the
supposed fatal thrust,--

“There! d----d rebel, take that!”

“And you that!” cried the other, who, having, from a lucky turn in his
body at the instant, received only a flesh-wound on the inner side of
his arm, now, with an upward sweep of his cudgel, knocked the sword of
the detestable assassin twenty feet into the air--“and you that! ay, and
that!” he added, as, with a quickly repeated blow over the head, he sent
his foe reeling to the earth.

But the weapon of the intrepid young man being now caught, and his body
fiercely grappled by four or five of his exasperated foes, he was soon
disarmed, and, in spite of his desperate struggles, borne into the
court-house with the crowd, who now rushed furiously along the passages,
wounding with their swords, and beating down with their guns and clubs,
without distinction or mercy, all whom they met in their way.

“Guard the doors instantly!” shouted Patterson, who perceived that
numbers of the vanquished party were retreating through the different
doors; “don’t let another of the d----d rascals escape! And, hallo
there, jailer! bring on the keys of the prison-rooms; we will cage the
whole lot, dead or alive, and let ‘em be enjoying a few of the fruits
of their rebellion now, and the blessed anticipations of being hung for
high treason hereafter.”

The obsequious jailer soon appeared with the required keys and the
doors of both prison-rooms were speedily unlocked and thrown open by the
directions of the sheriff.

“Now, tumble them in, boys!” resumed the sheriff, with look and tone of
savage exultation.

Eager to obey, the supple tools of arbitrary power now commenced driving
all those of their prisoners who had not been too much disabled by their
wounds to stand, together into the prison-rooms. They then seized hold
of the wounded, who lay weltering in their blood in different parts of
the floor of the long passage, and began dragging them along by their
limbs to the same destination.

“Monster!” exclaimed Woodburn, looking back from the felon’s cell which
he was about to enter, and addressing Redding, who stood mimicking, with
fiendish glee, the groans and contortions of French, as he lay gasping
and writhing in mortal agony on the spot where he fell, just beyond the
short passage dividing the prison-rooms--“monster,” he repeated, “would
you insult the dying?”

“Yes, d--n you!” savagely interposed Gale, stepping forward; “he has got
just what he deserved; and I wish there were forty more of you in
the same predicament. Drag him along in there with the rest of ‘em,
Redding!”

“Ay, ay,” responded Patterson, “in with him! And I can tell the rest of
them, they had better be saving their pity for themselves, for they will
all be in hell before to-morrow night!”

It is needless to say that this brutal order was promptly obeyed. And
when the dying and insensible victim, pierced through head and body, and
all the wounded, had been drawn in and thrown promiscuously together,
on the cold, damp floors of the prison-rooms, the keys were turned upon
them; and their remorseless butchers, making not the least provision
for the sufferers, by way of medical aid or otherwise, returned, after
posting a strong guard at the doors, to the tavern or the house of
Brush, to celebrate their victory in a drunken carousal.



CHAPTER VI.

  “The brand is on their brows,
     A dark and guilty spot;
   ‘Tis ne’er to be erased,
     ‘Tis ne’er to be forgot.”


Whatever may be the result of the present public movement for the
abolition of capital punishment, and however far future experiments may
go towards establishing the expediency and safety of such a change in
criminal jurisprudence, the history of every nation and people will
show, we believe, the remarkable fact, that ever since Cain stood before
his Maker with his hands reeking with the blood of his murdered brother,
and his heart so deeply smitten with the consciousness of having justly
forfeited his own life by taking the life of another, that he could not
divest himself of the belief that all men would seek to slay him, no one
principle has been found to be more deeply implanted in the human breast
than the desire to see the wilful shedding of blood atoned for by
the blood of the perpetrator. So strong, so active, and so impelling,
indeed, seems this principle, that no sooner goes forth the dread tale
of homicide, than all community rise up, as one man, instinctively
impressed with the duty of hunting down the guilty and bringing them
to justice; while the guilty themselves seem no less instinctively
impressed with the abiding consciousness that the doom, which heaven and
earth has decreed to their crimes, must inevitably overtake them.

Deep and fearful was the excitement, in the hitherto quiet and peaceful
village of Westminster, as from mouth to mouth, and house to house,
spread the startling intelligence, that a meeting of unarmed citizens,
assembled at the Court House, had been assailed, and numbers shot down
in cold blood by the minions of British authority. The whole town was
soon in commotion. No loud noise or clamor of voices, it is true, was
heard proclaiming the deed on the midnight air; but the rapid footfalls
of men hurrying along the streets, the hastily exchanged inquiry, the
eager, suppressed tones of those conversing in small groups at the
corners and by-places around the village, the hasty opening and shutting
of doors, and the dancing of lights in every direction, gave ominous
indication of the feeling that had every where been awakened, and the
secret movement which was everywhere afoot among the people.

A small band, who had gathered in the yard of what was called the
People’s Tavern, were listening, with many a demonstration of horror and
indignation, to the account of one who had escaped from the Court House
after the tories had got possession.

“Where are our leaders, Morris?” asked one of the listeners, as the
speaker, a fluent, energetic young man, closed his recital of the
atrocities he had witnessed. “Did they escape, or are they among the
wounded and prisoners?”

“Wright and Carpenter had gone off before we were attacked,” was the
reply, “the rest, not among the wounded I have named escaped in the
confusion, I think, except Dr. Jones, of Buckingham, who was driven into
the felon’s hole with other prisoners; and it may be well that he was,
perhaps, as those bloodthirsty brutes would have suffered no surgeon to
be sent for to attend those who are not past help.”

“And Tom Dunning, whose rifle we shall need,--what became of him?”

“He got out in the same manner I did. We stood in a dark corner, at
the head of the stairs, taking note of the proceedings below; when that
crafty little chap, that joined us from Brush’s, came wriggling like an
eel out from between the legs of the crowding tories, in the passage;
and, working himself up stairs unnoticed, in the same way, beckoned us
to follow him, as we did, into the court-room, where, at his suggestion,
we stripped off the sheets of a bed, in one of those corner sleeping
cuddies, made a rope, and by it let ourselves down through a window to
the ground in the rear of the house; when we separated, Dunning going
home, as he said, to arm himself. But here he comes,” added the speaker,
peering out towards the street, from which several forms were dimly seen
approaching--“here he comes, and those just behind him I should judge to
be Carpenter and Fletcher, by their gait.”

“Well, Dunning,” asked one of the company, as the hunter came striding
up to the spot, “what is your response to all this?”

“Der-sixty bullets, and a--ditter--pound of powder!” was the stern and
significant reply of the other, as with one hand he struck his rattling
bullet-pouch and huge powder-horn, and with the other brought down the
breech of his rifle with a heavy blow upon the ground.

“That’s the man for me!” exclaimed Fletcher, now coming up with
Carpenter.

“Ay, Dunning is right!” said Carpenter, with emphasis. “If we hold our
peace now, the very stones will cry out for vengeance. But talking is
only a small part of what must be done. We must act. And first of all,
this tale of murder and outrage must instantly be thrown upon the
four winds of heaven, and carried into every town in this part of the
settlement. Who will volunteer to ride express with the news?--news
which, if I know anything of the spirit of the great mass of our people,
will be taken as a call to arms, and responded to accordingly.”

Several eager voices announced their readiness to start off at once on
the proposed mission.

“Follow me to the stables, then,” resumed the stanch patriot, hastily
leading the way to the barn, and throwing open a stable door. “There!”
 he continued, pointing to a pair of large, active-looking brutes,
feeding together in one stall--“there are my two horses--take them. Let
one of their riders go north, the other south; and spare no horse-flesh
of mine in an emergency like this; but ride and rally, till you have
sent the bloody tale to every house and hut this side the mountains.
And you, Morris and Dunning, accompany me to Captain Wright’s. More
messengers must be despatched west and east, into the borders of New
Hampshire, and much other business done before morning.”

A far different scene, in the mean while, was in progress among the
inmates of the loyal mansion, which we have before described, and which
was destined to give shelter that night to the last conclave of royal
office-holders ever known in the Green Mountains. Although the leaders
of the court party had returned from the sanguinary scene they had
enacted, in high exultation at the decisive victory they supposed they
had achieved over their despised opponents, yet neither their own vain
boastings, nor the deeply-quaffed wines of their host, could long keep
up their spirits. Conscience soon began to be busy among them; and their
hearts waxed faint and fearful at the thought of what they had done.
They instinctively drew close together, conversed in subdued tones, or
sat uneasily listening to the sounds that occasionally reached them from
without. And whatever they might have said to keep up their own and each
other’s courage, it soon became apparent that secret misgivings, fears,
and forebodings of a coming retribution had taken possession of their
guilt-smitten bosoms.

And there was another person in that house, to whom the tragical events
of the night brought deep disquietude; but it was a disquietude of quite
a different character from that which was experienced by the troubled
wretches we have named: that person was the _Tory’s Daughter_--the pure,
guileless, and nobleminded Sabrey Haviland.

Having been apprised of the intention of Patterson and his confederates
to make an assault upon their opponents as soon as the expected
reinforcements arrived, her anxieties on the subject had prevented her
from retiring to rest, as her less concerned companion did, at the
usual hour. And when the startling report of fire-arms broke upon the
stillness of the night, she was not, like many others in the village, at
loss to know the cause; and her fears led her to divine but too well
the fatal result. And after an interval of painful suspense, which was
terminated by the return of the tory leaders to the house, she stole
softly out of her chamber to the head of the stairs, and there listened
with mingled emotions of horror and disgust to the boastful recital of
their sanguinary deeds, as given by the heartless Gale and others, to
her father and Judge Sabin, who had remained in the house, but who, she
perceived with sorrow, were warm approvers of all that had been done.
But, as revolting to her gentle nature as was the general description of
the event, the particulars the exulting narrators soon proceeded to give
were much more so. And when she heard them relate the affray between
Woodburn and Peters, and heard the latter, while making light of his own
hurts, boast that he had first given the other a thrust with his sword
through the body, which must finish him before morning; she could listen
no longer, but, hastily retiring to her room, she walked the apartment
for nearly an hour in the deepest agitation and distress.

Among the many excellent traits of Miss Haviland’s character, a lively
sense of right and wrong, together with a deep and abiding love of truth
and justice, unquestionably predominated. So strong and controlling,
indeed, was this principle in her bosom, that it exhibited itself in
all her conversation, and seemed to be the governing motive of all her
actions. And when she had once discovered the truth and the right, at
which she appeared to arrive with intuitive quickness, no wheedling or
sophistry could blind her to their force; and no inducements could be
offered sufficient to cause her to waver in their support. And yet this
peculiar trait, as deeply seated as it was, and as firmly as it was ever
exercised, was so beautifully tempered by the benevolence of her heart,
the equanimity of her mind, and the engaging sweetness of her demeanor,
that it never seemed to impart the least tinge of arrogance to her
character, or harshness to her manners. On the contrary, she was all
gentleness and devotion, and ever ready to comply with the wishes of
others, when a compliance did not contravene, in her opinion, any of the
principles of even-handed justice; and, in case she felt bound to refuse
to yield to their requests, her refusal was made and maintained with
such mild firmness, that none could be offended, none feel inclined
to charge her with obstinacy or perverseness. She was at this time
the mistress of her father’s household, her exemplary and intellectual
mother having several years before deceased, and her elder and only
sister, the year previous, married one of the leading loyalists of
Guilford. And it had been mainly through the influence of this sister
and her husband, that she had been induced, the preceding fall, to
take the step which was destined to cause her years of sorrow and
perplexity--that of engaging herself in marriage to Peters. She had
found few or no opportunities of studying this man’s character,
having known him only as a parlor acquaintance, of easy manners and
considerable intelligence. And although she saw nothing particularly
objectionable in him, and although she knew that, in point of wealth and
family distinction, he was considered what is termed a desirable match,
yet she had entered into the engagement with many misgivings, and in
compliance rather with the wishes of her friends above named, seconded
by the urgent request of her father, than in accordance with the
dictates of her own judgment and inclination. But whatever her doubts at
that time, or during the months immediately following, they had not been
sufficient to disturb the usual even tenor of her feelings, till she
left home on her present excursion, during which, as already intimated,
she had seen the character of her affianced in a new light--a light
which showed him to be possessed of traits as abhorrent to her feelings,
as, to her mind, they were base and reprehensible in themselves. And
now, to crown all, he had, by an act of deliberate, private malice, even
according to his own account, inflicted a mortal wound on the victim of
his former injuries--the man who, but the day before, had snatched her,
whom the other professed to hold as the highest object of his earthly
solicitude, from a watery grave. It was these painful reflections that
were now agitating her bosom; for the more she pondered upon the
conduct of Peters, the more did her heart reject and despise him; and in
proportion as her feelings rose up against him were her sympathies drawn
towards his victim, Woodburn, whose noble act had created so strong a
claim upon her gratitude, and whose character and appearance had alike
awakened her interest and admiration.

“Is it indeed thus,” she at length uttered, as if summing up the
thoughts that had been passing through her mind, “that he who saved my
life, at the risk of his own, must die by the hand of one who should
have been the first to thank and reward him? Ay, and die, too, without
receiving from me, or mine, one word of acknowledgement, even, of the
service he so nobly rendered? perhaps the thought of our ingratitude
is now embittering his dying moments! Can I, should I suffer this so to
remain?”

Here she relapsed into silence, and, slowly resuming her walk round the
room, seemed for a while immersed in anxious thought; when she suddenly
paused, and, after a moment of apparent irresolution, stepped to
the wall, and gave two or three pulls at the wire connected with the
servants’ bell in the kitchen. In a few minutes the summons was answered
by the appearance of the chamber-maid.

“Will you go down to the gentlemen’s sitting-room,” said Miss Haviland,
“ask out my father, and tell him I would see him a moment in my own
room?”

The girl disappeared, and, in a short time, Esquire Haviland, with a
slightly disturbed and anxious air, entered the room, and said,--

“What’s the matter, Sabrey? Are you sick to-night, that you are yet up
and send for me?”

“O, no,” replied the other; “nothing of that kind led me to send for
you, but my wish to make a request which I was unwilling to delay.”

The squire cast a somewhat surprised and inquiring look at his daughter,
but remained silent, while the latter resumed:--

“You recollect that this morning, after apprising you of the extent of
our obligations to Mr. Woodburn, about which you seem to have been so
misinformed, I suggested that a personal acknowledgment, with offers of
some more substantial token of our gratitude, should be immediately made
to him. Has this been done?”

“No,” replied he, with a gathering frown: “having understood the fellow
was assorting with the rebels in their treasonable plots, I did not feel
myself bound to seek him in such company Is that all you wish of me?”

“It is not, sir,” she answered seriously, and with the air of one
determined not to be repulsed. “I have accidentally become apprised that
Mr. Woodburn, in the affray of to-night, has been dangerously wounded,
and, in this condition, thrust into prison. And, as we have now an
opportunity of testifying our sense of his services, it is my earnest
request that you procure his release from prison, for which your
influence here, I know, is sufficient; that he may be brought out
to-night and properly attended.”

“Insane girl!” muttered the father, angrily, “what can have put that
absurd project into your head? Had you been abed hours ago, as
you ought, instead of being up and prying into the doings of our
authorities, with which a woman has no concern, I should have been
spared this exhibition of folly. Why, the wretched fellow is but
receiving the just deserts of his crimes. He is in prison for high
treason; and had I the will, which I have not, I could not procure his
release.”

“I cannot believe these opposers of the court will be held to answer
for such a crime. Indeed, it has occurred to me that the authorities
themselves may be called to account for firing upon these unarmed men;
and therefore I still hope you will use your exertions for Woodburn’s
release,” urged the fair pleader.

“You are to be the judge what is treason, then, hey? And you are
ready to side with these daring and desperate fellows and condemn our
authorities, are you? What assurance! You will hardly persuade me to
favor your mad projects, I think,” harshly retorted the bigoted old
gentleman.

“You can, at least, go to the prison and return him the acknowledgments
which our character and credit require of us,” still persisted the
former.

“Well, I shall do no such thing,” replied the other, with angry
impatience; “for I consider the fellow’s conduct tonight has wholly
absolved me from my obligations to him, if I was ever under any,” he
added, rising to depart.

“I do not view it so, father,” returned the unmoved girl, in a mild,
expostulating tone, “and I am sorry for your decision; for, if those
whose place it more properly is to do this, refuse to perform it, I know
not why I should not myself undertake the duty.”

“You!”

“Yes, father.”

“What, to-night?”

“Certainly; another day may be too late.”

“Madness and folly! Why, who is to attend you, silly girl?”

“If no gentleman is to be found with courtesy enough to attend me, I
shall not hesitate to go alone, sir.”

“We will see if you do!” exclaimed the old gentleman, looking back from
the entrance at the other, with an expression of scornful defiance--“we
will see if you do, madam!” he repeated, closing the door after him, and
turning the key on his daughter, whom he thus left a prisoner in her own
room.

As Miss Haviland listened to the springing bolt and her father’s
departing steps, a slight flush overspread her face at the thought of
the indignity thus put upon her, and she rose, and, after putting her
hand to the door to assure herself that she was not mistaken, proceeded,
with a calm, determined air, to a table on one side of the room, on
which stood the materials for writing; and here, taking pen and paper,
she seated herself, and addressed a brief note to Woodburn, delicately
expressing her sense of obligation to him, and concluding with the
hope that she might soon have it in her power to do something
towards alleviating his present situation. Having signed, sealed, and
superscribed the billet, she rose and stood some time hesitating and
irresolute.

By what means could this note, now it was written, be made to reach its
destination? Should she again summon the chamber-maid, she presumed her
father had so managed that the call would not be answered; besides, she
felt a repugnance to the thought of resorting to such means. What other
method could then be devised?

While thus casting about her for some expedient for effecting her
purpose, she thought she heard some one placing a ladder against the
side of the house, beneath a window, opening from the rear end of
the passage adjoining her room; and, after listening a moment, she
distinctly heard the person cautiously ascending. Not being of a timid
cast, she quickly removed the thick, heavy curtains of the window in
her room next and very near the one under which the unknown intruder was
mounting the ladder, and, throwing up the sash, peered out; when, to her
surprise, she beheld, and at once recognized, the queer-looking figure
of Barty Burt, standing on the top round of the ladder, scratching
his head, and giving other tokens of embarrassment at being thus
unexpectedly caught in this situation.

“Master Bart,” said Miss Haviland, who had become somewhat acquainted
with the other, while supplying her room with fuel, previous to his
ejection from the house, to which she was knowing, “your appearance, at
this time, to say the least of it, causes me much surprise.”

“I returns the compliment, miss,” replied Bart; “so that makes us even,
and no questions on ither side, don’t it?”

“Perhaps not, sir,” returned the former, with seriousness: “at all
events, you should be able to give a good reason for your appearance
here, under such circumstances: please explain your object.”

“And if I don’t, you will sing out for the squire, you said? Well, I can
get down, and off, before he can get here, I reckon,” responded Bart, in
a tone of roguish defiance.

“I did not say I would call Esquire Brush; but, unless you explain----”

“Yes, yes, jest as lieves as not, and will, if you’ll keep shut til I
can run up garret and back.”

“Your purpose there, sir?”

“An honest one--only to get my gun up there, which the squire didn’t
have put out for me, when he dismissed me with his high-heeled shoes,
to-day, and which I darsent name then, fear he’d have that thrown
down, like my ‘tother duds, and break it--only that--and if you’ll say
nothing, and let me whip in, and up to get it, I’ll lay it up against
you, as a great oblige, to be paid for, by a good turn to you some time,
miss.”

“If that is all, go--and I may wish to speak with you when you come
back.”

So saying, she gently let down the sash, and, withdrawing a little from
her window, stood awaiting the result; when she soon heard the other,
with the light and stealthy movements of a cat, enter the house, and
ascend into the garret, through a small side-door, opening from the
passage we have named. Scarcely a minute had elapsed before she again
heard his footsteps stealing back by her door to the window, through
which he had so noiselessly entered; when, once more raising the sash of
her own, she found him already standing on the top of the ladder where
she last saw him, he having effected his ingress and egress with such
celerity, that but for the light fusil he now held in his hand, she
would have believed herself mistaken in supposing he had entered at all.

“Well, miss, I am waiting for your say so,” he said, in a low tone,
peering warily around him.

“Have you been to the Court House to-night?” hesitatingly asked the
other.

“Well, now,” replied Bart, hesitating in his turn, “without more token
for knowing what you’re up to, I’ll say, may be so and may be no so.”

“You need not fear me, Bart,” replied Sabrey, conjecturing the cause
of his hesitation; “I am no enemy of those who have suffered there
to-night. But do you know Mr. Woodburn?

“Harry, who got you out of that river scrape? Yes, lived in his town
last summer.”

“He is among the wounded and prisoners in jail, it is said?”

“Dreadful true, miss.”

“Could you get this small letter to him to-night?” she timidly asked.

“Yes, through the grate; glad to do it, glad of it, twice over,” replied
Bart, reaching out, and grasping the proffered billet.

“Why, why do you say that?” asked Sabrey, with an air of mingled doubt
and curiosity.

“Cause, in the first place, you’ll now keep my secret of being here; and
nextly, glad to find there’s one among the court folks that feels decent
about this bloody business. But I must be off. Yes, I’ll get it to him,”
 said Bart, beginning to descend.

“Say, Barty. Is there any hope that Mr. Woodburn will survive his
wounds?”

“Survive? Live, do you mean? O, yes; though the lunge which that--But no
matter. It was well meant for the heart, and the fellow wan’t at all to
blame that it didn’t reach it, instead of the inner part of the arm.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Miss Haviland, in a tone of joyful surprise; which
the next instant, however, gave way to one of embarrassment. “Why,
I heard--have written, indeed, under the belief that--and
perhaps----Barty, I think, on the whole, I will not send that billet
now.”

As Bart heard these last words of the fair speaker, so inconsistent with
all which both her words and manner had just expressed, he looked up
with a stare of surprise to her face, now sufficiently revealed, by
the glancing light standing near her in the room, to betray its varying
expressions. But, as he ran his keen gray eyes over her hesitating and
slightly confused countenance, he soon seemed to read the secret cause
of her sudden change of purpose, arising from that curious and beautiful
trait in woman’s heart, which, by some gush of awakened sympathy, often
unfolds all the lurking secrets of the breast, but which, when the cause
of that sympathy is removed, closes up the avenue, and conceals them
from view, in the cold reserve of shrinking delicacy--the colder and
more impenetrable in proportion as the disclosure has been complete.

“O, yes, I will carry it,” said Bart, pretending to misunderstand the
other, while he pocketed the billet and began to glide down the ladder.

“No,” commenced Miss Haviland; “no, Bart, I said----”

“Yes, yes, I will have it there in a jiffy,” interrupted Bart, hastening
his descent, and the next instant dodging away in the dark beneath the
foot of the ladder.

“Well, let it go,” said the foiled and somewhat mortified maiden to
herself, after the disappearance of her strange visitor. “If what I
expressed, when I thought him dying, was right and proper, it cannot be
very wrong now.”

As soon as she had thus reconciled herself to the unexpected turn which
this matter had taken, Miss Haviland now began to reflect more on Bart’s
motives in coming, at such an hour of the night, for his gun; when it,
for the first time, occurred to her mind, that he had been induced to
take this step in consequence of some particular call for arms having
reference to the events of the evening. Fearing she might have done
wrong in suffering him to take away the gun, if it was to be used for
hostile purposes, and anxious to know whether her conjectures relative
to a rising of the people were well founded, she proceeded to an end
window of her room, which overlooked a range of buildings known to her
to be mostly occupied by the opposers of royal authority; and removing
the curtains and raising the sash, she leaned out and listened for any
unusual sounds which might reach her from without. And it was not
long before she became well convinced that her apprehensions were not
groundless. Some extraordinary movement was evidently going on in the
village. The low hum of suppressed voices, mingled with various sounds
of busy preparation, came up, on the dense night air, from almost every
direction around her. Here, was heard the small hammer, the grating
file, with the occasional clicking of the firelock, undergoing repairs
by the use of the instruments just named. There, could be distinguished
the pecking of flints, the rattling of ramrods, and the regularly
repeated rapping of bullet-moulds to disengage the freshly-cast balls.
In other places could be perceived the nasty movements of men about
the stables, evidently engaged in leading out and saddling horses, and
making other preparations for mounting; and then followed the sounds of
the quick, short gallop of their steeds, starting off, on express, in
various directions, under the sharply applied lashes of excited riders,
and distinctly revealing their different routes out of the village, by
the streams of fire that flew from their rapidly striking hoofs on
the gravelly and frozen ground. All, indeed, seemed to be in silent
commotion through the town. Bart’s object in coming for his gun, at such
an hour of the night, was now sufficiently explained; for the quick and
discerning mind of Miss Haviland at once told her that the country was
indeed rising in arms to avenge the atrocities just committed by the
party among whom were all her relatives and friends; and she shuddered
at the thought of tomorrow, feeling, as she did, a secret and boding
consciousness that their downfall, brought about by their arrogance and
crimes, was now at hand.



CHAPTER VII.

  “A shout as of waters--a long-uttered cry:
   Hark! hark! how it leaps from the earth to the sky!
   From the sky to the earth, from the earth to the sea
   It is grandly reechoed, _We are free, we are free!_”


Every thing, the next morning, seemed as quiet and peaceful in the
village, as if nothing unusual had occurred there. The commotion of the
preceding night appeared to have wholly subsided. With such secrecy and
caution, indeed, had the revolutionists managed, that no knowledge of
their movements had yet reached the ears of any of their opponents. And
so guarded was their conduct, through the whole morning, that the court
party leaders, although their spies had early been out, prowling round
the whole village, were yet kept in entire ignorance of all that
had transpired among the former during the night. Being consequently
deceived by the false appearance which every thing within the reach of
their observation had been made to wear, and feeling thus relieved of
their last night’s guilty fears of a popular outbreak, these cruel and
dastardly minions of royalty now counted on their triumph as complete,
and, soon giving way to noisy exultation, they began openly to boast
of the sanguinary measure by which their supposed victory had been
achieved. And, about nine o’clock in the forenoon, the judges and
officers of court, with a select number of their most devoted adherents,
all in high spirits, and wholly unsuspicious of the storm that was
silently gathering around them, formed a procession at the house of
Brush, and, attended by a strong armed escort, marched ostentatiously
through the street to the Court House, and entered the courtroom to
commence the session.

After the judges had been ushered to their seats, and while they were
waiting for the crowd to enter and settle in their places, Chandler, who
had kept aloof till the procession had begun to form, was seen to run
his wary and watchful eye several times over the assembly, to ascertain
whether there were any discoverable indications there pointing to any
different state of things from the one so confidently assumed by his
confederates, when he soon appeared to have noted some circumstance
which caused him suddenly to exchange the bland smile he had been
wearing for a look of thoughtfulness and concern.

“Do you notice anything unusual in the crowd this morning, Judge
Sabin?” he said to his colleague, in an anxious whisper as he closed his
scrutiny.

“No, your honor,” replied the other, “unless it be the cheering sight of
encountering none but friendly faces, instead of the hostile ones, which
a man would have been led to expect to meet here, after so much clamor
about popular disaffection.

“Ay,” responded the former, with a dubious shake of the head--“ay, but
that is the very circumstance that puzzles me. Had a portion of the
assembly been made up of our opponents, quietly mingling with the
rest, as I had rather hoped, I should have construed it into a token of
submission; or, had a committee been here to present a petition, or a
remonstrance or two, I should have been prepared for that, and could
have managed, by a little encouragement, and a good deal of delay, to
give every troublesome thing the go-by, till the storm had blown over.
But this entire absence of the disaffected looks a little suspicious,
don’t it?”

“Why, no,” answered the stiff and stolid Sabin; “I can see nothing
suspicious about it. Indeed, it goes to show me that the rebellion is
crushed; for, as I presume, the honest but well-meaning part of the
rebels are ashamed, and their leaders afraid to show their faces here
to-day, after last night’s lesson.”

“I hope it may be as you suppose; but I have my doubts in the matter,”
 returned Chandler, with another dissenting shake of the head, as he
turned away to renew his observations on the company before him.

On resuming his scrutiny, the uneasy judge soon perceived that the
assembly, during his conversation with his colleague, had received an
accession of several individuals, whom he recognized as belonging to
the party whose absence had awakened his suspicions. But the presence of
these persons, after he had carefully noted their appearance, instead
of tending to allay only went to confirm, his apprehensions; for, as
he closely scanned the bearing and countenance of each, and marked the
assured and determined look and covert smile which spoke of anticipated
triumph, attended with an occasional expectant glance through the
windows, he there read, with the instinctive sagacity sometimes seen in
men of his cast of character, enough to convince him, with what he
had previously observed, that a movement of a dangerous magnitude was
somewhere in progress, and soon to be developed against the court party.
And he instantly resolved to lose no time before trimming his sails and
preparing to meet the coming storm. And the next moment, to the surprise
of his colleague and the officers of the court, he was on his feet,
requesting silence that he might address the assembly. He then proceeded
to remark on the unfortunate occurrences of the previous night, with
a show of much feeling and regret, and concluded by expressing his
disapprobation of the course taken in the affair by the sheriff and his
abettors, in a manner that would have given the highest offence to all
implicated, had they not believed that the speech was secretly designed
only as a game on their opponents, whom he might think it expedient to
quiet and delude a little longer. They, therefore, winked knowingly to
each other, and remained silent; while the speaker sat down with the
mental exclamation,--

“There, let it come now! That speech will do to be quoted. I can refer
them to it as the public expression of my views before I knew what was
coming.”

Having thus placed himself in a position, as he believed, where he
could easily turn himself to meet any contingency,--where, in case the
apprehended overthrow of the court party took place, he could easily and
safely leap the next hour to a favorable, if not a high stand among
the new dispensers of place and power, or where, should the present
authorities be able to sustain themselves, he could as easily explain
away his objectionable doings, and retain his standing among them.
Having done this, he then turned his attention to the official duties
of his place, and ordered the crier to give the usual notice, that the
court was now open for business. This being formally done, the court
docket was called over, and the causes there entered variously disposed
of for the time being, by the judges, till they came to that of Woodburn
versus Peters; which was a petition for a new trial for the recovery of
the petitioner’s alleged farm, that had been decided, at the preceding
term, to be the property of Peters, on the ground and in the manner
mentioned in a former chapter.

“Who answers for this Woodburn?” said Sabin, with a contemptuous air.
Significant glances were exchanged among the tory lawyers and officers
about the bar at the question, and a malicious smile stole over the
features of Peters, who had found a seat among them.

“I move the court,” said Stearns, the attorney of Peters, “for a
judgment in favor of my client for his costs, and also for a writ of
possession of his land, of which he has been so unjustly kept out by
this vexatious proceeding. And, as the petitioner has not entered his
appearance according to rule, whereby he tacitly admits that his cause
cannot be sustained, I will not permit myself to doubt that the court
will so order, even at this early hour--they certainly have the power to
do so.”

“They have also the power to postpone the hearing, even to the last day
of the term, before rendering judgment,” bluntly interposed Knights, a
large, plain-looking practitioner at the bar, who had taken no active
part either for or against the court party.

“We all know how this young man is debarred from appearing here to-day;
and it seems to me manifestly unjust that any power which deprives a man
of the opportunity of appearing at court, should render judgment against
him in consequence of his non-appearance. I would, therefore, suggest
a delay in this cause. Perhaps, within a short time, he will employ
counsel, or be liberated.”

“And perhaps be hung for treason,” said Stearns, in a sneering
under-tone.

“Do you answer for him or not, Mr. Knights?” demanded Sabin,
impatiently.

“No, your honor; he has not authorized me. I only made a suggestion,”
 answered the former.

“Then judgment must go for Peters,” rejoined Sabin, with ill suppressed
warmth. “Traitors and rebels must look somewhere else for favor, beside
this court, while I hold a seat here.”

“Nobody has yet been convicted of treason, I believe,” promptly
responded Knights, while an expression of indignant scorn flashed over
his manly and intelligent countenance; “and till such is the case, I
take it the rights of all have an equal claim on the court. I should be
pleased to hear the opinion of the chief justice in this matter.”

“Although I may have my doubts on this subject, Mr. Knights,” graciously
replied Chandler, “you could hardly expect me to be guilty of so great a
discourtesy to my colleague here, as to interfere, after the intimation
he has just given.”

“Make the entry, Mr. Clerk,” said Sabin, hastily; “judgment for costs,
and a writ of possession. _I_ am not troubled with any doubts in the
matter, and will take the responsibility of the decision.”

Scarcely was the cause thus decided before Peters glided up to the
clerk, and whispered in his ear; when the latter, nodding assentingly,
opened his desk, and taking out two nicely-folded papers, handed them
slyly to the other, who, receiving them in the same manner, immediately
left the court-room and proceeded down stairs. As the exulting suitor
passed through the crowd gathered round the main entrance, he beckoned
to a short, thick set, harsh-featured fellow, who immediately followed
him around a corner of the building.

“Well, Fitch,” said Peters, pausing as soon as they were out of the
reach of observation, “have you done up your business in town, so as to
be ready for a start for Guilford?”

“Yes; don’t know but I have. But you can’t have got your decision,
papers made out, and all, so soon as this?” replied the other.

“All complete!” returned Peters, triumphantly.

“Why, the court has not been in session an hour!”

“True, but I had spoken to Judge Sabin to have my case taken up this
morning; and, as nobody was authorized to answer for Woodburn, the case
was disposed of in a hurry. And the clerk, with whom I had also arranged
matters, had made out the papers before going into court, and got them
all signed off and ready, in anticipation; and here they are, ready for
your hands, Mr. Constable.”

“Ay, I see; but what is the necessity of serving them so immediately?”

“Why, there’s no knowing what may happen, Fitch. If the rebels, in
revenge for last night’s peppering, should send over the mountain for
old Ethan Allen and his gang to come here to stir up and lead on the
disaffected, all legal proceedings might be stopped. I know most of our
folks think, this morning, that the enemy are fairly under foot. But
Chandler, who is as keen as a fox for smelling out trouble, acts to
me as if he was frightened; and I think he must have scented mischief
brewing, somewhere.”

“Some say he is a very timorsome man.”

“Yes; but watchful and sagacious, and therefore an index not to be
disregarded.”

“May be so. But what are your orders about these papers?”

“With this, the writ of possession, go, in the first place, and turn the
old woman, his mother, neck and heels, from the house; and then get some
stiff fellow in for a tenant, rent free the first year, if you can do
no better, provided he will defend the premises against Woodburn, if he
escapes unhung. And with this paper, an execution for costs, as you will
see, seize the fellow’s cow and oxen, and all else you can find, and
sell them as soon as the law will let you.

“Why, you won’t leave enough of the fellow for a grease spot.”

“Blast him; I don’t intend to. But now is the time to do it, before he
can get out of jail and back there to give fight and trouble us. So you
fix all these matters about right for me, Fitch and I’ll do the handsome
thing by you when I come over, after the roads get settled, in the
spring.”

“Never fear me, as long as I know what a friend’s wishes are,” replied
the constable, with a significant wink, as he stuffed the documents
into his hat, and bustled off on the detestable mission of his more
detestable employer.

While Peters and his official minion was thus engaged, Tom Dunning was
seen coming, with hasty strides, along the road, from the direction of
his cabin, which was situated without the village, about a half mile
north of the Court House, from which it would have been visible but for
the pine thicket by which it was partially enclosed. As the hunter was
entering the village, he met Morris, hastening up the street, from the
opposite part of the town.

“Well met,” said Morris; “for I was bound to your quarters with a
message, which----”

“Which I am ditter ready to receive, and give you one, which I started
to carry to your folks, in return. So, first for yours.”

“Mine is, that we are now drawn up, two hundred strong, in the first
woods south of the village, and are ready to march.”

“And mine, that we are der ditto; besides being a hundred better than
you, all chafing, like ditter tied-up dogs, to be let on.”

“I will back, then, to my post with the news; and in less than a half
hour, tell them, they shall hear our signal of entering the village, as
agreed, which we will expect you to answer, and then rush on, as fast as
you please, to effect a junction, as we wheel into the court-yard. But
stay: have the prisoners been apprized that their deliverance is at
hand?”

“Yes; I ran up at the time the court ditter went in, and, in the bustle,
got a chance to tell them through the grate.”

“All right; but how are the wounded doing?”

“Ditter well, except French, who is fast going.”

“Indeed! Poor fellow! But his blood will now soon be avenged,” said
Morris, as the two now separated and hastened back to their respective
posts.

After Peters had despatched the constable on his work of legal plunder
and revenge, he returned to the court-room for the purpose of pressing
to a hearing some other cases which he had pending against political
opponents, and which he hoped, through the favor of a biased and corrupt
court, to curry as easily as the one wherein he had just so wickedly
triumphed. But he was not permitted to reap any more of his despicable
advantages; for he found that another, actuated by motives no less
unworthy than his own, had already gained the attention of the court to
a case of which he had been the prime mover and complainant. This was
Secretary Brush; and the trial he had been urging on, through Stearns,
the acting state’s attorney, was that of the alleged murderer, to whose
somewhat mysterious, as well as suspicious, arrest and imprisonment
allusion has already been made.

“As you say the witnesses are in court, Mr. Stearns,” observed Chandler,
after a moment’s consultation with his colleague, “as all the witnesses
are here, we have concluded to take up the criminal case in question.
You may therefore direct the sheriff to bring the prisoner into court
without delay.”

The sheriff, accordingly, left the court-room, and, in a short time,
reappeared with the prisoner, followed by two armed men, who closely
guarded and conducted him forward to the criminal’s box.

The prisoner was a man of the apparent age of sixty, of rather slight
proportions of body, but with a large head, and coarse features, that
seemed to be kept almost constantly in play by a lively, flashing
countenance, in which meekness and fire, kindness and austerity, were
curiously blended. As he seated himself, he turned round and faced the
court with a fearless and even scornful air, but promptly rose, at the
bidding of the chief judge, to listen to the information, which the
clerk proceeded to read against him at length, closing by addressing to
the respondent the usual question as to his guilt or innocence of the
charge.

“I once,” calmly responded the prisoner--“I once knocked up a pistol,
pointed at my breast by a robber. It went off and killed one of his
fellows, and----”

“Say, guilty or not guilty?” sternly interrupted the clerk.

“Not guilty, then,” answered the other, determined, while going through
these preliminary forms, that his accusers, the court, and audience,
should hear what, under other circumstances, he would have reserved for
the more appropriate time of making his defence, or left to his counsel.
“Ay, not guilty; and that gentleman,” he rapidly continued, pointing to
Brush, “that gentleman, who has offered to free me if I would submit to
be robbed, well knows the truth of what I say. The witnesses, whom he
has suborned, also know it, if they know any thing about that luckless
affray.”

“Liar!” shouted Brush, springing up, in high excitement, as soon as he
could recover from the surprise and confusion into which this bold and
unexpected charge had thrown him.

“The man’s insane--evidently insane, your honors!” cried Stearns, who,
in his anxiety to shield his friend Brush, thought not of the effect of
such a remark.

“I thank the attorney for the government for that admission, may it
please the court,” said Knights, rising, with a sarcastic glance at
Stearns. “I may wish to make use of it.”

“Are you counsel for the prisoner, sir?” sharply demanded the other.

“I am, sir,” coolly replied Knights; “and you may find, before we get
through the trial, that what the prisoner has said, as much out of place
as it was, is not the only truth to be developed. But before the case
proceeds any further, I offer a plea to the jurisdiction of this court,
and at once submit, whether a man can be tried here for an offence
alleged to have been committed in another county, without a special
order from the governor for that purpose.”

“That order is obtained and on file, sir. So that learned bubble is
burst, as will all the rest you can raise in favor of the miserable
wretch you have stooped to defend,” said Stevens, exultingly. “Mr.
Clerk, pass up that order to the court.”

“Are you satisfied now, Mr. Knights?” asked Sabin, with undignified
feeling, after glancing at the order which had been laid before the
judges. “Mr. Stearns, proceed with the cause.”

But that court, on whom the subservient attorney and his corrupt and
arrogant friend depended to convict an innocent man of an infamous
crime, that a private and nefarious object might thereby be
enforced--that court were now destined to be arrested in their career of
judicial oppression before they had time to add another stain to their
already blackened characters: for, at this moment, a deep and piercing
groan, issuing from one of the prison-rooms beneath, resounded through
the building so fearfully distinct, as to cause every individual of
the assembly to start, and even to bring the judges and officers of
the court to a dead pause in their proceedings. A moment of death-like
silence ensued; when another and a sharper groan of anguish, bursting
evidently from the same lips, and swelling up to the highest compass of
the human voice, and ending in a prolonged screech of mortal agony, rang
through the apartment, sending a thrill of horror to the very hearts of
the appalled multitude!

“Who? What? For God’s sake, what is that?” exclaimed a dozen eager and
trembling voices at once, as nearly the whole assembly started to their
feet, and stood with amazed and perplexed countenances, inquiringly
gazing at each other.

“Don’t your consciences tell you that?” exclaimed the prisoner, Herriot,
in a loud, fearless voice, running his stern, indignant eye over the
court, its officers, and leading partisans around the bar. “Don’t your
consciences tell you what it was? Then I will! It was the death-screech
of the poor murdered French, whose tortured spirit, now beyond the reach
of your power, went out with that fearful cry which has just assailed
your guilty ears!”

“Mr. Sheriff! Mr. Sheriff!” sputtered Sabin, boiling with wrath, and
pointing menacingly to the prisoner.

“Silence, there, blabbing miscreant!” thundered Patterson.

“Ah! No wonder ye want silence, when that name is mentioned,” returned
Herriot, unflinchingly.

Struck dumb with astonishment at the unexpected audacity of the prisoner
in thus throwing out, in open court, such bold and cutting intimations
of their guilty conduct, the judges and officers seemed perfectly at
a loss how to act, or give vent to their maddened feelings, for some
moments. Soon, however, the most prompt and reckless among them found
the use of their tongues.

“Shoot him down, Patterson!” exclaimed Brush, with an oath.

“Treason! I charge him with treason, and demand that he be ironed and
gagged on the spot!” shouted Gale, bringing down his clinched fist
heavily on the desk before him!

“Yes, high treason; let us re-arrest him, and see if we can hang him on
that, should he escape on the other charge,” chimed in Stearns.

“I have my doubts,” began Chandler, who was growing every moment more
wavering and uneasy.

“No doubts about it,” interrupted Sabin, almost choking with rage.
“I’ll not sit here and see the king’s authority insulted, and his court
treated with such contempt and treasonable defiance; and I order him
instantly in irons--chains--yes, chains, Mr. Sheriff!”

“You can chain the body, but shall not fetter the tongue,” responded
Herriot, in no way dismayed by the threats of his enraged persecutors,
or their preparations to confine and torture his person; “for I _will_
speak, and you shall _hear_, ye tyrants! Listen then, ye red-handed
assassins! The blood of your murdered victim has cried up to God for
vengeance. The cry has been heard! the unseen hand has already
traced your doom on the wall! and this day, ay, within this hour,” he
continued, glancing through the window to a dark mass of men, who might
now be partially discerned drawn up behind the point of woods at the
north--“ay, within this very hour, that doom shall be fulfilled! Hark!”
 he added, in startling tones, after a momentary pause--“hark! do ye hear
those signal guns, echoing from post to post, round your beleaguered
Babylon? Do you hear those shouts? The avengers of blood are even now at
your doors. Hear, and tremble!”

As the speaker closed his bold denunciations, he descended from the
bench which he had mounted for the purpose, and, advancing to the
sheriff and his assistants, now standing mute and doubtful with
their hastily procured fetters in their hands, he paused, and stood
confronting them with an ironical smile, and with folded arms, in token
of his readiness now to submit himself to their hands. But a wonderful
change had suddenly come over the whole band of these tory dignitaries.
The dark and angry scowls of mediated revenge, and the more fiery
expressions of undisguised wrath, which were bent on the dauntless old
man during the first part of his denunciations, had, by the time he
made his closing announcement, all given way to looks of surprise and
apprehension. No one offered to lay hands on him; for, as the truth of
what he said was every moment more strongly confirmed by the increasing
tumult without, no one had any thoughts to spare for any but himself.
And soon the whole assembly broke from their places, and, in spite of
the loud calls of the officers for silence and order, began to cry out
in eager inquiries, and run about the room in the utmost confusion and
alarm. At this juncture, David Redding, who had been thus far the most
reckless and bloodthirsty tory of all, burst into the room, hurriedly
exclaiming,--

“The people have risen in arms, and are pouring in upon us, by hundreds,
from every direction! In five minutes this house will be surrounded,
and we in their power. Let every man look to his own safety! I shall to
mine,” he added, rushing back down to the front door, where, instead of
attempting to escape through the back way, as he might then have done,
he began to shout, “Hurra for Congress!” and, “Down with the British
court!” at the very top of his voice.

“I resign my commission,” cried Chandler, jumping up in great
trepidation. “Let it be distinctly understood,” he repeated, raising his
voice in his anxiety to be heard--“yes, let it be distinctly understood,
that I have resigned my commission as judge of this court.”

“D----n him! what does he mean by that?” muttered Gale, turning to
Patterson.

“It means he is going to turn tail, as I always thought he would,--the
cursed cowardly traitor!” replied the latter, gnashing his teeth. “But
let him, and that pitiful poltroon of a Redding, go where they please.
We will see to matters ourselves. I don’t believe it is any thing more
than a mere mob, who will scatter at the first fire. So follow me, Gale;
and all the rest of ye, that aint afraid of your own shadows, follow me,
and I’ll soon know what can be done.”

And, while lawyers and suitors were hastily snatching up their papers,
and all were making a general rush for the door, in the universal panic
which had seized them, the boastful sheriff, attended by his assistants
and the tiger-tempered Gale, pushed his way down stairs, shaking his
sword over his head, and shouting with all his might,--

“To arms! Every friend to the court and king, to arms! Stand to your
guns there below, guards, and shoot down every rebel that attempts to
enter!”

But, when he reached the front entrance, the spectacle which there
greeted his eyes seemed to have an instant effect in cooling his
military ardor. There, to his dismay, he beheld drawn up, within thirty
paces of the door, an organized and well-armed body of more than three
hundred men; while small detachments, constantly arriving, were falling
in on the right and left, and extending the wings round the whole
building. And as the discomfited loyalist ran his eye along the line of
the broad-breasted and fierce-looking fellows before him, and recognized
among them the Huntingtons, the Knights, the Stevenses, the Baileys,
the Brighams, the Curtises, and other stanch and leading patriots, from
nearly every town bordering on the Connecticut, and saw the determined
look and the indignant flashing of their countenances, he at once
read not only the entire overthrow of his party in this section of the
country, but the individual peril in which he, and his abettors in the
massacre, now stood before an outraged and excited populace.

“What ails your men, Squire Sheriff?” cried Barty Burt, now grown to a
soldier in the ranks of the assailants, as he pointed tauntingly to the
company of tory guards who had been stationed in the yard, but who now,
sharing in the general panic, had thrown down their arms, and
stood huddled together near the door; “why don’t they pick up their
shooting-irons, and blaze away at the _‘d----d rebels,’_ as I think I
heard you order, just now?”

“And if that won’t ditter do,” exclaimed the well-known voice of Tom
Dunning from another part of the ranks, “suppose you ditter read another
king’s proclamation at us: no knowing but we might be ditter done for,
entirely.”

The sheriff waited to hear no more, but hastily retreated into the
house, followed by a shout of derisive laughter; and his place was the
next moment occupied by Chandler, who bustled forward to the steps,
and, in a flustered, supplicatory manner, asked leave to address his
“_respected fellow-citizens_.”

“Short speeches, judge!” impatiently cried Colonel Carpenter, who
seemed, from his position on horseback among the troops and other
appearances, to be chief in command--“short speeches, if any. We have
come here on a business which neither long speeches nor smooth ones will
prevent us from executing.”

The judge, however, could not afford to take this as a repulse; and,
with this doubtful license, he went on to say, that on hearing, in the
morning, as he did with astonishment and horror, of the unauthorized
proceedings of last night, he had denounced the outrage, in an address
at the opening of the court; and not finding himself supported, he had
resigned, and left his seat on the bench.

“And now,” he added in conclusion, “being freed from the trammels of my
oath of office, which have lately become so painful to me, I feel myself
again one of the people, and stand ready to cooperate with them in any
measure required by the public welfare.”

A very faint and scattering shout of applause, in two or three places,
mingled with hisses and murmurs in others, was the only response with
which this address was received. But even with this equivocal testimony
of public feeling towards him, this despicable functionary felt
gratified. “I _am safe_,” said he to himself, with a long-drawn breath,
as he descended the steps, to watch an opportunity to mingle with the
party with whom he was now especially anxious to be seen, and to whom he
was ready to say, in the words of the satirist,--

  “I’m all submission, what you’d have me, make me;
   The only question is, sirs, will you take me?”

At this moment a sash was thrown up, and the prisoner, Herriot, appeared
at a window of the court-room above.

“I have been brought up here this morning,” he said, shaking back his
gray locks, and raising his stern, solemn voice to a pitch clearly
audible to all in the grounds below--“I have been brought here from my
dungeon to answer to the charge of a foul crime; and both my accusers
and triers, fleeing even before any one appeared to pursue, have left
their places, having neither tried nor condemned me. But scorning to
follow their example, I now appear, to submit myself for a verdict, to
the rightful source of all power--the people.”

“Neither will we condemn thee,” cried Knowlton, pursuing the scriptural
thought of the other; “if thy accusers and judges have left thee
uncondemned, thou shalt not be condemned by us; at least not by me, who
have long had my opinions of the character of this prosecution.”

“As also have I,” responded Captain Wright. “I know something of the
witnesses, on whom, it is said, they depended to convict father Herriot;
and I would not hang a dog on their testimony. I move, therefore, that
we here pronounce a verdict of acquittal. Who says, ay?”

“Ay!” promptly responded a dozen voices; and “Ay!” the next instant rose
in one loud, unanimous shout from the whole multitude.

“A thousand thanks to you, my friends, for your generous confidence in
my innocence,” returned the old man with emotion; “and, thank God, your
confidence is not misplaced. I was formerly guilty of much, which has
cost me many bitter tears of repentance; but there is no blood on _my_
hands, and I will now return to my hermit hut, from which they dragged
me, there to pray for the success of the good cause in which you are
engaged, leaving to you what lesson shall be taught those Hamans who
have filled these dungeons with the dying and wounded, now demanding
your care.”

The effect of the old man’s closing hint was instantly visible on the
multitude, who decided by acclamation to act upon it without delay; and
accordingly a score of resolute fellows were detached to proceed to the
prisons, release their friends, and fill their places, for the present,
with their murderous oppressors.



CHAPTER VIII.

  “----right represt,
   Will heave with the deep earthquake’s fierce unrest,
   Then fling, with fiery strength, the mountain from its breast”


When the besieged tories, who were now mostly crowded together in
the broad space on the lower floor, saw a column of their assailants
entering the front door, and advancing upon them with levelled muskets
to sacrifice them, as they supposed, on the spot, they were seized with
a fresh and uncontrollable panic, and made such a tremendous rush for
the back entrance, that the only sentry who happened at that moment to
be there, was, in spite of all his threats to fire upon them, instantly
borne down, or thrust aside, by the living torrent that now burst
through the door; and before a force sufficient to stop them could
reach the spot, numbers had escaped into the adjoining fields, where,
scattering in different directions, they commenced their disorderly
flight, with all the speed which their guilty terrors could lend them.
The next moment, however, as the cry that the tories were escaping was
raised, a hundred of their most fleet-footed opponents were seen
leaping the fences into the fields, and giving chase to the frightened
fugitives. A scene, in which the ludicrous, the novel, the wild, and
the fearful, were strangely mingled, now ensued; for, although a strong
guard still retained their places round the Court House, who, with the
detachment that had entered as we have described, proceeded to take into
custody the remaining tories and liberate the imprisoned, yet the main
body of the revolutionists joined in the work of hunting down the flying
enemy; those not only who had escaped from the Court House in the manner
we have named, but all concerned in the massacre that could be found
secreted or lurking about the village; while the exulting shouts of
the victors as they overtook, seized, and brought to the ground the
vanquished; the abject cries of the latter for quarter; the reports of
muskets fired by pursuers over the heads of the pursued, to frighten
them to surrender; the beating on drums, and the loud clamor of mingling
voices,--all combined to swell the uproar and confusion of the exciting
scene.

“How like the ditter deuse these lawyers do scratch gravel!” exclaimed
Tom Dunning, as he singled out and gave chase to Stearns and Knights,
who together were making their way across the fields, in the direction
of the river, as if life and death hung on their speed. “Ha! ha!”
 continued the tickled hunter, laughing so immoderately at the novel
spectacle, as greatly to impede his own progress--“ha! ha! ha! ha! Why,
I der don’t believe but what they’ve got consciences, after all! for
what else could make their ditter drumsticks fly so?”

But although the hunter, in thus indulging his merriment, suffered
himself actually to lose ground in the race, yet he had no notion of
relinquishing the chase, or losing the game; for, conscious of his own
powers, and thinking lightly of those of the fugitives, he supposed,
that, as soon as he chose to exert himself, he could easily make the
race a short one, and as easily capture and lead them back in triumph;
and he began to think over the jokes he would crack at their expense
on the way. But the unseen event of the next moment showed him, to his
vexation, that his inaction, and confidence in his own powers to remedy
the consequences of it, had cost him all the anticipated pleasures
of his expected victory. For scarcely had he commenced the pursuit in
earnest, when the fugitive lawyers reached the bank of the river, and at
the very place too, as it provokingly happened, where his own log-canoe
chanced to be moored, and hastily leaping into it, they managed with
such dexterity and quickness, in handling the oars and cutting the
fastenings, as to push off, and get fairly out of the reach of their
pursuer, before he could gain the spot; and his threat to fire at
them, if they did not return, and the execution of that threat the next
moment, which sent a bullet skipping over the water within a foot of
the receding canoe, as he only intended, were all without effect in
compelling the return of the panic-struck attorneys. And the balked
pursuer had soon the mortification to see his crafty brace of intended
captives land in safety on the opposite shore, which he had now no
means of gaining, and disappear in the dark pine forest then lining the
eastern bank of the Connecticut at this place.

“Outwitted, by ditter Judas!” exclaimed the hunter, in his vexation.
“These lawyers, dog ‘em! they have so much of the Old Scratcher in ‘em,
that they will outdo a fellow at his own trade. However, I’ve done the
new state some ditter service, I reckon, seeing I’ve fairly driven such
a precious pair of ‘em out of it.” [Footnote: Knights, who, unlike his
companion, was no loyalist, appears to have become infected with the
panic that had seized his loyal associates, in common with the whole
court party; and, though he had no cause for alarm, fled with those
who escaped from the Court House, on this memorable occasion. It is
probable, that owing to his supposed interest in the continuance of the
court, and consequent unwillingness to co-operate in the measures
on foot to overthrow it, he was purposely kept in ignorance of the
movements of the revolutionists, and therefore taken wholly by surprise
when the storm burst. At all events, his speedy return, immediate
resumption of his professional duties at Brattleborough, and subsequent
promotion to the bench, abundantly shows that he no less enjoyed
the confidence of the American party than his two namesakes, and, we
believe, relatives, whom we have named as present among the assailants,
and who were afterwards officers in our revolutionary forces. An aged
and distinguished early settler, to whom the author is indebted for many
of the incidents he has here delineated, thus writes in relation to the
particular one in question:--

“I have heard Judge Samuel Knights, who, as chief justice, presided
in the Supreme Court from 1791 to 1793, describe the trepidation
that seized them, when, after the massacre, and on the rising of
the surrounding country, they came to learn the excited state of the
populace. He related how he and another member of the bar (Stearns, I
think, who was afterwards attorney secretary of Nova Scotia) hurried
down to the river, and finding there a boat, (such as was used in
those times for carrying seines or nets at the shad and salmon fishing
grounds, which were frequent on both sides the river, below the Great
Falls,) they paddled themselves across, and lay all day under a log in
the pine forest opposite the town; and, when night came, went to Parson
Fessenden’s, at Walpole, and obtained a horse, so that, by riding
and tying, they got out of the country till the storm blew over, when
Knights returned to Brattleborough.”]

With this consolatory reflection, he now turned and retraced his steps
towards the scene of action. While on his way thither, and soon after
passing the rear of the building before described as the head-quarters
of the tory leaders, his attention was arrested by the lamentable
outcries of some one alternately bawling for help, and begging for
mercy; when, turning to the spot, he there beheld his associate, Barty
Burt, astride the haughty owner of the mansion just named, who, with
dress sadly soiled and disordered, was creeping on his hands and knees
on the ground, towards his house, which, it appeared, he had nearly
gained, when he was overtaken, thrown to the ground, and mounted by his
agile and tormenting captor, who was now taking his whimsical revenge
for former indignities, by compelling the fallen secretary, through the
efficacy of a loaded pistol just wrenched from the latter’s hand, to
carry him on his back, in the manner above described.

“What the dogs are you ditter doing there, Bart?” said Dunning, with a
broad grin, as he came up and recognized the secretary in such a strange
plight and attitude.

“O, nothin very desput; only showing Squire Brush, here the differ
between to-day and yesterday, that’s all,” replied Bart kicking and
spurring, like a boy on some broken-down horse “Get up, here! Gee!
whoa, Dobbin! Kinder seems to me,” he continued to his groaning
prisoner--“kinder seems to me I heard somebody say, ’tother night, that
Bart Burt wasn’t above a jackass. Wonder if I aint above a jackass
now? only his ears may need pulling and stretching a little,” he added,
suiting the action to the word.

“For God’s sake, my good man,” said Brush, turning imploringly to
Dunning, “do relieve me from the clutches of this insatiate imp of hell.
Let him shoot me, if he will; but don’t leave me to be worried, and trod
into the mud and splosh, like a dog, by the revengeful young savage. It
is more than flesh and blood can bear.”

“Well, now, squire, I wouldn’t make such a tearing fuss about this
little bit of a walloping, after what’s happened, if I was you,” said
Bart. “There was our differ about who was the jackass, and sich like,
that night, you know, which I kinder thought I might as well settle;
and then, again, there was your good-by, yesterday; but may be I’ve done
enough to make that square, too. So I don’t care if I let you up, now,
seeing as how Mr. Dunning has come to take care of your worship,” added
the speaker, springing nimbly a few paces aside, and facing about with
presented pistol, as if to keep the other on good behavior.

“What can you want with me, sir?” said the disencumbered secretary to
the hunter, after gaining his feet and shaking off the mud from his
bedraggled garments.

“Ditter considerable,” replied the other. “In the first place, the
people want to see you back to the Court House, where you may ditter
consider yourself invited to go, under my care. They there may have the
first claim on you.”

“Well, if I am a prisoner, let us go there, then,” said the crestfallen
loyalist, relinquishing, with bad grace, his hope of being allowed to
escape. “But what do you mean by _first claim_ on me?”

“Well, I ditter mean that I have another, when they get through with
you.”

“Explain yourself, sir.”

“I will. You ditter know that your governor has offered a reward of
fifty pounds for the ditter delivery of Ethan Allen for the gallows,
under a law got through the York Assembly, principally by one Squire
Brush. Well I aint a going to ditter fight old Ethan’s battles; for he
can der do that himself. But you may ditter know, also, that Ethan has
offered the same reward for the governor and you. Now, as we are ditter
expecting Allen over here, in a few days, I was der thinking, I and
Bart, here, might as well ditter deliver you up, and claim the money.”
 [Footnote: Crean Brush, who procured himself to be elected from this
county to the New York legislature, for several years, was believed to
be the main mover of the act of outlawry against Ethan Allen and others.
He certainly, as chairman of the committee on the subject, reported, and
recommended the passage of, that notorious measure. (See Slade’s State
Papers.)]

So saying, the hunter, bidding the prisoner to follow, and Bart to bring
up the rear, marched off in triumph to the Court House; and, having
delivered over his charge to the guard at the prison doors, sallied
out into the village in quest of further adventures. Nor was he long
in meeting with them. After gaining the street, he soon perceived a
gathering and commotion nearly in front of the mansion whose owner he
had just taken from the rear; and, on reaching the spot, he found a
crowd collected round a sleigh, filled with gentlemen and ladies, which
proved to be that of Peters and his company. It appeared that Haviland,
who had remained at his quarters that forenoon, and had thus become
apprised of the rising of the people sooner than the mass of his party,
had instantly ordered the team to be harnessed, and every thing prepared
for an immediate departure, as soon as Peters should arrive. And the
latter, who was among those who broke away from the Court House after
it was invested, having at length reached the house undiscovered, and
adopted such disguise in dress as the time would permit, they had all
jumped into the sleigh, (which could still be used better than any
other vehicle,) and were rapidly driving from the yard, in an attempt to
escape from the town, when they were recognized and detained by a party
of the revolutionists. Haviland and Peters had already been seized
and taken from the sleigh, and would have instantly been forced off to
prison, but for the entreaties and distress of the females who refused
to be conducted back to the house, or even to be separated from their
protectors; Miss Haviland, especially, declaring that if her father
must go to prison, she would go with him. This had produced a momentary
delay, during which a sharp altercation had arisen, some being for
taking the prisoners back to the house, there to be guarded, and others
strongly insisting on dragging them off, at once, to jail. The latter,
at length, appeared to prevail, and were on the point of forcing the
ladies, in spite of all their entreaties, from the sides of their
protectors, when a man came pushing his way through the crowd:--

“For shame! shame! my friends,” he cried; “you surely would not molest
innocent and defenceless females.”

“I will tell you what it is, Harry Woodburn,” responded one of those who
were for proceeding to active measures, “when ladies attempt to stand
between murderers and their deserts, they must expect to be molested.”

The circumstances of the case were then explained to Woodburn; when the
crowd, who had been irritated by the threats and arrogant behavior of
the prisoners, at the outset, again began to cry, “Away with them, women
and all, if they will have it so--away with them to prison!”

“Men, hear me!” exclaimed Woodburn, planting himself between the ladies
and the angry crowd. “You see this!” he continued, holding up his
bandaged and blood-stained arm: “the wound was received in defending
your cause; and I have but this moment come from the felon’s hold where
I passed the night, for the part I took in the affray. Now, have I not
earned the right to be heard?”

“Ay, ay, certainly, Harry; go on!” responded several, while the silence
of the rest denoted a ready acquiescence in the request.

“This, then, is what I would say,” resumed the former. “These ladies,
who are doubtless anxious to escape from a scene of strife which may
not yet be ended, came from a distance, under the care of this old
gentleman, whose imprisonment would not only take from them their
protector, but deprive them, probably, of all present means of returning
to their home. I propose, therefore, to let him and them depart
unmolested.”

“If the ladies were all--but I don’t know about letting this old fellow
off so easily,” said one, exchanging doubtful glances with those around
him. “He is both tory and Yorker to the eyes.”

“Yes,” urged another, “and who knows but he was among the murderers last
night?”

“I have ascertained that he was not among the actors of last night’s
outrage,” replied Woodburn.

“Well,” rejoined the former, “I know the other was--that upper-crust
tory by his side there, who was always too proud to wear an old coat
and hat, till he thought they might help him in skulking away out of the
reach of punishment.”

“I know Peters was there, to my cost; and I had no notion of asking any
exemption for him,” returned Woodburn, with bitterness. “But this old
gentleman, whatever may be his feelings, has committed none of those
acts of violence, for which, only, I understand, our leaders intend to
institute trials. Shall we not, then, let him and his ladies proceed, as
I proposed?”

Receiving no direct answer to his appeal, the speaker now took two or
three of the leading opposers aside, and, after conversing with them a
few moments, returned, and announced to Haviland that he was at liberty
to depart.

How well and wisely had he read the human heart, who penned the
scriptural apothegm, “If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst,
give him drink; for, in so doing, thou shall heap coals of fire on his
head”! Haviland, though by nature an honorable man, had yet suffered
himself to enter deeply into the personal animosities of Peters towards
Woodburn, which, with his political and aristocratic prejudices, had
caused him to think of the young man only with feelings of contempt and
bitterness. And when he witnessed the noble conduct of the latter,
first in rescuing his daughter from the flood, and now so generously
interposing in his behalf, it produced that struggle between pride
and conscience, whose operation is so forcibly expressed by the sacred
writer just quoted. And, although he could bring himself to acknowledge
his obligations only by a formal and constrained bow, yet the
conflicting and painful expressions that were seen flitting over his
disturbed countenance, as he now returned to the sleigh, plainly told
how effectually, and with what punished feelings, his enmity had been
silenced. But not so with his single-minded and quickly and justly
appreciating daughter. She had no prejudices to combat, no pride to
conquer; and she, therefore, witnessed each new act of her deliverer
with as much pleasure as gratitude--feelings which sought expression
in no parade of words, it is true, but in the more meaning and eloquent
language of the kindly tone and sweetly-beaming countenance. And, in her
low-murmured, “_Thank you--thank you for all_,” as Woodburn handed her
to her seat in the vehicle, he felt a thousand fold repaid for all he
had ventured for her sake; while the speaking smile, with which she the
next moment turned to him, and nodded her adieu, left an impress on his
heart destined never to be effaced.

While this was transpiring, Peters, who had been standing apart from
the rest of his company, sullenly looking on, without uttering a word,
except to bid Haviland go on without him, contrived, without exciting
any suspicion of his design, to work himself by degrees to the outer
edge of the crowd, in the direction in which the team was about to pass.
And, as the sleigh, which was now put in motion, approached him, he
made a sudden feint of running the opposite way; when, as the crowd
were confusedly springing forward to head him, he quickly tacked
about, leaped into the sleigh, and, snatching the reins and whip from
Haviland’s hands, applied the lash so furiously, that the frantic horses
bounded forward with a speed which carried the receding vehicle more
than fifty yards on its course, before the balked and confused throng
could recover themselves, and fairly comprehend what had happened. But
the sharp, bitter shout of execrations, mingled with cries for immediate
pursuit, which now rose from the agitated multitude, proclaimed at once
their hatred of the haughty loyalist, and their determination not to
suffer him to escape from justice And the next instant, a half dozen
swift runners, led on by Dunning, shot out from the crowd, in the eager
chase, like so many arrows speeding to the mark. And, notwithstanding
the supposed advantages of horses over men in a race, and
notwithstanding the increased speed with which the fugitive team
thundered along over the half-bare and uneven ground, the pursued had
scarcely reached the end of a furlong, before the fleet and determined
hunter, still in advance of his companions, gained the side of the
sleigh, leaped up, pounced upon his cringing victim, and brought him
headlong to the ground, leaving Haviland to seize the relinquished
reins, check the horses as he best could, and proceed on his way
unmolested.

“There! you ditter sneak of a runaway tory. You will now go, I der
rather calculate, where there’s no ditter petticoats to shelter you,”
 said Dunning, raising the chapfallen Peters by the collar, and drawing
him along back, amidst the exulting shouts of the revolutionists, by
whom he and his friend Brush were then forced away, in no very gentle
manner, to join their fellow-prisoners, in the same dungeon where
the victims of their last night’s outrage were so unfeelingly and so
unwisely immured.

A detailed description of the various scenes which here succeeded,
in the winding up of this local revolution, as it may justly be
denominated, would occupy too much space for the limits of our tale,
without evolving any further incident, having much bearing on the
destinies of those of its personages whose fortunes we design to follow.
We will now, therefore, sum up, in a few words, the doings of the
triumphant party, and, with a comment or two of our own, dismiss the
subject.

In the first place, all the supposed actors and abettors of the massacre
within reach were seized and secured, excepting Redding and one or
two others of a like character, who, by their activity in assisting to
apprehend the fugitive comrades whom they had so meanly deserted, and
their offers to give evidence against them, had purchased an exemption
from punishment, and excepting also the Janus-faced Chandler, who, by
his duplicity, had contributed more than any other man, perhaps, towards
this catastrophe, but who now contrived to make even his iniquities
count in his favor. [Footnote: As the acts of this notorious personage,
whose character we have been at considerable pains to ascertain, and
accordingly portray, will have no further connection with our story,
we cannot forbear, before dismissing him entirely, giving the reader a
short account of his subsequent career, and singular end. Although, by
his facility of accommodating his political principles to those of
the majority, and his alacrity of tacking about, and mounting, like
a squirrel on a wheel, so as to be found rising to the top in every
revolution or counter-revolution of public sentiment, he thus adroitly
managed to get appointed to some offices of minor importance, under
the new state government, yet, becoming every year better and better
understood, and consequently more and more distrusted, he finally sunk
into utter insignificance and contempt; and, falling into pecuniary
embarrassments, brought about by a long course of secret fraud in
selling wild lands, of which he had no titles, he was confined for debt
in the very building in which the massacre occurred; where, as if by the
retribution of Heaven for the part he once there acted, he soon died,
unhonored and unlamented. And, what is still more remarkable, his
remains were strangely destined to be denied even the respect of a
common burial. For some exasperated creditor having attached the body,
and the neighbors, from a notion that prevailed at that time, supposing,
that by removing the body for a public burial they would make themselves
liable for his debts, suffered it to remain till it became too offensive
to be endured, when, at the dark hour of midnight, a few individuals
went silently to the prison, got the putrid mass into some rough box,
and drew it on the ground to the fence of the neighboring burial-ground;
and, having dug a horizontal trench under the fence, and a deep pit on
the other side, pushed through and buried up all that remained of the
once noted Chief Justice Chandler. An old, decayed oak stump, still
standing, is the only object that marks the site of his grave.] After
this was effected, the victors, all but enough to constitute a safe
guard, laid aside their arms, and resolved themselves into a sort of
civil convention, to take measures for the trial of the prisoners by
some mode, which, in the absence of all proper authorities, should
answer for a legal process. And, as the first step in the matter, a
jury of inquest, to sit on the dead body of French, was ordered, and
a committee appointed to see to the empanelling of impartial men, and
collect evidence and conduct the investigations to be had before them.
All this being duly accomplished, and the jury bringing in a verdict
that the deceased came to his death by the discharges of muskets, in the
hands of Patterson, Gale, and others therein enumerated, all the latter,
thus designated as the murderers of the unfortunate young man, were
taken, and, under the authority of another order or decree of
the convention, marched off, under a strong guard, to the jail
in Northampton, some forty or fifty miles into the interior of
Massachusetts, and there confined, to be tried for their lives at the
next court that should be holden in the county where the offence was
committed; while a less deeply implicated portion of the prisoners
were put under bonds to appear at the court to answer to the charges
of manslaughter and assault, or made to undergo other punishments and
restrictions immediately imposed by the convention. [Footnote: Among the
different kinds of sentences imposed on the class of offenders here last
named, was one dooming Judge Sabin to the limits of his own farm, and
making it lawful for any one catching him off of it to kill him. And
so deep was the public indignation against this inveterate loyalist and
supposed secret abettor of the massacre, that he was narrowly watched
for the chance of executing the penalty. An aged revolutionist, from
whom this fact was derived, stated that he had lain many a Sunday, with
a loaded rifle, in the woods near the judge’s farm lines, to see if he
would not, when coming out to salt his sheep, stray over his limits. But
the old fellow, he said, was always too wary for him.] The actors in
the outrage, who comprised nearly all the leading members of the British
party in that part of the Grants lying east of the mountains, having
been thus summarily disposed of, the people, now taking the government
into their own hands, and acting in primitive assembly, proceeded to
reorganize the county, by the appointment of new judges, and all the
usual subordinate officers, of their own principles, to adopt measures
to reduce to submission or drive away the remaining loyalists of the
county, and, finally, to declare themselves alike independent of the
government of Great Britain and of New York.

Thus terminated this memorable outbreak, which acquired additional
importance from the fact, that it resulted in the entire subversion of
British authority in this, the only section among the Green Mountains
where it ever gained a foothold. And not small the praise, which, in
view of the circumstances, should be awarded to the hardy spirits by
whom this miniature revolution was achieved; for, so great was the
power of patronage exercised by this court, and the influence of those
enjoying office or immunities under it,--a great majority of whom were
stanch, and the rest tacit, supporters of the royal cause,--that, till
the occurrence of this sanguinary affair, it is evident the former had
but little hope of being able to overthrow this petty local dynasty
without assistance from abroad. The aged survivors of that stormy period
inform us, indeed, that but for the massacre of Westminster, it would
have been difficult to predict whether the opening of the revolution, a
few months afterwards, would have found, in the section in question, a
whig or tory majority predominating. But that act of murder and madness,
which the loyalists here, with the strange infatuation attending their
doings almost every where else at the time, seemed destined to commit,
as if to hasten their own overthrow, settled their doom.

  “It was the electric flame to fire the hearts
   Of a true people.”

And while it opened the eyes of hundreds of the hitherto acquiescent,
it armed the opposing with an energy and determination in their
cause, which at once became irresistible; and when the war-note was
subsequently sounded by such patriots as Benjamin Carpenter and his
associates, it found a ready response in every glen and corner of the
surrounding country, and the hardy settlers seized their arms, and, with
the cry of _French and vengeance!_ hastened away to the scenes of action
at Lexington, Ticonderoga, and Bunker Hill.

We are aware that some historians have classed this affair among the
difficulties and skirmishes growing out of what has usually been termed
the New York controversy, while others have treated the subject in
a manner which shows them to be doubtful in what light to place the
transaction; and, for that reason apparently, they have slid over the
matter in those general and ambiguous terms so often and reprehensibly
indulged in by writers at a loss about facts, to conceal their own
ignorance, or to avoid the responsibility of deciding the point at
issue. But a careful examination of the subject has led us to the
conclusion, that the affair in question had little or no connection,
in reality, with the New York controversy, but that it was wholly of a
revolutionary character. No resistance to the authority of New York had
ever been previously made in this section of the Grants; nor did
the opposers of this court, in any of their remonstrances, or other
proceedings, either before or after the massacre, assign any reason
for their doings which can be fairly construed into an objection to the
jurisdiction of that province, as such; or any otherwise than that it
had, up to that time, refused to adopt the resolves and recommendations
of the Continental Congress. On the contrary, all their arguments
are based on their duty and determination of joining their revolting
brethren in the other colonies, and, consequently, of resisting the
longer continuance of British authority among them. Such, indeed, is the
ground taken by Dr. Jones, in his minute and authentic account of the
occurrence, in which he was, as we have made him in our illustrations,
an actor. And even the inscription on the tombstone of the ill-fated
French, written when the transaction, and all its attendant
circumstances, were fresh in the minds of all, sufficiently proves,
if further proof were necessary, that the version we have given of the
affair is identical with the one generally understood and received at
the time.” [Footnote: The inscription here alluded to, which we insert
as supporting our position rather than as affording any new antiquarian
curiosity to many readers, is verbatim as follows:--

  “In memory of William French, son of Mr. Nathaniel French,
   Who was shot at Westminster March y’e 13th 1775 by the hands
   of Cruel Ministerial tools of George y’e 3d, in the Court
   House, at 11 o’clock at night, in the 22d year of his age.

  “Here William French his Body lies
   For murder his blood for vengeance cries
   King George the third, his tory crew
   Tha with a bawl his head shot threw
   For liberty and his country’s good
   He lost his life and dearest blood.”]

It was this view of the occurrence which led us to occupy the space we
have devoted in attempting to illustrate it; for it becomes invested
with a new interest and new importance, when it is considered, as we
think it must be, that here was enacted the first scene of the great
drama that followed; here was shed the first blood, and here fell the
first martyr, of the American revolution.



CHAPTER IX.

  “They sank till their fair land became a sty
   Stygian with moral darkness. Heart and mind
   Debased--dark passions rose, and with red eye,
   Rushed to their revel; until Freedom, blind
   And maniac, sought the rest the suicide would find.”


The traveller of the present day, as he enters the town of Guilford, on
the southern confines of Vermont, will soon be struck with the peculiar
appearance of many things around him. Few or no traces of a primitive
forest are to be seen, while its place is supplied by a heavy second
growth of woods, sixty or seventy years old, in the midst of which the
remains of old enclosures and other indications of former habitations
are not unfrequently observable. On the cleared farms, also, may often
be seen three or four different clumps of aged fruit-trees, scattered
about in the nooks and corners of the lot, and sometimes extending into
the woods, in such a manner as to preclude the idea that they could have
been planted under any thing like the present arrangements of the farm
and its buildings. Near these old relics of former orchards may likewise
generally be perceived some levelled spot, remains of old chimneys,
traces of cellars, or other marks of dwellings long since removed, or
fallen to decay. These, with many other peculiarities, give to the whole
town an aspect nowhere else to be seen in Vermont, nor even, perhaps, in
any part of New England. And if the traveller be of a fanciful turn,
he will associate the place with the idea of some deserted country,
resettled by a new race of men; and even if he be a mere matter-of-fact
man, he cannot fail to perceive that the town must have been originally
tenanted under a division of lands and an order of things quite
different from those now existing. And either of these suppositions
would be far better justified by the facts than most of the speculations
of modern tourists made in their flying visits through the land, as will
be seen by a recurrence to the early annals of this town, of which, for
the purpose of insuring a full understanding of some scenes here about
to be described, we must be permitted to give a brief outline.

The events connected with the first settlement of the town of Guilford,
which afterwards became so noted as the stronghold of toryism and
adherence to the New York supremacy, form a curious anomaly even in the
anomalous history of Vermont. The territory comprising this township
appears to have been granted, as early as 1754, to a company of about
fifty persons, by a charter, which, unlike that of any other town,
empowered the proprietors, in express terms, to govern themselves and
regulate the concerns of their little community, by such laws as the
majority should be pleased to enact, without being made amenable to any
power under heaven, save that which might be exercised by the British
Parliament. Being thus constituted a band of freemen and legislators,
at the outset, they soon took possession of their chartered piece of
wilderness, organized by the election of the proper officers of state,
and assumed the title of an independent republic, which their charter,
in fact, created, any control of the Parliament of England being as
little to be apprehended, in their secluded retreat among the wilds of
the Green Mountains, as that of the Great Mogul of Tartary. And as novel
as was the idea of a republic at that early period, when “the divine
right of kings” to govern all men was as little questioned as the divine
right of Satan to afflict the pious Job of old, this enterprising little
band of settlers, for many years, appear to have well sustained the
character they had assumed, not only by carrying out, in all their
public doings, that essential principle of a republic which makes the
will of the majority supreme, but by the simplicity of their tastes and
habits in private life, and their beautiful exemplification of the
great law of love, that can only be fulfilled towards our neighbors by
according to them equal rights and privileges with ourselves. At length,
however, new doctrines began to prevail, and the independent character
of our little republic was soon, in a good degree, forfeited; and that,
too, by the very means, it would seem, which had been taken to make it
flourish and increase. It had been one of the conditions of the charter
that every grantee should become an actual settler, and, within
five years, clear and cultivate five acres of land, for every fifty
purchased. And in accordance with this cunning policy for insuring the
actual and rapid settlement of the place, the township had been laid out
in fifty and one hundred acre lots, except the governor’s right of
five hundred acres, which his excellency of New Hampshire, in granting
Vermont lands, never forgot to reserve for his own use, in every
township, but which the proprietors generally contrived, as in this
instance, to have set off on the highest mountain in town, considering
it but respectful and fitting, as they used waggishly to observe,
that so elevated a personage should be honored with the most elevated
location. And the effect of this policy, together with the low prices
at which the lands were put, and other inducements held out to draw in
settlers, soon became visible in the rapid increase of the population,
and consequent improvement of the town. So unexampled in these new
settlements was its progress, indeed, in both the particulars we have
just named, that within twenty years from the time when the sound of the
axe was first heard in its woody limits, the inhabitants were found to
number nearly three thousand; while fields were every where opened in
the wilderness, and buildings raised in such neighborly contiguity, that
the whole town presented the appearance of a continuous village. It
is not very surprising, therefore, that, through such an influx of
settlers, coming from all parts of the country, and including many
interested and active partisans of the York jurisdiction, a majority
should soon be obtained, who were induced to depart from the views of
the first settlers respecting the independence of their community,
and adopt the more fashionable form of subordinate government, which
prevailed in all the towns around them. And accordingly we find them, at
their annual meeting in 1772, voting the district of Guilford, as they
termed it, to belong to the county of Cumberland and province of New
York, and thereupon proceeding to reorganize the town, agreeably to the
laws of that province. This change, however, does not appear to have
been followed by any material alteration of their internal polity, or to
have been productive of any great civil discord, till about the time of
the opening of the American revolution; when the town became the prey of
contending factions, of so fierce and lawless a character as to convert
this once Arcadian abode of virtue, simplicity, and rural happiness,
into a theatre of violence and social disorganization, which never,
perhaps, found a parallel within the limits of order-loving New England.
Sometimes the York party and tories,--for, in this town, it so happened
that the two were identical,--and sometimes the whigs and friends of
the new state of Vermont, were in the ascendant; while scenes of such
disorder and outrage were constantly occurring between the belligerent
parties, that his honor, Judge Lynch, for many years, appears to have
been not the least among the potentates of this notable republic. Nor
was order restored to the ill-starred town till after the close of the
war; when every refractory spirit, whether tory or Yorker, was punished
or awed into submission by the fiery energy of the iron-heeled Ethan
Allen, who, then being relieved from the pursuit of more important game,
came thundering down upon the town with his hundred Green Mountain Boys,
proclaiming to the disaffected, with demonstrations which they well knew
how to interpret, that the peaceable and instant submission of the
place to the new authorities of the land should alone save it from being
“_made as desolate as the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah_”.

It was a dark and gloomy day in April, and the sleety storm was beating,
in fitful gusts, against the broken and creaking casements, and the
disjointed, loose, and leaky covering of an old, dilapidated log-house,
standing by the road-side, in one of the thousand little dales, which,
with their corresponding hills, so beautifully diversify the face of the
town we have been describing. But as comfortless as this miserable hut
was, and as poor and insufficient a protection from the elements as it
afforded, even for the healthy and robust, it was now the only shelter
of a sick and destitute woman, the widowed mother of Harry Woodburn. The
hand of her son’s persecutor, as it not unfrequently is seen to occur in
the history of human oppression, was destined to fall even more heavily
on her than on him for whom the blow was designed. The minion officer,
selected by Peters for the purpose, had no sooner received his warrants,
than, faithful to the cruel instructions of his employer, he had
repaired post-haste to the residence of the absent Woodburn, of which he
was authorized to take possession, and, with insults and abuse, rudely
thrust the lone and unprotected occupant out of doors, in despite of all
her entreaties for mercy, or delay till her son should return, or even
for one day, to give her an opportunity to find some shelter for her
now houseless head. He then, with the aid of the three or four ruffian
assistants enlisted to accompany him, threw all the furniture out of
the windows or doors into the mud and snow beneath where the whole,
consisting of crockery and glasses, now half broken by the fall, and
beds, linen, kettles, chairs, tables, and the like, soon lay piled
promiscuously together. Having thus driven the terrified and distressed
woman from the comfortable abode which had formerly cost her and her
deceased husband so many years of toil to erect and furnish, and having,
to add to the wrong, either injured or destroyed the greater part of her
little stock of goods, by the wanton or careless manner in which they
had been removed, this brutal officer next proceeded to the barn, and
by virtue of his _copias_ for costs, seized the cow and oxen, the last
remaining property of the wronged and ruined young man, which, after
intrusting the present keeping and defence of the premises to two of his
band, he drove away to another part of the town, to be sold at the post,
as soon as the forms of the law, respecting notice of the sale, could
be complied with. The poor widow, half distracted at being thus suddenly
bereft of house and home, spent the remainder of the day in vainly
endeavoring to procure some tenement into which she could remove with
her furniture, or with so much of it as might yet be saved. On the next
day, however, as a last resort, she obtained and accepted the present
use of the deserted cabin we have described, situated but a short
distance from the house from which she had been ejected. And into this
comfortless place, after several days of incessant toil and exposure,
she succeeded in getting her damaged furniture, but not till her
exertions, combined with her anxieties and grief, had given rise to
a malady which, though not at first very threatening, became, each
subsequent day, more and more alarmingly developed in her overtasked
system. In this situation she was found by her son, who, being entirely
ignorant that any judgment had passed against him, and, consequently,
little dreaming what was taking place at home, had remained at
Westminster nearly a week after the massacre, attending the public
meetings, which, as we have before intimated, followed that event; when
he returned to Guilford, and, with feelings bordering on desperation,
learned the extent of his misfortunes. But the bitterness of his
feelings, as great as it was, at being stripped of all his property
through such a series of wrongs, soon became wholly merged in
anxiety and grief for his sick and sorrow-stricken parent, and in the
exasperating thought that her sickness and suffering proceeded from the
same source with his other injuries. And close and unremitting had been
his attentions to her, until the day previous to the one on which we
have introduced her to the reader; when he had been induced to leave for
Brattleborough, or other more distant towns, to try to obtain money to
redeem his stock, which was now about to be sold, and which was worth
more than double the amount, as he had recently ascertained, of
the execution on which it had been seized. On the morning after his
departure, she had become so much worse that she was compelled to take
to her bed, and despatch her only attendant for a doctor. That attendant
was Barty Burt, who had come down from Westminster with Woodburn, and
had been engaged by the latter to remain with his mother during
his absence. Having thus glanced over the events which had occurred
previously to the opening of this new scene of our story, we will now
return to the point we left to make the digression.

Slowly, to the suffering invalid, rolled the sad hours away, as with
thick and labored breathing, she lay tossing upon her rude couch,
standing behind a blanket-screen, in one corner of her cheerless abode.
Occasionally she would raise her fevered head from the pillow, and seem
to listen to catch the sounds of expected footsteps, and her languid
eye would turn anxiously towards the door; when, after thus exerting her
senses in vain a few moments, she would sink back upon her bed, with a
long-drawn, sighing groan, which told alike of disappointment and bodily
anguish. At length, however, footsteps were heard approaching, the door
opened, and Barty Burt stilly glided into the apartment, and approached
the bedside of the sufferer.

“You have come at last, then,” said she, lifting her dim eyes to meet
the face of the other. “It seemed as if you never would arrive. But
where is the doctor?”

“He will be on afore long, mistress; but I’ve had a time on’t in getting
round, I tell ye!” replied Bart.

“I am very sorry, if you have had any unexpected trouble on my account,”
 meekly observed the invalid; “but what has befallen you?”

“O, nothin,” answered the former--“nothin, at least, but what I was
willing to bear for Harry’s sake, who invited me home here till I
got business, or for yours, who let me be. Though to be stopped and
bothered, when one is going for the doctor, is worse than I ever thought
of humans before. But it shows their character--dum ‘em!”

“Did they really stop you, knowing your errand?”

“Yes, that they did, mistress. As I was going by the tavern, a mile or
two up the road yonder, three or four of them torified Yorkers came out,
and told me I couldn’t go for the doctor, nor nowhere else, without a
pass from one of their committee. So I had to post back more than half
way, to Squire Ashcrafts, and there had to be questioned a long while
before he would give me any pass at all. And then again, when I got to
the doctor’s, he said he wanted a pass, too; for he darsent go to see a
whig woman without one, which I must go and get him from Squire Evans,
another committee man. Well, finding there was no other way to get him
started, I went, feeling all the time just between crying and fighting.
And as soon as I got the bit of paper into the doctor’s hands, I put for
home, leaving him fixing to come horseback, which is the reason of my
getting here first.”

“These are, indeed dreadful times,” sighed the widow. “But they cannot
always remain; for, though God may chastise us a while for our sins, yet
the rods of the oppressors will surely be broken.”

“I’d rather see their necks broken,” responded Bart, dryly “When we left
Westminster, I thought, as much as could be, the tories were all used
up; but I find ‘em down here thicker than ever now, and as sarcy and
spiteful as a nest of yellow jackets that, like them, have been routed
in one place and got fixed in another. Blast their picturs, how I hate
‘em!”

“That is not right, Barty. You should love your enemies. Evil wishes,
towards those who injure us, are both wicked and foolish.”

“I don’t understand, mistress.”

“Why, Barty, to love is to be happy, as far as circumstances will
permit; and to hate is but to feel disquieted and miserable. So when
we keep the command to love our enemies, we obtain a reward which often
outbalances the evil they inflict on us, or, at least, enables us the
better to bear it; while, on the contrary, when we hate those who
injure us, we receive a double evil--the wrong they inflict, and the
unhappiness created by the exercise of our revengeful passions. Did you
ever think of that, Barty?”

“No, mum; Harry talks kinder that way, sometimes; but I can’t understand
it, no how.”

“With your means of moral instruction, perhaps it is not surprising that
you should not; so I will drop the subject, and ask you if you heard any
thing of Harry, while you were gone.”

“No, mistress; didn’t see nobody that knew he was gone.”

“O, when will he return? He has now been gone two long, long days; but I
must not repine.”

“Why, mistress, I kinder guess he’ll be along to-night, unless so be
he’s met with considerable bother to get the money, or somethin. He must
be here afore to-morrow afternoon, when the sale is, you know.”

“Yes, I knew the sale was delayed till town meeting day, which is
to-morrow, I believe; though for what reason they put it off I never
heard. Harry felt so bitter about the affair, that I thought I would not
disturb his feelings by making any allusions to the subject. But there
appeared to be something about it that I didn’t understand. Why didn’t
the sale take place last week, as first appointed?”

“For as good a reason as ever a tory officer had for doing any thing--or
not doing any thing, may be, I should say--in the world,” replied Bart
with a knowing look.

“What was it?”

“Why, when the day come, he couldn’t find any cattle to sell.”

“What had become of them?”

“Well, mistress, I don’t know how much it is best to say about that,
considering. But I shouldn’t be surprised,” continued the speaker, while
a sly, roguish expression stole over his usually grave, impenetrable
countenance, “that is, not much surprised, if it turned out that two or
three of Harry’s friends got the cattle out of the barn where they were
keeping, one dark night, and driv ‘em off into the woods, near the top
of Governor’s Mountain, and then backed up hay enough to keep ‘em a
spell; while the company took turns, for a few days, in going a hunting
over the mountain, so as to come round, once in a while, to fodder and
see to the creters, for which old Bug-Horn paid in milk, on the spot.
Now, mind, I haven’t said I _knew_ this was so, but was only kinder
guessing at it; for all that’s really known about it--that is, out
loud--is, that Fitch and his men found the cattle up there; and the way
they found them was by following up the trail made by the hay straws
that some one, after a while, grew careless enough to scatter from his
back-load along the path.”

“Did my son have any hand in this affair?” asked the widow, anxiously.

“No, mistress; Harry is so kinder notional about some things, that we
thought--that is, I guess some thought--it wasn’t best to say any thing
to him about the plan till his cattle were fairly saved.”

“I am glad to hear it. I should rather see him deprived of his last
penny than do a questionable act. We should never do wrong because
others have done wrong to us.”

“There is a differ between your think and mine, I see, mistress. If they
did wrong in getting away Harry’s cattle so, as every body knows they
did, then the tother of that--getting them back again--must be right.
But you needn’t tell any body what I’ve said, mistress; for they might,
perhaps, have Bill Piper and me up, and try to make barglary out
of it--or simony, I don’t know but the law folks would call it--the
breaking into a log-barn. But hush! Somebody’s coming. It is the
doctor.”

Doctor Soper, who now entered, was a small, pug-nosed, chubby man, of
ostentatious manners, and high pretensions to skill and knowledge in
his profession; though, in fact, he was but a quack, and of that most
dangerous class, too, who dip into books rather to acquire learned terms
than to study principles, and who, consequently, as often as otherwise,
are found “doctoring to a name,” which chance has suggested, but which
has little connection with the case which is engaging their attention.

“Ah, how do you find yourself, madam?” said the doctor, throwing off
his dripping overcoat, and drawing up a chair towards the head of the
patient’s bed.

“Very ill, doctor,” replied the other. “Not so much on account of the
loss of strength, as yet, as the deeply-seated pain in the chest, which,
for the last twenty-four hours, has caused me great suffering; though,
for the last half hour, not so severe.”

“Indeed, madam! Well, now for the _diagnosis_ of your disease. I pride
myself on _diagnostics_. Your wrist, madam, if you please,” said
the doctor, proceeding to feel the pulse of his patient, with an air
intended for a very professional one. “Tense--frequent--this pulse
of yours, madam; showing great irritability. Your tongue, now.
Ay--rubric--dry and streaked; usual _prognostics_ of neuralgy. Pretty
much made up my mind about your complaint coming along, madam, having
learned from your lad here something of your troubles and fright on
losing your home. And I was right, I see. It is _neuralgy_--decidedly a
_neuralgy_.”

“What is that, doctor?”

“Always happy to explain, madam, so as to bring my meaning within the
comprehension of common minds. _Neuralgy_ madam, is a derangement of the
nerves. Your disease, precisely.”

“Why, I am not at all nervous, sir,” responded the patient, looking up
in surprise.

“You may not think so, madam. Few do, in your case.”

“And then, doctor, I have an intense inward fever,” persisted the other,
“and my lungs seem much affected.”

“Nervous fever, madam,” returned the doctor, too wise to be instructed,
“and lungs sympathetically affected--that’s all. Quiet and strengthen
the nerves, and all will be right in a short time. I shall prescribe
_Radix Rhei_, in small doses, _assafoetida, quinine_, and brandy bitters
of my own pieparing. These, with nourishing food, as soon as you can
bear it, will speedily restore you, madam.”

Having dealt out the prescribed medicines, calculated rather to increase
than check the poor woman’s malady, which was inflammation of the lungs,
the self-satisfied doctor, swelling with his own importance, departed,
leaving his patient now to contend with two evils, instead of one--a
dangerous disease, and the more dangerous effects of a quack’s
prescription.

“What time is it now, Barty?” asked the invalid, with a deep sigh, as
she awoke from a troubled slumber, into which she had fallen after the
doctor’s departure.

“Why, don’t know exactly, mistress,” answered Bart, rousing himself from
the dreamy abstraction in which he had been indulging, as he sat
looking into the decaying fire--“don’t know, exactly; but it has got
a considerable piece into the night. About nine o’clock, guess; may be
more.”

“Nine o’clock at night, and Harry not yet returned!” sighed the invalid.
“Well, well, I will complain no more.”

“Can I do any thing for you, mistress?” asked her untutored attendant,
touched at the sad and despondent tone of the other.

“You may bring me in a pitcher of fresh, cold water, with some ice in
it, if you will, Barty,” replied the former. “It seems to me as if
this inward heat was consuming my vitals, since I took the doctor’s
medicines.”

The youth, with noiseless step, then disappeared with his pitcher, and,
in a few moments, returned with it filled with water and several pieces
of clear, pure ice, which were heard dashing against its sides.

“How grateful!” said the sick woman, as she took from her lips the
wooden cup which had been filled and handed her by her attendant, and
from which she had eagerly drained nearly a pint of the cooling beverage
at a single draught. “There, now, set the pitcher on the table yonder,
and raise the largest piece of ice up in sight, so, as I lie here, I can
look at it. The mere sight of it seems to do me good.”

Another dreary hour rolled away in silence, which was broken only by the
restless motions and occasional suppressed groans of the invalid within,
and the wailing of the winds and the pattering of the rain against the
windows without, when a slow, heavy step was heard coming up to the
house.

“That is he--that is his step!” faintly exclaimed the sick woman,
partially raising herself in bed, and gazing eagerly towards the door;
while her pain-contracted features were, for the moment, smoothed by the
smile of affection and pleasure that now broke over them, like the faint
electric illumining of a weeping cloud.

The quick ears of the afflicted mother had not deceived her. The next
instant Harry Woodburn entered the room, and, with a gloomy, abstracted
air, proceeded to divest himself of his wet coat and muddy boots,
without uttering a word, or bestowing any thing more than a casual
glance towards the bed, to which he supposed his mother had just
retired, as was usual with her, about this hour, and not suspecting that
she was more indisposed than when he left her. But as he now turned and
approached the fire, his eyes fell, for the first time, on her haggard
features when, stopping short, with a look of surprise and lively
concern, he exclaimed,--

“Mother! are you worse, mother?”

“Yes, Harry, I am very, very sick; and O, how glad I am that you are
come.”

For several moments he said nothing, but stood gazing at her with the
distressed and stupefied air of one struggling to shut out painful
apprehensions. At length, however, he aroused himself, and made a few
hasty inquiries relative to her disorder, and what had been done for
her; and, having been informed of all that had occurred in his absence,
and now appearing fully to comprehend the danger of her situation, he
sat down by her bedside, when his lip soon began to quiver, and his
strong bosom heave with tumultuous emotions, while bitter tears flowed
down his manly cheeks, as this crowning blow to his misfortunes was
brought home to his feelings.

“Had they been content,” he said, struggling hard, but vainly, to master
his feelings--“had they but been content with robbing me of my property,
I could have borne it; but to be the means, also, of murdering my only
parent, is more than I can endure. God help me, or I shall go mad!”

“Do not--do not be so distressed, my son,” said the mother deeply
touched at this exhibition of feeling, accompanied as it was with such a
proof of filial affection in her idolized son, and anxious to soothe and
divert his mind. “I shall recover, if God wills it. Let us, then, bow
in resignation to his dispensations, and not disturb our feelings with
unavailing regrets. Come, my dear son, cheer up, and tell me how you
have succeeded in the object of your journey.”

“No success,” he replied, gloomily. “No; I have been running from town
to town since yesterday morning, and have not been able to obtain a
single dollar. So the cattle must go to satisfy the stolen judgment of
that insatiable Peters.”

At this moment the conversation was arrested by a low rap at the door,
when, after the customary walk in had been pronounced by Woodburn, the
door was gently opened, and a tall robust young man, with a frank, open
countenance, hesitatingly entered.

“Good evening, folks,” he said, in a suppressed tone. “I didn’t exactly
know what to do about calling to-night, on account of disturbing your
mother, Harry; but wishing to know whether you had got home, and hear
the news if you had, I thought I would venture to rap. What is going on
up country?”

“Nothing very new, I believe, Mr. Piper.”

“Well, what luck about the money, Harry?”

“None--none whatever.”

“I am sorry for that. No, I won’t lie, now; I am not sorry, Harry; and I
will tell you why, hereafter. All I wanted to know to-night was, whether
you had got the wherewith to redeem the cattle, to-morrow being the last
chance for doing it, you know.”

“Yes, I was aware of it, friend Piper; and many thanks for the interest
you take in my misfortunes. But I cannot redeem the stock. It must go:
nothing more can be done to save it.”

“Well, I don’t quite know about that, Harry. I don’t know about standing
by, and seeing a neighbor’s property snatched away from him on such
smuggled papers. But let that turn as it may, the subject brings to
mind a certain circumstance, which I will name, after first asking a
question; and that is, whether Peters has not been hung?”

“Peters hung? Why, no; the prisoners are not to be tried till the new
court we have been appointing at Westminster holds its first session,
some weeks hence. But why do you ask so strange a question?”

“Well, Harry, by way of answer, I will tell you the circumstance I
alluded to, which was this: Last night, as I was crossing about town
drumming up friends to attend the meeting tomorrow, seeing we are
expecting a hard tussle, I met a man that I could have sworn was John
Peters, if I had not known the fellow was close in Northampton jail; and
as it was, I could swear it was his exact shape and appearance. Well,
knowing it could not be him bodily, it soon struck me that they had been
hanging off a parcel of them there, Peters among the rest, and that this
was his ghost, kinder hovering about here to see if his affairs were
fixed up to his liking.”

“Your notion of a ghost, Piper, if you are serious about it, is all
nonsense,” said Woodburn, who had listened with lively interest to the
singular story of the other. “Yes, that is nonsense; but it has brought
to mind a rumor which reached Brattleborough yesterday, that all the
prisoners at Northampton had been liberated by _habeas corpus_ from the
chief justice of New York, and were now at large. Although this was not
credited, yet, if you saw Peters here last night, as I begin to fear,
the story must have been true. And he appears here, at this time, for
the double purpose of seeing, as you said, whether his orders have
been carried into execution, and of being present to use his corrupting
influence at town meeting to-morrow.”

“Well, Harry, that’s about what I meant; for I saw him sure enough, and
knew, at once, that we had got to have him against us at town meeting,
which makes our case rather doubtful. We felt quite sure, before this,
of being able to carry a majority; and in that case, some of us counted
on getting a vote to rescue your cattle, or, at least, putting them
into the hands of our sheriff. [Footnote: During the period of anarchy,
change, and discord, in this distracted town, each of the belligerent
parties had their sheriff, or constable, and other town officers,
and would yield obedience to the officers of their opponents only on
compulsion, though the officers of the majority were not generally
resisted, except, perhaps, in matters purely political.] And either of
these ways would be the means, we thought, of saving your property, and,
at the same time, be a plaguy sight more lawful than any authority
they have for selling them. But now there’s no saying how it will go. I
expect hot work there to-morrow; and that minds me to ask if you heard
whether help from the towns up the river is coming down to join us on
the occasion?”

“Yes, Tom Dunning came down with me, and he informed me that several
others were on the way.”

“Good. Tom himself, in matter of managing, will be almost a match for
Peters, whether ghost or no ghost. But where is he?”

“He stopped back at the Liberty Pole tavern.”

“All happens right, then. I am bound there myself. We are going to hold
a little meeting at the Pole, after folks are to bed, to make up our
plans and arrangements for to-morrow. You can’t go, I suppose.”

“No, I must not think of it.”

“But you will be at town meeting to-morrow?”

“Quite uncertain. In the first place, I ought not to leave my sick
mother; and in the next, my feelings are in such a state of bitterness,
that I dare hardly trust myself in such a scene, lest I should do that
which would cost me months of painful regret. No, Piper, in mercy to a
desperate man, let me keep away. But here is Bart to go, if he choose,
both to-night and tomorrow.”

“Bart is agreeable to that, if Harry and mistress don’t want him,” said
the person just named, rousing up from the long-silent reverie in
which he had been sitting before the fire apparently inattentive to the
conversation of the others, which had been carried on in a low tone, at
the opposite side of the room. “So here goes for the Pole to-night, and
meeting to-morrow,” he added, taking down his gun from the pegs on which
it was suspended, near the ceiling above,

“What do you want to do with that, Bart?” asked Woodburn.

“I want it for lining to my coat,” replied Bart. “If our coats had all
been lined in that fashion, the first night there, at Westminster, we
needn’t have had to attend French’s funeral, nor you been troubled about
the papers they got out when you was in jail.”

“Bravo, Bart. You see that my coat is not wanting of that kind of
lining, don’t you?” said Piper, throwing open his greatcoat and
displaying a rifle, as the two now left the house together, on their way
to the rendezvous of the liberty party.



CHAPTER X.

  “Agreed in nothing, but t’ abolish,
   Subvert, extirpate, and demolish.”


“Hurrah for Vermont! hurrah for the new state of Vermont! The victory is
won, and the town is redeemed! hurrah! hurrah!”

Such were the sounds that rose and rung among the rafters of the crowded
old log Town House of Guilford, as, for the first time for several
years, a New Statesman and whig moderator was declared elected by a
majority of the suffrages of the freemen. The next moment, the door was
seen vomiting forth its throng of excited victors, who, as they reached
the open air, joined the crowd eagerly awaiting the result at the
entrance, and, with them, renewed and reiterated the glad shout, till
the distant hills responded in loud echoes to the roar of the stentorian
voices of the triumphant party.

After a fortnight’s active exertions on the part of each of the opposing
parties, in mustering and drilling their respective forces, preparatory
to the approaching contest, in which both were equally confident of
victory, though too sensible of the danger of losing it to remit any
effort, the voters had assembled at one o’clock in the afternoon. After
spending several hours in a disorderly and wrangling debate, in relation
to the qualification of voters, which at last resulted in rejecting
the test required by the charter,--that of being a freeholder,-and
in permitting every resident to vote, the ballots had been taken for
moderator, or chairman of the meeting, when, as much to the dismay of
the tories as the joy of their opponents, it was found that victory,
in a majority of three, had declared for the latter, who thereupon
testified their exultation in the uproarious manner we have described.

After a while, the noise and tumult within the house was suddenly
hushed, and the clear, deliberate tones of some new speaker addressing
the assembly, became audible to those without the building; while the
attent and eager looks of those who stood listening in the crowded
pass-way, plainly evinced that some important and exciting subject had
been introduced. At length the voice ceased, and a new commotion ensued
within.

“What new movement is that? what is going on in there now, Piper?” asked
one standing near the door, as one young man came elbowing his way out
of the house.

“Why, they are on Colonel Carpenter’s resolution. Haven’t none of you
here been in there to hear it?” said Piper, turning to the querist and
other political associates, standing near by.

“No; what is it about?” inquired several of the latter, with interest.

“The York Rule,” answered Piper, with an animated air. “The colonel
offered a resolve that we shake off the York government now, henceforth
and forever. And this he backed with a speech which would have done you
good to hear. He went into them, I tell you, like a thousand of brick;
and not a single tory tongue of ‘em all dare wag in trying to answer it.
They are now beginning to vote on the resolution, which, if carried,
the colonel intends to follow up by another, cutting up all British
authority root and branch.”

At this moment, they were joined by Tom Dunning, who came hurrying out
of the house, and, taking Piper aside, said,--

“Do you ditter understand the plan of what’s going on there, Piper, and
the importance to you here, in Guilford, of carrying it?”

“Not fully, perhaps,” answered Piper. “I didn’t have a chance to talk
with Carpenter and the other committee before this move was made, and
don’t understand why they did not urge on the election of the other
town officers, as usual, after making a moderator, instead of getting up
these resolutions.”

“Der well, this is it; they are afraid to ditter try any of the town
officers on so slim a majority, lest the tory candidates should have
got some of our voters under their thumbs, by way of debts or other
obligations, which they will der make use of to get their votes for them
personally, but won’t have ‘em pledged for this.”

“That is well thought of,” responded Piper. “They have indeed got the
screws on some I know of, and would so threaten ‘em with prosecutions,
that I’m fearful they would get ‘em, sure enough. But what’s the
prospect about the resolutions?”

“Well, the colonel thinks, after what has ditter taken place at
Westminster, that we can carry them; and if we can, it will pretty
effectually tie ‘em up, even if they got their officers. But we der
don’t mean to let ‘em. For the plan is, that as soon as we’ve ditter
carried the resolves, to dissolve the meeting without making any town
officers at all, which we think can be carried by the same voters, and
which if we can ditter do it, with the resolves, will kill Fitch and his
papers as dead as a ditter dum smelt, and so save the property of Harry,
and that of all others in the same der situation.”

“Good!” exclaimed Piper, with animation; “I see through the move now;
and we’ll go at ‘em, and whip ‘em out on it; and then if Fitch don’t
give up the cattle, we’ll make him, by the course we thought of taking,
last night, in case we failed electing our officers to-day, or of
getting any vote on Harry’s affair.”

“Yes; but we must be ditter lively in getting in the voters. You and
Bart go in and vote; and I will beat about the bush, here, for more
help, before I go in; for as they have just admitted some to vote on a
twenty hours’ residence,--as I can ditter swear they did,--I intend to
vote myself, this time, and have all those from my way der do the same,”
 said the hunter, bustling off to muster his forces.

Just as Dunning, who had collected a band of voters, without much regard
to their qualifications, was pushing into the house at the head of his
recruits, an outcry was raised within; and, the next moment, Bart Burt
was seen hastily emerging from the crowd, followed by the kicks and
cudgel-blows of the tories, through whom he had been compelled, to save
himself from a rougher handling, to run the gauntlet to the door.

“What, in the name of der Tophet, is the meaning of that ditter
treatment, ye shameless lubbers?” sternly demanded the hunter, shaking
his stout beech cane over the heads of the fore most of his opponents.

“He deserves it! He is an impostor! He tried to get in his vote when he
aint over eighteen years old!” shouted several tory voices in reply.

“They let me vote last time without a word,” said Bart, facing round
upon his foes, with a grin of spite and pain; “and so they did John
Stubbs and Jo Snelling, then and now too; and they aint a day older than
I be.”

“Then we will der have you in, and vote too, if the ditter divil stands
at the door!” fiercely exclaimed the hunter.

“Let them prove he aint one and twenty,” said one of the same party.
“He wasn’t born in these parts, nor does he know himself, I understand,
where he was born, or how old he is; and until they can prove him under
age, I motion, blow high or blow low, that we make them receive his
vote.”

“Aye, he shall vote! he shall vote!” shouted a dozen others. “They have
admitted others under age, and they shall him, whether or no! Let them
live up to their own rules! Sauce for goose is sauce for gander, the
world over; they shall take him, they shall take him!”

A hasty consultation was now held, and a plan of operations for
compelling the opposite party to admit Bart to the polls was soon
digested. And, in pursuance of this plan, Bart, who was short and light
of weight, was mounted astride the brawny shoulders of Dunning, while
Piper, with his burly frame, was placed in front, with a stiff cudgel
in hand, to act as the battering-ram or entering wedge to the crowd
of tories, who had closed up the way with their bodies, obviously to
prevent Bart, or any other whig, indeed, from again entering till the
ballot-box was turned. Eight or ten stout, resolute young men were then
selected and formed in column to bring up the rear, and give such an
impetus to those before them as to force them forward in spite of all
opposing obstacles, till they reached the voters’ stand in the house.

“Ditter ready, boys?” now cried Dunning, firmly grasping Bart’s legs,
and glancing over his shoulders to his lusty little band of backers.
“All ready there, behind, boys? Then go ahead, as if ditter Belzebub
kicked ye an end!”

At the word, Piper, gathering himself up like a ram for a butting match,
made a lunge head foremost into the recoiling ranks of the tories, and,
borne irresistibly forward by the force of the rushing phalanx behind,
overthrew, prostrated, and shoved aside, all before him, till the whole
column gained the interior, and came to a halt before the ballot-box.

“I protest against that fellow’s voting!” exclaimed Peters, approaching
the stand as Bart, from his lofty seat on Dunning’s shoulders, was about
to put in his vote, which was a simple _yea_ written on a slip of paper,
and handed up to him by some one stationed near the box to furnish the
unsupplied. “I protest against such a glaring outrage! He is under age,
and was very properly driven from the house.”

“Prove it! prove it!” shouted several of Bart’s friends.

“You can’t do it,” cried another, “and if you could, two of your party,
who are under age, have voted already; ‘tis a fact; deny it if you can!”

“In with it, Bart!” said Dunning, bending down to give the other a
chance.

“Yes, in with it; for he shall vote!” responded the rest.

“He shall not vote!” vociferated Peters; “and if he attempts to do it;
I’ll blow his brains out!” he added, pulling out and levelling a pistol.
Quick as thought, Bart threw open his over-coat, and, drawing from
beneath it the light short gun there concealed, cocked, and brought it
to his shoulder; while the threatening weapon of his foe was seen flying
to a distant part of the room, from a sudden blow of Piper’s cudgel, and
its disarmed and nonplused owner slinking away out of the range of the
suspicious-looking barrel still kept aimed at his head.

Amidst the loud cries of order, and the heated vociferations of both
parties, now raised to condemn or defend the transaction, through the
house, Bart, Dunning, and others of their company, who had not voted,
now hastily deposited their votes, and retired unmolested.

Although the portion of the revolutionary party, whose movements we have
been more particularly describing, acting on the supposed and probably
actual frauds of their opponents, had thus secured Bart’s vote, and the
votes of two or three others, perhaps equally illegal, yet the event
soon showed that their policy in so doing was a mistaken one, and
calculated to defeat the very object they intended to promote; for, as
will always be the result where one party attempts to adopt the wrongful
measures of their opponents, the tories, now armed with the fact that
they had detected the other party in a wrong more glaring, because more
public, than any they had perpetrated, made use of the advantage
with such effect as to bring over several, intending to support the
resolutions, to change their intention, and go against them. And, in
addition to this, by way of retaliating, and of making good at least all
the ground lost by the questionable votes forced upon them, they brought
forward every minor they could find approximating the size of a man,
and boldly demanded their admittance to the polls. An opposition was,
indeed, attempted to a measure so manifestly illegal, by the leaders of
the other party; but they had become too much disarmed by the acts of
their own partisans to produce any sensible effect; and their voices
were soon drowned by the clamors of the tories, who now admitted the
boys by acclamation. This, as will be anticipated, decided the contest.
On counting the votes, the resolution was found to have been rejected
by more than a dozen majority-a victory which the tories failed not to
announce by shouts of exultation, which out-thundered those of their
opponents in their late short-lived triumph. The friends of freedom,
being thus caught in their own trap, or, at least, worsted by the
indiscretion of their own friends, now pretty much yielded the contest:
while the victorious Yorkers and tories had everything in their own
way, electing their town officers, passing denunciatory and royal
resolutions, and continuing their discussions unopposed till it was
nearly dark, when the meeting broke up in noisy confusion.

“Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” was now heard crying the well-known voice of
Constable Fitch, as he mounted a stump in the yard; while near by stood
a gang of his confederates, hedging in Woodburn’s cow and oxen, which
the former had found the means to have on the spot, in readiness for the
sale, the moment the assembly broke up. “Oyez! A cow and oxen, taken
on execution, now about to be sold to the highest bidder, gentlemen. We
will take the oxen first; as fine a yoke as ever drew plough Who will
give us the first bid? Shan’t dwell three minutes. Who bids, I say? One
pound bid, gentlemen; one pound ten! one pound ten! and on Mr. Peters.
Who bids higher?”

But, as rapid as had been the constable’s movements, he did not, as he
intended, take the friends of Woodburn by surprise. They had withdrawn
from the meeting a short time before it dissolved, and met for
consultation in the rear of the house, where, having arranged their plan
of operations, they stood awaiting for the proper time to carry it into
execution.

“There!” exclaimed Dunning, as the constable began to cry the sale in
the manner we have just described--“there, that is ditter Fitch; he is
at it! All ready, boys? You, Piper and Bart, with your vials of oil of
vitriol in your sleeves, ready to uncork on to their ditter tails?”

“Ay, ay!”

“And your ditter snuff to throw into their eyes?”

“Yes, that, too.”

“And your guns ditter cocked, and safe under your coats you that are to
fire?”

“Ay, all right and ready--lead on!”

“Der well, but remember we ditter separate here, so as to come up on
different sides of the crowd; and mind, don’t let off your guns till the
creatures begin to ditter grow uneasy and der snort and blow.”

While Fitch was repeating the bids he had received for the oxen, and was
about to knock them off to the highest bidder, which still chanced to be
Peters, he was suddenly told to hold on, by several persons who had just
at that moment made their appearance in different parts of the crowd,
and who expressed their wish to bid, as soon as they could get up to
examine the cattle. Owing to the duskiness, the faces of the new comers
did not seem to be recognized by the tories, who unsuspectingly opened
and admitted them to the stand. Quickly availing themselves of the
opportunity, the former, among the foremost of whom were Piper and Bart,
now crowded eagerly round the cattle, and, after rapidly passing their
hands over the cow and each of the oxen a moment, and then stepping
back, began to banter and bid. Not much time, however, was allowed
them to do either; for the cattle, all at once, became unaccountably
restless, at first backing and wheeling about in their confined space,
and then wildly tossing up their heads, snuffing, and assuming the
startled and furious appearance generally exhibited by this class of
animals when about to make a desperate effort to break away.

At this critical juncture, the fierce flashes and stunning reports of a
half dozen muskets burst over the heads of the startled and astonished
company from various points on the outer edge of the crowd; and the next
instant the already maddened cattle, with loud snorts, leaping over
or trampling down all in their way, broke through the living hedge of
tories around them, and bounded off, with their tails thrown aloft, and
bellowing in wild affright, in different directions, towards the woods,
leaving the amazed and broken crowd jostling and pitching about with
exclamations of surprise, groans of pain, volleys of oaths, and shouts
of laughter, all mingled in Babel-like confusion.

“‘Tis all the work of the cursed rebels!” exclaimed Peters, the first to
rally and comprehend the affair. “Fitch!” he added, pointing after the
runaway cattle, “where the devil are your wits, that you don’t order a
pursuit?”

“Yes, pursue and bring ‘em back, instantly!” screamed the constable,
awaking from the stupor and confusion of ideas into which he seemed to
have been thrown by the strange and unexpected occurrence. “Yes, ’tis
an unlawful rescue--it’s a conspiracy! bring back the cattle! seize the
offenders, every one of ‘em! in the king’s name I command ye.”

Obedient to the call, the obsequious tories instantly rallied for
the pursuit, and, breaking off into three distinct bands, eagerly set
forward in the different directions taken by the fugitive cattle, then
just disappearing over the distant swells, or in the borders of the
woods. Dunning, Piper and Bart, who, in the mean while, had, unknown and
unsuspected in the darkness and confusion, stood in the throng, keenly
watching the result of their plan, no sooner heard the expected order of
pursuit given, than, separating, like their opponents, and each joining
a different band of the pursuers, they sprang in before the rest, and,
by their superior alacrity and speed, soon succeeded in taking the
lead and finally in completely distancing all others in the promiscuous
chase. The tories, now soon wholly losing sight of their fleet and, as
they still supposed, trusty guides in the pursuit, became, in a short
time, confused and at fault respecting the courses to be taken; and,
after hallooing and running about the woods and pastures at random,
nearly an hour, without discovering any traces either of the lost cattle
or the missing pursuers, at length came straggling back to the Town
House, and, by way of saving their own credit, reported to Fitch,
Peters, and the small party remaining there, that their swiftest runners
were last seen nearly up with the cattle, and would soon be in with
them, or that the creatures had been headed, and were on their way back,
in another direction. On this, the company waited another hour; when,
neither the cattle nor the expected pursuers appearing, they began to
suspect something amiss; and the inquiries and investigations then put
afoot soon resulted in the mortifying conviction, that the cattle had
been overtaken and driven off by the same persons who previously had
caused them to break away. Prompted by the enraged Peters, Fitch then
offered a reward for the recovery of the cattle and the detection of
those who had abducted them; when the company separated, to resume the
search the next day. But although this was done, and the country scoured
in every direction for several days, yet the search proved wholly
fruitless. Not one of the cattle was to be found. Nor were the actors in
the transaction, with any certainty, identified, though the absence
of Piper and Bart, for some days after the event, caused them to be
suspected and marked for punishment, when they should again appear
abroad.


CHAPTER XI.

  “Vital spark of heavenly flame!
   Quit, O quit this mortal frame!
   Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
   O the pain, the bliss of dying!
   Cease, fond nature! cease thy strife,
   And let me languish into life.”


Perhaps the nearest and dearest, as well as the most interesting tie
of consanguity, is that existing between mother and son. Who has not
witnessed the unfailing and unconquerable strength of a mother’s love
for the son of her heart and her vows, cleaving to its object through
prosperity and through adversity, through honor and through shame,
with a constancy which never wavers? And what son, especially after the
thoughtlessness of youth has given place to the reflection of maturer
years, and experience has taught him the insincerity and selfishness
of the world--what son has not turned back and lingered, with the
most grateful emotions, over the pleasing memories of a mother’s care;
pondered with the most heart-felt admiration over the deep, pure, and
undying nature of a mother’s love; realized more and more the priceless
value of a sentiment so fraught with moral beauty, so exalted, so proof
against all those considerations of self, those temptations of interest,
before which all other ties are seen to give way, and, while thus
realizing, found his yearning bosom oftener and oftener prompting him to
exclaim with the poet,--

  “Where’er I roam, whatever realms I see,
   My heart, untravelled, fondly turns to thee.”

While the scenes of disorder and tumult we last described, and the
similar ones that followed, were being enacted among the belligerent
parties of this misgoverned town, the dutiful and sorrowing Woodburn was
continuing his attendance on his sick mother, from whose bedside no call
of business or of pleasure was suffered for a single hour to lure him.
And well might he have done so, aside even from the dictates of filial
duty; for she was a woman not only of unaffected piety, but of education
and intellect; and to her he had been mainly indebted for all that was
good and elevated in his character. She had emigrated with her husband
to this town, at an early period of its settlement from the vicinity of
Boston, where the latter had become so much straitened in his pecuniary
circumstances, in consequence of being surety for an improvident and
luckless brother, that he was induced, with the hope of bettering his
fortunes, to gather up the poor remnant of his property, and, with it,
remove to the New Hampshire Grant’s, at that time the Eldorado most in
vogue among those seeking new countries. Here, having purchased one
of the best tracts of land in the place, he commenced the slow and
laborious process of clearing up a new farm. And this Herculean task,
which may well be considered the work of a man’s life, he had,
after years of incessant toil and privation, nearly succeeded in
accomplishing, and begun to catch glimpses of easier and brighter days;
when he was taken away by disease, leaving his property to his wife and
son, an only child, then drawing towards manhood. And nobly had that
son discharged the double duty which now devolved upon him,--that of
becoming the stay and comforter of his widowed mother, and the sole
manager of the farm, their only dependence. For, while discharging his
filial duties in such a manner as to gain him the reputation of being
a pattern of a son, he not only kept good, but, by his industry and
enterprise, even improved, the property to which he had thus succeeded.
And he was fast surmounting the difficulties of his situation, and
making hopeful advances towards a competence, when, in an evil hour,
his flourishing little establishment attracted the coveting eye of the
unconscionable Peters, who, owning an adjoining farm, which would be
rendered much more salable by being united with Woodburn’s, undertook,
at first, to wheedle the young man into a sale, or rather an exchange of
his valuable farm for another, or wild lands, at false valuations and of
doubtful titles. But, finding himself wholly mistaken in the character
of the person whom he thus endeavored to overreach, and consequently
failing in his attempt, he next began to think of the quibbles of the
law, as the means of accomplishing his purpose. And having discovered
some slight irregularity in Woodburn’s deed, to begin upon, he then
resorted to a trick quite fashionable among the corrupt speculators of
those unsettled times--that of purchasing from some unprincipled person,
ready, for a small sum, to enter into the fraud, a deed of prior date
to that of the one to be defeated, with descriptions of premises and
references to suit the purchaser the worthless assumed owner neither
knowing nor caring what his deed might convey. Having secretly procured
a prior deed of Woodburn’s farm in this manner, Peters could see but
one obstacle now in the way of his success, which was the town records,
embracing that of Woodburn’s deed. How was this to be disposed of? A
bold measure, which could be executed by his minions under political
pretences, occurred to him; and the result was, that part of the
town record soon disappeared. Peters then commenced an action against
Woodburn, to eject him from his farm, the course and consequences of
which are already known to the reader.

Spring had now come; but its bland and balmy breath brought no relief to
the suffering widow. From the hour she had been compelled to take to her
bed, her disease, though sometimes lulled, or raging less fiercely than
at other times, had never for a moment loosened its tenacious grasp. And
although her cheerful words, and meek, uncomplaining looks, had often
misled her anxious son, or, at least, prevented him from despairing of
her recovery, yet the dry, parched, red tongue, the daily return of the
bright hectic spot, and the tense, hurrying and unvarying beat of the
strained pulses, might have told him how certainly and rapidly the work
of destruction was going on at the citadel of life, and better prepared
him for the agonizing scene which was now to follow.

It was a calm and pleasant evening towards the close of April, and the
low descending sun was shedding the mellow light of his parting beams
over the joyful face of reanimating nature. The invalid, during all the
fore part of the day, had suffered greatly from pain--that general and
undefinable distress which is so frequently found to be the precursor
of approaching dissolution. To this had succeeded a sort of lethargic
sleep, from which it was not easy to arouse her, so that she could be
made to take any notice of what was passing around her. But now she
awoke, clear and collected; and, glancing round the room, with a sort of
pensive animation, met and answered the inquiring and solicitous look of
her son with an affectionate smile. Presently her wandering eye rested
on some objects of the landscape, glimpses of which she had caught
through one of the small patched windows of the room, and she faintly
observed,--

“How pleasant it appears without! Harry,” she continued after a
thoughtful pause, “could you take out that window before me? I feel a
desire to look out once more on the green earth and breathe the sweet
air of spring.”

“Yes, mother,” said the other, approaching the bed, with a surprised and
hesitating air; “yes, I could easily do it, I presume; but would it be
quite safe for you to be exposed to the evening air?”

“Yes, Harry; the time for the exercise of such cares is gone by. You
need fear no more for me, now, my son,” she replied in accents of tender
sadness.

The son then, with a doubtful and troubled look, proceeded in silence
to comply with the unexpected request; after which, he gently raised the
head of the invalid, who, thereupon, gazed long and thoughtfully on the
variegated landscape, which lay spread out in tranquil beauty beneath
her dimly-kindling eye.

“How beautiful!” she at length feebly exclaimed, in a tone of melancholy
rapture--“beautiful of itself, but more beautiful as the type of man’s
destiny after his body has mingled with the dust. The scene we here
behold, my son, exhibits the resurrection of nature. In summer the
foliage and blossom expands, in autumn the fruit is perfected, and in
winter the visible part falls back to earth and perishes, leaving the
hidden seed or germ to spring forth again into another life. So it has
been, so it will be, with me. I have had my brief summer of life, my
still briefer autumn, and now my winter of death is at hand, from which
I trust to come forth into the more glorious spring of life eternal.”

“Do not talk thus, mother,” responded the son, greatly moved--“do not
talk thus: you distress me. I trust you may yet recover. You certainly
look brighter this evening; and I hope another day will find you still
better.”

“No, Harry, not better, as you mean. If I appear brighter, it is but the
brightness of the last flashing up of the expiring taper. I feel that my
time is come, and thanks to _Him_ who has prepared my heart to hail the
event as a relief and a blessing.”

“O, my mother, my mother, how can I part with you?”

“My longer sojourn here, my son, would be of little benefit to
others--even to you: my blessing is worth more than would be my further
abiding: come and receive it.”

The weeping son then knelt down at the bedside, and the mother laying
her hand on his head, pronounced her blessing and a brief prayer for his
earthly prosperity and eternal happiness.

For several minutes, the son, overcome by his emotions, remained
kneeling, with his head, on which still languidly rested the emaciated
hand of his dying mother, bowed upon the bed-clothes, while the latter,
sinking back exhausted on her pillow, closed her eyes, and seemed to be
silently communing with herself. She soon, however, aroused herself, and
observed,--

“My work is not yet quite done. I have a little more to say before the
scene closes.”

“Say on, mother,” said the other, making an effort to calm himself, as
he now rose, and, taking a seat near, wistfully rivetted his gaze on her
pallid face. “If you are, indeed, about to leave me forever, withhold
nothing you feel inclined to communicate; for your dying counsels, my
dear parent, will be received with pleasure and gratitude, and treasured
up in heart and memory as the last, best lesson of one to whom I am
under such countless obligations.”

“You have ever acted the part of a dutiful son towards me, Harry; and
that is always a mother’s best reward for her care and affection for her
offspring. And I know not that I have aught now to say to you, by way of
counsel for your future guidance, being willing to leave you to practise
upon the principles I have endeavored to inculcate, and be to others
what you have been to me. But it was not of that I intended to speak. I
was about to name some facts connected with our early reverses, which,
it being always unpleasant to recur to those scenes of trial, I think I
have never told you, but which, I thought, it might, perhaps, some
day avail you something to know. You have heard us casually speak, I
presume, of your uncle Charles Woodburn?”

“I have, mother.”

“And you may also be aware that, through his misconduct, we were
suddenly reduced from the easy competence we once enjoyed to poverty and
distress.”

“I have so understood it, but never knew what kind of misconduct it was
that led to our misfortunes.”

“It was imprudence in speculations, and profligacy in living, and not
dishonesty, or any intentional wrong to us, as I ever believed; though
your father, in his desperation when the blow came, would listen to no
extenuation, but drove him from his presence with bitter reproaches
and accusations. But your uncle, before leaving the country, as he
soon after did, sought an interview with me; and, after deploring the
misfortunes he had brought on my family as well as himself, solemnly
pledged himself that he would, some day or other, more than compensate
me or mine for all the losses he had occasioned us. And this is the
circumstance I wished to tell you; for, though we never received any
certain information of him, yet something tells me he still is alive,
and has the means and disposition to fulfil his promise to you whenever
you may find him, and he recognizes you as the representative of his
brother’s family, of whose location here he probably was never apprised.
I would suggest to you therefore, the expediency of trying to trace him
out, and, if you succeed in doing so, make yourself and your situation
known to him; and, without preferring any claim, leave the result with
Providence.”

“Your suggestion, mother, shall not pass from me unheeded, nor shall I
fail, in due time, to act upon it; but, at present, I know not if the
last tie that binds me to this place should be severed--I know not but
our down-trodden country may have the first claim on my services. Ever
since the startling news of the massacre of Lexington reached us, a
sense of the duty of devoting myself to her defence has pressed heavily
and constantly on my mind. And but for the stronger claim which nature
and my own feelings have given you, in your situation, to my presence
and attention, I might, before this, have been with my shouldered musket
on my way to the scene of action. But even in the event of your death,
I should hesitate to obey the call if I knew I must do it without your
sanction.”

“I thank you, my son, for your affectionate deference; but you shall not
go without my sanction. Having conjectured what might be your feelings
at this dark hour of our country’s peril, I was about to speak to you
on the subject. Yes, Harry, if you think duty calls you to the field, in
defence of a cause so just and righteous as ours, go. You will be under
the care of the same Providence there as elsewhere. Go, and with a dying
mother’s blessing, and a prayer of faith for your safety and success, do
battle manfully for the Heaven-favored side, till the oppressor be cast
down, and the oppressed go free.”

With a heart swelling with conflicting emotions, the young man looked
up to reply, when his words were arrested on his lips, by the evident
change that the countenance of the other had suddenly undergone. The
unnatural animation, which she had exhibited during the conversation,
had faded away. She lay listless and exhausted, with her eyes nearly
closed, and her lips slightly moving in secret prayer.

“And now, Lord, what wait I for?” she at length audibly uttered. “But
I am not to wait,” she continued, in a firmer tone after a short pause.
“The final moment is at hand! Farewell earth! farewell, my son! May
Heaven’s blessings rest on you--on all, and be the offences of all
forgiven. Ah! the light of day is fading; but O, that brighter light
which opens those angel forms, with smiling faces, which beckon me away!
Ready! I come!--I come!”

And thus,--

  “--blessing and blest,
   In death she went smiling away
   To the heavenly bosom of rest.”



CHAPTER XII.

  “Whene’er your case can be no worse,
   The desperate is the wiser course.”


Late in the afternoon, several days subsequent to the melancholy event
described in the preceding chapter, a mingled company, of some dozens of
persons, including several town officials, were seen, assembling at
the Tory Tavern, in Guilford; the object of which appearances seemed to
indicate to be the holding of a magistrates’ court, to try an offender
who had that morning been arrested, and who now, in custody of Constable
Fitch, was demurely sitting on a rude bench under an open window of the
room in which the trial was to be had, and in which the two justices
composing the court had already seated themselves at a table, in
readiness, on their part, to commence proceedings. That offender was no
other than our humble friend, Barty Burt, who had lucklessly fallen
into one of the snares which had been set for him and his suspected
companions, round the country, in consequence of the part they had acted
in spiriting away, in so strange a manner, Woodburn’s cattle, when about
to be sold on town meeting day. He and Piper, during the night following
that affair, after meeting Dunning at an appointed place, and giving
him charge of the cattle, which had been successfully pursued and there
collected, to be driven out of that part of the country by the hunter,
left town in different directions, to avoid the arrest they anticipated,
in case they remained; Piper going down the river in quest of some
temporary employment till the storm blew over, and Bart setting off on a
fishing excursion to Marlboro’ Pond, situated in a then nearly unsettled
section, about ten miles to the north. Here Bart had pursued his sport
unmolested, many days, occasionally going out to Brattleborough to sell
his fish and buy provisions, and considering himself in this secluded
situation perfectly safe from any search which might be made for him by
the officers of Guilford. But the reward offered by the constable
for the apprehension of the offenders, who had been soon pretty well
identified, had put all the tories in the town and vicinity on the watch
and the result was, that Bart had been seen, traced to his retreat,
seized and brought back for trial.

Although Bart’s general demeanor seemed to show a perfect indifference
to the fate that now threatened him, yet the quick keen glances with
which, under that show of indifference, he noted every movement of those
into whose power he had fallen and the restlesness he exhibited
when their eyes were not upon him, gave token of no little inward
perturbation. And it was not without reason that his apprehensions were
excited; he knew the character and disposition of the two tory justices
whom he saw taking their seats to try him, and he rightly judged that
he need not expect either mercy or justice at their hands. He had also
detected one of the constable’s minions, who had been despatched to the
woods for the purpose, stealing slyly round into the horse-shed, on his
return, with a half dozen formidable looking green beech rods; and he
was at no loss to decide for whose back they were intended, or by whose
ruthless hand they were to be applied.

“You can’t go that, Bart,” he mentally exclaimed. “You must get away; so
now put your best contrivances in motion, for I tell you it won’t do for
you to think of standing that pickle.”

And as hopeless as, to all appearance, was any attempt to escape his
captors, who stood round him with loaded pistols in their hands, Bart
yet confidently counted on being able, in some way or other, to slip
through their fingers, and avoid the fearful punishment which he knew
was in store for him, if he remained many hours longer in their hands.
To effect this, he looked for no aid from others; for experience had
taught him the value of self-reliance. The whole life of this singular
being, indeed, had been one which was peculiarly calculated to throw
him on his own resources, sharpen his wits, and render him fertile in
expedients. He had been a foundling, and knew no more of his parentage
than a young ostrich, that springs from the deserted egg in the sand. He
was left, when an infant, at the door of a poor mechanic, in Boston, by
the name of Burt, and by him transferred to the almshouse, where he was
called after the name of his finder, with the pet name of Barty, given
him by his nurse. Here he was kept till he was four or five years
old, when he was given to the Shakers, from whom he ran away at ten
or twelve. From that time, the poor friendless boy became a wanderer
through the interior country, generally remaining but a few months in a
place, being driven from each successive home by misusage, or for want
of profitable work for him to do, or, what was still oftener the case,
perhaps, for playing off some trick to avenge the fancied or real insult
he had received, till, after having been kicked about the world like a
foot-ball, cheated, abused cowed in feeling, and become, in consequence,
abject, uncouth and singular in manner and appearance, he at length
reached the situation in the family of the haughty loyalist where we
found him.

While Bart was thus uneasily revolving the matter of his present concern
in his mind, and beginning to cast about him for some means of escape,
the constable was called aside by those who had undertaken to manage the
prosecution, for the purpose of holding with them a consultation, the
purport of which, though carried on in a low tone, and at some distance,
was soon gathered by the quick and practised ears of the prisoner. It
appeared that the trial was being delayed in consequence of the absence
of Peters, who was an important witness, and who unaccountably failed
to make his appearance. And it being feared that he might have been
waylaid, and detained on the road, by some band of the other party, to
prevent him from testifying, as all knew he was anxious to do, it was
settled that Fitch should start immediately in search of him to the
house which he usually made his temporary quarters in another part
of the town. Accordingly the constable, after putting the prisoner in
charge of two stout fellows who were in his interest, with orders to
guard him closely, and shoot him down the instant he should attempt
to escape, set forth on his mission after Peters. Bart’s countenance
brightened when he saw the savage officer depart, for he believed the
absence of the latter would greatly increase his chances of escape; and
in spite of all the threats he had received of being shot, he resolved
to improve that absence in making the attempt, though the manner of
doing so yet remained to be decided, by the circumstances which might
occur.

In the mean time a trotting-match had been got up in the road in front
of the tavern, by a small party who had been boasting of the speed and
other qualities of their horses; and it being now understood that the
trial was to be delayed till the constable’s return, the whole company
left the house, and went out to the road to witness the performance.
Bart’s keepers not being able, where they stood, to see and hear what
was going on very distinctly, and being equally desirous with the rest
to get a favorable stand for that purpose, after renewing the threat of
shooting him, if lie attempted to run away, took him along with them,
and entered the line of spectators extended along the road. After a few
trials among those who began the contest, several new competitors led
on their horses and entered the lists. By this time most of the company
began to take a lively interest in the performance, taking sides, and
betting on the success of the different horses now put into the contest.
The prisoner having, by this time, through dint of persevering in good
humor and sociability, in return for the abusive epithets, by which all
his attempts to converse were, for a while, received, succeeded, in a
great measure, in disarming his keepers of the stern reserve and jealous
distrust they at first exhibited towards him, he was soon permitted to
talk freely, and offer, unrebuked, his opinions of the success of the
various horses about to make a trial, which his previous observation and
acquaintance with many of them, made during his residence in town the
preceding year, enabled him to do with considerable sagacity. And his
predictions being luckily fulfilled in several instances, and especially
in one in which his most rigid keeper had been saved from losing, in
a bet, which would have been made but for his timely cautions, Bart at
length found himself on such a footing of confidence and good will with
those whom he wished to conciliate, that he thought it would now do to
commence operations for himself.

“I don’t think much of such trotting, myself,” said Bart, carelessly, as
one of the contests afoot had just terminated; “but there is one animal
I notice here to-day, I should like to bet on.”

“What horse is that?” asked the keeper above designated,

“That dapple gray mare hitched over there in the corner of the cow-yard
yonder,” replied Bart, pointing to a small, long tailed pony, whose
shabby coat of shedding and neglected hair greatly disguised the
remarkable make of her limbs and other indications of strength and
activity.

“That creature!” exclaimed the other, contemptuously; “why she aint
bigger than a good-sized sheep. You may bet if you want to, and lose;
for there’s not a horse on the ground but would beat her.”

“Well, for all that, Mr. Sturges,” responded Bart, banteringly, “I’ll
not take back what I’ve said about the nag. And to prove my earnest,
I’ll make you an offer; I’ll bet my gun, which you saw me hand the
landlord for safe keeping when they brought me in--I’ll bet my gun
against your hat, I’ll take that creature and out-trot you, with any
hoss you may choose to bring on.”

“Done!” exclaimed Sturges; “but you are contriving this up for a chance
to get away, you scamp.”

“What should I want to get away for?” I haint done nothin: and there’s
a witness here that will swear to a thing or two for me, when the trial
comes on, guess you’ll find; besides, aint you young to ride by my side,
with a loaded pistol in your hand?”

“Yes, and that aint all; I’ll put a bullet through you the instant you
make the least move to be off.”

“I’m agreed to that.”

“Well, but will they let you take the colt for the march?”

“Guess so; I’ll venture to take her. The boy that rode her here has
cleared out down to the brook a fishing; but I know him, and think he
wouldn’t object.”

“Who owns the colt?”

“Old Turner did, last year, when I lived with him; and the boy is from
that way, and borrowed her, likely.”

“Then you have rode her, have you?” asked Sturges, doubtfully.

“Never rid her with any other boss, but know she can trot faster than
any thing you can find here; so you may as well back out at once,”
 answered Bart, with apparent indifference.

“Not by a jug-full, sir; but I must look me up a horse, and fix matters
a little first; and then, if it is thought safe for me to trust you to
ride, I’ll go it,” returned the other, with some hesitation.

Sturges then stepped aside with the other keeper, and, after consulting
with him a few moments, went forward and announced to the company the
bet offered by the prisoner, and his own intention of accepting it, and
indulging the fellow in a trial, if they thought best, and would assist
in measures to prevent the possibility of his escape. The proposal was
received with shouts of laughter by the tories; and eager for the fun
they expected to see in so queer a contest, they agreed to be answerable
for the prisoner’s safety, and urged on the performance.

The two keepers, now calling in others to take charge of the prisoner,
while they made their preparations, proceeded to arrange the company on
both sides of the road, placing men at short intervals along the whole
line of the course, commencing back about two hundred yards south of the
tavern, and extending to the sign-post, which, standing on the edge of
the beaten path in front of the house, had been agreed on as the goal.
And not satisfied with this precaution, they then procured four long,
heavy, spruce poles, and, extending them from fence to fence across the
enclosed road leading from the tavern yard northward, formed a barricade
five or six feet high, which, with the strong, high fences on each side
of the whole course, except at the starting-point, where no danger was
apprehended, seemed to cut off the prisoner, even without being guarded,
from all possible chance to escape on horseback, as it was most feared
he would do, after being allowed control of the reins.

“There, Bixby!” exclaimed Sturges, exultingly turning to his
fellow-keeper, as they completed the barricade across the road beyond
the goal--“there! I would defy the devil to jump over this barrier, or
any of the fences on the way, as to that matter. So the little rebel
will hardly escape us by running his horse from the ground, I fancy.
But we must look out that he don’t jump off at the end of the race,
or before, and cut into the fields. You may therefore station yourself
somewhere between this and the sign-post; and if he attempts to leap
from his horse and run, as we fetch up here, shoot him down as you would
a dog, and charge the blame to me or Fitch; either of us will bear it.”

Having thus arranged every thing to his satisfaction, Sturges, ordering
the pony we have described, and the horse he had selected for himself,
to be brought on, then took charge of his prisoner and rival, and
conducted him, with great show of mock dignity, and amidst a noisy and
jeering troop of attendants, to the ground marked off for the place
of starting, and now designated by the close line of men that had been
stationed across the road to guard against the prisoner’s escape in that
direction. Bart, in the mean time, seemed perfectly indifferent to all
these precautions of the tories, as well as the gibes and laughter
which constantly greeted him on the way, and, on reaching the prescribed
limit, quietly dropped down on the grass among the company, and awaited
the coming of the horses with the greatest unconcern. The latter soon
made their appearance on the ground, and were immediately led up and
presented to their respective riders.

“Lightfoot!” exclaimed Bart, springing up to receive his chosen pony;
“do you know me, Lightfoot?”

The animal instantly pricked up her ears, and responded by a sort of
low, chuckling whinny, by rubbing her nose against his arm, and by other
demonstrations of recognition and pleasure, which plainly showed the two
to have been old acquaintances and friends. Bart then, stripping off the
saddle and handing it to a boy to be carried back to the tavern, again
went to the head of the pony, and, after patting her on her neck,
repeated certain words in her ear, which seemed to produce the instant
effect of arousing her spirit, and making her restless and impatient
for a start. After going through these and other ceremonies of the kind,
which seemed greatly to amuse the company, he mounted, reined up and
announced himself ready for the signal.

After another delay, to indulge the company in the renewed shouts of
laughter which were called forth by the ludicrous contrast now presented
in the appearance of the oddly matched competitors, as the diminutive
and shabby looking prisoner sat awkwardly mounted on his no less
diminutive and shabby pony, by the side of the portly Sturges and his
large and finely built horse, the signal was given, and the parties set
forth amidst the encouraging hurrahs of the crowd. Their progress, for a
while was nearly equal; and the pony, though very unskilfully managed
by her seemingly raw and timid rider, continued to maintain her place by
the side of the horse so fully, as to render the result of the contest
extremely doubtful. But as they drew near the end of the coarse, and the
horse, by the renewed incentives of his rider, began to gain on her, she
suddenly flounced, broke into a gallop, shot by the horse, giving him
a staggering kick in the chops as she passed, and, in spite of the
apparent efforts of her rider, to bring her up at the goal, plunged on
directly towards the fence that had been thrown across the road.

“Whoa! whoa!” cried Bart, in tones of distress and affright,
still appearing to strain every nerve to hold in the ungovernable
animal--“whoa! whoa! help, or I shall be thrown!”

“Help him there! stop her! seize her by the bits!” shouted Sturges, now
riding up to the goal to claim the bet.

But the perverse pony, veering about among those approaching on either
side to seize, or head her, with sundry monitory kicks thrown out
sidewise towards them as she went, the next moment reached, and, with a
tremendous leap, cleared the barricade, and landed safely with her
rider in the open road on the other side. Here Bart hastily made another
apparent attempt to rein her up; but rearing and spinning round on
her heels, she again made a plunge forward, and set out in a keen run,
making the ground smoke beneath her feet as she flew, with astonishing
speed along the road; while her rider, grasping her mane with both
hands, and swaying from side to side, as if hardly able to keep his seat
at that, continued to bawl and screech, at every step, “Whoa! whoa! stop
her! stop her!” with all his might.

The tories were so completely taken by surprise by these manoeuvres,
and the unexpected feat of leaping the barricade that Bart and his
fleet pony were nearly a quarter of a mile off, before they sufficiently
rallied from their astonishment and confusion to realize what had
passed; and when they did, hearing his piteous cries for help, and
expecting every moment to see him hurled headlong from his horse, they
stood doubtfully looking at him and each other, several seconds longer,
before they thought of following him. Sturges, however, now took the
alarm, and, ordering the barricade to be thrown down, started off, with
those who, like himself, happened to be mounted, in pursuit. By this
time, the fugitive had passed over an intervening swell, which hid him
from the view of the pursuers; and though their progress was rapid, yet,
when they gained the top of the swell, which commanded a view of the
road till it entered the woods, almost a half mile beyond, he was
nowhere to be seen. But believing he must have gained the woods, they
pushed on, in the vain pursuit, about a mile farther; when, meeting some
townsmen, they ascertained that he had not passed in that direction.
They then retraced their steps, carefully examining every bypath and
open spot by the road-side, where any ordinary horse could be made to
go; but making no discoveries, they concluded to return to the tavern
for consultation; for they grew more and more puzzled to know what to
make of the prisoner, or how to account for his mysterious escape, some
affirming “he must have been in league with the devil, as no horse, in
a natural state, could have leaped that barricade, or have gone off so
like a streak of lightning after he was over it; and his strange doings
with the pony, when he first met her, and the bluish appearance
that attended him along the road as he went off, with such unnatural
swiftness,” were cited in confirmation. But when they reached the
tavern, the prisoner, and every thing attending his escape, were for
the time forgotten in the excitement occasioned by the more startling
tidings just received. The constable had just arrived in great haste
announcing that Peters had been waylaid, and found murdered in the
road, and calling on all to turn out to arrest the unknown but suspected
perpetrators of the horrid deed.



CHAPTER XIII.

  ----“despair itself grew strong
  And vengeance fed its torch from wrong”


On the same day, and near the same hour, on which Bart so singularly
and luckily effected his escape from his vindictive enemies, the bereft
Woodburn left his lonely residence and walked to the graveyard, to shed
another tear over the freshly-laid turf that covered the remains of his
sainted mother. Here, as, standing over her grave, he reflected on
the many excellences of her character, recalled the many acts of her
kindness and love towards him, never before justly appreciated, and, at
the same time, thought of the circumstances under which she had sickened
and died, his tears flowed fast and bitterly. While he was still
lingering near the sacred spot, immersed in these painful reflections,
two ladies, from a neighboring cottage, came, unperceived by him, along
the road leading by the graveyard; when the younger of the two, wholly
unconscious that any one was within the enclosure, left the other to
pass on to the next house, and entered the yard to amuse herself there
till her companion returned. Now pausing to read an inscription, and
now to pluck a wild violet, she slowly wandered towards that part of
the yard where Woodburn, still screened from her view by a clump of
intervening evergreens, was pensively reclining against a tomb stone in
the vicinity of his mother’s grave. And here, taking a turn round
the shrubbery, she came suddenly upon him; and, stopping short in her
course, she stood mute and confused before him, while her cheeks were
mantled with a deep blush at the awkwardness of the position in which
she unexpectedly found herself.

“Miss Haviland!” exclaimed Woodburn, looking up in equal surprise.
“Excuse me if I am wrong, but, as little as I was expecting it, I think
it is Miss Haviland whom I am addressing?”

“It is, sir,” she replied, in a slightly tremulous voice; “but trust you
will not think this an intentional intrusion.”

“No intrusion, fair lady. You do not rightly interpret my expression,
which was one of surprise at seeing you here, when I had supposed you to
be in another part of the country. When I last saw you, I supposed you
on your return to Bennington.”

“I was so at that time. But having recently come over with my father,
who was journeying to Connecticut, I am now tarrying with a sister
in this neighborhood till he returns. Your allusion to our parting,
however, cannot but bring to mind the circumstances connected with our
meeting, nor fail to admonish me of my great obligations to you, sir,
which I have never before found a suitable opportunity of personally
acknowledging. But be assured, Mr. Woodburn, I shall never forget that
fearful hour; yet sooner far the hour, than the hand that snatched me
from my seemingly inevitable doom.”

“We both may have cause to remember the incidents attendant on that
journey to Westminster, Miss Haviland; and I, though I did but a common
duty in assisting you, shall remember them, on more accounts than one, I
fear but too long.”

“If you allude to your difficulties on that journey, and subsequently
with one with whom we were in company, I can only say, sir, that I have
heard of them, and all your consequent misfortunes, with the deepest
regret, scarcely less on account of the author than the victim.”

“I could have submitted to my pecuniary losses with a good degree of
resignation; but, when I think of the crowning act, and the consequences
that followed it--when I look on that grave,” continued the speaker,
pointing to the fresh mound, with an effort to master his emotions, “it
is hard to endure.”

“Such misfortunes,” responded Miss Haviland, visibly touched at his
distress; “such misfortunes,--injuries, perhaps, I should call them,--I
am sensible, are not easily forgotten; and I have sometimes feared that
it too often might be my fate to be associated with them in your mind.”

“O, no, lady, no,” said Woodburn, promptly; “though it were better for
my happiness, perhaps, if I could,” he added, more gloomily; “for who
will care what may be the feelings of one who is now an outcast, without
property, family, or friends?”

“Think not thus of yourself, Mr. Woodburn,” replied the other, while a
scarcely perceptible tinge appeared on her fair cheek; “feel not thus.
You do to yourself, and I doubt not to many others, great injustice;
certainly to one who can only think of you with the warmest gratitude.”

“O, if all were like you, Miss Haviland!” returned Woodburn, with
much feeling; “so just, so generous, so pure, so beautiful! But I have
already said too much,” he continued checking himself. “I intended not
to have intimated aught of the thoughts and feelings which have obtruded
themselves upon me, even before I heard these kind expressions. And
though what I have said cannot be recalled, yet I have no thought of
pressing any questions upon you under the accidental advantage which
your gratitude--other things being the same--might give me. I ask for no
corresponding impressions--I expect none. Being aware of your position,
as well as my own, I shall not drive you to the unpleasant task of
repulsing me. I will repulse my self. I will conquer this new enemy,
though planted in my own bosom, lest it prove more dangerous to my peace
than the one with whom I have so vainly contended in another rivalry.”

She raised her eyes with a look full of maidenly embarrassment, indeed,
but with an expression more resembling that of sorrow than resentment,
as she gently replied,--

“I feel additionally grateful to you, Mr. Woodburn, for your delicate
and generous course under the circumstances in which, as you seem to be
aware, I am placed. But as I now perceive my companion approaching in
the road, you will excuse my departure.”

“Certainly,” said Woodburn; “and you will forgive what has been said by
one who is so truly the prey of conflicting emotions?”

“O, yes, sir,” she answered, looking up with a witching smile, as she
bowed her adieu; “that is, I will when you do any thing _worthy_ of my
forgiveness.”

Woodburn stood mutely gazing after his lovely visitor till her small
and graceful figure, floating on in its devious course through the
diversified grounds in almost fairy lightness, receded from his
enraptured sight; when he turned away with a sigh to commune with
himself, try to analyze his feelings, weigh consequences, give Reason
her rightful sway, and follow her dictates. After a long and deep
struggle with his feelings, he appeared to come to some determination,
and, resolutely bringing down a foot on the ground, he exclaimed,--

“No, never! I will not give way to feelings which can only end in
disappointment and mortification. Begone, enticing vision, begone! I
will harbor you no longer.” And under the impulse of his freshly-formed
resolution, he abruptly left the spot, and hastened through the
enclosure to take his way homeward. As he was about to pass out into the
road, his attention was attracted by the barking of a small dog, that,
having followed the ladies, and tarried behind on their return, seemed
to be intent on dragging out something from under a broad, flat stone,
lying in one corner of the graveyard. Feeling some inclination to know
what discoveries the dog was making in a spot so unpromising of any game
that would be likely to attract him, Woodbury walked to the spot; when
he perceived the animal to be eagerly tugging away at some object, which
presented the appearance of the corners of some old leather-bound book,
buried beneath the stone. His curiosity being now excited, he stood
by and patiently waited to see the result. In a few minutes the dog
succeeded in dragging out the object in question, which proved to be an
old record-book, or rather the remains of one, for a part of it had
been converted by the mice into a nest, and the rest was mutilated and
falling to pieces. Leaving the dog to pursue his object, which was now
sufficiently explained, Woodburn gathered up the remains of the book and
stepped aside to examine them. On beating off the dirt and opening the
unmutilated parts, he soon, and to his great surprise, discovered it to
be a volume of the town records; the very volume, the loss of which,
as he believed, had caused his defeat in his lawsuit with Peters. And
hurriedly running over the leaves, his eye, the next moment, fell on the
record of his own deed, with the dates precisely as he had contended,
and standing in a connection which would have proved the priority of his
title, furnished him a complete defence, and saved him from ruin!

The previous suspicions of Woodburn, respecting the disappearance of
these records through the agency of Peters, were now confirmed in the
mind of the former, as certainly as if he had witnessed the act; and
this aggravating discovery, coming as it did too late to be of any
benefit to him, and at a moment, too, when his feelings, notwithstanding
his recent declarations to Miss Haviland, and his subsequent resolves,
were sore from the insidious workings of jealousy, and the revolting
thought of the pretensions of his hated foe to her hand--this discovery,
we say, wrought up his mind, already embittered to the last degree of
endurance, to a state little short of absolute frenzy. And clinching
the fragments of the book, which contained the proof of the black
transaction, in one hand, and flourishing the heavy oak cane he had with
him in the other, he rushed out of the enclosure, and, with a disturbed
air and hurrying step, took his way towards his desolate home, resolved,
that in case he found, as he feared, that all chance of legal redress
had passed by, he would, at least, unsparingly make use of the means,
now in his power, in trumpeting the villainy of Peters to the world.

In this state of exasperation, after proceeding a short distance he
unexpectedly and unfortunately encountered the very object of his pent
indignation, the haughty and hated Peters, who, on horseback, was coming
up a cross-road on his way to the Tory Tavern, where, as the reader has
been already apprised, his tools and partisans were anxiously awaiting
his arrival.

“Ha! here? Then he shall be the first to hear it,” muttered Woodburn, as
with a flashing eye he suddenly turned and sternly confronted the other
in his path.

“What now, sir?” said Peters, reigning up with a look of surprise not
unmingled with uneasiness.

“I will tell you what, now, sir,” replied Woodburn, in a voice quivering
with suppressed passion; “your frauds are exposed! Here are the remains
of those very records you or your tools purloined to enable you to
accomplish your unhallowed triumph over me, and now just found buried in
yonder graveyard!”

“Away, sir!” exclaimed Peters, recovering his usual assurance. “I know
nothing of your crazy jargon: stand aside and let me pass.”

“Not till you have looked at the proof of what I assert, or acknowledged
its correctness,” persisted the other, extending his cane before the
horse with his right hand, and thrusting forward the open book with his
left. “Here it is; here is the record of my deed--dates and all, as I
and you, too, sir, well knew them to be. Look at it, sir, and restore me
my property, or confess yourself a villain!”

At this juncture Peters, who had covertly reversed the loaded whip he
carried in his hand that he might strike more effectually, suddenly rose
in his stirrups, and aimed a furious blow at the head of his accuser.
But as sudden and unexpected as was the dastardly movement, Woodburn
threw up his cane in time to arrest and parry the descending implement,
when, quick as thought, he paid back the intended blow with a force, of
which, in the madness of the moment, he was little conscious, full on
the exposed head of his antagonist, who, curling like a struck bullock
beneath the fearful stroke, rolled heavily from his saddle to the
ground. The exclamation of triumph that rose to the lips of the victor
died in his throat, as he took a second glance at the motionless form
and corpse-like aspect of the victim; and, recoiling a step, he stood
aghast at the thought of what he had done. After standing a minute with
his eyes rivetted on the face of his prostrate foe Woodburn, arousing
himself, hurried forward, and, raising the head, chafed the temples and
wrists a moment, and then felt for the pulse, when, finding no signs of
life, he suddenly relinquished his hold, and with a look of horror and
unutterable distress, hastily fled from the spot, muttering as he went,
“A murderer!--to crown the host of misfortunes--a murderer!”

Soon striking off into a deep glade, diverging from the public way, he
continued his course, with a rapid step and troubled brow, on through
the woods and back pastures, till he gained, unobserved, the rear of his
own cabin, when, entering, he threw himself into a chair, and,
burying his face in his hands, sat many minutes motionless and silent,
apparently engaged in deep and anxious thought, At length, he arose with
a more composed look, and proceeded to make up a pack of his wardrobe,
with such valuables as could be conveniently carried, including his
mother’s Bible. He then fitted his pack to his shoulders, took down his
gun and ammunition, and, throwing a sorrowful farewell glance round the
lonely apartment, left the house, and bent his course for the woods, in
a northerly direction.

After travelling in the woods and unfrequented fields about two miles,
he came in sight of the point of intersection between the road near
which he had been holding his course, and a road coming into it from
the central parts of the town. Here, concluding to pause till the
approaching darkness should more perfectly screen him, before going out
into the main thoroughfare leading up the Connecticut, he sat down on a
log within the border of the woods, and again gave way to the remorseful
feelings and moody reflections that still painfully oppressed him. His
meditations, however, were soon disturbed by the quick, heavy tread of
some animal, which seemed to be approaching in the woods, at no great
distance behind him. Instantly peering out through the thicket in which
he had ensconced himself, he soon, to his great surprise, descried a
horseman descending a difficult ledge, leaping old windfalls, and making
his way through all the opposing obstacles of the forest with wonderful
facility, directly towards the spot where he stood concealed in the
thicket. Knowing that whatever might be the object of the person
approaching, it would be his wisest course to remain in his covert, from
which he could not move unobserved, and his curiosity being excited by
the appearance of a horseman in a spot that would have scarcely been
deemed passable for a wild deer, he kept his stand; and continued to
regard the advancing figure with the most lively interest. But owing to
the thickness of the now full-leaved undergrowth, and the duskiness that
by this time had gathered in the forest, he could only catch occasional
glimpses of either horse or rider, which enabled him to ascertain
nothing more than that they both were quite diminutive, and as it struck
him, rather oddly accoutred. They continued to advance directly towards
him till within fifty yards of his covert, when the horse, in emerging
from a clump of bushes, which still enveloped the rider, stopped short,
and, looking keenly into the thicket, gave a quick, significant snort.

“What’s in the wind now, Lightfoot?” said the rider to his horse, as,
parting the obstructing foliage with his hands, he thrust out his head,
and disclosed to the surprised and gratified Woodburn the well-known
visage of his trusty friend, Barty Burt.

“This is, indeed, unexpected, Bart,” said Woodburn, stepping out into
plain view.

“Harry!” exclaimed the other, agreeably surprised in turn; “but are
you sure there are no more of you there in the bush?” he added, with a
cautious glance at the thicket.

“Yes, I am alone here,” answered the former.

“Well, I vags now!” resumed Bart, drawing a long breath, and riding
forward--“I vags, if I didn’t begin to feel rather ticklish when
Lightfoot give me that hint to look out for snakes, just now. But the
case aint quite what it might have been, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“I know.”

“Of course you do, as well as what brought you here with a horse, in so
strange a place for a horseback excursion.”

“Just so, Harry; same as you know what brought _you_ here with a _pack_
on your back, in so queer a route for a journey, when a smooth road is
so near you.”

Well knowing Bart’s peculiarities, and that it would be useless to try
to draw from him the secret of his appearance here until he chose to
reveal it, Woodburn, while the other dismounted and told his pony to be
cropping the bushes in the mean time, related all that had transpired
between himself and the victim of his deeply regretted paroxysm of
passion, adding, at the close of his gloomy and self-accusing recital,--

“I first thought, after reaching my house, that I would return and give
myself up to the authorities; but knowing, whether Peters should live
or die, that I should be a doomed man in this part of the country, I
at length brought myself, perhaps wrongly, to try to get out of it
undiscovered. And I have now set my course for Boston, to join those
there gathering for the approaching struggle for liberty. And Heaven
knows with what pleasure I shall now sacrifice my life in her battles.”

“Good! that’s grand!” warmly responded Bart, who had listened to the
other with many a _whew_! of surprise at his accompanying expressions
of self-condemnation for killing an antagonist who struck the first
blow--“that’s grand! Here is what goes with you, Harry; for, between
us here, I and Lightfoot are clipping it from a predicament, as well as
you.”

“So I suspected. But what is it? Let us have _your_ story now.”

“Well, Harry, in the first place, do you know this critter I call
Lightfoot?”

“No; at least I don’t now remember to have noticed the animal before.”

“Well, it is the colt old skin-flint Turner cheated me out of, last
year.”

“I think you told me something about it, but don’t recollect the
particulars; though I had then no doubt, I believe, but the old man
wronged you, as I understood you worked very hard for him through the
season.”

“I did, like a niggar--cause he promised to give me this colt, then a
little snubby three-year-old, for my summer’s work, if I would stay and
work well for him, which I did, as I said. Well, supposing the colt
was to be mine, without any mistake, I made a sight of her, named
her Lightfoot, fed her, got her as tame as a dog, then trained her to
understand certain words and signs, which I at last got her to obey; and
whether it was to trot, run, or jump fences, she would do it as no other
critter could. But just as I had got her to mind and love _me_, as I did
_her_, my time was out; and I went to settle off matters with the old
man, and tell him I was going to take her off with me, when--rot his
pictur!--he pretended he had forgot all about his promise to let me have
her, and forbid my touching her, saying he had paid me all I earnt in
the old clothes which he urged on to me, against my will, and which were
not worth one week’s work, as true as the book, Harry. Well, I couldn’t
help crying, to be cheated so, and, what was worse, to lose Lightfoot.
But it did no good. I had to come away without her, or any other pay;
and, from that time, I haven’t seen her till to-day.”

“But you have not now stole and run away with her, I trust Bart?”

“No; she run away with me,” replied Bart, roguishly, “as I can prove; for
I hollered _whoa_ all the time, as loud as I could yell.”

“But how came you mounted upon her at all?”

“Well, Harry, that brings me to the worst and best part of my story, all
in one; and here goes for it.”

Bart, in his own peculiar manner, then related, with great accuracy, the
particulars of his arrest and escape from the tories, as we have already
described them in the preceding chapter, merely explaining, in addition,
that Lightfoot well understood the game, and knew she was to obey the
signs he secretly gave her with his feet and hands, however loud he,
or others, might cry _whoa_ or any of the terms usually addressed to
horses. He then proceeded:--

“Well, you see, as soon as I got over the hill, out of sight, I looked
out for a hard, stony place, where Lightfoot couldn’t be tracked; and,
soon finding one, I leaped her over the fence, and made full speed
for the woods, which I luckily reached jest in time to wheel round in
safety, and see them thundering along by, in the road, after me. I then
took it leisurely off in this direction, contriving to keep mostly in
the woods, where I had learnt Lightfoot, in riding after the cows, last
summer, to be as much at home in as in the road.”

“And what do you propose to do with this horse now?” asked Woodburn.

“Take her along with me, to be sure, Harry.”

“And so make yourself, in law, a horse-thief, eh? Do you expect me to
join company with such a character?”

“Well, now, Harry, I didn’t expect the like of that from you, any
how,” observed Bart, evidently touched at the remark. “The creature is
honestly mine; and I supposed I had a right to get what was mine away,
if I could, without going to law, which would help me about as much as
it has you, I reckon. But supposing that to be law which aint right and
justice, and so make me out a thief, as you say, how much boot could I
afford to give you, Harry, to swap predicaments with me? You have just
called yourself a murderer, which you aint, and me a horse-thief,
which _I_ aint, any more than you the other. Now, how will you swap
characters?”

“Bart, you have silenced me. Injustice and oppression have made us both
outlaws, but not intentionally wrong-doers. Let us still abstain from
all intentional wrong, however trifling. And that leads me to observe,
that whatever justification you may have for taking away the horse, you
probably have none for carrying off the bridle.”

“There you are out again, Harry. That bridle, which queerly happened to
be put on Lightfoot to-day, (as if it was kinder ordered I should get
the beast,) is the very one I bought last fall, to take her off with;
but being so worked up, when I left, I forgot to bring it away.”

“Upon my word, Bart, you are successful to-day in making defences.”

“Always mean to be able to do so, Harry. Nobody has any honest claims
on me in Guilford, now, nor I any on them. I leave ‘em with every thing
squared, according to my religion.

“Except in the matter of your gun, which you leave--not exactly won by
your opponent--behind you; do you not?”

“They are welcome to it; much good may it do ‘em. It has gone pretty
much where I calkerlated to get it off--among those who used me the
worst; though I’d some rather it had gone to Fitch, who hunts some, and
would be sure to try it.”

“That is queer reasoning, Bart.”

“Well, there is a head and tail to it, for all that, Harry.”

“What are they?”

“Why, the head, or cause, is, that the last time I shot the piece, I
overloaded it, being for black ducks, and the charge raised a seam, in a
flaw underside the barrel, which I could blow through. And the tail, or
consequence, is, that the next man who shoots it will wish he’d never
seen it, I reckon.”

“Ah, Bart, Bart, your religion, as you term it, is a strange one! But
let us now dismiss the past, and think of the future. If you join me for
the army, what do you propose to do with your horse--sell her?”

“Sell her? why, I’d as soon sell my daddy, if I had one. No, we’ll keep
her between us. You, and Tom Dunning, and Lightfoot are the only friends
I have in the world, Harry; and I want we should kinder stick together.
So I’ve been thinking up the plan, that we ride and tie, or keep along
together and foot it by turns, to-night, till we get to Westminster,
when we will beat up Dunning, and leave Lightfoot with him, who can take
her to some of his sly places over the mountain, and have her kept for
us. Then, if one of us gets killed, or any thing, so as never to come
back, let the other take her; and if both fail to come, then let Tom
have her for his own.”

And Bart’s plan being adopted, our two humble, friendless, and nearly
penniless adventurers left the wood, and entering the northern road, set
forth on their destination, Woodburn first mounting the pony and keeping
some hundred yards in advance, and Bart forming the rear-guard, under
the agreement that the latter, on hearing any bounds of pursuit, should
utter the cry of the raccoon, when both were to plunge into the woods,
and remain till the danger had passed by.

After travelling in this manner, and at a rapid rate, about two hours,
without encountering any thing to excite their apprehension or delay
their progress, they entered a long reach of unbroken forest, which
neither of them remembered ever to have passed through. But not being
able to conceive where they could have turned off from the river road,
which was their intended route, they continued to move doubtingly
onwards some miles farther, till the increasing obstructions and
narrowness of the path, together with the absence of the settlements
which they knew they must have found before this time on the road up the
Connecticut, fully convinced Woodburn they had lost their way. And he
was on the point of proposing to retrace their steps, when, descrying a
light some distance ahead, emanating, as he supposed, from the hut of a
new settler, he at once concluded to push on towards it, for the purpose
of making inquiries of the occupants to ascertain their situation. In
making for the light, of which, for a while, only feeble and occasional
glimmerings could be obtained through the dense foliage that overhung
the devious path, they at length came to an apparently well-cultivated
opening, containing about a dozen acres, on one side of which stood
a small, snug-looking stone house, built against or near a boldly
projecting ledge of rocks. As they approached the house, their attention
was arrested by the loud and earnest voice of a man within, engaged,
evidently, in prayer. Concluding that the man was at his family evening
devotions, which they had no thought of disturbing, they left the horse
at a little distance from the house, and silently drawing near to the
door, paused and reverently listened. A confused recollection of the
supplicant’s voice, together with his deep and fervid tones, his bold
language, and especially the subject that seemed then mostly to engross
his thoughts, at once awakened the interest and rivetted the attention
of Woodburn. The great burden of his soul was, obviously, the political
condition of his country. And, after vividly painting the many wrongs
she had suffered from her haughty oppressors, and warmly setting forth
her claims to divine assistance, he broke forth, in conclusion,--

“My country! O my injured, oppressed, and down-trodden country! shall
the cry of thy wrongs go up in vain to Heaven? Will not the God of
battles hear and help thee, in this the hour of thy peril and of thy
need? O, wilt thou not, Lord, extend Thy mighty arm in her defence? O,
teach the proud Britons, now thronging our shores--teach them, scoffing
Goliahs as they are, that there are young Davids in our land! O, bring
their counsels to nought! Scatter their fleets by thy tempests at sea,
and destroy their armies on land! Sweep them off by bullet and plague!
and--and”--suddenly checking himself, he meekly added, “and save their
souls; and this, Lord, is all that in conscience I can ask for them.
Amen.”

Woodburn now gently rapped at the door, which, after a slight pause, was
opened, and Herriot, the late prisoner of the royal court, stood before
him.

“If this is Harry Woodburn,” he said, after scrutinizing the other’s
features a moment, “he is very welcome to my hut. But you are not
alone?” he added, glancing towards Bart, who stood several paces in the
background.

“No,” replied Woodburn; “I have in company a young man whom you may,
perhaps, recollect as the messenger that appeared several times at the
grate of our prison at Westminster, to bring us news of the progress of
the rising.”

“Ah, yes, well do I recollect that goodly youth, and have ever since
taken a peculiar interest in him. Invite him in. All this is opportune,
very--very,” said Herriot, leading the way into the house.

After the recluse had ushered his guests into the principal room of his
very simply furnished house, of which he and a servant boy, of perhaps
fifteen, were the only inmates, he turned to Woodburn, and said,--

“As my retreat here in the woods, and the road that leads to it, are
known to so few, I conclude that your young friend here, Mr. Woodburn,
acted as your guide on the occasion.”

“O, no,” replied the other; “we had lost our way, having left the
river road inadvertently, and were about to turn back, when, catching
a glimpse of your light, we came on to make inquiries. We neither of us
knew when we struck into the road leading hither.”

“Do you agree to that statement, without any qualification, master
Bart?” asked the recluse, with a doubting and slightly puzzled air.

“Well, some of it, I reckon,” answered Bart, with a look of droll
gravity.

“Why, you told me, sir,” responded Woodburn, rather sharply “that you
had never travelled this road before.”

“No more I hadn’t,” replied Bart, composedly; “but I didn’t say I didn’t
know where it turned off, for Tom Dunning told me that.”

“Bart,” said Woodburn, seriously, “though I am not sorry to have
fallen in with father Herriot, yet, as between you and me, this needs
explanation. It looks as if you purposely led me astray.”

“Well now, Harry, no offence, I hope. The thing was kinder agreed on,
somehow, that you should come this way, when you left Guilford, which
was understood would happen soon. If I hadn’t fell in with you as I did,
it was my notion to take Lightfoot here, or at Dunning’s, and then go
back and skulk there somewheres till you was ready to come; but finding
you and things all coming so handy like, when we got to where the road
turned off, I thought I’d let you follow me into it, if you would, and
say nothing till we got here.”

“I am still perfectly at a loss how to understand all this, Bart and I
still wish you would more fully explain it.”

“I will take that task upon myself; for I suppose I am somewhat in the
secret respecting the little plot of your friends,” said Herriot, going
to a chest, and bringing forward a small bag of money. “This has been
deposited with me for your use and benefit. It is the price of your cow
and oxen, sold by Dunning to a drover from Rhode Island. The sum is,
I believe, about fifty dollars, which I now deliver you, as your own
unquestionable property.”

In the explanation that now ensued, it appeared that the cattle, which
had been rescued by the friends of Woodburn, without his privity,
lest the scruples it was feared he might entertain should lead him
to interfere with the plan, were taken that night to the retreat of
Herriot, who was made acquainted with the whole transaction; and that
the next day, while Dunning went up the river in search of a purchaser,
the other, who was not without his scruples, also, about sanctioning the
procedure, repaired to lawyer Knights for his opinion on the subject.
And the latter, having been confidentially let into the secret, and
given it as his decided opinion that the judgment, to satisfy which the
cattle had been seized, was an illegal and void one, and that the cattle
so seized might rightfully be taken for the owner, without legal process
if found out of the hands of the officer, the recluse returned and
actively cooperated with the hunter; the result of which was, that
a purchaser was soon found, who paid the money for the stock and
immediately drove it from the country.

This, to Woodburn, was an unexpected development. And now, after hearing
the explanation of Herriot, being satisfied of the propriety of the
course so generously taken by his friends in his behalf, he gratefully
received the money; and, in turn, while Bart and the servant were out
caring for the pony, he confidentially disclosed to the recluse the
painful occurrence of the afternoon which had led to his sudden flight
from home, and his determination of immediately joining the army,
concluding by giving the particulars of Bart’s arrest and singular
escape from the tories.

“You have acted wisely, Mr. Woodburn,” observed Herriot after listening
with deep interest to the recital. “Peters may yet recover; but should
he not, I do not view the act in so criminal a light as that in which
you yourself have placed it. And in the absence of all intention of
killing the man, I feel very clear that it is not a deed meriting the
punishment you would be likely to receive, if you had put your fate
into the hands of the corrupted witnesses who would probably have been
brought against you. Yes, you have acted wisely in leaving that wicked
Babel of toryism, and nobly in devoting yourself to the cause of your
bleeding country. My blessing and prayers will attend you and your young
friend, to whom, I trust, you will act the friend and adviser he will
doubtless need. But come, Harry,” he added, taking up a light, and
making a sign for the other to follow him, “some new notions have come
into my head since I became acquainted with you and your young friend,
at Westminster, and knowing of no two persons in whom I take greater
interest, I have concluded to impart something to you in confidence.”

So saying, he led the way into the cellar, the bottom of which was
flagged over with stones of various shapes and sizes; when pointing to
a broad, flat stone lying near the centre of the room, he asked Woodburn
to raise it. Wondering what could be the object of so unexpected a
request, the latter, with considerable effort, succeeded in raising the
stone to an upright position, and in so doing brought to view two small
iron-bound casks, standing in a cavity beneath, and labelled, in large
inky letters, “_Printers Type_.”

“Printing, then, was formerly your trade?” said Woodburn, inquiringly,
perceiving the other not inclined to be the first to speak.

“Well, that is a respectable calling, is it not?” said the other,
evasively.

“Certainly,” replied Woodburn; “but I had not looked for any immediate
use for such implements in this new settlement.”

“The contents of those casks, nevertheless, are of more value than you
may think them, Harry, and may soon be needed for the public, in the
times now at hand. But what I wish to say to you is, in the first place,
that you are not to divulge what you have seen to any one but your young
friend, and not to him unless you are satisfied he can be trusted, or
you are about to die. And, in the second place, if you hear of my death,
both of you are to come here, take possession of these casks, and divide
the contents equally between you as your own. I have now no relative
that will appear to claim them. You will also find, enclosed in one of
the casks, certain documents, which I have recently deposited there,
explaining my wishes, as well as some secrets of my life connected with
discoveries lately made by me, that interest others besides myself. This
you, or the survivor of you two, if one should die, will do in case I am
taken away. And even if I continue to live, my designs will probably not
be altered and I shall wish to see you both again when you are permitted
to return to your old homes. And still further, I would say, that should
you be in want at any time, and will apply to me, I will dispose of
enough of this property to supply your necessities. Now replace the
stone, and let us return to the room above.”

Woodburn knew not what to make of all this mystery, or affected mystery,
as he believed it. But knowing the singularities of the man, he forebore
to ask any questions, and they left the cellar in silence. Soon after
they had returned, Bart and the servant came in; when a frugal meal
was set before the travellers. And while the latter were occupied in
partaking their repast, the recluse procured his writing materials, and
penning a brief letter, presented it to Woodburn, saying, “There is a
letter of introduction to a former friend of mine, who, I understand,
is appointed to an important command in the army now mustering at
Cambridge. It may be of service to you. And now,” he added, as his
guests rose to depart--“now, my young friends and fellow-sufferers from
oppression, go--deserve well of your country, and desert her not till
the British Dagons are all leveled to the dust, which may God speedily
grant. Amen.”

In a few minutes more, our adventurers were on their way. And being now
invigorated, both in body and mind, by what had occurred during their
call at the retreat of their mysterious friend they pressed on so
rapidly, for the next three or four hours, that they arrived at
Dunning’s cabin, in Westminster, just as the first faint flush of
daylight appeared in the east. Here luckily finding the hunter already
astir, cooking his breakfast, preparatory to any early start on some new
excursion, they joined him in his delicious meal, which consisted of
the rich steaks of a salmon caught the preceding evening. And having
finished their breakfast, and made the contemplated arrangement with
Dunning, to take charge of Lightfoot, their now common favorite, the
last-named person set them across the Connecticut in his log canoe;
when, looking back from the woody shore of the New Hampshire side, they
bade a long farewell to the Green Mountains, whose tall, blue peaks
were then beginning to grow bright in the rays of the rising sun, and
resolutely plunged into the dark recesses before them.



VOLUME II.



CHAPTER I.

  “We owe no allegiance, we bow to no throne;
   Our ruler is law, and the law is our own;
   Our leaders themselves are our own fellow-men,
   Who can handle the sword, the scythe, or the pen.”


Vermont was ushered into political existence midst storm and tempest. We
speak both metaphorically and literally; for it is a curious historical
fact, that her constitution, the result of the first regular movement
ever made by her people towards an independent civil government, was
adopted during the darkest period of the revolution, at an hour of
commotion and alarm, when the tempest of war was actually bursting over
her borders and threatening her entire subversion. And, as if to
make the event the more remarkable, the adoption took place amidst
a memorable thunder-storm, but for the happening of which, at that
particular juncture, as will soon appear, that important political
measure must have been postponed to a future period, and a period, too,
when the measure, probably, would have been defeated, and the blessings
of an independent government forever lost, owing to the dissensions,
which, as soon as the common danger was over, New York and New
Hampshire combined to scatter among her people. The whole history of the
settlement and organization of the state, indeed, exhibits a striking
anomaly when viewed with that of any other state in the Union. She may
emphatically be called the offspring of war and controversy. The long
and fierce dispute for her territory between the colonies above named
had sown her soil with dragon teeth, which at length sprang up in a crop
of hardy, determined, and liberty-loving men, who, instead of joining
either of the contending parties, soon resolved to take a stand for
themselves against both. And that stand, when taken, they maintained
with a spirit and success, to which, considering the discouragements,
difficulties, and dangers they were constantly compelled to encounter,
history furnishes but few parallels. But although every step of her
progress, from the felling of the first tree in her dark wilderness to
her final reception into the sisterhood of the states, was marked by
the severest trials, yet the summer of 1777--the period to which the
remainder of our tale refers--was, for her, far the most gloomy and
portentous. And still it was a period in which she filled the brightest
page of her history, and, at the same time, did more than in any other
year towards insuring her subsequent happy destiny.

In the beginning of this eventful year, the people of Vermont, by
their delegates in formal convention assembled, had declared themselves
independent--

  “Independent of all save the mercies of God,”

as the poet, who has furnished us the heading of this chapter, and
who has so strikingly embodied the feelings of those he describes, has
significantly expressed it. And having taken measures for publishing
their declaration to the world, the convention closed their proceedings
by appointing a committee, selected as combining the most happily an
acquaintance with form and precedent with a knowledge of the ways and
wants of the people, to draft a constitution to be submitted to a new
convention, which the people were invited to call for that purpose. In
response to that call, a new convention assembled at Windsor, in
the month of July following, and proceeded, with that diligence and
scrupulous regard to the employment of their time for which the early
public bodies of this state were so noted, to take into consideration
the important instrument now submitted to them as a proper basis on
which to erect the superstructure of a civil government, suited to the
genius and necessities of an industrious and frugal people--a people
who, though keenly jealous of their individual rights, and exceedingly
restive under all foreign authority, had yet declared their willingness,
and even their wish, to receive and obey a system of legal restraints,
if it could be one of their own imposing. For five days, from rising
to setting sun, this convention employed the best energies of their
practical and enlightened minds in discussing and amending the document
before them. But their labors for the present, if not forever, had well
nigh been lost, for, soon after they had assembled, on the sixth day of
their session, and while they were intently listening to the reading
of the instrument for the last time before taking a final vote on its
adoption their proceedings were suddenly brought to a stand by the
alarming news, loudly proclaimed by a herald, who appeared on his
foam-covered horse before their open door, that Ticonderoga, the
supposed impregnable barrier of frontier defence, had fallen, and our
scattered troops were flying in every direction before a formidable
British army, that was sweeping, unopposed, along the western border of
the state, flanked by a horde of merciless savages, from whose fearful
irruptions not a dwelling on that side of the mountains would probably
be spared!

This intelligence, so unexpected and so startling, too nearly concerned
the members of the convention, not only as patriots, but as men, to
permit their entire exemption from the general consternation and dismay
which were every where spreading around them; and many a staid heart
among them secretly trembled for the fate of the near and dear ones left
at homes in which the red tomahawk might, even at that very moment, be
busy at its work of death; while the bosoms of all were burning to be
freed from their present duties, that they might seize the sword or
musket and fly to the relief of their endangered families, or mingle
in the common defence against the haughty invaders of their soil. Any
further proceedings with the subject on hand, at such a moment, were
soon perceived to be utterly impossible; and a majority f the members
began to press eagerly for an immediate adjournment. But while a few of
their number, sharing less than the rest in the general agitation, or
being more deeply impressed with the importance of accomplishing, at
this time, an object now so nearly attained, were attempting to resist
the current, and prevent any action on the motion to adjourn, till time
was gained for reflection, an unwonted darkness, as if by the special
interposition of Providence, suddenly fell upon the earth. The
lightnings began to gleam through the dark and threatening masses of
cloud that had enveloped the sky, and the long, deep roll of thunder was
heard in different quarters of the heavens, giving warning of the severe
and protracted tempest which soon burst over them with a fury that
precluded all thought of venturing abroad, The prospect of being thus
confined to the place for some hours, and perhaps the whole day, taking
from those moving it all inducement for an immediate adjournment, they
now began to take a cooler view of their situation; and soon, by
common consent the business on hand was resumed. The reading of the
constitution was finished; and, while the storm was still howling
around, and the thunders breaking over them, that instrument was
adopted, and became the supreme law of the land. [Footnote: Through
inadvertence arising out of the unsettled state of the times, or design
among the leaders who might have fears for the result, the constitution
was never submitted to the people for their ratification or rejection;
but, no questions ever being raised on account of this informality it
was acquiesced in as valid and binding.]

One thing more remained to be done; and that was, to constitute
a provisional government to act till the one pointed out by the
constitution just adopted could be established. This was now effected
by the appointment of that small body of men since known as the _Old
Council of Safety _of Vermont, and noted alike for the remarkable powers
with which they were clothed, and the remarkable manner in which
those powers were exercised; for, from the nature of the case, and
the emergency in which these men were called to act, they were almost
necessarily invested with the extraordinary combination of legislative,
judicial, and executive power. But this power, absolute and dictatorial
as it was, they never abused or exercised but for the public good; and
in this they were cheerfully sustained by the people, who felt that they
were thus not only sustaining the cause of freedom, but the laws which
were of their own providing, and which they were anxious should be
obeyed.

To that unique assembly, of whose origin we have been speaking, we
propose next to introduce the reader. In obedience to an order of the
convention, issued at the moment of its hasty dissolution, near the
close of the memorable day before described, the different members
of this newly-appointed body, many of whom, it is believed, were also
members of the one just dissolved, had promptly convened at Arlington.
But finding themselves here endangered by the near vicinity of the
enemy, they had adjourned into the more interior town of Manchester,
within whose barricade of mountains they could proceed with their
deliberations with little fear of interruption. And here, conscious that
the eyes of all were turned anxiously upon them, in the expectation that
they would provide for the safety of the infant state, whose destinies
had been committed to their hands, they commenced the worse than
Egyptian task devolving on them--that of making adequate provisions for
the public defence, while the means were almost wholly wanting; for
with scarcely the visible means in the whole settlements in its then
exhausted and unsettled condition, of raising and supporting a single
company of soldiers, they were expected to raise an army. Without the
shadow of a public treasury, without any credit as a state, and without
the power of taxing the people,--which, by the constitution just
adopted, could only be done by the legislature not yet called,--they
were required to do that for which half a million of money might
be needed. Such were the difficulties by which they were met at the
outset--difficulties which, to men of ordinary stamina and mental
resources, would have been insurmountable. But these were not men of
ordinary stamina, either moral or mental. They had been selected by the
representatives of the people for the qualities which would fit them
to guide the helm of state in this difficult and alarming crisis.
And, unshrinkingly proceeding to the discharge of their high
responsibilities, they soon evinced, by their conduct, that the
confidence reposed in them had not been misplaced; for the glorious
results of the field of Bennington, and the incessant and harassing
warfare on the flanks of the enemy which both preceded and followed that
event, and which drew forth from its despairing leader his best apology
for his defeat and surrender, were, far more than is generally supposed,
the fruits of the combined energy and talents of that unequalled little
band of patriots and statesmen. [Footnote: A finer tribute of praise
to the Green Mountain Boys could scarcely have been given, than the one
involved in Burgoyne’s letter to Lord Germain, written about the time
of the battle of Bennington, in which he says, “The Hampshire Grants, a
country unpeopled, and almost unknown, in the last war, now abounds in
the most active and the most rebellious race of men on the continent,
and hangs like a gathering storm on my left.”] But the particular time
we have chosen for lifting the curtain from their secret proceedings
was at the darkest and most disheartening hour they were doomed to
experience, and before the united mind of their body had been brought
to bear on any measure which afforded a reasonable promise of auspicious
results. The army of Burgoyne was then hovering on their borders in its
most menacing attitude. Marauding parties were daily penetrating the
interior, and plundering and capturing the defenceless inhabitants,
while each day brought the unwelcome news of the defection of
individuals who had openly gone off to swell the ranks of the victorious
enemy to whose alarming progress scarcely a show of resistance had
yet been interposed. Nor was this the end of the chapter of trials and
discouragements that awaited the council. Another blow was to be added,
more calculated than all to test their firmness and bring home to
their bosoms a sense of the perils of the crisis, and the necessity of
immediate action, unless they should conclude to yield at once to the
current of destiny which seemed to be setting so strongly against them.
But let us present the mortifying and disgraceful event, to which we
last alluded, in another form, in which the historic pen, that thus far
in this chapter has only been employed, may be legitimately aided by the
pencil of fancy, while we bring the leading individuals of this body to
view, and sketch the details of a scene as truthful in outline as it was
important in result.

The long summer day was drawing to a close. It had been thus far spent
by the council, as had been the several preceding days of their session,
in discussing the subject of the ways and means of doing something to
avert the doom that hung over their seemingly devoted state. But up to
this hour their deliberations had been wholly fruitless. Project after
project for the means of raising military forces had been brought
forward and discussed; and each in turn had been thought to be
impracticable, and had been consequently abandoned, till, wearied with
their unavailing labors, and discouraged at the dubious prospect before
them, they now began to think of giving up business for the day, when
the door-keeper, with unwonted haste and an agitated manner, entered
the room, and announced to the astonished members of the council the
alarming tidings that one of their own body, and, until that day, an
active participator in their discussions, had proved a Judas, and was
now, with a band of his recreant neighbors, on his way to the British
camp. The news fell like a thunder-clap on the council, producing, at
first, a sensation not often witnessed in so grave an assemblage. But no
formal comments were offered; and, after the commotion had subsided, all
sunk into a thoughtful silence, which we will improve by our promised
introduction to the reader of the leading members of the council.

Separated from the rest by a sort of enclosure composed of tables strung
across one end of the apartment, which was a large upper room of an inn,
hastily fitted up for the occasion, conspicuously sat the president of
the council, the venerable Thomas Chittenden, the wise, the prudent, and
the good, who was to Vermont what Washington was to the Union; and who,
though not possessing dazzling greatness, had yet that rare combination
of moral and intellectual qualities which was more fortunate for
him--good sense, great discretion, firmness, honesty of purpose,
benevolence, and unvarying equanimity of temper, united with a modest
and pleasing address. And by the long and continued exercise of this
golden mean of qualities, he was destined to leave behind him an honest,
enduring fame--a memorial of good deeds and useful every-day examples,
to be remembered and quoted, both in the domestic circle and in the
public assembly, when the far superior brilliancy of many a contemporary
had passed away and been forgotten. He was now something over fifty; but
so fine were his physical endowments, and so temperate and regular had
been his habits, that time had scarcely left a trace on his manly brow;
and his fair and well-moulded features had almost the freshness
of youth. And notwithstanding the unpretending simplicity of his
deportment, and the extreme plainness of his dress, the large arm-chair,
in which he now reclined, furnished probably by some considerate matron
of the neighborhood for his special convenience, could not have found,
in the broad land, an occupant who would have filled it with more native
dignity, or one better fitted to restrain by courteous firmness, and
by tact guide into safe and appropriate fields of action, the less
disciplined and more fiery spirits of the body over which he presided.

Let us now take a glance at the more prominent members of this notable
little band of public conservators. Here, immersed in thought, sat, side
by side, like brothers, as they were, the two Fays, those intelligent,
enterprising, and persevering friends of freedom and state independence.
And there sat the two Robinsons, alike patriotic, and active, or able,
according to the different spheres of action in which they were about
to be distinguished--one in the tented field, and the other on the
bench and in the national councils. In another place was seen the short,
thick-set form of the uncompromising Matthew Lyon, the Irish refugee,
who was willing to be sold to pay his passage to America, for the sake
of getting out of the despotic moral atmosphere of the old world, into
one where his broad chest, as he was wont to say, could expand freely,
and where his bold spirit could soar unclogged by the trammels of
legitimacy. In his eagle eye, in every lineament of his clear, ardent,
and fearless countenance, indeed, might be read the promise of what he
was to become--the stern democrat, and the well-known champion of the
whole right and the largest liberty. In contrast to him, near by was
seen the tall, commanding form, and the firm and thoughtful countenance,
of Benjamin Carpenter, who had just arrived, with pack and cane, from
Guilford, from which he had that day come on foot by a route designated
by marked trees, through the mountain wilderness, nearly thirty miles in
extent. Farther on, and seated before an open window, was Thomas Rowley,
the first poet of the Green Mountains. He was here because he was a
public favorite, a trusty patriot, and something of a statesman.
But, like most other poets, he was not without his peculiarities of
temperament, as might have been seen by his manner and movements even in
this staid assembly; for, as if disgusted with a tedious and profitless
debate, and determined also not long to be troubled by the disconcerting
news just announced, he had now evidently cast these cares from his
mind, to indulge in the more congenial employment of gazing out upon the
landscape, over which his kindling eye might have been seen to wander,
till it rested, in rapture, on the broad empurpled side and bright
summit of the lofty Equinox Mountain, whose contrasted magnificence was
growing every moment more striking and beautiful in the beams of the
low-descending sun. On the opposite side of the room stood the mild and
gentlemanly Nathan Clark, the future speaker of the first legislature
of Vermont; and by his side, the dark and rough-featured Gideon Olin,
an embryo member of Congress, was leaning against the wall, with a
countenance of mingled sternness and gloom.

By the side of one of the tables, in front of the president, might
also have been seen the stout, burly frame, and the matter-of-fact
and business-like countenance, of Paul Spooner, engaged in writing
a despatch. And as the last, though not as the least, among the
strongly-contrasted characters of this assembly of whom we propose to
take note, let us turn to the youthful secretary of the council, Ira
Allen. So much the junior of his colleagues was he, indeed, that a
spectator might well have wondered how he came to be selected as one of
such a sage and elderly body of councillors. But those who procured
his appointment knew full well why they had done so; and his history
thenceforward was destined to prove a continued justification of their
high opinion of him. He was of an active, mercurial turn, and, as might
have been seen, was not inclined to remain long in one place or posture.
He had now thrown aside his rapid pen, and, with a quick, light step
and deeply-cogitating air, was traversing back and forth the open space
between his table, in front of the president, and the closed door of the
apartment. Both in form and feature, he was one of the handsomest men
of his day; while a mind at once versatile, clear, and penetrating, with
perceptions as quick as light, was stamped on his Grecian brow, or found
a livelier expression in his lucid black eyes and other lineaments of
his strikingly intellectual countenance. Such as he appeared for the
first time on the stage of public action was the noted Ira Allen, whose
true history, when written, will show him to have been, either secretly
or openly, the originator, or successful prosecutor, of more important
political measures, affecting the interests and independence of the
state, and the issue of the war in the Northern Department, than any
other individual in Vermont, making him, with the many peculiar traits
of character he possessed, one of the most remarkable men of the times
in which he so conspicuously figured.

“I have finished, Mr. President,” said Spooner, now breaking the gloomy
silence which had, for an unusual interval, pervaded the assembly--“I
have finished the despatch, suggested by your honor, requiring
the attendance of the absent member from the east side of the
mountain--General Bayley. And having put it into the form of a familiar
letter, I have ventured to enlarge somewhat on our perplexing situation,
especially in the matter of the miserable Squire Spencer, whose
treasonable desertion I little dreamed, when I commenced writing, I
should have the mortification of announcing.” [Footnote: The original
letter from Paul Spooner to General Jacob Bayley, of Newbury, written
in council, requiring the attendance of the latter, and informing him
of Spencer’s defection, and the gloomy situation of affairs, is still
preserved, and affords, notwithstanding the disheartening news it
communicates, a striking proof of the determination of that body to
struggle on to the last against the mountain of difficulties which, at
this dark crisis, seemed to lie before them.]

“That is well,” responded the president; “and we must look up some
suitable messenger to convey it to its destination. But I had hoped
to forward, by the same hand, the despatch requesting the aid and
co-operation of New Hampshire, which has been deferred till some
definite action of our own should enable us to inform the council of
that state what we of the Grants propose to do ourselves towards the
object for which we invoke their assistance. This they will doubtless
consider essential to be known, before listening to our call, as
otherwise they will not know whether they will find among us more
friends to assist than enemies to impede them. But what can we now tell
them? I will submit to you, gentlemen of the council,” he continued,
in a kindly expostulating tone--“I will submit to your good sense and
patriotism, whether it is not now time to adopt some decided course to
be pursued. We must not be disheartened by a few untoward circumstances.
Providence not unfrequently frowns on us for our own good. And who
shall say, in the present instance, that our deliberations have not been
wisely and kindly rendered of no effect till after Spencer’s desertion,
since, had we adopted a plan of operations while he was here, the whole
of it, by this time, had been in the possession of the British general?
But be that as it may, the event of this man’s apostasy, of itself,
instead of making us timid and irresolute in action, should but render
us more prompt and decided. The people, as we all feel painfully
conscious, I presume, expect much from us. Shall we disappoint them in
every thing? Because we cannot consistently do all that may be expected,
shall we resolve to do nothing? I have listened to your objections
to levying a general tax upon the people, as the means of raising a
military force; and, with you, I consider them valid; for to infringe
the constitution, just adopted, by an arbitrary taxation, would be
setting a dangerous precedent, and one which would come with a bad grace
from those of us here who helped to adopt it. No; we must resort
to other means. We can, if we will, borrow, pledging ourselves as
individuals, with such others as we may find willing to stand sponsors
with us, that the state shall hereafter pay the debt; or we may
resort to voluntary contributions. I am aware the people are unable to
contribute much. I am aware that a great portion of the inhabitants have
been driven from their homes, and are now living on the hospitality
of the rest. But for all this, the people can and will cheerfully
contribute something--more, I think, than we should be willing to
require of them. I have ten head of cattle, which can be spared for the
emergency. But am I more patriotic than you, and hundreds of others in
the settlement? My wife has a valuable gold necklace. Hint to her to-day
that it is needed for the public service, and, my word for it, to-morrow
you will find it in the treasury of freedom. But is my wife any more
public-spirited than yours and many others among us? Gentlemen, I await
your propositions.”

During this moderate, but really well-timed and effective appeal of the
president, drooping heads began to be raised, perplexed and desponding
countenances grew brighter, and by the time he had closed, several
speakers were on their feet, eager to respond.

“Mr. Carpenter has the floor, I think, gentlemen,” said the president.

“I rose,” said Carpenter, “but to give my hearty response to the
sentiments of the chair. It _is_ time, _high_ time, for some definite
and decided action. Less talking and more action shall henceforth be
_my_ motto. I have not now, it is true, any digested proposition to
present to the council; but I soon will have one, unless others are
offered; for, in this emergency, it is little short of a crime to dally
any longer.”

“Ay, action! action!” responded several voices.

“Action let it be, then,” said Rowley, the next rising to speak. “If it
be true, as has been urged, Mr. President, that we cannot raise money
by general assessment without exceeding our power; and disaffecting
the people, and that we must depend on voluntary contribution, which
receivers, appointed for the purpose, may more appropriately gather
in than ourselves, why are we needed here? I will, therefore, make a
proposition, which, while it will be obnoxious to none of the objections
brought against other plans of defence, will give gentlemen as much
action as they want. I propose, Mr. President, that each of us here,
before any more of us run away to the enemy, seize a standard, repair
singly to the different hamlets among our mountains, cause the summoning
drum to beat for volunteers, and lead them, when obtained, to do battle
in person with this Jupiter Olympus of a British general, who has so
nearly annihilated the country by proclamation.”

“Tom Rowley all over! but a gallant push nevertheless,” vivaciously
exclaimed Samuel Robinson, in an under tone. “And yet, Mr. President,”
 he continued, dropping the jocose, and now rising to speak in form--“and
yet, if our colleague’s spirited proposal could be carried into effect,
and men be found to volunteer under such military leaders as most of us
would make,--or if the different towns, as has been suggested by others,
would order out the militia on our requisition,--even then, it appears
to me, we should raise a permanent and regularly enlisted force, to
serve a rallying point or nucleus for the militia, or our patriotic
friend’s army of volunteers. I therefore move, as I was about to do when
others claimed the floor--I move the raising of a regular force, however
small our means may compel us to make it; and as the smallest to be
thought of, I will name one company of one hundred men, to be raised and
supported by one of the methods suggested by the president.”

“And I,” said Clark, promptly rising--“and I, believing we may venture
to go a little higher than that, I propose, we have to raise two
companies of sixty men each.”

“No, No!” cried several voices; “one company. Means can be found for no
more than one.”

“Yes, yes! the larger number first, Mr. President! I go for two
companies,” cried others.

“And I go for neither, Mr. President,” said Ira Allen stopping short in
his walk, and turning to the chair. “For I believe the council, on a
little reflection, will conclude to do something more worthy of the
character of the Green Mountain Boys, than the raising of the paltry
force which even the bes’ of these propositions involves. And I doubt
not the means of so doing may be soon and abundantly supplied, without
infringing the constitution or distressing the people. And I therefore
move, sir, that this council resolve to raise a full regiment of men,
forthwith appoint their officers, and take such prompt and speedy
measures for their enlistment, that, within one week every glen in
Vermont shall resound with the stir of military preparation.”

“Chimerical!” said one, who, in common with the rest of the council,
seemed to hear, with much surprise, a proposition of this magnitude
so confidently offered, when the doubt appeared to be whether even the
comparatively trifling one of Clark would be adopted.

“Impossible, utterly impossible to raise pay for half of them,”
 responded several others.

“Don’t let us say that till we are compelled to do so,” said the
patriotic Carpenter, in an encouraging tone. “This proposition jumps
so well with my wishes, that I would not see it hastily abandoned. For,
although I confess I do not pretend to see where the requisite means are
to come from, yet some new light, in this respect, may break in upon
us by another day. And could we but see our way clear to sustain this
proposition, we should feel like men again.”

“Amen to all that,” responded Clark. “And as the hour for adjournment
has now arrived, I move that our young colleague, who offered this
proposition with so much confidence in the discovery of a way to carry
it into execution, and who is said to be very fertile in expedients,
be appointed a committee to devise the ways and means of paying the
bounties and wages of the regiment he proposes to raise; and that he
make his report to the council by sunrise to-morrow morning.”

“Second that motion, Mr. President,” cried Lyon, in his usual full,
determined tone of voice and strong Irish accent. “I go for the whole of
Mr. Allen’s proposition, means or no means. But the means can, must, and
shall be found, sir! We will put the gentleman’s brains under the screws
to-night,” he continued, jocosely turning to Allen; “and if he appears
here in the morning empty-handed, he ought to be expelled from the
council. Ay, and I’ll move it, too, by the two bulls that redeemed me!”
 [Footnote: Matthew Lyon, who very soon became much noted as a leading
partisan in the legislature of Vermont, and subsequently more so as
member of congress from Kentucky, having, as before intimated, been sold
to pay his passage from Ireland to Connecticut, where he landed, was
afterwards redeemed by the payment of a pair of bulls to the purchaser,
by a gentleman of that state, for whom he was permitted to labor, at
liberal wages, till this novel kind of indebtedness was cancelled.
And as this bold and singular man entered upon the scenes of life as a
successful freeman, he was fond of boasting of the romantic manner
in which he became one, while the expression, “By the two bulls that
redeemed me,” became his favorite oath on all occasions.]

“I accept the terms,” replied Allen, bowing pleasantly to the former.
“Give me a room by myself, pen, ink, paper, and a lamp, and I will abide
the condition.”

“For your lamp, Mr. Allen, as your task is to discover money where there
is none, I advise you to borrow the wonderful lamp of Aladin,” gayly
added Rowley, as the question was put, and carried; and the council,
in a half-serious, half-sportive mood, broke up, and separated for the
night.

At sunrise, the next morning, as had been proposed, the council
punctually assembled to receive the promised report of their committee.
Most of them, from having lodged in the same house, were aware that
Allen had spent the whole of the intervening time on the business which
had been committed to his charge; for, hour after hour, during that
important night, they had heard the sound of his footsteps, as he
continued to walk his solitary chamber, intensely revolving in his
teeming mind the vexed question, upon the decision of which he felt the
last chance of making a successful stand against the invaders of the
state would probably depend. And this and the expectation, which had
somehow been generally raised, that he would present some feasible plan
for carrying out his proposals, the character of which no one could
conjecture, caused his appearance to be awaited with no little curiosity
and solicitude. They were not left long in suspense; for scarcely had
the president called the council to order, before Allen came in, holding
in his hand an open sheet of paper, to which, as the yet undried ink
showed, he had just committed the result of his night’s labor.

“Is the committee, appointed at adjournment last evening prepared to
make his report?” asked the president.

“Fully, your honor,” promptly responded Allen, who accordingly then rose
and said,--

“My report, Mr. President, consists of two parts. The first comprises
the nomination of a list of officers, from colonel to subaltern, for
a regiment, to be styled _The Rangers_. The second part involves the
subject more particularly committed to me, and proposes the means of
raising and supporting them. As the first will be useless unless the
second is adopted, I will submit it without present reading, and proceed
at once with the second and more important proposition, which, after
a long and patient consideration of every argument for and against the
measure, I have concluded to recommend to the council, as the best and
most effectual means of securing the desired end. And that proposition,
for the sake of convenience, as regards the action of the council on
the principle involved, I have thrown into the form of the following
resolution:--

“Resolved, That by specific decree of this council, and under
regulations hereafter to be made, the estates, both real and personal,
of all those who have been, or hereafter may be, identified as tories,
aiders and abettors of the enemy, within this state, be confiscated for
the military defence thereof; and that so much of said estates as may
be needed for the payment of the bounties and wages of the regiment now
proposed to be raised, be forthwith seized, and within ten days sold at
the post, for that purpose, by the officers appointed by this council to
execute its orders and decrees in that behalf.”

The speaker, without offering any further remark in explanation or
defence of the measure he had reported, resumed his seat, and calmly
awaited the expression of the council. But they were taken by such
complete surprise by a proposition at that time so entirely new in the
colonies, so bold and so startling in its character, that, for many
minutes, not a word or whisper was heard through the hushed assembly,
whose bowed heads and working countenances showed how deeply their minds
were engaged in trying to grapple with the momentous subject, upon which
their action was thus unexpectedly required. At length, nowever,
low murmurs of doubt or disapproval began to be heard; and soon the
expressions, “_unprecedented step!_”--“_doubtful policy!_” and “_injury
to the cause_” became distinguishable among the over-prudent in
different parts of the room when Matthew Lyon sprang to his feet,
and, bringing his broad palms together with a loud slap, exultingly
exclaimed,--

“The child is born, Mr, President! My head has been in a continual fog,
every hour since we convened, till the present moment; and I could
see no way by which we could even begin to do all that the exigency
required, without running against law, or distressing the people. But
now, thank God, I can see my way out. I can now see, at a glance, how
all can be speedily and righteously accomplished. I can already see a
regiment of our brave mountaineers in arms before me, as the certain
fruits of this bold, bright thought of our sagacious and intrepid
young colleague. Unprecedented step is it? It may be so with us
timid republicans but is it so with our enemies, who are this moment
threatening to crush us, because we object to receive their law and
precedent? How were they to obtain the lands of the half of Vermont,
which, it is said, they recently offered the lion-hearted Ethan Allen,
if he would join them, but by confiscating _our_ estates? What
has become of the estates of those in their own country, who, like
ourselves, have rebelled against their government? From time immemorial
they have been confiscated. Can they complain then, at our following a
precedent of their own setting? Can they complain because _we_ adopt
a measure, which, in case we are vanquished, they will not be slow to
visit on _our_ estates, to say nothing of our necks? Can these recreant
rascals themselves, who have left their property among us, and gone off
to help fasten this very government upon us, complain at our doing what
they will be the first to recommend to be done to us, if their side
prevails? Where, then, is the doubtful policy of our anticipating them
in this measure, any more than in seizing one of their loaded guns
in battle, and turning it against them? Injury to the cause, will it
be?--Will it injure our cause here, where men are daily deserting to the
British, in belief that we shall not dare touch their property to
strike a blow that will deter _all_ the wavering, and most others of any
property, from leaving us hereafter? Will it injure our cause here to
have a regiment of regular troops, who will, perhaps, draw into the
field four times their number, in volunteers? If this be an injury, Mr.
President, I only wish we may have a few more of them; for, with a half
dozen such injuries, by the two bulls, we would rout Burgoyne’s whole
army in a fortnight. Yes, Mr. President, this measure must go; for
it promises every thing to cause, and threatens nothing that honest
patriots need fear, and had I a hundred tongues, they should all wag a
good stiff ay for its adoption.”

“A bold measure, boldly advocated!” next spoke Carpenter. “But as bold
as it is, Mr. President, I rise not to condemn it, but rather to say,
that I am determined to meet it fairly, and without fear; and if, when I
get cool enough to trust myself to make a decision, the objections to
it appear no more formidable than they now do, I will give it my hearty
support.”

“If the public should call this a desperate remedy, they must recollect
that it is almost our only one,” remarked Olin, in his cool, quiet
manner. “Nothing venture, nothing have;--let us go for it who dare!”

“Let us _oppose_ it who dare!” warmly responded Lyon. “The measure
will be a popular one; and let it once be known among the people, as I
promise gentlemen it shall be, that this proposition was considerately
recommended to us by a committee we appointed for the purpose--let this
be known, and who among us has nerve enough to stem the storm of popular
indignation that will burst on his head, for the timid and cowardly
policy which led him to go against it?”

“Vermont,” added Rowley--“Vermont was the first to show her sister
states the way to take a British fort; let her also be the first to
teach them the secret of making tories bear their proportion of the
burdens of the war. I am already prepared to give the measure my
support, Mr. President.”

Almost every member, in turn, now threw in a few observations. The
doubts and fears of the more cautious and wavering gradually gave way;
and it soon became evident that the measure had found too much favor
with the council to be resisted. Lyon, with his rough and pithy
eloquence, had broken the ice of timidity at the right moment; and
he and the originator of the measure, at first the only unhesitating
members of the assembly, perceiving the gathering current in its favor,
now warmly followed up their advantage; and, within two hours from its
introduction, the resolution was adopted. This was immediately followed
by the passage of the decree named in the resolution, specifying the
names of those thus far fairly identified as openly espousing the
British cause in Vermont, and declaring their estates forfeited to its
use. Allen’s proposal to raise a regiment of rangers was then, as a
matter of course, unanimously carried, and the officers he had nominated
were, with a few alterations, as unanimously appointed. All were now
animated with a new spirit. Hope and confidence had taken the place of
doubt and despondency in their bosoms and the remainder of the day was
spent in carrying out the details of their plan, which all agreed should
now be put into execution with the greatest possible promptitude and
secrecy. In this, as soon as the different appointments, made necessary
for the execution of the decree, were completed by the united action of
the council, all the members, individually, took an active part. And for
many hours, they might have been seen sitting round the tables, silently
and intently engaged with their pens; some in drafting despatches to be
sent to New Hampshire and Massachusetts, some in writing confidential
letters, unfolding their plans and asking the co-operation of the
leading men in the different parts of their own state, and some in
making out commissions for the military officers, or the commissioners
and other officers of confiscation, while others were out, scattering
themselves about town, warily and cautiously inquiring out prompt
and trusty messengers, to be despatched, as soon as it was dark,
simultaneously and post-haste, to convey these important missives
to their different destinations round the country. And all being
accomplished,--the blow struck, and the machinery put in motion,--the
council concluded to adjourn, to meet again in a few days at Bennington,
the interim to be spent by them in repairing to their respective spheres
of influence among the people, and there taking an active part in
defending and explaining their measures, and assisting to carry them
into operation.

Such was the origin of those temporary tribunals in Vermont,
subsequently termed courts of confiscation, which formed a prominent
feature in her early history, and which furnished, it is believed, the
first example of the exercise of this extraordinary power ever known in
the United Colonies during the revolutionary struggle. And whatever may
have been the effects of this retributive policy in other states, its
results here were salutary and important. It put an immediate stop to
any further espousing of British interests, especially among men of
property, while, within the astonishingly short space of fifteen days,
it brought a regiment of men into the field, well armed and prepared
for instant service,--thus securing those advantages to the defenders
of liberty, in the peculiar posture of their affairs in which it was
introduced, and giving that impetus to their military operations,
without which the brilliant successes that marked the ensuing campaign
in Vermont could never have been obtained. Of this there can scarcely
be a doubt. And scarcely less doubt can there be, that the important
measure in question would not have been brought forward and adopted at
the crisis, in which alone the advantages it then secured could have
been denied from us but for its sole projector, the sagacious, scheming,
and fearless Ira Allen.

Speculative writers have often amused themselves in tracing great
events to small causes. And in this they have oftentimes so wonderfully
succeeded, as to show, beyond the power of man to refute, some of the
most trivial circumstances of life, considered by themselves, to have
caused the revolutions of empires. Were we to make out an instance of
this character, to be added to the many other remarkable ones which have
been noted by the curious, it should be done by tracing the independence
of America to the measure which Allen so boldly projected, as he
walked his lonely chamber, on the eventful night we have described. The
independence of the colonies was, at that dark crisis, balancing, as
on a pivot; and the success of Burgoyne must seemingly have turned the
scale against us. The success of Burgoyne, at the same time, hung on
a pivot also; and the victory of Bennington, with all its numberless
direct and indirect consequences, as now seems generally conceded,
turned the scale of his fortunes when his success, otherwise, could
scarcely have been doubtful. But the victory of Bennington would
never have been achieved but for the decided and energetic movement of
Vermont, which alone secured the cooperation of New Hampshire, or,
at least insured victory, when, otherwise, no battle would have been
rewarded. And that essential movement of Vermont would never have been
made but for the bold and characteristic project of Ira Allen.

All this, to be sure, is but supposition; but who can gainsay its
truthfulness?



CHAPTER II.

  “Say what is woman’s heart?--a thing
   Where all the deepest feelings spring;
   And what its love?--a ceaseless stream,
   A changeless star--an endless dream--
   A smiling flower, that will not die--
   A beauty and a mystery!”


While the scenes last described were occurring at Manchester, in the
Council of Safety, whose secret and unforeseen action was about to be
felt in the remotest corners of the state, an athletic, well-formed,
though plainly-dressed young man, whose fortunes, in common with those
of hundreds around him, were suddenly and unexpectedly to be affected
by the movements of that body, might have been seen, in the evening
twilight, moving, with slow and apparently hesitating steps, across a
new-mown field, towards a neat and commodious dwelling, situated on the
main road leading from the town just named, to the south, and near where
it entered the then fast increasing little village of Bennington. Though
he wore no regular military uniform, or arms that were visible, yet
there was that in his gait, manner, and general appearance, which
indicated the recent occupation of a soldier, while the natural cast of
his bold, manly features, and the clear, calm, and steady expression
of his fine countenance, all combined to show him a man of coolness and
courage; and that, consequently, the seeming timidity and indecision
of his present movements were attributable to some passing doubts
respecting the issue of the business on hand, or other causes of
a similar character, rather than any general want of firmness and
resolution. After advancing within a stone’s throw of the house, he
turned into a clump of small trees, which, extending along the outer
border of an unenclosed garden to the north of the establishment, had
concealed his approach; and here taking a position that commanded a view
of the front and rear entrances of the house, he seemed to await some
expected event, with manifestations of considerable uneasiness and
solicitude. In a few moments, a slight stir, as of company taking
leave, was heard in the front part of the house; and very soon a
fashionably-dressed personage of a somewhat swaggering deportment,
accompanied with many of those supercilious airs with which the colonial
loyalists of the times often thought to dignify their carriage among
despised republicans, made his appearance in the yard, where, equipped
for riding, stood a stout, well-conditioned horse, which he approached
and led out some distance into the road, preparatory to mounting. He
then paused, and, with a hasty glance around him, covertly drew forth,
from a concealed girdle apparently, a pair of good-sized pistols, and
carefully examined their flints and priming; after which he replaced
them, and, vaulting into his saddle, rode leisurely away along the road
leading northward. In the mean time, the person first described retained
his position within his leafy concealment, where, unseen himself, he had
seen and watched from the first, with keen interest, all the
movements of the other, whom, at length, he seemed to recognize, with
recollections which caused him to recoil, and his whole countenance
to contract and darken with angry and disquieting emotions. He was not
allowed much time, however, for indulging his disturbed feelings;
for scarcely had the object of his annoyance disappeared, before his
attention was attracted by a slight rustling sound somewhere within the
garden; when, turning his head, the frown that had gathered on his brow
suddenly gave place to a look of joyful animation, as his eager eye
caught a glimpse of the light, fluttering drapery of a female, who, with
soft, rapid tread, was gliding along the outer edge of the screening
shrubbery towards him. The next instant he was at her side, ardently
grasping her half-proffered hand, and tenderly gazing into her
sweetly-confused countenance.

“How grateful,” he began, after a broken salutation--“how grateful I
should be for this obliging attention to the note I sent you, soliciting
a meeting which--”

“Which my gallant preserver of old will be pretty sure to misconstrue, I
fear me,” interrupted the maiden, with a half-murmured, sportive laugh.

“No, Miss Haviland,” he replied, too intent on a serious demonstration
of his feelings to respond in the same spirit--“no, I am not so
presuming; nor do I wish to count on the former service, which you so
magnify, and which has induced you, perhaps, to grant this interview.”

“In part, I confess,” was the answer to this implied question.

“I suspected--I feared so,” he rejoined, despondingly. “Would to Heaven
you could have acted entirely aside from that motive, and then I
might have found cause to hope. But now,” he added, with suppressed
emotion--“now--But O, how can I harbor the chilling thought of being
doomed to love without a return! Say, fairest and best, must this indeed
be so?”

The downcast look and the quick-heaving bosom were the only reply;
and the impassioned lover, gathering courage even from these uncertain
indications, proceeded:--

“Years, eventful years, have passed away, my dear Miss Haviland, since
your face, like some unexpected vision, first greeted my sight, and its
image, at the same moment, as a thing not to be resisted, sunk deep
into my heart. And there, from that hour to this, it has constantly
remained--remained in spite of all my attempts to exclude it; for I
struggled hard to banish it, as I had so much reason to do. You were the
daughter of wealth and prosperity--I the son of poverty and misfortune;
and, what was more revolting to my pride, you were found with my
political opponents--my oppressors--nay, in the closest connection,
apparently, with my bitterest foe. But with all the aid which these
thoughts and associations were calculated to lend me, I struggled in
vain. And when I was driven, poor, sorrowing, and desperate, from my
home, by the wrongs and insults of this same man, of whose position
towards you I was not left in doubt, I carried that image with me. It
would not be eradicated; it would not even fade; but became more deeply
impressed, and grew more and more vivid with time and change. In the
stirring scenes of military life into which I then entered,--in the
hour of battle, the exhausting march, the horrors of a prisonship, the
perilous escape, and the lone wanderings through the wilderness, till I
again reached the soil of freedom,--in all these, the impress remained
unweakened, constantly presenting itself to my thoughts by day, and
shaping my dreams by night. And it was this, when, on my return, I
came into this quarter, where I had learned our scattered troops were
rallying, and where I found myself near you--it was this that brought me
to your father’s dwelling--it was this, which, in spite of the coldness
of my reception by all but yourself, urged me to the repeated visit, in
which I was driven with insults from your house.”

“Not by me, Mr. Woodburn,” interposed the fair listener, in kindly and
earnest tones--“not by me, nor by my consent or sanctioning. And it was
mainly to show you this that I was induced to grant your request for
this, on my part, I fear, imprudent meeting. No! O, no, sir, I have
never forgotten--I can never forget--to whom I am indebted for my life;
and gratitude as well as respect for his general character, will ever
forbid aught but kind and courteous treatment at my hands. And I hope
you will make some allowance for my father, who feels so strongly that
the people, whose cause you espouse, are criminally wrong.”

“I do make an allowance,” responded Woodburn--“great allowance for his
imbittered state of mind towards the defenders of the American cause;
but does that fully account for the course he pursues towards me?”

“To be frank with you, sir, it does not,” she replied, after some
hesitation. “There are those often with my father, who are not backward
in fanning his prejudices, and perhaps in instigating the undeserved
treatment you have received. I may be unwise in saying this; but justice
to all, it appears to me, requires that you should be apprised of it.
You will not surely make use of this to embroil us?”

“Certainly not; but what you communicate is hardly news to me. I well
understand that the principal one of those to whom you allude is no
other than the person who just rode away from your house.”

“You saw him, then? I am thankful you did not come in collision with
him; for he is a man you must avoid. Yes, that was indeed Colonel
Peters.”

“_Colonel_ Peters! _Colonel_, did you call him? Has he, then, actually
joined the British forces, and received a commission for such a post in
their army?”

“Yes; but I had supposed this was known, else I might have hesitated to
disclose it, lest his frequent visits here might implicate my father,
who, I hope, may be induced to remain neutral in this unhappy contest.”

“Fear not, fair friend. No advantage shall be taken of this, through my
means, to the injury of your father. But, tell me, does that officious
adviser of your father still urge a suit, and plead an engagement, of
which, I have inferred, you would not be sorry to be relieved?”

“He does,” answered the maiden, sadly--“he does urge a suit, and insist
on an engagement, of which he knows I wish to be relieved.”

“Why should he do this?”

“Perhaps he counts on the effect of events to reconcile me--events which
he seems to expect will shortly happen--the complete triumph of his
cause, the disgrace, banishment, or death of its cpposers, and his own
elevation thereby to stations which, he thinks no woman will refuse to
share with him. He counts much also, probably, on the aiding influence
of my father, who feels warmly interested in his success, and believes
with the other that he, who is so loyal, while so many of his standing
are otherwise, cannot fail of reaping a brilliant harvest of rewards,
which, with the connection they propose, will reflect lustre on our
family.”

“Then it does not occur to them,” said Woodburn, with a smile at this
specimen of that loyal air-castle building in which the tories of the
revolution seemed to have so extravagantly indulged--“it does not occur
to them that it is even _possible_ these splendid schemes may fail,
in the failure of their cause in this country, which has thus, in
anticipation, been parcelled out into dukedoms and lordships, to reward
its sanguine adherents?”

“One would think not, from their conversation on the subject,” replied
the other.

“And what thinks _she_, whom they would have so much _interested_ in
this great issue?” asked Woodburn, encouraged to the question by the
manner and tone of her last remark. “Has it never occurred to _her_ mind
that their cause, as strong as they deem it, is destined to fail; that
even this vaunting army, which hangs so menacingly on our borders,
may be swept away by the vengeance of a wronged, an insulted, and now
aroused people; and that this despised people have right and Heaven on
their side; and by the blessings of that Heaven, while they do battle
in the consciousness of that right, will yet triumph, and become an
independent nation, to which even her present haughty foe will do
reverence?”

“It has,” replied the maiden, warmly and with emphasis--“it has,
Mr. Woodburn; and--why should I attempt to conceal it?--and I have
wished--for I could not help it, though against the feelings, and,
perhaps, the best interests of a generally kind parent--I have long
secretly wished, and even prayed, for your success; because I could not
stifle the conviction of the truth of what you assert respecting the
wrongs of the American people, and the justice of their cause.”

“Sabrey Haviland,” exclaimed the surprised and delighted lover, “as long
as I have respected and loved you, I have never till this moment, known
you--never half appreciated the worth of your character!”

“What you may appreciate highly, sir, others may as highly condemn,” she
meekly responded. “I have said more to you than I have ever expressed
to human being; and I may be wrong--wrong in saying it to you--wrong in
saying it or believing it at all.”

“Wrong? O, no, no, noble girl!” he rejoined, with increasing animation;
“no, you are not wrong; you are right--right in your convictions, right
in the wish, the prayer, and the declaration. Men will honor your honest
independence, exercised against so much to bias and prejudice, so much
to tempt and dazzle you; and Heaven will approve and bless you. But with
such sentiments,” he added, in tenderly expostulating accents--“with
such sentiments, dear lady, will you doom me to plead my heart’s cause
in vain? Will you still adhere to a lover active in the work of
oppression which you condemn, and reject his rival, equally active in
the cause you approve and pray for?”

“I see my error, Mr. Woodburn,” she replied, with an air of
self-reproach and of slightly-offended pride, which, however, gave way
to kindly tones, as she proceeded; “I have unintentionally helped you to
an argument, while I am constrained to decide that no argument, so long
as I stand in my present position, must prevail with me. Do not, then,
O, do not press me with questions like these. You know not the extent of
my perplexities, and I may not explain. Besides, are these the times
to engage in such affairs, when the next hour may lead to an eternal
separation, or place our respective destinies as wide as the poles
asunder?”

“But will you not allow me even to hope for the future?” still persisted
the lover.

“Why should I bid you tantalize yourself with hopes so likely to prove
futile, when nobler thoughts should engross you? Look, Mr. Woodburn,”
 she said, pointing, with charming enthusiasm, towards the distant
summits of Manchester, then beginning to be dimly visible in the rays of
the rising moon, “cast your eyes northward! Beneath yon blue mountains
is gathered the council of your people. There also rolls the recruiting
drum of your brave Warner, who needs men like you; or if, as you
intimated, you are waiting to engage in a different corps, which your
council is expected to raise, would not your attendance there be more
worthily bestowed, than in adding to the perplexities of one already so
thickly surrounded with difficulties, and one who, to your suit, cannot
say yea, while she would be pained to say nay?”

“Cruel girl, but noble in your cruelty!” exclaimed Woodburn, with
mingled disappointment and admiration. “I will forbear to press my suit
for the present, but not forever. I will heed the lesson of patriotism
you have given me, but only to remember my fair prompter with deeper
devotion.”

“Hark!” said the other, starting; “I hear my father’s chiding voice in
the house inquiring for me. I must go. Adieu, Mr. Woodburn. With this
tendered hand of friendship and gratitude, adieu.”

“If it must be so, my precious, my beautiful one, farewell to you,
also.”

Lips uttered no more, but the mute pause that followed, while eye met
eye, and hand lingered in hand, was not meaningless. The fond lover was
not permitted, however, to prolong the entrancing moment, which, as the
slightly-returned pressure of the small white hand, closely imprisoned
in his own, told him, had not been reluctantly vouchsafed him; for,
quickly arousing herself, the maiden broke from his clinging grasp, and
tripped silenty away, leaving him gazing after her retreating form, and
listening to the soft and decreasing sounds of her light footsteps upon
the grass, till the jar of the closing door, to which she had directed
her devious course, made him feel that he was alone, and that the charm
of the place was gone.

With a sigh, he turned from the spot, and soon gained the highway; when,
taking the direction in which his rival and foe had departed, he walked
musingly onward, heedless alike of the cool and balmly air of the
evening, or the quietly reposing beauties which the light of a full
moon, now beginning to peer over the eastern hills, was gradually
unfolding around him, and intent only on the dreamy images with which
love and his new-fledged hope seemed conspiring for a while to amuse his
willing mind. At length, however, a quickened pace, a firmer tread, and
a prouder bearing, showed that a different and less peaceful train of
thought was springing up within.

“So this evil genius of mine, it seems,” he muttered, “who forever
appears in my path to snatch from me every prize I set my heart on, is
secretly an officer in the British service, commissioned, probably, to
head a regiment of tories, whom he is now by his false statements and
delusive promises, attempting to gather from the weak and wavering of
our overawed people. This must be instantly made known. Heavens!
what effrontery!--to be playing the spy under the garb of pretended
neutrality, and seducing away the deluded men under our very noses,
to lead them back to fall with fire and sword on their kindred and
neighbors! And I am to be the particular object of his vengeance, I
presume, from the significant hint she gave me to avoid him. Avoid him!
He shall be spared much trouble to find me if that is what he wants. He
is now the country’s foe, and lawful game with me. I would that I could
meet him tonight--yes, this night; and if I thought I could overtake
him--stay, why can’t this be done?--only three miles start, probably,
and on a moderate trot; while my horse is a fleet one, and--and--we will
try it.”

By this time he had reached a log house, and barn of the same materials,
which formed a small opening on the left side of the road, and which was
the residence of a recently-married and here settled friend, in whose
care he had left his horse before proceeding, as on the lady’s account
he did, through the adjoining wood and Haviland’s broad fields beyond,
to the clandestine interview with her that we have described. And
now turning in towards this rude establishment, he hastily proceeded,
without calling at the house, directly to the barn, that was partially
enclosed by one of those close-laid, high, pole fences which the
settlers usually constructed round their barns to protect their flocks
against the depredations of wild beasts. Within this strong enclosure,
the owner’s cattle, consisting of a pair of oxen, cow, and two or three
young creatures of the same species, were now quietly chewing their
cuds, with those occasional wheezing grunts, which with them seem so
indicative of animal enjoyment; while in one corner stood the horse of
which Woodburn was in quest--a little model of a creature, of a lively,
attent appearance, as now particularly manifested by a low, earnest,
recognizing whinny, and by instantly starting off, in a sort of half
trot towards the bars of the enclosure, as her master came up on the
other side.

“Yes, yes, Lightfoot, you shall go now, and as fast as you desire, this
time,” responded the latter, throwing himself over the bars, and patting
the animal on the neck, as he passed on to the barn for his saddle and
bridle.

To equip his willing steed, examine the trusty pistols, which, like his
foe, he carried about his person, let down, pass through, and replace
the bars, occupied him but a moment, and he was about springing into his
saddle, when he was hailed from the house.

“Halloo, there, Woodburn, is that you?” exclaimed a cheerly voice, as a
stout-built, crank, honest-looking young man, without hat or coat, came
out of the door, and with a free and careless air made his way towards
the other; “but what is your hurry? Nothing unpleasant has befallen you
in your affair over yonder that makes you feel like being off in this
sly and hasty manner, has there?”

“No, Risdon, not quite so bad as that yet,” replied Woodburn, taking all
in good part.

“How much better, then? Come, Harry, I have taken stones enough out
of your path, and thrown them into that of your rival there, to earn a
candid answer to such a question.”

“True, sir; but you ask more than I am permitted to know myself. I
can neither get accepted nor rejected. She, however has given me fresh
reason to admire her. She is no common girl, friend Risdon.”

“There is not a finer or fairer in all the Green Mountains; but what is
that fresh reason you name?”

“The discovery that at heart she is warmly with us in the good cause.”

“That is, you hope, and therefore believe so, eh?”

“I have a much better reason than that, sir, for my assertion. She has,
within this hour, told me so herself.”

“Ah! Well, then, it is indeed so; for Sabrey Haviland never uttered
aught but perfect truth and sincerity in all her life. Why, God bless
her for her spunk and independence, living and visiting, as she mostly
has, from a child, in that circle of high-toned and bitter tories.
And it argues well for your suit, too, Woodburn, which till now I have
considered rather an unpromising one; for it tells me that she will
struggle hard to get free from the fetters which Peters and her father
have fastened on her, and by which, counting on her high sense of the
sacredness of all promises and contracts, they suppose have secured her
beyond the least fear of escape.”

“Do you allude to any thing other than the mere consent which she
formerly gave to Peters’s proposals of marriage, and which, I had
supposed, constituted the only engagement existing between them?”

“Yes, a far stronger case, which I have learned by way of my wife, since
I last conversed with you on the subject.”

“Ah! What is it?” eagerly demanded the lover.

“Why as I gathered it, the case was this,” answered the other. “The old
man, as well as Peters, you know, must always do things, if possible,
after the English custom; and both thinking more of property than women,
they got up a regularly-written marriage contract, or settlement, by
which one bound himself to give the other his daughter, with such and
such a dowry, and the other to marry the daughter, and settle such and
such sums on her and her heirs, all to be void in case the marriage fell
through by fault of the girl. But to provide against this, they made
another part to the instrument for her to sign, in which they made her
solemnly promise and covenant to marry Peters, and none else; otherwise
she was to forfeit her birthright in her father’s estate. This they
somehow or other at last induced her to sign and seal thus binding
herself hand and foot forever, with but one single advantage, which,
it seems, she had the wit to get added to the contract before she would
sign it; and that was, that the time of fulfilling the contract, or day
of the marriage, was to be left to her.”

“What a detestable conspiracy for a father to enter into against the
rightful liberty and happiness of a daughter!” exclaimed Woodburn, after
a pause, during which surprise and indignation kept him silent.
“That, then, explains the hints she has several times thrown out to
me respecting some peculiar trials and difficulties to which she was
subjected. But was she of age when she signed that paper?”

“No; but she probably, in her great scrupulousness, would long hesitate
to break the engagement on account of that, or the fraudulent means they
doubtless used to draw her into the shameful affair. Nevertheless, I
would persevere. Her right to stave off the fellow, with her known wish
to get rid of him, may yet procure her an honorable release; or she
may be brought to take a different view about the binding nature of a
promise obtained under such circumstances; or, as a last resort, that
paper may be got out of his possession by some scheme or other. So
I think you will worst him in the long run, in spite of his present
advantages of the father’s help, his own wealth, and----”

“And his recent promotion,” interrupted Woodburn, “which is to be the
stepping-stone to the dukedom of Vermont, the reward for betraying his
country, and the glittering bait, which, in anticipation, is already
held out to this besieged, but bravely resisting, girl!”

“What do you mean, Woodburn?” bluntly said the other, in surprise.

“I mean,” replied the former, “that Peters has lately received a
colonel’s commission in the British service, and is even now secretly
but actively engaged, I suspect, in trying to seduce the people with
British gold, and raise troops among us to co-operate with Burgoyne.”

“You astonish me. Why, the hypocritical rascal has been giving out word
about here, that, as he had friends and interests on both sides, he
had concluded to remain neutral! Are you sure you have been correctly
informed?”

“Quite sure. But while you may conjecture the source of my information,
remember that it is to work no injury to the family of my informer.”

“Ay, I understand, now--‘tis true, then; and you are correct, too, in
your suspicions about his present movements. That will account for
the existence of the hard dollars that have so strangely made their
appearance about here within a few days. But will he be suffered to
prosecute his plans here among us? What better is he than a spy?”

“Nothing.”

“He must be nabbed, then; and we will let him find his duke’s coronet
in a crow’s nest, on the limb of some old hemlock, to which we will soon
have him dangling in the air, unless our authorities wish to give him a
more respectable gallows. What say you to that, Harry?”

“That you are not the first to think of it--that is, so far as to have
him captured. He rode away from Haviland’s in this direction, and at a
moderate pace, just as I, unperceived by him, reached there, about
an hour ago, on his way, doubtless, to one of the tory haunts in
Manchester. My mare has a fleet foot, Risdon; so you now understand why
I was in a hurry to be off, don’t you?”

“I do; but Heavens! Woodburn, you are not going to give chase alone?”

“Yes; no horse but mine probably could overtake him before he reaches
his associates; besides, since it was hinted to me that he would seek my
life I am willing to give him a chance to take it, where neither he nor
I shall have help or witness.”

“Are you armed?”

“With dirk and pistols, as he only is.”

“A rather hazardous push, Harry. But go, and God prosper you to take
him, and with him that mischievous document. And one thing more: if
you live to reach Manchester, tell that Council of Safety, that if they
don’t do something soon, we, the people, will set up for ourselves in
war-making. I, for one, don’t believe I can keep my hands off my rifle
three days longer.”

“Ay, ay,” said Woodburn, springing into his saddle. “And now, Lightfoot,
here is a loose rein for you. Go!” he added, striking with his heels
the body, and with his hands the mane of the impatient animal, that, at
these well-understood signs, gave an irregular plunge or two ahead, and
then shot off like an arrow up the road.



CHAPTER III.

  “What heroes from the woodland sprung,
     When, through the fresh-awakened land,
   The thrilling cry of freedom rung.
   And to the work of warfare strung
     The yeoman’s iron hand!”


Leaving Woodburn to the hot and eager pursuit that patriotism and
private animosity had prompted him to undertake, we will now precede him
a few miles on the road, for the purpose of introducing and accompanying
another old acquaintance, who was also destined to become an actor in
the wild and stirring adventures of the night.

Near the southern confines of Manchester, about nine o’clock, the same
evening, a youth of the probable age of twenty, of a sandy complexion,
and of a rather slight, but evidently tough, wiry frame, with a short
rifle on his shoulder, and powder-horn and ball-pouch slung at his back,
was making his solitary way on foot along the main road towards the town
just mentioned. As he now reached the Batenkill, where the stream, here
first beginning to find a more peaceful flow, after its headlong descent
from the Green Mountains, intersected the road, he suddenly paused
and began to muse, with the air of one who has been struck by some new
thought tending to divert him from his settled purposes; and, slowly
passing on to the bridge, which, after the rude construction of the
times, had been thrown across the river at this place, he took a seat on
one of the side-timbers, or binders, as they were usually termed, and,
in accordance with an old and inveterate habit, generated probably by
the peculiar circumstances of his early life, began to commune with
himself aloud.

“I wonder what this new business is they want you should do Bart?
Harry said it was a secret matter when he handed over the paper,” he
continued, pulling out and abstractedly unrolling a small wad of white
paper, “a kinder private commission, or something, which he would
explain about, after I had gone and got his letter to the girl, as he
met me on my way back. But why don’t he meet me fore this time? It’s
pesky strange he should hang back in a woman affair so! Why, he would
go--like enough has gone--but then how could he miss me? O Lord, Bart,
what a stupid pup! He passed you when you was napping it in the bushes
at that cool spring! I’ll bet my old hat on’t! Well, we shan’t see much
more of him to-night, likely, seeing it is love he’s doing, and such a
moon as this holds the candle; and we may as well be trying to find out
this business without him. So let’s be digging out what the paper says.
Harry and the rest of ‘em don’t know I can read writing; but I can,
when driv to it; though I think we won’t let ‘em know that, Bart; for no
knowing what cunning things we may find out if they don’t mistrust it.
Now let’s look. Why, I can see as plain as day!’ he added, holding up
the writing to the bright moonlight, and beginning to spell out the
well-known bold and distinct characters of the secretary of the council,
as follows:--

“TO BARTHOLOMEW BURT:--

“You are hereby appointed by the Council of Safety to go through this
and the neighboring towns, bordering on the British line of march; to
spy out the resorts of the tories; to mark and identify all inimical
persons; to gain all the information that can be obtained respecting the
movements of the enemy at large; and make report, from time to time, to
this council or some field officer of our line.

“IRA ALLEN, _Secretary_.” [Footnote: Those who may doubt the probability
that such a commission would be issued by this body, would do well to
consult that part of the journal of their proceedings, at this period,
which has been preserved and published, in which will be found several
similar ones, to serve as specimens of the many contained in the part
that was lost, and to show how searching were the operations of these
vigilant guardians of the cause of liberty in Vermont, and how various
the instruments they made use of to effect their objects.]

“Good! grand!” exclaimed the excited soliloquist, starting up and
snapping his fingers in high glee. “This will be a great thing for you,
Bart. Yes, and then how gentlemanly and respectful-like it sounds to be
called Bartholomew, in that way! Bart, we’ll go it for them; and have
a touch of the trade this very night, if you please. But where shall we
begin? Let’s see, now. Why, there’s old mother Rose’s haunt up the great
road here, where, I do think, she must hatch out tories, same as a hen
does chickens, they are so thick about there. Then there’s Josh Rose
courting that up and a coming sort of girl you saw at Howard’s t’other
day, when you called with Harry for a drink of water. Now wouldn’t the
fellow be apt to let out secrets there that we could get hold of,
and put us on some good scent? Ah! that’s it; so now up the river for
Howard’s, as a beginning, hit or miss, Bart.”

While this singular genius is proceeding on his proposed destination,
in the hope of accomplishing something to show himself worthy of the
curious trust that had been so unexpectedly reposed in him, we will
occupy the breathing spot, thus afforded in our narrative, in apprising
the reader, more definitely than we have yet done, of the main incidents
that had marked the checkered fortunes of the two adventurers whom we
have now again brought upon the scene of action, since we left them.

When Woodburn and Bart left the state, under the circumstances described
in the closing chapters of our first volume, they proceeded directly to
Cambridge, where the revolutionary army was then gathering for the siege
of Boston, enlisted, for two years, into the continental service; and
actively participated in all the most important movements of the army
in the campaign that immediately succeeded. They were at Bunker Hill,
on that memorable day of fire and blood, so glorious for the yeoman
patriots of New England, and so fearful for her foes,--

  “When first, as at Thermopylae,
  The battle shout of freemen rose;
  Firm as their mountains, and as free,
  They nobly braved encountering foes.”

And in the following autumn, they, in the same company, in which
Woodburn, for bravery and good conduct, had been made a subaltern
officer, marched with that division of the army which Arnold, with
almost unequalled energy and fortitude, and amidst privation and
suffering untold, led through the snow-clad wilderness of morass and
mountain, to the distant Quebec. And there, in the onset, in which
the high-souled Montgomery fell, they were together cut off from their
company and made prisoners; when, after having, for nearly a year and
a half, endured the sufferings of a British prison-ship, they together
escaped at Halifax, wandered, half naked and starving, through the
seemingly interminable forests of Brunswick and Maine, to the American
settlemens, and finally reached home; not there, however, long to
repose, but soon to repair, with yet unbroken spirit, to the new scene
of action, at which their countrymen were beginning to rally to meet the
formidable invasion of the hitherto victorious Burgoyne.

We will now resume the thread of our narrative. A walk of twenty or
thirty minutes brought Bart to the log tenement of Howard, who was a
soldier in the continental service, now absent on duty, having left his
house and business in charge of his wife a woman no less noted, in her
neighborhood, for energy in conducting her domestic affairs, than for
the patriotic spirit with which she espoused the American cause. She and
her daughter, a rustic beauty of eighteen, of keen perceptions, and
even rare good sense, when her frolicsome disposition would allow her to
exercise it, were now the only permanent inmates of this secluded cabin,
which consisted of but two rooms, with a front entrance leading through
an entry into either of them, and another door at the end of the house
opening into the one usually occupied by the family as both sitting-room
and kitchen.

“A light in both rooms, by the pipers!” exclaimed Bart, as, after having
cautiously approached, he paused to reconnoitre the house. “The fellow
is there at his traps, as sure as a gun! Now what’s to be done, Bart?
‘Twon’t do to go in and show yourself, and have that torified scamp
carry away word that you are mousing round the country nights, will
it? No, but I’ll tell you what, if it want for the name of sneaking and
evesdropping, we would creep round back of the room where they be, and
hark through the cracks; like enough get a peep, and so learn something.
But such things they expected of you, didn’t they, Bart? Must be so, I
think. Then suppose we throw the name and blame of it on the council,
and try it, mister?”

Taking a wide sweep round the house, Bart soon approached that part of
it, on the back side, in which he rightly conjectured the young people
were sitting; and gliding up to the wall with steps as noiseless as
those of a mousing fox, he discovered a crevice between the logs, from
which the moss calking had fallen out so as to permit a small pencil of
light to escape. Guided by this, he quickly gained, after applying
his eye to the aperture, a distinct view of the couple within, and
was enabled, at the same time, to catch every word of their variously
modulated conversation. They were seated at different sides of a
light-stand, on which a candle was burning, she assiduously engaged,
to all appearance, with her needle on some light sewing work, and he
diligently, with his penknife, on a pine chip, which he was essaying to
shape into a human profile, that of his mistress, it might be surmised
from the sly glances with which he seemed occasionally to scan her
features. Though now dressed in his smartest fustian, he yet appeared
awkward and ill at ease; while the timid and hesitating air, with
which he seemed to regard his fair companion, indicated much conscious
uncertainty respecting the place he might hold in her affections. She,
on the contrary, seemed quite self-possessed, and wore the air of one
not particularly solicitous about pleasing, which gave her as much
advantage over him in her manner as she obviously possessed in her
person; for, besides a good form and a wholesome roseate bloom, she had
one of those polyglot countenances which seem almost to supersede
the necessity of speaking--a trait she very prettily exhibited
while listening to the forced hints and innuendoes of her lover’s
conversation, as she occasionally lifted her head, now with a blush, now
with a smile, and now with a frown, that caused his eyes to drop to the
floor as quick as those of a rebuked schoolboy. Thus far, she had not
opened her lips; but now, as her suitor, turning in his chair, brought
a hitherto shaded arm into view, and displayed upon his sleeve a common
brass pin, (usually denominated in those days the Canada pin, as this
article, then almost excluded from the toilet by the war, rarely found
its way into this section except through the intercourse of the tories
with that province,) her attention was suddenly excited; and turning a
sharp and searching look upon him, she said,--

“Where have you been lately, Josh?”

“Why?” he replied, evidently surprised at the question and manner of the
girl.

“That, sir,” she responded, significantly pointing to the pin. “Such
articles don’t get here but in one way, in these hard times, which
compel us to put up with thorns for pins, and half tories for beaux,”
 she added, with a meaning and roguish look.

“Won’t you accept it, Vine?” he said, obviously disconcerted but
pretending not to understand her allusions.

“Not unless you tell me honestly how you got it, sir,” she replied,
decisively.

“O, picked it up somewhere; don’t remember now,” he evasively answered.

“That, now, is a thumper, I know,” she rejoined, with a pretty toss of
the head. “But you don’t put me off so. The fact is Josh, I suspect you
have been among the tories to-day. Now be honest, and tell me, sir.”

And for the next ten minutes the determined girl plied her reluctant and
perplexed companion, by all the means which her ingenuity could invent,
to accomplish her object; teasing, coaxing and threatening by turns,
till, being unable to resist any longer, he replied,--

“Well, I will tell you; and it can’t do any hurt either, for they will
all be out of reach before morning.”

“Who will be out of reach?” eagerly demanded the other.

“The men that my brother Samuel enlisted. You knew he had got a
captain’s commission in General Burgoyne’s army, I ‘spose.”

“We heard so; but has Captain Samuel Rose been in town to-day?”

“Yes; for I may as well tell the whole, now I’ve begun. The captain has
been all day at the house of brother Asa Rose, who lives out of the way,
there, in the woods, over beyond the great road, you know. Well, he had
agreed to meet all he had enlisted in this section there at sunset, and
lead them off to the British camp, after people were abed. I was there
just before dark, and saw them; sixteen in all, besides the captain, all
armed and equipped, and he in full uniform; and he looks complete in it,
too, I tell you.”

“But what was you amoung them there for?”

“O, I wanted to see Sam, and bid him good-by, you know, as he was going
off, never to come back, for aught I knew; that was all, upon honor,
now.”

“Perhaps it was; but one thing I wish you to understand, Josh Rose,
and that is, if you take up for that side of the question, openly or
secretly, your visits here----”

“O, I shan’t; no notion on’t, not the least in the world; so don’t
worry; though candidly, Vine, I don’t believe it’s much use for your
folks to think of standing out any longer. Why, hundreds are joining
the British every day, and what will be left, in a short time, can do
nothing towards stopping such an army as Burgoyne’s.”

“What are left will be apt to try it, I think, sir.”

The subject was now dropped; and the girl, after a thoughtful pause,
commenced on a theme more agreeable to her suitor, and for a short time,
was unusually sociable and gracious; when she rose, and, carelessly
remarking she must be excused a moment, left the room, and passed out
through the front door, with noise enough in opening and closing it to
leave the other in no doubt as to the direction of her exit.

“Well, Bart, what do you think of that?” whispered our listener to
himself, as now, on the departure of the girl from the room, he withdrew
from his peeping-hole. “Now, I pretend to say, I wouldn’t take a gold
guinea for what we have got through that crack, nor two either, if our
legs will carry us to the village and rally help quick enough to have
that batch of tories nabbed before they are off. But let’s jest edge
along against the mother’s room, and see if there is any discovery to be
made there, before we start.”

Being equally fortunate in finding an opening into the room to which his
attention was now directed, Bart cautiously peered in; when his eye soon
fell on the solitary occupant, a fine, resolute-looking matron, quietly
employed in knitting by the light of a torch stuck in one of the stone
jambs of the broad fireplace. He, however, had scarcely time to note
these circumstances before the door was softly opened, and the girl who
had just left the other room entered on tiptoe, and whispered in her
mother’s ear something that seemed to produce an instant effect on the
hitherto sedate and listless countenance of the latter; for, starting
to her feet, she stood gazing at the other with a flashing eye, and
listening with the keenest interest, as some further particulars were
added to the communication.

“Are you sure he was not fooling you?” said the mother.

“Very sure,” replied the daughter, significantly holding up the Canada
pin.

“Well, Vine,” rejoined the former, with the air of one whose resolution
is taken, “you whip back to your post the same way you came; and see
that you keep him here till--say about midnight,” she added, exchanging
a meaning glance with the daughter, whose hand was already on the latch
to depart.

No sooner had the intermingling tones of conversation in the other room
apprised the woman that her daughter had there joined the unsuspecting
suitor, than, hastily seizing bonnet and shawl, she noiselessly left
the house and glided out into the road. After hesitating a moment here,
respecting the course she should take, apparently, she made up to the
log-fence enclosing an adjoining field, threw herself over it with the
lightness of a boy, and, striking off directly west, almost flew over
the ground till she reached the boundaries of their little opening; when
she fearlessly plunged into the dark and pathless recesses of the
wood lying between her and the main road, to which she was evidently
directing her course.

“There! just as I told you,” muttered Bart, who, inwardly vexed that the
secret he had been hugging, as exclusively his own should be shared by
another, for fear measures might be taken to deprive him of the sole
honor and profit he had promised himself of communicating it, had been
jealously noting what had occurred. “Just as I told, Bart; the old woman
has got your story, and there she goes, streaming off with it, like the
house afire, for the great road, through woods, swamp, and all! Well,
it’s too late to try to stop her now, to save her the trouble of going,
cause you’d frighten her, likely; besides, she’d find out you’d been
listening. But we’ll follow and keep track of her; may be she’ll get
lost, and we can cut by her; or may be we can seem to come kinder
accidentally on her, and contrive to get employed to do her errand, and
so let her go back.”

With this resolution, he immediately gave chase; and by occasionally
pausing, after entering the forest, to listen to the rustling of her
garments as the intrepid woman rushed through the tangled thickets on
her way, or the cracking of dry twigs under her rapid tread, he was
enabled to trace her course and keep within hearing distance, though not
without exertions which drew forth many an exclamation of surprise at
the speed with which, at such a time and place, she got over the ground.
At length, they both reached the opening on the other side of the forest
opposite to a good-sized house on the main road.

“I vags,” exclaimed Bart, pausing and wiping the perspiration from
his face with his sleeve, as he emerged from the wood, “if the perlite
Frenchman, they tell of, who thought women had no legs, had followed
this one through a mile-swamp at the rate she has gone, he would think
a little different about the matter, I guess. But never mind the tramp,
Bart, but still keep your eye on her. There she goes smack into
that house over yonder, which is--let’s see, now--Why, that is Major
Ormsbee’s, who, I remember now, Harry told me, was her brother. Well,
Bart, seeing you are fairly beat in this business, let’s work along over
into the road against the house, and see what comes of it.”

Scarcely had Bart gained his proposed situation in a nook of the fence,
before the major, followed by his son, came bustling out into the yard.

“Jock!” he said, hastily turning to his son, “you run to the barn, and
saddle and bring out my horse, while I slip over to Captain Barney’s.
But who have we here?” he added, espying and approaching Bart. “Who are
you, friend?”

“Well, you may call me any thing but a tory and I won’t complain,
major.”

“That’s right. O, I believe I know you now--the comical chap I have seen
with Woodburn, at Warner’s encampment All right. Glad you happen here
just at this time--we have business on hand.”

“I know it.”

“Know it! how? You didn’t come with my sister?”

“No; after her; but got at the wrinkle about the gang down yonder before
she did; and am now on my way to the council, or the camp, with the
news.”

“That I propose to do myself. I have a fleet horse, and it will be best
I should go with the news myself. Besides, I wish to put you, with the
few others I can raise hereabouts, on the track at once. You shall lose
nothing by it; so turn in here, and go with me.”

Content with this assurance of an officer known to be in the confidence
of the council, and quite willing to make one in the expected affray,
Bart cheerfully complied. And the two hurried on to the house the
major had named; where, fortunately, they found not only the owner, but
another fearless patriot, by the name of Purdy, to both of whom the news
just received was communicated; when a hasty plan was devised among them
for the capture of Captain Rose and his band of recruits, who, it was
supposed, had not yet left the neighborhood, even if they had started
from their place of rendezvous.

The dwelling of Asa Rose, which had been selected by the tory captain
as a secluded and safe rallying-point for his band, was situated in
the wood, about three fourths of a mile west of the main road, and
the residence, thereon, of the old widow Rose, who has been already
mentioned, and who was the mother of a hopeful brood of either open or
secret loyalists, as their father, an extensive land-owner, who died
about the beginning of the war, was before them. This old
establishment of the Rose family, well known through the country as the
harboring-place of the disaffected, was a little over a mile from the
bridge over the river, at the south, and about half that distance from
the residence of Major Ormsbee, at the north, where our handful of
spirited friends were now rallying; while from the road, about half way
between the two, diverged the path, which wound round south-westerly to
Asa Rose’s, and from which the tories were expected to emerge on their
way out of the neighborhood.

“Here comes Jock with my horse,” said the major, taking die reins from
the boy, a sturdy youth of sixteen, who had not forgotten to bring his
gun with him. “Well, captain,” he continued, leaping into his saddle,
“you understand the arrangement; three of you to take the path to their
rendezvous, then to go on to old mother Rose’s, and, if they are there,
give the signal: the long howl of a dog, remember; but if they are not
there, to join the rest, and scout round, watch and delay them while
I, on my way, start out Pettibone and others, and send them directly
through the woods to Asa Rose’s to get into the rear All understand, do
you?”

“Ay, ay, major.”

“Well, then, God prosper you all, till I can get on with the platoon of
Warner’s boys for the rescue.”

So saying, the major dashed off at full speed towards the village; while
Barney and his men, with no less spirit, hurried on to their respective
destinations, in the opposite direction. The place where the latter were
to separate being soon reached, appearances examined, and no discoveries
made, the captain, with Purdy and young Ormsbee, struck off from the
road, and proceeded cautiously along the bushy outskirts of the path
before mentioned as leading to the supposed rendezvous, leaving to Bart
the task of going on and reconnoitring the old establishment on the main
road, at which, it was believed, the tories would be sure to call,
on their way out, to take a last treat from mother Rose’s ever-ready
bottle, and perhaps some provisions from her cupboard, to invigorate
them for their long night march to the British camp. A short walk
now brought Bart in close vicinity to the house he was appointed to
reconnoitre; when, gliding silently along under cover of the fences,
tall weeds, and other screening objects, he quickly made a circuit round
the buildings, contriving, as he did so, to peer into the barns, sheds,
and even into most of the rooms of the capacious old dwelling. He
perceived, however, no indications of the presence of any but females
about the establishment; though, from the movements of these, and
especially those of the old woman, who was busily engaged in cutting
up large quantities of bread and cheese, and in replenishing her junk
bottles, he became satisfied that the company, of whom he was in search,
were shortly expected. Having made these observations, he retired
from the house, crossed over the road into the opposite field, and was
marking out a course for himself through the wood, which would intersect
the path taken by his companions, and enable him to join them somewhere
near the tory rendezvous, when his ear caught the clattering of
horse-hoofs, approaching, at a furious pace, up the road from the south,
And so rapid was the advance of the coming horseman, that Bart had
scarcely time to gain the covert of a clump of shrubbery standing by the
fence, over against the house, before the former made his appearance,
and, turning into the yard, galloped up to an open window, and addressed
a hasty inquiry to the mistress of the house; when, hardly waiting for
the negative reply that appeared to be given, he suddenly wheeled about,
and, regaining the road, pursued his course with renewed speed.

“Why!” exclaimed Bart in surprise, as he caught a view of me man’s
features; “as sure as a gun, it is Harry’s old troubler, that he thought
he’d killed once, and felt so guilty about it, till he heard he didn’t.
But what can the fellow be up to here, in such a hurry, just at this
time? Don’t like the looks on’t, exactly, Bart, hasn’t this tall tory
got wind of our movement, somehow, and come on to warn the gang, that,
not finding here, he has gone to meet? Let’s be off and try to trace
him. But hark! Do you hear that? Another coming from the same quarter!
yes, and scratching gravel too, like Mars, I should think, by the way
his horse’s feet strike the ground! Here he comes! What! it is, by
mighty--it’s Harry and Lightfoot in full chase! Go it, Lightfoot!
Catch him, Harry! Stuboy! stuboy!” he added, in low, eager shouts of
exultation, as the recognized horseman passed, like a flash, by his
place of concealment.

Springing forward to a small elevation in the field, which commanded a
broken view of the road to the path before described, and even a small
portion of the latter, Bart tasked both eye and ear to the utmost, in
trying to trace the dimly-discerned forms of the receding horsemen, now
obviously but a short distance asunder, his object being to ascertain
whether Peters would keep on in the main road, or, as he suspected his
intention to be, strike into the path to Asa Rose’s, and try to reach
the tories before he should be overtaken. For one moment, in which he
lost sight of both pursuer and pursued, Bart stood in doubt; but the
next, the changing direction of the still audible sounds, and the slight
glimmerings of the sparks from the horse’s hoofs, now seen extending out
in a line nearly at right angles to the course they had been pursuing,
sufficiently apprised him that his suspicions were correct. Waiting,
therefore, no longer than to ascertain this, he turned and plunged into
the wood on his left; and taking the course he had already decided
on for joining his companions, and being now incited to his utmost
exertions of speed by his anxiety to reach the other road in time
to warn Woodburn of the trap into which his antagonist was doubtless
intending to draw him at the tory rendevous, or to be ready to lend any
needed assistance in case a collision took place between them before
reaching it, he made his way through the opposing obstacles of the
thickets with a rapidity, probably, that a wild Indian could not have
equalled, till he suddenly found himself in the path of which he was in
quest, within a few rods of the small opening where stood the suspected
log-tenement of Asa Rose. His first act now was to stoop down and
examine the soft ground in the road, to ascertain whether Peters and his
pursuer had passed the place. A moment’s inspection, however, confirming
him in the negative, he rose and bent a listening ear in the direction
of their expected appearance; but no sounds reached him indicative of
their approach. While standing here in doubt respecting the course next
to be pursued, his attention was attracted by a commotion at the house;
when, stepping forward towards the edge of the opening, he caught a
glimpse of the whole body of the tories, with their leader at their
head, just leaving the house and moving silently, and with a quick
step, in the road towards him. Stealing softly away from his post of
observation, he retreated rapidly along the path, some hundred yards
into the wood; when he fortunately encountered Barney and his two men,
to whom he hastily communicated all the discoveries he had made since he
left them.

Fearing, from the non-appearance of Peters and his pursuer, of whom,
strangely, nothing had yet been seen or heard, that the former had given
the latter the slip in some by-path, which would enable him to reach
the tories in the rear, or otherwise apprise them of the danger of
proceeding, Barney instantly adopted the bold resolution of attempting
the immediate capture of the whole band by stratagem, trusting to the
firmness and ingenuity of himself and his men to keep, or get them
forward, till the expected reenforcement should arrive.

“We must multiply ourselves, and then act according to circumstances,”
 he said, after apprising his men of his project, which they eagerly
seconded.

“I will multiply into a platoon of ten, and be their orderly, if you
will let me have my own way in the managing of ‘em, captain,” said Bart,
entering with great spirit into a plan in which his peculiarities so
well fitted him for taking a leading part.

“Well, then,” replied the other, “take a station in the bushes five or
six rods ahead; the rest of us will take our coverts here, on different
sides of the road. You must all act for yourselves, and on the hints
of the moment; but I will take the lead, and give you such clews as the
case may require.”

Scarcely had this fearless little band settled themselves in their
respective stations, before the tories, marching in close Indian file,
made their appearance, and came forward wholly unsuspicious of danger.
They were permitted to advance unmolested till they were nearly all
between the two points of ambush; when Captain Barney, stepping partly
out from his concealment presented his gun, and exclaimed,--

“Stand! Surrender, or die!”

“Halt!” cried the surprised, though not frightened, tory captain, who
was not only a fine-looking, but cool and capable young officer--“halt,
till we see what all this means.”

“You will soon find out what it means, unless you surrender,’” rejoined
Barney, in a bold and confident tone. “I give you one minute to decide.
Attention there!” he continued, as if addressing a numerous band of
concealed forces--“attention there, right, left, and front platoons!
Every man at his station and ready for the word!”

Purdy and Ormsbee now made a simultaneous movement in the bushes, on
the different sides of the road, by stepping about, hitting their guns
against the trees, and thrusting out the muzzles at various openings
towards the enemy; while, at the same time, the clicking sounds, as
of the irregular cocking of a dozen muskets, with as many distinct
movements of men, apparently, were heard in the direction of Bart’s
concealment in front.

“Stand to your arms!” exclaimed Rose, to his men, who now began to show
signs of fear and uneasiness.

“Don’t all take aim at the captain, you fools!” shouted Bart, from his
covert, to his men of straw; “don’t do that, I tell you! There’s enough
of ‘em to furnish each of you a separate mark, nearly. There, that looks
more like it! All cocked and ready?”

“Hold up there, Sergeant Burt!” cried Barney; “don’t fire yet. Let us
spare their lives if we can. Purdy,” he continued, turning to the man
concealed on his right, “you may give the signal, now, for the reserve
platoons, in front and rear, to advance, and close up on the road. The
minute is nearly out, and I perceive we have got to make a demonstration
before they will surrender.”

The signal howl was then accordingly given, and, to the great joy of the
assailants, immediately answered by Pettibone, who, having reached his
destination in the rear of the house, and seen the tories decamping, was
now, with another man, cautiously advancing towards the scene of action
in the wood; while nearly at the same moment, as it strangely happened,
the sharp reports of three pistols, fired in quick succession, rang
through the forest a short distance on the road to the north. The noise
of fire-arms which, to the assailants, portended a rencounter between
Peters and Woodburn, and filled them with anxiety for the fate of the
latter, was token by the tories as an answer of the signal from the
pretended corps in front, and so completed their dismay that some of
them threw down their arms, and began to cry out for quarter.

“The minute is out; shall we fire, Captain Barney?” exclaimed Bart, in a
tone of impatience.

“Your answer, Captain Rose,” sternly demanded Barney--“your answer this
instant, or----”

“I yield,” said the reluctant tory leader--“We surrender ourselves
prisoners of war.”

“‘Tis well, sir,” responded the former. “Lay down your arms, then, here
in the road, advance twenty paces, and wait further orders.”

While this order, which was thus given for the double purpose of
enabling the victors to get between the tories and their guns, and to
give time for Pettibone and his associate to come up, was being carried
into effect, Bart, who had been burning with impatience for a chance
to go to the assistance of his endangered friend. Woodburn, slunk
noiselessly from his post, and made his way, with all possible speed,
towards the spot from whence the noise of the firing appeared to
proceed.

But let us now return to note the issue between the belligerent
horsemen. Woodburn having come in sight of his antagonist soon after
crossing the river, and the latter then taking the alarm, the chase
had proceeded, as witnessed by Bart, till the parties struck into the
by-road leading to the tory rendezvous; when the former, concluding that
Peters would not have turned in here without the expectation of finding
friends and defenders near, now redoubled his exertions to overtake
him, and bring on an encounter while it would have to be decided by
individual prowess, and before his foe should reach assistance to render
the pursuit futile or dangerous. But notwithstanding his efforts, he
soon lost sight of the other in the short turns of the winding and
thickly-embowered path which they soon entered. Expecting, however, that
the next turn in the road would reveal the object of his pursuit, he
dashed ahead some distance; when, becoming satisfied that his antagonist
had given him the slip by riding out of the road into some nook or
side-path in the wood, he retraced his way nearly to the opening, vainly
endeavoring to discover the concealment of the fugitive. Vexed and
disappointed at being thus balked, Woodburn was on the point of giving
up the chase when he caught a glimpse of the other, emerging from a
thicket into the road, not a hundred yards distant, and setting off on a
gallop in the direction first taken. Incited to fresh exertion, Woodburn
now shot forward after his flying foe with a velocity which none but
a horse trained to the rough paths of the wood could equal, and which,
consequently, soon brought the parties in close vicinity of each other.
Peters, now seeing no further chance to escape, suddenly pulled out
a pistol, and, turning in his saddle, discharged it at Woodburn, who,
wholly unharmed by the badly-aimed instrument, instantly returned
the fire. The bullet of the latter, grazing the person of the former,
entered the head of his startled and rearing horse, just back of the
ears, and, after two or three fearful plunges onward, brought him to the
ground. Leaping from his falling horse, the desperate loyalist gained
his feet and discharged another pistol at Woodburn; when, perceiving his
opponent still unhurt, and about to make a rush upon him, he leaped
over the body of his dying horse, still floundering in the edge of the
bushes, and, in the noise thus occasioned, and in the screening smoke of
his own fire, made good his escape into the forest.

“Come back, miscreant! coward!” shouted Woodburn, dismounting, and
leaping forward to the place where the other had disappeared--“come
back, and decide your fate or mine.”

But the new-made tory colonel, who was more a coward from conscience
than nature, in the present instance, perhaps, did not see fit to accept
the challenge for a further personal combat. And Woodburn, judging that
any attempt to pursue him in the woods would be useless, reluctantly
gave up the chase, and turned to go back to his horse; when Bart,
running up and peering an instant at the dying horse and then at his
friend, rushed by the latter, and, throwing himself on the neck of his
loved pony, fell to hugging and fondling her in an ecstasy of delight.

“O Lightfoot! Lightfoot!” he exclaimed; “lucky divil that you are, not
now to be sprawling and kicking, like your tory brother there in the
bushes! Yes, that you are, Lightfoot; and you shall have an oat-supper
to-night that would make a horse, laugh, for catching up with the
rapscallion.”

“Bart!” said Woodburn, in surprise; “how did you get wind of this? But
no matter. You have come too late.”

“Know it--couldn’t help it, though--had other fish to fry first, that
musn’t cool. Captain Rose and sixteen other tory prisoners are on the
road here, just below.”

“Prisoners! how? By whom taken?”

“O, Captain Barney, and Bart, and I, and Mr Stratagem and one or two
others.”

“What, only three or four of you to seventeen?”

“No; I was a flanking party of ten in the bushes, and sergeant of
‘em--cocked all their guns for ‘em, by cocking and uncocking my
own--talked for ‘em all, out of seven corners of my mouth at once, and
kept ‘em from firing till the word, you know. We heard your firing, and
called you the front-guard; and--and we took ‘em--every dog of ‘em.”

“Bravoes! and no fool of an exploit on your part neither, Bart, if all
this is so. But are the prisoners secured? Had we not better hasten to
join the escort?”

“No, two or three more came up just as I left, and there’s enough now to
manage in that quarter; but the advance-guard here must be kept up till
we get ‘em out to the groat road, lest the sneaks slink away-into the
woods as they pass along the road and slip through our fingers as your
smart trooper did just now. Let’s see--about eight strong we will have
this guard, I guess. I will be rank and file, and you shall be the
officer. Come, mount! They’ll be poking their heads along in sight in
a moment. Ay, there they come! Advance-guard!” he now added, in a loud,
commanding tone, as the slow tread of the prisoners, advancing along
the devious and closely-embowered path, became audible--“advance-guard!
Attention the whole! Prepare to march!--march!”

And accordingly he then, as Woodburn mounted and rode slowly on behind,
commenced the enactment of his assumed part, always keeping within
hearing, but never within distinct view, of the prisoners; now jabbering
in as many voices as the most expert ventriloquist, and now sternly
commanding, “_Silence in the ranks!_”--now getting up a seeming scuffle
among his men, and now driving them, with thwacks and curses, to their
places; and now again softening his tones and cracking jokes with his
men,--Smith, Johnson, &c.,--who, in as many different tones, were heard
to return various sharp and comical retorts, which raised shouts of
laughter and made the forest ring with the sham merriment And thus he
proceeded, to the secret amusement of the victors all if whom perfectly
understood the artifice, till they emerged from the woods into the open
grounds on the main road, when they were met by Major Ormsbee with a
small detachment of regular soldiers. The tories were then, for the
first time, permitted to know the smallness of the force that had
captured them when, amidst showers of gibes and shouts of laughter, at
their expense, from the Green Mountain Boys, the chapfallen creatures
were wheeled into the main road, and hurried on at a lively pace to
the village of Manchester, to be kept as prisoners of war, or tried
as spies, as the higher authorities there should see fit to decide.
[Footnote: This band of tories were, the next day after their capture,
marched to Arlington, where the question was raised, and sharply
discussed, whether they should be considered as prisoners of war, or
tried as spies, the latter being insisted on by Mathew Lyon, and some
others of the more bold and ardent friends of the American cause, who
declared that Captain Rose, at least, should be tried and hung as a
spy. A jury, however,--Eli Pettibone, Esq., presiding as civil
magistrate,--was allowed the prisoner; when, more probably, from
sympathy for the manly but misguided young officer, whom they had known
as a pleasant neighbor, than from want of proof, he was acquitted as
a spy, and, with the rest of his band, removed to Northampton jail as
prisoner of war. Considerable favor, also, seems to have been extended
to the other brothers, some of whom married into whig families, through
whose influence, it is said, they retained their estates, none of the
extensive Rose property being confiscated, except that of Captain Samuel
Rose, which is now the residence of the Hon. J. S. Pettibone, from
whom these particulars have been obtained, his father being one of the
captors and his uncle the magistrate, above named.]

“Captain Woodburn!” exclaimed the clear, animated voice of one coming
out of the door of the honored tavern before described, in the village
of Manchester, as the person thus addressed, who had just arrived with
those escorting the prisoners, was describing the capture to a crowd
gathered round him in the yard--“Captain Woodburn, your most obedient! I
am glad my patience in waiting for your arrival is rewarded by the good
news which Powell, our landlord here, has just told us you bring. But
come, sir, a word in your ear, if you please.”

Woodburn turned and confronted the bright and smiling countenance of Ira
Allen, who was beckoning him from the crowd.

“Certainly, Mr. Allen; but why honor me with that appellation?”
 responded the former, stepping aside with the ardent young secretary.

“Because I have the warrant for so doing in my pocket--a captain’s
commission for you, my dear sir, if you will believe me.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes, we have done something in the council at last worth talking
about--voted to raise a regiment of Rangers forthwith, and appointed all
the commissioned officers, Samuel Herrick heading the list as colonel.”

“A gallant fellow, who will honor the post. But how about the means of
paying and supporting such a force? You lately held taxing the people,
without their consent, too bold a measure, I thought.”

“We did, but have nevertheless adopted a bolder one.”

“What is it?”

“Decreed the confiscation of the estates of the tories, appointed the
necessary officers to execute the decree, and despatched messengers to
them with commissions, instructions, and with orders to put the machine
immediately into motion. By to-morrow nigh many of those on our black
list will--”

“Your black list?”

“Yes, already mostly made out for operations. But what is there to
startle you in that?”

“Nothing; and yet I cannot forbear asking if that list includes one in
whose family you may guess I feel some interest.”

“I fear so, and regret that the proofs are so strong as to require it.”

“Could not action in that case be deferred? An angel is pleading with
him to remain neutral.”

“If she were a whig angel, Woodburn, I know not----”

“She is, she is--firmly, devotedly.”

“Indeed! Well, for your sake, Woodburn, I am glad of it. And as the
political hue of petticoats has already been permitted to have an
influence, in some instances of the kind, in making up the list, it
may have in this case. But the old man’s enmity to our cause is so
notorious, that I fear his estate must go, though the daughter, if
she prove true, will not be forgotten on the question of a future
restoration of her share of the property. But I am neglecting my chief
business with you. We have fixed your present destination for the
other side of the mountain, where among your old acquaintances, it was
thought, you could raise a company most expeditiously.”

“But where is the money to come from to pay my recruits: Even in case
these estates are sold, who among us, these times, has money to purchase
them?”

“The answer to that question involves a secret which is known to but a
few of us, and which must not be further revealed. Suffice it that there
is yet among us abundance of money, besides the British gold that
is beginning to be scattered along our border to meet our present
requirements. You will be supplied in season.”

“I am content, and ready to depart.”

“How soon can you start?”

“This hour, if necessary.”

“Retire, then, and obtain a few hours’ sleep; but be off before day.
Here are your commission and instructions, by which you will see that
your subalterns are to be of your own appointing. Good-night, and God
speed you on your way. Remember that we expect much of you, and that
I stand voucher for your good conduct. And remember, also, my dear
fellow,” added the speaker, in a low, confidential tone, “that the
interests of your fair friend could not be in better keeping.”

“You have laid me under deep obligations to you, Mr. Allen for all
this,” began Woodburn, with grateful emotion.

“Yes, to do well; but not a word of thanks will I hear. So off with you
to your rest. Begone, sir!” said Allen, pushing the other away, with
that winning smile and kindly playful manner, with which he ever so
wonderfully contrived to gain the hearts and control the actions of all
whom he wished to make friends.



CHAPTER IV.

  “It is not much the world can give
     With all its subtle art;
   And gold and rank are not the things
     To satisfy the heart.”


The day following the occurrences noted in the preceding chapter was an
eventful one to the Haviland family, developing circumstances calculated
to hasten the crisis to which the conflicting feelings and conduct of
the father and daughter had been for some time silently tending, and to
give a new turn to their respective destinies.

It was late in the afternoon. No event had thus far during the day
occurred to mar the usual tranquillity of the family; and Haviland,
yet uninformed of the untoward affair which befell his party the last
evening at Manchester, and little dreaming of the bold and decisive
measures adopted by the Council of Safety, was seated at a table in his
usual sitting-room, examining, with a satisfied and triumphant air, a
map of New York, on which he was tracing out the intended route of the
British army in its hitherto victorious way from the St. Lawrence to
Albany. At length he began to muse aloud, partly to himself, apparently,
and partly to his daughter, who, with a pensive brow, was seated at an
open window in the same room, quietly engaged with her needle-work.

“As soon as General Burgoyne can clear the road of the trees and other
obstructions, with which the rebels, in their impotent spite, have
filled it, so that he can move on to the Hudson, how that grand army
will sweep away the feeble and undisciplined bands that may venture to
oppose its victorious march! And when a junction of the British armies
is formed at Albany, what can this infatuated people think of doing
then? With the north completely cut off from the south, as will then be
the case, what can these two sections, which together can hardly raise a
respectable force, do, when thus divided and prevented from all concert
and cooperation? Ay, what will they do then? Come, Sabrey,” he added,
turning with an exulting air to his daughter, “perhaps you, who appear
to have so high an opinion of rebel prowess--perhaps you can answer the
question?”

“I may be better prepared to answer the question, perhaps when I see the
junction you anticipate really effected. Burgoyne has not reached Albany
yet,” replied the other, with playful significance.

“Be sure not; but what is to prevent him? What force can the rebels
oppose that he will not scatter like chaff before the wind? None! I tell
you, girl, their doom is sealed!”

“It might be, if they would consent to let you fight their battles for
them, father. But the battle which they are preparing to give Burgoyne
they will choose to fight themselves, I imagine. A few Bunker Hill
lessons, on his way, might materially alter the general’s prospects.”

“Bunker Hill? Pooh! Why, we routed them even there behind their
breastworks. Besides, we never had so fine an army as this in the field
before. I only wish I was as sure of some good commission in Burgoyne’s
army, as I am that he will march triumphantly through to Albany, and
thus bring this unnatural war to a close.”


“Would you think of going into that army, father, should you receive
such an appointment?” asked the daughter, in a tone of surprise and
expostulation.

“Why, I should be proud to be there, Sabrey, in an army that contains so
much of the first talents and chivalry of England.”

At this stage of the conversation, a man rode up to the door, and,
dismounting and entering the house, handed to Mr. Haviland, after
inquiring his name, a gorgeously-sealed packet.

Haviland, after examining the seal a moment, bowed low to the stranger,
and inquiringly observed,--

“From General Burgoyne, I believe?”

The messenger, nodding in the affirmative, and saying he was directed to
wait for an answer, the former broke open the missive, and found in it,
by singular coincidence, an answer to the prayer he had a few moments
before indirectly uttered a commission, or appointment in the commissary
department of the British army. After perusing the paper a second time,
he turned, and, with a consequential air, handed it to his daughter,
whose countenance instantly fell AS she glanced over the suspected
contents.

“You cannot seriously think of accepting this appointment father,” she
said, with a look of concern; “you cannot think of leaving your quiet
and comfortable home, and engaging, at your age, in the fatigues and
dangers of the camp?”

“Why not, Sabrey?” replied the other, reprovingly. “From my knowledge of
the country, I can be of great use in procuring the supplies which the
army will need, as the general doubtless foresaw; and I consider it my
duty to the king to lend my feeble aid when called. The post is not, it
is true, a very high one; but it is honorable and lucrative, and I shall
accept it.”

‘If this is Miss Sabrey Haviland, I have a letter for her also,’ here
interposed the messenger, rising and presenting the letter in question.

Sabrey broke open the proffered letter, which proved to be from her
friend Miss McRea, and ran thus:--

“You remember your promise, Sabrey, to visit me the first opportunity.
That opportunity now occurs. Captain Jones and other friends have
presented your father’s name at head-quarters for promotion; and he has
now, I am informed, received an appointment. If he accepts, as I am sure
he will, I hope you will accompany him, and remain with me. I have just
received one of those letters so precious to me: he says the army will
probably move on to Fort Edward next week, the obstructions in the road
being mostly removed; so that, by the time you arrive, I shall probably
be enabled to introduce you to the beautiful and accomplished ladies
of whom he has so much to say,--such as the Countess of Reidesel,
Lady Harriet Ackland, and others, who accompany their husbands in the
campaign. But you will perhaps say that he is interested in praising
these ladies for the love and heroism which prompt them to brave such
fatigues and dangers for the sake of their lords, since he is warmly
urging me to consent to an immediate union, that I may follow their
example. He says, in his last letter,--and I think truly,--that I cannot
long remain where I am, in a section which he evidently anticipates,
will soon become a frightful scene of strife and bloodshed; and that I
must therefore go away with my friends, and leave him, perhaps forever,
or put myself under his protection in the army. And he seems hurt that
I hesitate in a choice of the alternatives. On the other hand, my
connections and friends here think it would be little short of madness
in me to yield to my lover’s proposal. The people about here are greatly
alarmed at the expected approach of the British army, which is known to
be accompanied by a large body of Indians, Many are already removing and
nearly all preparing to go The crisis hastens, and yet I am undecided.
Prudence points one way, love the other. What shall I do? O Sabrey what
shall I do? Should you come on with your father, I think I should feel
a confidence in going with you to the British encampment. Come then,
my friend, come quickly, for I feel as if I could not go on without
friends, and especially a female friend, to accompany me; while, at the
same time, I feel as if some irresistible destiny would compel me to
the attempt. And yet why would I hesitate to take any step which
_he_ advises? Why refuse to share with him any dangers which _he_ may
encounter? And why should my anticipations of the future, which have
never, till recently, during my happy intimacy with Mr. Joes, been
so bright and blissful, be clouded now? I know not; I know not why
it should be so; but lately my bosom has become disturbed by strange
misgivings, and my mind perplexed by dark and undefined apprehensions.
I must not, however, indulge them; and your presence, I know, would
entirely dissipate them. I repeat, therefore, come, and that quickly.
Adieu.

  “Yours, truly,
  JANE McREA.”

The messenger in waiting, having been invited into another room to
partake of some refreshment, and the father and daughter being thus left
again by themselves, the latter now handed the other for his perusal the
affectionate but too truly boding letter of her fated friend.

“And what answer do you intend to return to this kind and pressing
invitation of your friend, Sabrey?” asked Haviland, after attentively
reading the epistle.

“That I do not think it advisable to accept it, at this time, father,”
 answered the girl.

“Why not advisable?” asked the other, in a censorious tone. “I see
nothing to object to in the step, going, as you will, under the
protection of a father; while it will introduce you to a circle which
few American girls can ever reach.”

“I feel quite willing to forego the honor of such an introduction,”
 coolly returned the daughter. “And were it otherwise, the very letter
that brings me the invitations unfolds enough to deter me from the
undertaking.”

“You wholly mistake your friend’s meaning,” responded the former. “Her
apprehensions are merely the natural effect of maiden timidity. I think,
as her lover seems to do, that the safest place for her is with the
British army. So I think it will be for you; for I know not what
punishment will be inflicted on these settlements for their rebellious
and treasonable conduct And it is my wish to separate myself and family
from them, before the day of reckoning arrives. I shall, therefore,
expect you to attend me.”

As the daughter was about to reply a domestic came in and announced the
arrival of Colonel Peters; and the latter, the next moment, with a dark
and sullen brow, unceremoniously entered the apartment. He did not,
however, deign immediately to unfold the cause of his evident ill-humor,
but contented himself with listening to the news, which the elated
Haviland was prompt to impart in relation to his own promotion, the
invitation received by his daughter to accompany him to the army or
its vicinity, and his thus far rejected advice to her to accede to the
proposal. The cold countenance of Peters brightened with selfish
delight at the recital; for in the old gentleman’s appointment, his
determination to accept it, and his intention of taking his daughter
with him, if she could be so persuaded, the former saw the triumph of
his machinations to involve the family inextricably in the royal cause.
But that triumph would not be complete, unless the daughter, whose
predilections for Woodburn and the American cause were more than
suspected, could be kept within the scope of loyal influence. He
therefore secretly resolved that, if her father left the settlement to
join the army, she should not be left behind, but should be induced
or compelled to accompany him. He consequently was not slow to add his
advice and entreaties to those of the father. This he did for a while
with some show of respect and kindness; but finding her still immovable,
he at length became irritated, and assumed a tone of dictation so
inconsistent with the natural delicacy of a lover, that she declined any
further conversation with him on the subject.

“Where will you go, perverse and blinded girl?” now interposed the
father, reproachfully. “You would not stay here alone and unprotected,
would you?”

“I should not hesitate to do so on account of any molestation which
_American_ troops would offer me,” replied Sabrey, with a significant
emphasis on the word American. “And should others approach, I would go
to my connections on the other side of the mountains.”

“Miss Haviland may have her private reasons for wishing to remain in
this section of the country,” said Peters, with an ill-suppressed sneer,
turning to the father.

“Will you please explain your meaning, sir?” demanded the girl with
spirit.

“I mean,” replied Peters, “that she who would hold clandestine meetings
with one whom her father has seen fit to eject from his house, might see
the advantage of remaining where her interviews could be enjoyed without
molestation.”

“Sabrey Haviland, is that true?” asked the old gentleman with a
gathering frown.

“She will hardly deny, I think,” said Peters, “that the fellow was here
soon after I left last night. At all events, he was seen to leave the
premises in pursuit of me. By whom he was informed of the direction I
took, I know not; but I know he overtook me, beset me like a ruffian,
and shot my horse by a ball intended for the rider.”

“Is all that true, I repeat?” again fiercely demanded Haviland of his
daughter, in a burst of rage.

But without deigning one word of reply either to the insulting
insinuations of Peters, or the angry and ill-timed demand of her father,
Sabrey, with cheeks glowing with offended delicacy and just indignation,
rose from her seat, and was about to leave the apartment, when her step
was arrested by the altered voice of her father, who, quickly becoming
sensible of the harshness of his conduct from its visible effects, now
spoke to her in a softened and more expostulatory tone.

“Surely, Sabrey, you are not going to deny my right, as a parent, to
question you, or at least ask you for an explanation respecting charges
which have the appearance of involving your character?”

“I might not,” said she, coolly, but respectfully; “and indeed, I should
not, at another time, have refused to answer your question so far as I
could, however harshly it was put to me; but I must still decline to do
so in this presence!” she added, glancing towards the abashed Peters,
with an air of scorn to which her usually serene and benignant
countenance never before, perhaps, gave expression.

“Perhaps, Miss Haviland,” said Peters, stung by the remark and manner
of the other, and now rallying for the revenge to which such minds are
prone to resort--“perhaps Miss Haviland, on a little more reflection,
may be willing to acknowledge that I, also, am not wholly without a
right to ask for an explanation in an affair which she seems to admit
requires one.”

“I am not aware, sir,” promptly responded the maiden, so much aroused by
the cool arrogance of the other, as to forget her determination to hold
no more conversation with him--“I am not aware, sir, of having admitted
any necessity of an explanation And had I done so, I should be very far
from acknowledging your right to require it of me.”

“It is possible,” rejoined the former in the same strain--“it is
possible Miss Haviland may be willing to qualify her last remark a
little, when she is reminded of the existence of a certain marriage
contract, to which she voluntarily became a party.”

“I need no prompting to make me mindful of that evidence of my youthful
indiscretion, sir,” responded Miss Haviland; “nor should I be likely to
forget the particular provisions of an instrument, the thought of
which has cost me, as my entreaties to be released from it should have
apprised you, so many painful regrets. But, while mindful of all this,
I have yet to be informed of the provision which, till the contract is
consummated, gives you any control over my actions, or right to require
me to account for or explain them.”

“If the instrument, which I have somewhere about me, I believe,” replied
the other, with his usual cold indifference, as he took the document
from his pocket, and began, with a businesslike air, to glance over the
contents--“if the instrument does not express, or rather if it is not
admitted to presuppose and give me, any of the rights I have named
till it is consummated, then it is time that I should insist on its
consummation, which, as few others would have done, I have so long
forborne to urge.”

“I perfectly agree with Colonel Peters,” interposed Mr. Haviland,
catching at the last suggestion in his growing alarm for the success
of his favorite scheme, which the unexpected state of feeling here
displayed taught him might be endangered, if not speedily consummated.
“I perfectly agree with him, that this business has already been
sufficiently delayed; and I think, as the family is now about to break
up, that the final ceremony had better be performed before we go, or,
at the farthest, when we reach the army, where, as Sabrey would perhaps
prefer, it might take place at the same time as that of her friend, who
is similarly situated.”

“You forget,” said the maiden, now freshly aroused at this combined
attempt to make her forego her last remaining privilege in the abhorrent
negotiation--“you both forget that the very instrument, by which you
claim to dispose of my hand, expressly leaves to me, and to me only,
the right and privilege of deciding upon the time for that ceremony,
by which you would now, it seems, so summarily consummate your unmanly
scheme. And thank Heaven!” she continued, turning to the nonplused
suitor with an air of decision and fearlessness which the excitement
of insulted feeling could only have given her--“thank Heaven, I had the
forethought to insist on a privilege now so precious to me; for let me
assure you, sir, that distant will be the day when _I_ shall fix on a
time for consummating a contract, wrung from girlish inexperience, to
gratify selfish ambition or mistaken views in the first place, and now
claimed to hold me like a sold article of merchandise, for the use and
control of one whose feelings, principles, and whole character are every
way uncongenial with my own.”

“What!--how!” exclaimed the irritated and evidently astonished Haviland,
who, in his obtuseness, even now, could not perceive what objection his
daughter could have to a match esteemed by him so advantageous. “What
can this mean? Why, the girl must be demented! You to decide on the
time! Why, reasonable time is all that was meant by that, if it is not
so expressed!”

“That is all; nothing more,” eagerly chimed in Peters.

“If a part of the instrument is to be construed differently from what
is expressed, and as you choose, why not other parts, and as I choose?”
 calmly asked the unmoved girl. “If so, then its power to bind me shall
cease with this hour.”

“What folly!” again exclaimed the old gentleman, balked and chafing
worse than before. “Why, don’t the infatuated girl know that, to say
nothing about losing prospects which no other young lady in the country
would reject--that by marrying any other man, she will forfeit her
birthright in my estate, and make herself, as she will deserve to be, a
beggar?”

“I have no thought of marrying any other man while in my present
embarrassing position,” quickly retorted the former, with an offended
air. “But should I wish to do so, I should hardly be deterred from it by
either of the considerations you have just named, I think. And, indeed,
if the mercenary and ambitious motives, which you would have actuate
me, were alone to be my guide in such a step, I could see but little
temptation for the sacrifice in the honors and wealth which are so much
to depend on a triumph that, for all your boasts, I believe will never
be accomplished; while the failure, if the same justice is meted out to
you which you seem to be meditating for others, will leave you with a
branded name, and no estate here to give or withhold.”

“Silence! audacious girl,” exclaimed the baffled loyalist, unable longer
to endure the calm but scorching rebuke involved in the reply of his
daughter. “I will listen to no more of your railings. This comes of
being allowed to mingle with an ignorant, rebellious populace. But
that evil shall, at least, be remedied. You will attend me to the army,
where, I trust, your eyes may soon be opened to your folly.”

“You may perhaps compel me to go, sir,” responded the still unawed
maiden; “but if you do so, let me warn you against all hope of thereby
rendering my feelings less repugnant to the scheme we have been
discussing, or of changing my views of the cause in which you are about
to embark; for I will now openly declare, what I have often before left
you to infer, that I have no sympathies for those who come to oppress
and enslave my country; nor will I ever aid or sanction their ignoble
purposes--not even to the withholding any intelligence I may gain of
their movements, which may avert disaster or peril from our struggling
people.”

“Hurrah for the tory’s daughter!” now burst on the ears of the
astonished group, from a band of armed men standing immediately beneath
the open but thickly vine-clad windows without, whither, it seemed, they
had approached unperceived, and thus become unintentional listeners
to the last part of the foregoing dialogue, which they were still
hesitating to break in upon, when their admiration of the heroic
girl’s declarations led to the irrepressible burst of applause just
mentioned--“Hurrah for the tory’s daughter! She shall be remembered for
that!”

The party within instantly rose to their feet at so strange and
unexpected a salutation. Peters, aware, from the experience of the last
night, that his capture was sought, was the first, as might be expected,
to take the alarm. With a hasty step towards the window, and an equally
hasty glance through the screening foliage at the new-comers, he
hurriedly retreated through a door leading to the rear of the house.
Haviland, scarcely less alarmed, though having no conception of the main
object of the visit, advanced, with evident perturbation, to the front
door, when he was met at the threshold by the secretary of the Council
of Safety, who, bowing politely, proceeded to apologize for the noisy
outbreak of his attendants, which, contrary to his wishes, he said, had
been made to announce his arrival.

“Attendants, sir?” exclaimed Haviland, casting a flurried glance at the
file of soldiers in the yard--“attendants--armed men led up here to my
door? Who are they? What is then business, and yours, sir? This affair
needs explanation, sir.”

“Well, sir, if so, I am here to give it,” composedly replied Allen.
“But, as you appear somewhat agitated, let us walk in and talk over the
matter calmly.”

Mechanically complying with the suggestion, Haviland turned and led the
way into the room, where his daughter still stood, mutely awaiting the
development; when the secretary, after bowing with marked respect to
Miss Haviland, with whom, it appeared, he was slightly acquainted,
resumed,--

“The Council of Safety, sir, having determined on defending the state
to the last extremity, in the present crisis, have perceived, with deep
regret, that there are those in our midst who hesitate not either to
take up arms against their countrymen, or, what is no better, secretly
to aid the enemy, and harbor and conceal in their houses hostile
emissaries, trying to seduce our people. And not perceiving the policy
or justice of longer permitting their cause thus to be endangered, the
council have decided on a measure for promptly remedying the evil--a
measure which they had less hesitation in adopting, as they believed,
from the repeated threats of the loyalists, they would only be
anticipating their opponents by inflicting penalties, that, in case of
the conquest of this country, will be visited on themselves. They have
passed a solemn decree, sir, to confiscate, for the public use, all the
estates of both of the classes of loyalists I have named, among one of
which, at least, they have abundant proof, I regret to say, to warrant
them in classing Esquire Haviland. And they direct me to permit him
to take one of the horses, lately his own, and depart, with the least
possible delay, for the British camp, where, they think, he more
properly belongs.”

The arrogant loyalist, who had hitherto looked upon the Council of
Safety with utter contempt for either their powers or their efficiency,
was now perfectly thunderstruck at the announcement of so bold and
unexpected a measure; and, for some moments, his mouth seemed wholly
sealed against any remonstrance to a step which, not for public good,
but for his own aggrandizement, he was conscious of intending to
recommend to the British government in relation to the estates of the
leading rebels, and especially those of the treasonable body by whom, as
had just been so truthfully told him, his selfish designs had now been
anticipated. Soon rallying, however, he wrathfully muttered,--

“They dare not do it; their audacity will not carry them to that length.
But if they do,” he continued, with louder and more menacing tones--“if
they do attempt to carry out their plundering purposes, I will bring
down upon them, within eight and forty hours, a British force that
will give them enough to do to take care of themselves and their own
property, without meddling with that of others.”

“That is what we supposed you would be glad to do, in any case,” quietly
responded Allen. “It but swells the proof against you, and goes to
confirm the justice of the decree.”

“O, do not say any more, father,” interposed Miss Haviland, with much
feeling. “Do not, I beg of you, further and more inextricably involve
yourself. You know how gladly I would have saved you from this; how
often warned you of the consequences of persisting in your course.
Perhaps it is not too late to retract, even now. Who knows but the
council, who have done this but from a sense of duty to their country,
and with no ill will against you personally, may yet be induced, if
you will send in a pledge of neutrality, to reverse their sentence as
regards you, and still leave you in possession of your property and
a quiet home? I myself, feeble girl as I am, would go before them to
intercede for you; and perhaps this gentleman would assist me,” she
added, with an appealing glance to Allen.

“Most gladly,” replied the latter, touched at the magnanimity of the
girl, in her distress--“most gladly, and with great hope of success.”

“Do you hear that, father?” said the other, eagerly; “do you hear what
I feel--I know--may yet be done for you? Then do not reject my petition,
but retract, and give up your intention of joining these invaders of
your country.”

“No,” replied the old gentleman, after a moment of apparent
wavering--“no, never! Let the plunderers take possession of my estate
here for the short time they will be enabled to hold it, if they will.
To-morrow morning I start for the British camp.”

“It is as I feared,” observed Allen, turning to the daughter; “but your
efforts to rescue your father, Miss Haviland, and the noble stand
you have taken on this occasion and before, are, let me assure you,
appreciated by myself, and will not fail to be so by those of more
controlling influence. And although this property will, in a few days,
be sold by those duly appointed, and now here to guard and dispose of
it, yet the government, which has the power to confiscate, will have
the power to restore; and I have no fears that your own interests will
eventually be made to suffer by a measure which may now appear as harsh
to you as it appeared necessary to the upright and patriotic men who
felt themselves constrained to adopt it. In this you may trust, I think,
as regards the future. As for the present, I am only empowered to offer
you an asylum in some friendly family of the neighborhood, with ample
means of support, or, if you prefer, a safe conveyance, with a female
attendant, should you desire it, to any family in a more distant part of
the state.”

“My daughter will probably go with me, sir,” said Haviland, resentfully.

“No, father,” said the girl, firmly; “that army is no proper place for
a young lady and especially one of my views. I shall for the present,
go into the family of our neighbor Risdon; but in a few days, I will
gratefully accept of Mr. Allen’s offer of a conveyance, and, as I
proposed to you a short time ago, go to my connections on the other side
of the mountains.”

“Your wishes will be attended to in this or any other respect as soon
as you shall please to signify them, Miss Haviland,” said the secretary,
as, bowing a respectful adieu, he now departed with part of his
armed attendants, for other and similar visits which remained to be
accomplished that night among the unsuspecting tories of that vicinity.

Within an hour or two after the departure of Allen, or as soon as the
growing darkness would enable a skulker to approach unseen, a man, who
was of the latter description evidently, might have been discovered
slowly and cautiously making a circuit round the house, but at so
respectable distance from it as to escape the observation of the guard
now stationed at three or four commanding points about the premises.
When he had reached a point nearly opposite to the back door, he
ventured up to the border of the intervening garden, and gave a low,
significant whistle. After a momentary silence, a slight rustling was
heard in a thick patch of corn occupying a portion of the garden, and
Peters, who, it will be recollected, passed out in this direction, and
who, perceiving his retreat cut off by men already posted in the fields,
had here lain concealed till now, cautiously emerged from his covert,
and came forward to the spot where the other stood awaiting his
approach.

“Well, Redding,” said Peters, in a low voice, as he came up “when I
asked you this morning to come here to Haviland’s to-night to see me,
before I went to the army, I didn’t exactly expect you would have to
call me out of a corn patch to receive my orders. But how came you to
know or suspect I was here? You have not ventured in there, I take it?”
 he added, leading the way into the field, which the guard had now left.

“No,” replied the other; “I caught a glimpse of the fellows in the yard
as I came in sight, and, mistrusting what was to pay from what I had
just heard of their movements this forenoon in Manchester, and other
towns thereabouts I struck off across the pasture, where I luckily
encountered the old squire, who walked out there, after the leader of
the gang had left, and who told me of your concealment, and all.”

“Yes, he came to the back door, here, the first chance he could get, to
see if I had escaped, when, contriving to apprise him where I was, I had
got a moment’s talk with him just before. But what have you heard about
their movements in other places to-day?”

“Why, I met Asa Rose going post-haste to warn our friends in this
direction to be on their guard. He says they have seized on the estates
of all the Rose family, and every other leading loyalist, as far as
they could hear, in all that section; and, in several instances, put the
owners themselves under guard. What do you say to all that, colonel?”

“Glad of it. Though an act of lawlessness and audacity which I did not
once dream of their attempting, and which, even now, they will not dare
to carry out, should they have time to do so before their brief career
is arrested, yet I am glad the rebel fools have done it; for,
between you and me, Redding, I have had my doubts whether the British
government, which is ever too merciful, would take their estates from
them, when we come to subdue them, as you know we have talked; but now
vengeance will be swift and certain. Their estates will all be seized
and given to the deserving.”

“Ay, that’s it!” exclaimed the perfidious minion, with a chuckle of
satisfaction; “it will give us our revenge, and at the same time supply
us with the needful. I have a good many scores to settle with the people
about here; and I know of the farm of a certain rebel that I shall ask
for my share, as I think I justly may, seeing how active I’ve been this
summer.

“Yes, yes,” replied Peters, rather impatiently; “but there must be
no more wavering and turning with you. What you ask you must earn,
remember.”

“You see if I don’t! only name what you would have me do, colonel!”
 eagerly responded the other.

“Well, I will now,” said the former, coming to a halt. “Yes, as we are,
by this time, fairly out of reach and hearing of these foiled rebels,
who have so kindly yielded me a pass through this side of their watch,
thinking, doubtless, that I could not have been in the house when they
surrounded it, but should be there this evening--yes, I will give you my
orders now, which will embrace a fresh item or two above what I intended
before some of the occurrences of this afternoon. Well, in the first
place, you are to proceed to Castleton, and join the northern company
there collected and ready for operations at the Remington rendezvous,
You will then become the guide and assistant of the leader of that
force, which is to move on to some secret and safe place, to be selected
by you (as you know the localities, and the leader don’t) in the woods
near the Twenty Mile Encampment, where, acting is the advanced corps
of our planned expedition to the Connecticut by that route, they will
remain concealed as much as possible, till further orders, watching all
movements of the rebels, and drawing in every trusty loyalist that
can be approached. And mark me, Redding, while there, or elsewhere,
remember, that accursed Woodburn is a doomed man, and is to be taken, if
found, and kept for my disposal. And I have another order, which must be
left still more to your especial management. Haviland’s daughter, with
whom you know, I suppose, how I am situated, has got some dangerous
notions into her head, and, refusing to hear to her father, who wishes
her to go with him to the army, has determined to go to her relatives,
over the mountain, in a carriage the rebels have promised to provide
her. She will be along that road, probably, soon after you get to your
rendezvous. She must be stopped, and conducted, with good treatment,
mind you, back, through some secret route, to the British camp, where
her father, though he knows nothing of my plan, will be glad to receive
and keep her. And now I will be off to my horse, which I luckily left
at the house of a friend, on the cross road, about a mile to the west of
us.”

“Will you go far on your journey to-night?”

“About seven miles, to the house of another friend, where I am to be
joined by the squire in the morning, and, with him, proceed directly to
the army.”

“How soon are we to hear from you?”

“Within ten days, or sooner. I shall, with all possible despatch,
organize and prepare the force designed for the purpose; when I shall
sweep on through Arlington and Manchester, and, after teaching them a
few lessons in that quarter, proceed at once to join you. There! you
now know all; go, and remember that secrecy and vengeance are the
watchwords.”

“Ay, ay; I am your man for all that, colonel,” responded the
heartless tool, as the two now separated to depart on their different
destinations.



CHAPTER V.

  “What nearer foe is lurking in the glade?--
   But joy! Columbia’s friends are trampling through the shade!”


One of the earliest and most noted of the houses of public entertainment
in Vermont was that of Captain John Coffin, situated in the north part
of Cavendish, on the old military road, cut out in the French wars, by
the energetic General Amherst, with a regiment of New Hampshire Boys,
and extending from Number Four, as Charleston on the Connecticut was
then called, to the fortresses on Lake Champlain. This tavern, at the
time of the revolution, being on the very outskirts of the settlements
on the east side of the Green Mountains, was long the general resort of
the soldier and the common wayfarer for rest and refreshment, before
and after passing over the long and dreary route of mountain wilderness
lying between the eastern and western settlements of the state. And
to the soldier, especially, it was a favorite haven; the more so,
doubtless, from the congenial character of its frank, fearless,
patriotic, but blunt and unpolished landlord, whose substantial cheer
and hearty welcome, money or no money usually caused him to be
looked upon as a friend, as well as a good entertainer. To this then
widely-known establishment we will now repair, to note the occurrences
next to be related in the progress of our story.

On a dark and cloudy afternoon, about ten days after the events related
in the last chapter, a company of five persons were assembled in the
rudely finished bar-room of the inn just described. Of these, three were
strangers, or pretended strangers, to the house and each other; having
dropped in at different intervals during the afternoon. Of the two
others, one was the landlord, whose burly frame, rough, open features,
and fear-nought countenance need have left none in doubt of either
the physical or moral traits which experience proved he possessed. The
other, a somewhat tall, thin, gaunt man, of a weather-beaten visage, and
a sort of sly, scrutinizing look, was an old acquaintance of the reader.
As of old, his large powder-horn and ball-pouch were slung under his
left arm, and his long, heavy rifle, standing by his side, was resting
on the sill of the open window beneath which he had seated himself,
so as to enable him to note what might be passing without as well as
within. The manner in which the latter and the landlord occasionally
exchanged glances, implied a previous and familiar acquaintance, the
usual manifestations of which seemed to be repressed by the presence of
the three guests first named, who were evidently objects of the secret
suspicion of the former. But all this, for some time, might have passed
unheeded by any but close observers; for few remarks, and those of the
briefest and most common-place kind, were offered; and an inclination
for silence and reserve was manifest among the company.

A circumstance at length occurred, however, which quickly awakened
the landlord from his apparent apathy, and brought some of the
leading characteristics of the man at once into view. A very large and
powerfully-made black dog, which belonged to the house, had just marched
into the room, and laid down to sleep in the middle of the floor; when
one of the strangers, whom we have noticed, in returning from the bar,
where he had been for a drink of water, trod on the animal’s tail,
either through accident or design--probably the latter;--at least the
landlord seemed to suspect so; for his countenance instantly flashed
with indignation, and, turning abruptly to the aggressor, he said,--

“What was that done for, sir?”

“Done for?” replied the other, indifferently. “Why, it was done because
the dog was in my way. If he don’t want his tail trod on, he must keep
out from under foot; that’s all.”

“Well, sir,” rejoined the former, in no gentle tones, “I don’t know who
you are; but whether whig or tory, gentle or simple, I shall just take
the liberty to tell you, that if I was sure you did that intentionally,
I would pull your ears for you; for, if any living being has a good
right to remain undisturbed, and do as he likes in this house, it is
that dog. Roarer, come here, my old friend,” he added, turning to fondle
the creature, that now, dropping the menacing attitude he had assumed
towards the aggressing stranger, came up and thrust his huge snout into
his master’s lap. “Yes, old fellow, while I live, you shall never want
a friend to avenge your wrongs, though I have to fight a regiment to
do it! And aint I right in that, Dunning?” he still further remarked,
turning to the hunter.

“Der yes, if needful,” replied the latter; “but the ditter dog. I’m
thinking, would ask no favors, if you would give him leave to der do his
own work on meddlers.

“O, that wouldn’t do, you know, Tom,” rejoined the former, “for, if I
but said the word, Roarer would tear him in shoestrings, as quick as you
could say Jack Roberson! No I’ll settle the hash myself. And I am now
ready to hear the fellow’s explanation,” he added, again turning sternly
to the aggressor.

But the last-named questionable personage, not relishing the course
matters were taking, now, in a subdued and altered tone promptly
disclaimed any intention of touching the dog, and expressed his regret
at what had happened.

“O, that’s enough,” said Coffin, instantly cooling off. “All right now,
Roarer. You may lie down again, sir,” he continued, waving away the dog,
that had faced round, and still stood suspiciously eyeing the offender.
“Yes, that’s enough; we’ll call the matter settled. But by way of
explaining to you, who are strangers, what I have said about that dog’s
claims to my friendship and protection, I must tell you a story, which
will show you how much the noble creature is deserving at my hands.

“Six years ago, the seventh day of last March, as I was returning from
the settlements on Otter Creek, a distance of from twenty to thirty
miles, through the then entire wilderness, with the snow nearly five
feet deep on a level, and the weather so cold and stormy, that I
was compelled to travel with great-coat on, as well as snow-shoes, I
undertook to cross one of the ponds in Plymouth on the ice, which I
supposed perfectly sound and safe for any thing that could be got on to
it. But for some reason or other, there seemed to have been one place,
concealed from view by the snow, so thin and spongy, that the moment I
stepped upon it, I went down some feet below the surface into the water,
while the snow and broken ice at once closed over me. And although I
succeeded in forcing my way up through the slush, and getting my head
above water, yet I soon found it, hampered as I was with snow-shoes and
great-coat, impossible to get out. As sure as I tried to raise myself
by the treacherous support at the sides, so sure was it to give way,
and precipitate me back into the water. But still I struggled on, till
chilled to the vitals, so benumbed that I could scarcely move a limb,
and growing weaker and weaker at every effort, I could do no more; and
I saw myself gradually sinking for the last time. O heavens! who can
describe my sensations--who conceive the thousand thoughts that flashed
through my mind at that horrible moment! But just as I was on the point
of giving up in despair, I caught a glimpse of my dog (that had taken
a circuit wide from me after some game) coming on to the pond. I raised
one faint shout--it was all I could do,--and, though nearly a half mile
off, he heard it, and came on, with monstrous bounds, to the spot. In a
moment he was there; and, after giving me one look,--I can never forget
that look,--he slid down to the very verge of the hole to try to assist
me. With a struggle, I made out to raise one hand out of the water
within his reach. He seized the cuff of my coat, and, drawing back with
the seeming strength of a draught-horse, he, with one pull, brought me
half out of the water. With a desperate effort on my part, and another
on his, the next instant I was lying helpless, but safe, on the ice,
while the dog fairly howled aloud for joy! I said safe; for as hopeless
as some might have viewed my situation, even then, wet, benumbed, nearly
dead with cold and exhaustion, and many miles from any human help or
habitation, as I was, yet rallying every energy I had left me, and
rolling, kicking, and pawing, to put my blood in motion, and regain the
use of my limbs, I soon got on to my feet; when, seizing my gun, that I
had hurled aside as I went down, I made for a dry tree in sight, fired
into a spot of spunk I luckily found on one side of it, kindled a fire,
warmed and dried myself, set forward again, and reached home that night;
but with feelings towards that dog, sir, that I can never know towards
any other created being--not even, in some respects, towards my wife
and children. Yes, sir; I will not only fight, but, if need be, die for
him.”

While the captain was relating his oft-told but truthful adventure with
his justly-prized dog, the quick eye of Dunning caught, through the
window, a glimpse of a recognized form, approaching in the road from
the east; and slipping out unnoticed from the room, he beckoned the
approaching personage round the corner of the house, and when safely out
of the hearing and observation of those in the bar-room, he turned to
the other, and said,--

“Der devil’s in the wind, Captain Harry!”

“How so? Have you discovered the suspected rendezvous?”

“Der yes; and more too.”

“Indeed! where is it?”

“Ditter deep in the thickets, on the west side of the pond nearest the
great road over the mountains.”

“Ah, ha! but their numbers? any more, probably, than the small club we
supposed?”

“Der double, and then the ditter double of that, if it don’t make more
than twenty.”

“You surprise me, Dunning. Are you sure?”

“Sure as that I am der talking to Captain Woodburn.”

“Impossible! It must be some secret meeting of the disaffected in this
quarter.”

“Der not that, but a regularly armed force, and, with the ditter
exception of two or three about-home tories, may be, all strange faces,
including a sprinkling of red skins, brought along with them for ditter
decency’s sake, I suppose.”

“But how could such a force get so far into the interior undetected?
How dare they venture on so hazardous a movement? and what can be their
designs in so doing?”

“Der here is something that ditter tells a rather loud story about that;
at least, as to the matter of intentions,” said the hunter, by way of
reply, taking a crumpled paper from his cap and handing it to the other.

Woodburn took the paper, and eagerly ran over its contents; which to his
astonishment he found to be a copy of an order from General Burgoyne to
Colonel Peters, detailing the plan of an expedition, to be conducted by
the latter, with one hundred loyalists and a company of Indians, by way
of the head waters of Otter Creek, across the mountains to Connecticut
River, where this force was to be joined by the loyal troops from Rhode
Island, and directing him “to scour the country, levy contributions,
take hostages, make prisoners of all civil and military officers acting
under Congress, collect horses, and, after proceeding down the river as
far as Brattleborough, return to the great road to Albany.” [Footnote:
The document here quoted was brought to General Stark on his advance
through Vermont; and there can be but little doubt of its genuineness;
as it afterwards came out, in the trial of Burgoyne in the British
Parliament, that such an expedition was actually started, but
subsequently changed for that of Bennington. How considerable a
portion of the whole intended force penetrated into the interior is not
ascertained. But we have the authority of the oldest inhabitants for
asserting, that a portion of this force did cross over the mountains,
and some of them even reached Springfield; when, owing to the unexpected
movements they found going on among the people, and the rumored advance
of Stark, all, who were not taken, speedily decamped.]

“How did this get into your hands, Dunning?” demanded the surprised and
excited officer, as soon as he had mastered the contents.

“Der well, having crept along near the edge of the pond within ten or
twelve rods of their camp, I was lying in the bushes for discoveries;
when ditter one of ‘em--their leader, I suppose--came down to the pond,
for observation, likely; and, while peering up and down the shore, a
gust of wind blew his hat off into the water. But though he regained his
ditter hit and disappeared, I soon saw a piece of white paper blowing
along in the water towards me. After a while, it reached the sort of
point where I was, and lodging against a bush, I secured it, and found
it this same thing. What do you think of it, captain?”

“Why, it unfolds a plan too bold for credence.”

“Not too bold for _my_ ditter credence, captain.”

“Then you think it no feint?”

“Der no, sir, but a regular bred expedition, which they mean to push as
soon as more force arrives. I have been ditter watching things a little
since I got at this wrinkle. They have spies out in every direction.
‘Tis not an hour since I espied a fellow peering from the corner of the
woods up yonder, who, I think, must be that treacherous ditter devil,
David Redding, and there are three now in the bar-room of the same
kidney.”

“Ah! well, all this may be. Such an expedition may have been set afoot
at the instigation of such fellows as Spencer, who, having left the
Council of Safety before any thing was done, and while its distracted
counsels seemed to preclude all prospect that any thing would be done
for the defence of the state. Ay, that is it; and little dreaming of
what has since transpired, Peters, who is probably behind, with the main
force, has sent forward this as a sort of pioneer corps, who, coming
over a route now mostly deserted by our people, have penetrated here
nearly to the Twenty Mile Encampment, without once suspecting what is
going on through the rest of the state. But that is a secret, which,
thanks to the prompt patriotism shown by our young men in enlisting, we
shall now soon be able to teach them; for my company is already nearly
full; and, if you have notified the recruits you enlisted. Sergeant
Dunning, they will all be here for mustering by to-morrow night.”

“All done, as in der duty bound, captain; and six of my men said they
would be here this evening.”

“Indeed! there will be almost enough of us, if your six recruits all
get in, to make a pounce upon this nest of vipers to-night Let’s see;
six--you, myself, and Captain Coffin, and----”

“And der Bart, if he comes; ditter don’t you expect him along here
to-night?”

“I do. Miss Haviland, according to the letter of Mr. Allen, who wrote
some days ago, to apprise me of her coming, would have started, I
calculate, this morning; and Bart, whom I immediately despatched to
act as her guard on the way, will of course come with her. They will
probably arrive before long, now--unless----” and the speaker suddenly
paused at the new and startling thought that now seemed to occur to him.

“Unless,” said Dunning, guessing the thoughts of the other and taking up
the supposition--“unless beset by some of this crew, who are ordered to
take prisoners and hostages. But der stay; didn’t I catch the glimmer
of a distant horseman then?” he continued, pointing along the partially
wooded road to the west. “There! that was a clearer view; and, by the
ditter darting kind of gait of the horse, I should think it might be
Lightfoot, and the short rider the critter we’ve been talking about.”

The hunter’s eye had not misled him; for in a few minutes the horseman
emerged from the forest into open view, and confirmed the conjecture
that had just been made respecting his identity. As he neared the
house, perceiving Woodburn and Dunning beckoning to him from behind the
buildings, he threw himself from his saddle, leaped over the fence, and
approached them.

“The news, sir? What is it? Speak!” eagerly exclaimed Woodburn, as Bart,
with a downcast and troubled look, drew near.

“Bad as need to be, consarn it!” replied the latter, with an air of
mingled vexation and self-reproach. “But I couldn’t help it.”

“Help what? What has happened? Where is the lady?” rapidly asked the
alarmed and impatient lover.

“Taken prisoner by the tories, as I guessed ‘em. She and Vine Howard,
that come with her, and the boy that drove ‘em.”

“How? when? where?”

“Why, as we were coming down this side the mountain, and when nearly
to the bottom, five or six fellows, with guns, rushed out of the bush,
seized the horse, pulled out the women, and hurried them off with two of
their number into the woods towards the pond; while the rest made a push
to take me, who was riding just behind. But firing a pistol in their
faces, and giving Lightfoot my stiffest sign, we dashed through or over
them, and escaped, with their bullets whistling after us, one after
another, till we were out of reach.”

“These ladies shall be rescued before I sleep, or I will perish in
the attempt,” said Woodburn, with stern emphasis. “Let us arm and set
forward immediately with the best force we can raise.”

“There is a thing or two to be ditter done first, it strikes me,”
 observed Dunning, with his usual coolness; “that is, if we don’t want
enemies both before and behind us, on the way.”

“What is that, Dunning?”

“Secure those three chaps in the bar-room, or they’ll be ditter sure
either to be on our heels, or get there before us to raise the alarm of
our coming.”

“Are they armed, think you?”

“With ditter knives only, I’m thinking--their guns may have been left
in the point of woods yonder, in charge of the spy I named, who, now I
ditter think on’t, ought to be taken about the same time, for fear of
some secret signal being given.”

The suggestions of Dunning, who, as the reader will already have
inferred, had been made a sergeant in Woodburn’s company of Rangers,
were at once approved by his superior, who accordingly, as the first
step, despatched him and Bart to the woods, where the man conjectured to
be in charge of the arms of his comrades was supposed to be concealed.
After waiting till the two others might have had time to gain the woods
in question, Woodburn left his stand, and, passing round to the front of
the house, boldly marched into the bar-room, where the three suspected
personages still sat listening to the stories with which the landlord,
who suspected what was in progress, seemed intent on amusing them. They,
however, now seemed suddenly to lose all interest in the recital going
on, and, after exchanging uneasy and significant glances, simultaneously
rose to depart.

“You are my prisoners, gentlemen,” said Woodburn, stepping before them
and presenting a cocked pistol.

For a moment, the surprised tories stood mute in alarm and doubt,
alternately glancing from their armed opponent to the landlord, and from
the latter to the door and windows, as if weighing the chances and
means of escape. But, the next instant, two of them suddenly turned, and
drawing and flourishing their knives behind them, sprang for the open
windows, with the intention of leaping through them.

“At ‘em, Roarer!” exclaimed Coffin, seizing one escaping tory by the
leg, and hurling him back with stunning effect upon the floor.

The dog was but little behind his master in drawing back, by a grip in
his clothes, the other to the floor, where he was glad to lie without
offering further resistance to the grim and growling conqueror standing
over him. The third, in the mean while, not daring to stir lest a worse
fate should befall him, standing as he was directly before the muzzle of
Woodburn’s pistol, and seeing the situation of his comrades, immediately
submitted; when all, giving up their concealed arms, now quietly yielded
themselves as prisoners.

In a few minutes after the surrender of the tories, their guns were
brought in by Dunning and Bart, who found them at the suspected place,
though the traitor, Redding, whom they identified, had just taken the
alarm, and was seen retreating over a distant knoll as they came up to
the spot.

The prisoners being left in charge of the landlord’s oldest boy, who was
armed for the purpose, and the dog Roarer, the rest of the company now
retired to another part of the house, to devise measures for the rescue
of the fair captives, for which a preliminary step only had as yet
been taken. Having at length fixed on the plan of operations which
they believed most promising of auspicious results, they immediately
commenced their hasty preparations for the bold adventure. And Dunning’s
six recruits luckily arriving in season, the whole company, now
consisting of ten resolute woodsmen, and led on by a man fully resolved
to succeed or perish, set forward, a little after sunset, for the scene
of action, which was several miles distant from the tavern. According to
the plan that had been adopted, two men were to proceed to the eastern
shore of the pond, take a log canoe, and, under cover of the darkness,
row silently over to some point beyond, but near the tory encampment;
and, after making what discoveries they could respecting the situation
of the captives, lie in ambush and await the operations of the rest of
the company, who were to proceed round by the road, enter the woods,
and gain a post on the other side of the encampment, and, by a feigned
attack, draw off the tories, and thus afford the former a favorable
moment to rush from their concealment and release the captives. And
if they found this impracticable, they were then to shout aloud the
watchword, _To the rescue!_ when both parties of the assailants were to
make an earnest and desperate onset on the foe. Dunning and Bart, from
their known sagacity and skill as woodsmen and coolness and intrepidity
in action, were the two men selected to undertake the more difficult and
hazardous part first mentioned.

After a rapid and silent march of about an hour, the company reached
the vicinity of the pond, just as the last suffusions of an obscured
twilight disappeared in the west, and halted a few minutes, that the
different parts of the plan might be repeated and clearly understood by
all before separating.

“Remember the arrangement, boys,” said Woodburn, addressing Dunning and
Bart, in a voice which betrayed the intense solicitude he felt in the
event at issue. “Recollect the first and main object is to release and
get off the ladies, and if this can be done within the hour we will
give you for the purpose, as it possibly may be, before we make any
demonstrations in front, so much the better; if not, proceed in the
manner agreed on. And may Heaven favor the innocent, whose cause,
remember, is mostly in your hands.”

With this the company separated, and each party proceeded to their
different destinations. We will follow the two intrusted with the most
difficult part of the enterprise.



CHAPTER VI.

  “The first that hears
   Shall be the first to bleed.”


The hunter, followed by his young comrade, now leaving the rest of the
band to proceed to their contemplated stand by the main road, struck off
into the woods to the right, and, with silent and rapid steps, led the
way to the south-eastern shore of the pond. Here finding, as he seemed
to have expected, a capacious canoe, dug out from the trunk of some huge
pine, he drew it forth from its concealment, beneath a mass of fallen
trees projecting over the bank, and, bidding Bart enter with the oars,
and placing one knee on the stern, with a grasp on the sides, gave a
push with his foot from the shore, which sent his rude craft surging out
far into the open expanse of water before him. Before applying the oars,
however, and while the canoe continued to move under the impulse it had
thus received, its occupants employed themselves in bending their heads
to the water, and listening for any sounds that might indicate the
presence of others abroad on the pond. The night, as it was yet
moonless, and as the sky was overclouded, was consequently a dark one;
and the adventurers could distinguish little else but the dark outlines
of the Green Mountains, that rose high in the western heavens, casting,
by their huge shadows, an impenetrable pall of darkness over the
intervening space beneath, from which not a sound rose to the ear, save
an occasional short croak of some waterfowl, or the low, sullen dash of
the waters along the shores.

“Nothing out on the pond, guess, but loons, ducks, and sich like,”
 quietly observed Bart, raising himself from his listening attitude; “nor
can I make out any sounds from the nest of ‘em you say there is over on
the shore yonder. Ma’be they’ve pulled up stakes and are off with their
traps, the wimin folks and all--shouldn’t wonder, single bit.”

“Now I reason a little ditter different,” replied the sergeant. “They
may be getting oneasy and suspicious, because their spies we took there
at Coffin’s don’t return; and so keep still, and put out their
fires, lest the absent ones be dogged back, and their rendezvous thus
discovered; but I der don’t believe the company would clear out till
they knew what become of them. They are still there, I’m apt to think;
so we will now put forward--first up north a piece, on this side, and
then across and down to a little cove there is near their encampment.”

So saying, Dunning took up one of the oars, and, with long vigorous, but
noiseless strokes, sent the boat rapidly ahead; while the other took a
position most favorable for a lookout. In this manner, and taking turns
at the oar, they soon, by the course they had marked out for themselves,
reached the western side of the pond, and, heading round, moved
cautiously along the shore towards the hostile encampment.

“Ah! there! one--two--yes, three camp fires, T can der catch glimmers
of occasionally,” softly exclaimed Dunning, rising up in the boat, and
peering ahead for observation. “I was right--the ditter rapscallions are
there, snug in their quarters, but had wit enough to build their fires
behind logs, or something, so as not to be seen from ‘tother side. We
are within the ditter matter of three hundred yards of ‘em, now; so
carefully, Bart, and don’t let your oar graze the boat, or any thing, to
give out the least sound; for they’ve ears, it’s der probable, as well
as we.”

A short time now sufficed to bring them to the small cove, at which the
hunter had proposed to land. Here, under the screen of an impervious
tangle of brushwood and fallen tree tops, which intervened between them
and the foe, they drew up their boat on to the shore. They then, after
taking off their shoes, which they left in the canoe, carefully crawled
up the bank, passed round the thicket, and paused to listen. The sounds
of voices conversing in low tones in one spot, the slow steps of a
sentinel in another, and the snoring of some hard sleeper in a third,
were soon detected by the quick ears of the anxious listeners.

“As I thought,” whispered Dunning, putting his mouth close to the ear
of the other: “the head ones are ditter suspicious, and watchful; but we
must try what can be done--at least to find the spot where they’ve put
the gals. There’s a ditter old shanty I used to camp in, about fifty
yards ahead; and as that is probably the best they’ve got, I’ve been
thinking they may have cooped ‘em in there. Suppose you, who are
lightest and smallest, creep forward to it, for ditter discoveries. I
will follow half way, and wait.”

Without demurring to the suggestion, Bart immediately set forward,
on his hands and knees, in the direction indicated by his companion.
Carefully removing every dry twig and leaf from each place where he
wished to bear his weight, and moving as noiselessly as the preying cat
along the ground, he made his way onward till he had gone far enough,
as he judged, to reach the expected shanty; when he paused to listen and
reconnoitre. But now all seemed perfectly still. Not the slightest
sound of any kind reached his ears; while it had, in some unaccountable
manner, suddenly become so pitchy dark that he could not distinguish
a single object before him. And he began to feel confused and doubtful
about proceeding, when, by the action of those secret and undefinable
sympathies, perhaps, by which, it is said, we sometimes become apprised
of the presence of others before we are informed by the senses, he all
at once became impressed with the idea that some person was near him. He
therefore strained his senses to the utmost in trying to discover what
objects might be before or around him; but all, for a while, to no
purpose. In a short time, however, his ear caught the sound of a deep
sigh, the softness of which told him it came from a female, within a few
feet of him. With a palpitating heart, he now doubtfully attempted to
move forward, when he suddenly perceived his head on the point of coming
in contact with some broad, high obstacle, which seemed to rise like
a wall before him, Surprised, and still more confused than before, he
retreated a few paces, and looked upward, to try to make out the nature
of the obstacle before him; when he discovered it to be the backside of
the very shanty of which he was in search. The strange darkness,
which had so suddenly overshadowed him, and which was caused by the
obstruction of the skylight by this rude structure, being now explained,
and every thing made clear to his mind, he cautiously moved round
towards the front of the shanty, to find the entrance, no longer
doubting that those he sought were within. On reaching the front corner,
so as to enable him to peer round it on that side, he soon made out the
entrance; but directly across it, to his disappointment, he discovered
the half-recumbent form of a man, with a musket leaning on his shoulder.
After a few hurried observations, in which he discovered, by the
decaying fires before them several other shanties or tents among the
trees, a few rods in front, Bart again slunk back to the spot he had
just left, and was about to retrace his way to his companion, when a new
thought occurred to him, and, moving up to the back of the shanty, which
was formed by broad pieces of thick bark standing slantingly against a
pole supported by crotches, and, placing his mouth to a crack, softly
whispered the names of the captives, and turned his ear to the spot to
catch the hoped-for response. For the first moment, all was still but
the next, the catching of a long-suspended breath, and even, as he
thought, the rapid beatings of a fluttering bosom, became audible.
Presently a slight movement, as of a cautiously changed posture, was
heard within; and the next instant a pair of soft lips came in contact
with his ear at the crevice, articulating, in sounds scarcely above the
slightest murmur of the air,--

“Who speaks my name?”

“Bart,” replied the other. “You know what I’m after. Can one of the
barks between us be removed without alarming your keeper?”

“I fear--but he seems asleep--try it,” was the measured and hesitating
reply.

After slightly essaying several of the pieces of the bark he wished to
remove, he at length commenced operations at the bottom of one of them,
and gently forcing it aside, inch by inch, in a short time effected an
opening sufficient, as he judged, for the egress of the captives, and
that too, he felt confident, without attracting the attention of the
dozing guard.

“Now feel your way out; and, without stirring a twig or leaf creep on
after me,” whispered Bart.

And receding a few paces from the opening, he paused to await the
result. In a moment he had the satisfaction of perceiving a female form
slowly emerging from the narrow passage into the open air without.

Supposing her companion to be immediately behind, he now, with a
whispered word of encouragement, led the way from the spot. With
frequent pauses, both to assure himself that he was followed by his
charge, and to listen for any stir among the foe that should indicate
a discovery of the escape, he continued to creep forward till he
encountered Dunning, when, the latter taking the lead, they all moved
on, one after another, in the same cautious manner as before, and soon
reached the landing in safety; out as they emerged from the bushes, and
the hunter turned to congratulate the ladies on their escape, it was
now, for the first time, discovered that but one of them was present.

“Bart, how is this? ditter tell me--where is the other?” demanded
Dunning, in a tone of disappointment and vexation.

But Bart, equally disappointed and perplexed, was mute; and the lady,
who proved to be Miss Howard, replied,--

“Miss Haviland, if not retaken, is now wandering in the woods.”

“Der wandering in ditter woods, and you not with her?” again demanded
the former with an air of mingled surprise and reproach.

“Yes sir, but I did not intend to desert her,” promptly replied the
girl. “Perceiving we were not watched very closely by the man they put
over us, she and I had thought of a plan of escaping into the woods and
getting round into the road. And while he was talking with another,
that he had stepped forward a little ways to meet, we slipped out
undiscovered, and gained a thicket; when finding I had left my shawl, I,
contrary to Miss Haviland’s advice, I will own, ventured back to get it,
and was detected, just as I was leaving the shanty a second time, and
her absence discovered. This made a stir among them, and they ordered
off scouts after her along the pond towards the road, which was the way
I pointed when they were threatening me if I didn’t tell. But she must
have heard all and escaped.”

“Escaped! ditter deuse of an escape that; for a woman to get out into a
forest full of Indians in search of her,” replied the still unreconciled
hunter. “But what course has she der taken, think ye, gal?”

“The one we planned, likely; and that was, to take a wide sweep round
their camp, gain the road, and make for the tavern, which she said was
not far off,” replied the other.

“Well,” said Dunning, in a more mollified tone, “though der dogs is in
the luck, to be sure, yet half a loaf is better than none. We must save
what we have got; so into the canoe there with ye, gal; and you, Bart,
take her across, der find Harry, whom I’d ditter rather you would meet
first, and tell him you have left me this side to go in search of the
other, who, if found, can most likely be got to the road as well the way
she set out as this, in the shape things now stand.”

Although this conversation scarcely occupied a minute, and although,
while the hunter was yet speaking, Bart and his fair friend were
in their respective positions in the boat, which instantly shot out
silently and swiftly into the pond, under the vigorous push given it by
the former, yet the event showed that they had been none too speedy
in their movements; for, at that instant, a sudden bustle in the tory
encampment, which was quickly followed by the confused sounds of voices
making rapid inquiries and giving orders, together with the stealthy
tread of approaching footsteps, apprised the fugitives that not only was
their escape discovered, but probably also the direction they had taken.

“Der narve it, narve it, Bart! The ditter divils are after ye!” shouted
the hunter, hastily retreating from the shore and disappearing in the
nearest thicket.

And scarcely had he gained a covert before his place was occupied by
four or five of the enemy, who came rushing down to the water; when,
discovering the receding boat, then not fifty yards distant, the acting
leader of the band fiercely exclaimed “Put about there instantly, and
come ashore, or we’ll fire and kill every person in the boat!”

“O, but you’ll kill us if we come back,” replied Bart, splashing round
his oar as if turning the boat, which in fact was going swiftly ahead.

“No, we won’t,” responded the leader, deceived by the apparent
simplicity of the reply; “but be quick, or we fire!”

“Well, seeing you aint going to hurt us,” said the former, carelessly
while at the same time directing, in a whisper, the girl to throw
herself close on the bottom of the canoe, he silently, but with all his
might, bent himself to the oar.

“Why,” said the leader, after a short and doubtful pause, as he peered
out in the darkness at the dimly-seen boat--“why, aint the fellow still
moving ahead? He is, confound him: fire!”

“Let drive, then!” sung out Bart, with the greatest _sang froid_, as he
hastily cast himself down in the boat.

The next instant several bullets struck the boat, or whistled over
it, as the fierce flashings and deafening reports of as many exploding
muskets burst from the shore with startling effect on the darkness and
silence of night.

“I vown! but that an’t so bad shooting as might be, in the dark so,”
 exclaimed Bart, hastily springing up and seizing his oar. “They are
more at the business than I thought ‘em; and we may as well be a little
further off afore they have time to load and fire agin, guess,” he
added, suddenly changing the direction of the beat from the course it
had been taking, and plying the oar with an energy which showed rather
less indifference to his proximity to the hostile marksmen behind him
than his words might seem to imply.

The tories, in the mean while, who had foolishly all discharged their
pieces at once, fell to loading again as fast as was possible for them
to do in the dark. But before any of them was ready to fire, the last
traces of the fugitive boat had vanished from their view.

They were, however, after giving vent to their vexation in a volley of
curses upon the fellow who had thus outwitted them, in getting beyond
controlling distance, preparing to fire again, at random, in the
direction in which the canoe was last seen moving, when their attention
was suddenly arrested by firing in the woods a short distance to the
south, which seemed to be an exchange of shots between their pickets and
some enemy assailing them from that direction. They therefore hurried
back to their companions, and with them rallied to make a stand against
the force which all supposed was about to storm their encampment. But to
their agreeable disappointment, though an occasional shot continued
to be directed towards them by persons who seemed to be lurking in the
distant thickets, no tangible force made its appearance for the firing
which had so alarmed them, and caused them to call in all their scouts
within hearing, and make every preparation for a desperate resistance,
was, as the reader will have already imagined, but the feint made by
Woodburn’s party, who, hearing the reports of the guns discharged at the
escaping canoe, and partly divining the cause, had advanced from their
concealment, and begun to make the diversion agreed on at the outset.
But not receiving the signal promised, in case help was needed,
and feeling doubtful how to act, most of them fell back, and ceased
operations, till Bart, who had, in the mean time, reached the shore,
and, with the fearless girl he had released, hastened round to their
post, arrived and informed them of all that had occurred. On receiving
this aggravating intelligence, Woodburn, now almost frantic with
disappointment and anxiety, instantly withdrew to the road with all his
band, except two left to keep the enemy in a state of alarm; when they
all, including even the heroic Vine Howard, immediately scattered in
different directions through the dark forest in anxious search for the
luckless Miss Haviland, to whom we will now return, for the purpose of
following her in the wild and perillous adventures she was destined to
encounter on that eventful night.



CHAPTER VII.

  “Unshrinking from the storm,
     Well have ye borne your part,
   With woman’s fragile form,
     But more than manhood’s heart”--_Whittier_


The observation is no less true than trite, that no one knows till he
has tried it, what he can do or endure. And as just as is the remark
in a general application, it is, we apprehend, more strikingly so when
applied to the gentler sex; for, from the position they occupy in social
life, their powers of action or endurance are so seldom fully put to the
test, that they are generally far less conscious than men of what deeds
they might accomplish or what degree of suffering they might endure,
in emergencies calculated to call forth the highest energies of their
physical and moral natures. And if there be any disparity between the
number of heroes and heroines in the world, such emergencies as we have
named are only wanting, we believe, to make up any deficiency that may
be found in the latter.

When Miss Haviland ascertained that her too venturous companion had
been intercepted and retaken, in the manner mentioned in the preceding
chapter, she for a moment greatly hesitated whether to return and yield
herself again to her captors, or persevere in her attempt to escape.
But, beginning to suspect the true source of the present misfortune,
which, if her suspicions were just, pointed only at herself, and
thinking that her escape would soon lead to the voluntary release of
her companion, she quickly decided on the latter alternative, and glided
noiselessly away into the depths of the forest.

After proceeding in a direct course from the camp to such a distance as
should preclude the possibility that any ordinary sound made in walking
through the woods would reach her captors, unless they were in actual
pursuit behind, of which her often strained senses had as yet given her
no evidence, she turned short to the south, and, in pursuance of the
hasty plan formed by herself and companion at the outset, now made her
way, as fast as the darkness and the usual obstacles of the woods would
permit, towards the road, her only guide being the parallel swells of
land, which, running north and south, rose, as she had luckily noticed
before dark, in successive lifts up the mountain to the west. Still
hearing no sounds of pursuit, she began to entertain strong hopes that
she should be permitted to reach the road unmolested. In this, however,
she was doomed to be disappointed; for, in a short time, a cracking, as
of dry twigs under the tread of some one stealthily advancing, arrested
her attention, and brought her to a stand. Fortunately, no part of her
dress was sufficiently light-colored to betray her. And, having nothing
to fear from this, and believing that, by placing herself in close
contact with some natural object, she might still have a good chance to
be passed undetected, she glided to the nearest tree, and, placing her
back to the side opposite to the suspected foe, awaited his approach in
breathless silence. Presently he came up, and, after pausing a moment
within a few yards of her, apparently to listen and reconnoitre, he
passed by so near as to graze the bark of the tree behind which she
stood, and moved carelessly on some distance before again pausing to
repeat his _reconnoissance_.

She drew a long breath; but, before she dared move from her stand, the
sounds of other approaching feet reached her ears. And soon two more
men, evidently on the same search, passed by her, at different distances
to the east, and, like the first one, bent their courses northward.
After waiting till all sound of their receding steps had wholly died
away, she again moved forward, and soon had the satisfaction of finding
herself in the road, but a short distance from the spot where, a few
hours before, she and her attendant had been captured. It remained now
to get beyond the tory encampment. Could she be permitted to pass down
the mountain, in the road, but a half mile, she might then consider the
danger mostly over, and proceed on to the tavern in comparative safety.
And, though aware that this portion of the way might be scarcely less
dangerous than any she had passed over, yet, tempted by the facility
with which it could be accomplished in the road, she resolved to make
the attempt, and accordingly, with a guarded but rapid step, began to
move down the sloping way before her. But she had proceeded but a short
distance, when she was startled by the loud report of firearms in the
direction of the tory encampment, which, as already described, were,
just at that moment, being discharged at the escaping canoe. While
pausing in doubt at the meaning of this unexpected outbreak, the random
firing of Woodburn’s party which we noted as soon following that of the
tories, now burst from the forest a little before her on the left, and
greatly in creased her perplexity. Suddenly conceiving the idea, from
these circumstances, that the tories had been assailed in their rear,
and were now retreating towards her, and this notion being the next
moment confirmed by the glimpses she caught of a dark form emerging from
the bushes on the left, whom she mistook for a foe, she hastily turned
and fled, in agitation and alarm, into the opposite forest bordering the
road on the south, having thus approached within a few rods of the
very men who were in search of her, and thus unconsciously eluded their
friendly grasp. Though intending soon to turn her course eastward, so
as to come out again into the road at such a point as should place her
beyond any danger of a recapture, yet, urged by her fears lest her foes
should cross the road and overtake her, she pressed on so far into the
depths of the woods, that when she paused to change her course, she
became confused and doubtful respecting the direction she should take to
regain the road in the manner she had proposed. She had now no further
knowledge of the make of the land, or the situation of the hills, by
which she could be guided. But at length, fixing on a course which she
thought most likely to be the right one, she again set forward, slowly
picking her way through the swampy and tangled tract of forest into
which she seemed now to have entered. In this manner she pursued her
dubious course onward nearly an hour, every moment expecting that the
next would bring her out into the road. At length she fell in with a
small stream, which she rightly judged to be one of the brooks running
into Black River, and which, from what she knew of the course of that
river, she supposed would lead nearly in the direction she sought to go.
But on stooping down to feel the current, she, to her great surprise,
found it running in a course directly opposite from what she expected.
Scarcely knowing now which way to direct her steps, she passed over the
stream, and, with a sense of desolation, growing out of the thought that
she was lost in the depths of the wilderness, which she had never before
experienced, wandered on, and on, for several of the successive hours of
that dark and dismal night. At last she came to the top of a high swell,
where, the new aspect presented in the slope of the forest before her
naturally causing her to pause, she dropped down upon an old mossy log
to rest her worn and wearied frame, and try to collect her confused
and scattered faculties. While here endeavoring to rally her sinking
spirits, and compose her thoughts so as to look more coolly on her
situation, she began to discern, through the openings of the foliage,
the dark outlines of a high mountain, rising, at the distance of two or
three miles, directly in front of her. It now occurred to her that, like
other persons lost in the woods, of whom she had heard, she might have
been, all this time, wandering in a circle, and that the mountain before
her might be the very one she supposed she had left far behind her, west
of the tory encampment. If this supposition should prove correct, the
long-sought road must lie somewhere between her and the mountain
in view, and a little more perseverance in that direction would
consequently put an end to those perplexities which were now becoming
more painful and dread than any sensations she had experienced from
the pursuit of her enemies. Encouraged by the gleam of hope which this
thought imparted to her almost despairing mind, she started up, and
again nerved herself for the task of meeting the many difficulties which
she knew, at the best, yet remained to be overcome. It had, by this
time, in consequence of a scattering of the clouds, or the rising of
a waning moon, become perceptibly lighter, and, for the next hour, her
progress was much more direct and easy. By this time, she came to a spot
in the forest which was sufficiently open to give her another and fairer
view of the mountain she had been approaching. She looked upon its
dark sides a moment, and the pleasant delusion under which she had been
laboring wholly vanished from her mind. She saw it could not be the
mountain she had hoped to find it, nor indeed any she had ever seen; and
she again gave herself up as lost, perhaps, irretrievably lost, far away
and deep in the dark recesses of a howling wilderness, from which she
might never be extricated. And yet her usual firmness did not wholly
forsake her. “_Is not your life of more value than many sparrows_ in the
sight of Him who careth for all?” she mentally exclaimed; and she was
calmed and comforted by the ready affirmative which her faith responded.

While casting about her in doubt respecting the next step to be taken,
she discovered traces of what was evidently once an imperfect road,
or path, which seemed to extend through a partial opening towards the
mountain. Thinking it might possibly lead to some human habitation,
or at least to some place preferable to the open forest for rest and
shelter till the return of daylight, she resolved to follow it. As she
proceeded on, she began to detect marks of the woodman’s or hunter’s axe
in the trees, here entirely cut down, and there girdled, or denuded of
their bark as high as the hand could reach. These indications of the
former presence of men appeared to grow more frequent as she went on;
and at length she came out into a small opening in the forest in the
midst of which stood a roughly-constructed log-house, or shanty, with
a regularly-formed bark roof still standing. The remains of smaller and
less durable shanties were also visible in the vicinity of the former.
[Footnote: Colonel Hawks, while traversing the wilderness of Vermont, in
the French wars, with a regular force, among whom was the then Captain
John Stark, once encamped near the foot of the mountain, in the south
part of Cavendish, where the incident we are narrating is supposed to
have occurred. The mountain still bears the name of Hawks’s Mountain,
and the traces of the encampment, it is said are still visible.]

With a cautious and hesitating step, Miss Haviland drew near to
this rude structure, and at once perceived, by the appearance of the
unguarded loop-hole window, and the open entrance, before which the
untrodden wild weeds were growing, that it was untenanted. Approaching
still nearer, and peering into the window, she discovered, in one
corner of the deserted apartment, a comfortable-looking bed, composed of
branches of the hemlock, which she rightly concluded had been collected
and used by hunters, who occasionally made the place their quarters for
the night. Immediately concluding to avail herself of the advantages
which this shelter and primitive couch seemed to promise for obtaining
the rest her exhausted system so much needed, she entered, and, throwing
herself down on the soft and yielding boughs, soon surrendered herself
to the influence of the grateful repose, and fell asleep. She was
soon, however, awakened--by what she knew not, unless by the feeling
of uneasiness and apprehension, by which she now found herself
unaccountably agitated. She had heard, or read, of those mysterious
intimations, by which, it is said, we sometimes instinctively become
apprised of impending danger, when there is no apparent cause for
apprehension, and when reason utters no warning. If such instances ever
in reality occurred, this might be one of them; or the impression might
have been unconsciously received from actual sounds, which came from
foes now secretly lurking near, and which, as it is known often to be
the case, had fallen on her slumbering ear, and disturbed and troubled,
without fully awakening her. But whatever the cause of the strange
foreboding, the effect soon became too strong and exciting to permit her
longer to remain passive. And she arose to examine the apartment, and
see what precautions could be taken to render it more safe against the
intrusion of enemies, whether they should come in the shape of men or
wild beasts. On approaching the entrance, she discovered, standing by
the side of it against the wall a sort of rough door made of long cuts
of thick bark, confined by withes to two cross-pieces, and intended,
evidently, as there were no contrivances for hanging it, to be set up
against the entrance on the inside as a barrier against the cold, or
the unwelcome intrusion of any thing from without. But it had become so
water-soaked and heavy, and the end on which it stood so firmly set in
the ground, that she found, on making the attempt, her strength unequal
to the task of removing it. And she turned away to look for other
means of protecting herself from danger. Casting her eyes upward, she
perceived, lying loose on the beams, or rather poles, extending across
the room above, several long pieces of bark, which had been left there,
probably, when the roof, of the same material, was constructed. And it
immediately occurred to her, that, if she could mount this loft, she
might so dispose of herself there as to escape the observation of any
human intruders, and, at the same time, be out of reach of any wild
beasts that should enter the room below. Accordingly, going to one
corner, she began to mount by stepping on the projecting sides of the
logs in the two converging walls, and soon succeeded in reaching the
loft, and forming, from the bark, a piece of flooring sufficiently
strong and broad to bear her weight and screen her person from
observation. Upon this she extended herself, face downwards, with her
eyes placed to a small aperture, to enable her to see what might happen
in the room below, and silently, but with highly excited expectation,
awaited the event. But what event did she expect? She could not tell;
and yet she was wholly unable to divest herself of the continually
intruding idea that something fearful was about to occur; and impelled
by the singular apprehension, she could not help listening for sounds
which might herald the approaching evil. For some time, however, no
sounds reached her ears, except those low, mingled murmurs which are
peculiar to the forest in the stillness of night. But at length her
quickened organs were greeted by some noise which she knew was not a
fancied one; and the next moment the sound of human footsteps became
distinctly audible. Presently she heard voices at the door, and then saw
two dark forms cautiously entering the room below. After walking around
the apartment and thrusting the muzzles of their guns into corners,
with the apparent purpose of ascertaining whether any one was concealed
within, they approached the pile of boughs before described, and
gave vent to their satisfaction at finding so good a bed, in a short,
guttural _ugh!_ which proclaimed them, to the trembling listener above,
to be Indians, and of those, doubtless, who had been sent out in pursuit
of her. They then proceeded to draw up the old door and barricade the
entrance after which they set their guns against the wall, and camped
down on the bed in the corner.

It would be difficult to describe the sensations with which the hapless
girl witnessed what had occurred; and these, with the fear of what might
still be in store for her, nearly filled the measure of her distress
and perplexity; for although she had thus far escaped observation, and
although she soon had the satisfaction of knowing, by the heavy and
measured breathing which reached her ears, that her foes had sunk into
a deep sleep, yet how was she, even now, to avoid falling into their
merciless hands? Should she attempt to descend and escape through the
window, could she effect her purpose without being heard and detected?
She feared not. And should she remain in her present situation till
daylight, would her terrible visitors then awaken and depart without
discovering her? This alternative appeared to her even less promising
than the other. And yet one of the two courses must be adopted. Which
should it be? While anxiously reflecting on the subject, fresh noises
in the woods arrested her attention. These were also the sounds of
footsteps, but evidently not those of any human prowler. With a light,
quick pat, pat, pat, the animal came up to the door, paused, and snuffed
the air through the crevices. He then moved along to the window, reared
himself on his hind legs, thrust in his nose, and after giving two or
three quick, eager snuffs there also, withdrew, and trotted off, at a
moderate pace, a short distance into the forest, where he appeared to
come to a sudden halt. The next moment, the long, unearthly howl of a
wolf rose shrill and tremulous from the spot, and died slowly away,
in strange, wild cadences, among the echoing mountains around. Sabrey
instinctively shuddered at the fearful sound, but instantly turned her
attention to the sleeping Indians, whom she expected to hear rousing up
and rushing out with their guns after the insidious prowler. But they,
to her surprise, snored on, unconscious of the danger. The howl was
soon repeated, when short, faint responses, in the same shrill, savage
modulations, became audible in every direction in the surrounding
forest. These answering cries, growing more distinct and loud every
moment, in their evident approach to the spot where the first signal
howl was given, now fully apprised the agitated listener of the fearful
character of the scene which was likely soon to occur beneath or around
her. In an incredibly short space of time, the gathering troop of
famished monsters seemed to be arriving and arranging themselves under
their invoking leader to be led on to the promised prey. And soon the
trampling of multitudinous feet evinced that they were in motion and
cautiously advancing towards the house. The next moment, they all
appeared to have assembled under the window, and paused as if to plan
the mode of attack. After a brief interval, in which no sounds could
be distinguished but the low, suppressed snuffling of the troop for the
scented prey, a large wolf leaped up into the narrow aperture paused
a second and then quickly thrusting his balanced body forward, dropped
noiselessly down on the ground floor within. Another, and another, and
another, followed in rapid succession, till more than half a score
of the gaunt, grim monsters had landed inside, and silently arranged
themselves in a row before the bed of their intended victims, who still
strangely slept on. One more fearful pause succeeded, in which the
greedy band seemed to be eagerly eyeing the fated sleepers, and marking
out portions of their bodies for the deadly gripe; when suddenly
springing forward, they all fiercely pounced upon the victims, and,
with the seeming noise of a thousand wrangling fiends, mingled with the
sharp, short, half-stifled screeches of human agony, that were heard in
the hideous din, seized, throttled, and tore them, limb from limb, to
pieces, and bore off the dissevered parts, munching and snarling, to
different corners of the room. The noise now for a short time subsided,
and nothing was heard but the low, broken growls of the cannibal troop,
as they busily craunched the bones, and tore the flesh on which they
were raking their horrid feast. Then followed the fierce and noisy
encounters for the decreasing fragments, till none were left worth
contending for.

At this juncture, two of the half-glutted but still ravenous gang,
relinquishing the well-picked bones on which they had been laboring,
rose, and, advancing into the middle of the room, stood a moment
listlessly viewing the operations of the rest; when they suddenly
started, and, turning slowly round and round, began busily to snuff
the air, and throw their noses upward in search of some fresh game
that appeared now to have struck their keen olfactories. The affrighted
maiden, who had been witnessing this hideous scene from her hitherto
unsuspected concealment above, with blood curdling in horror at the
sights and sounds that reached her recoiling senses, now shuddered
in fresh alarm; for she but too well understood what this new
and fearfully-significant movement of the wolves portended. And,
instinctively withdrawing her face from her loop-hole of observation,
she hastily drew herself up in the middle of her frail support, so as to
be as far as possible out of the reach of her expected assailants. But
they at once detected the slight sounds occasioned by her movement, and,
now guided by two senses instead of one, instantly began to gnash their
teeth, and, with wild howls, to leap upward after their newly-discovered
prey. And although her position was more than seven feet from the
ground,--a height which, it might be supposed, could not have been
reached by this class of animals in a perpendicular leap,--yet so
desperate had the present gang become by the taste of human blood, that
they soon, in their determined and constantly-repeated efforts, began
to strike and seize the beams with their teeth, by which they would hang
suspended a moment, and then drop back again to the ground for another
trial. The terrified maiden now gave herself up as lost, and tried
to quell the tumult of her frenzied feelings, that she might meet her
approaching fate, as dreadful as it was, with calmness and resignation.
But the terrific noise of her maddened assailants, as they leaped up,
snapping, snarling, and howling, in demoniac chorus, and made nearer
and nearer approaches every moment to her person, once more aroused her
natural instinct for self-preservation; and she arose, and, standing
upon her feet, involuntarily bent over one end of her support to catch a
view of what was passing below.

In withdrawing her shrinking gaze from the fiercely upheaving heads
and fiery eyeballs which there greeted her, she espied the guns of the
Indians still standing against the wall, almost directly beneath her,
with the muzzles extending upward within the reach of her arm. With the
rapid process of thought which danger is known often to beget, a new
plan of deliverance, suggested by the discovery just made, was instantly
formed and digested in her mind. And in its pursuance, she drew a white
handkerchief from her pocket, and, hastily folding it together, threw it
down to the farthest corner of the room below. As she had anticipated,
the whole gang rushed after it. And instantly seizing the opportunity
thus afforded to execute her design, she hastily balanced herself on the
edge of the bark the most nearly over the guns, reached down her arm,
grasped one of the muzzles, and drew up the heavy weapon, just in time
to escape the baffled brutes as they came bounding back, with redoubled
howls of rage and disappointment, to the spot. Too much accustomed, in
the new settlement in which she had been mostly reared, to the sight and
even handling of fire-arms not to know how to use them, she cocked the
piece, and, again advancing to the edge of her platform, pointed down
into the thickest of the infuriated pack, and fired. One wild, piercing
yelp followed the deafening explosion, and, the next instant, all
the survivors of the hushed and frightened gang were heard scrambling
through the window, and scattering and fleeing off with desperate speed
into the surrounding forest. With the last sounds of the retreating
steps of the wolves, and with the relief which a returning sense of
safety brought to the over-wrought feelings of the maiden, all her
strength gave way, and, sinking down, weak and helpless as an infant,
she sobbed out, in the broken murmurs of an overflowing heart, her
gratitude to Heaven for her deliverance from the horrid death from which
she had so narrowly escaped. For a while she could only tremble and
weep; but at length the violence of her emotions began gradually to
subside, exhausted nature would be cheated no longer, and she sunk into
slumber, too sound, happily, to permit her to dream over the fearful
scenes of the past.

When she awoke, it was broad daylight, and all was quiet within, while
without the birds were chanting their morning melodies. At first she
could scarcely believe that the scene she had passed through was not
the distempered imaginings of some frightful dream. But there, on the
blood-stained floor beneath her, lay the carcass of a dead wolf, and the
scattered bones of the slain Indians, to attest the dreadful reality.
Hastening down from the loft into the room, and averting her eyes from
the revolting spectacle, she hurried forward with a shudder to the door,
effected an opening sufficient for her egress, and rushed out into
the open air, of which she now drew a long, grateful inhalation,
more expressive than words of the deep sense of inward pleasure she
experienced in being freed from this den of horrors.

Believing that, by the advantages daylight would now afford her, she
might be able to retrace her way to the road, she immediately sought out
and entered the old path by which she had approached the cabin; and this
serving to indicate the general course she must pursue to accomplish her
purpose, she followed it back to the end, and then passed on through the
forest in the same direction. She had proceeded but a short distance,
however, before she was startled by the unexpected appearance of a man
advancing through the thick intervening undergrowth directly towards
her. As she was about to strike out obliquely into the forest to avoid
him, her steps were arrested by his voice calling out to her.

“Don’t be alarmed at a friend, young lady,” he said, in a plausible
manner, as he came forward and stopped at a respectful distance--“don’t
be alarmed at my appearance at all; for you are the one, I take it, that
we are searching for. It is Miss Haviland, is it not?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the latter, looking doubtfully at the man whom she
thought she had somewhere before seen--“yes, that is my name; but as
there may be both friends and foes out in search of me, you will excuse
me for saying that I do not know to which of these you belong.”

“True, true,” said the other, in a wheedling tone--“true; I don’t blame
you for being a little cautious. So I must tell you that, living in
these parts, and being acquainted with Captain Woodburn, I volunteered,
when I heard you were lost last night, to go with the rest in search of
you. And being now so lucky as to find you, I will conduct you out to
Coffin’s--four or five miles from this, I suppose--where your friends
are anxiously waiting to see or get word of you.”

Although our heroine was not exactly pleased with the manner and
countenance of the man, yet the charm of the name of Woodburn, to whom
he had so artfully referred, restored her confidence, and she at once
and thankfully accepted of his proffered guidance, little suspecting
that she had yielded herself to the most subtle of her foes--the
deceitful and treacherous David Redding!



CHAPTER VIII.

  “Then marched the brave from rocky steep,
     From mountain river, swift and cold.
   The borders of the stormy deep,
   The vales where gathered waters sleep,
     Bent up the strong and bold.”--_Bryant_


The bold and decisive measures of the Council of Safety had by this
time begun to manifest themselves in results little anticipated by the
adherents of the royal cause in Vermont. The latter, emboldened both by
the presence of a powerful British army on their borders, and the doubts
and difficulties which, for a while, were known to have embarrassed and
rendered ineffectual the deliberations of their opponents, had become
so assured and confident of an easy conquest, that in some sections they
proceeded openly in the work of enlistment, and in others pushed forward
their parties into the very heart of the interior, before perceiving
their error; while, by their representations at headquarters, they
completely deceived Burgoyne and his advisers respecting the true state
of feeling that animated the bosoms of the great mass of the people--a
fact made abundantly evident, not only by the subsequent confessions of
that general, but by all his operations at the time, and especially that
of the short-sighted expedition, which we have before shown him to have
planned and set afoot, under Peters, to the Connecticut River. It was
no wonder, therefore, that when they now suddenly discovered the whole
state in motion--armed men springing up in every glen, nook, and corner
of the Green Mountains, and concentrating to join another no less
unexpected, and no less formidable force, which was understood to be
rapidly advancing from New Hampshire--it was no wonder they were taken
wholly by surprise, and slunk silently away to their retreats, or
immediately fled to the British army, whom they still neglected to
undeceive.

It was about one week subsequent to the events last recited; and the
interim had been marked with little, as far as immediately concerned
the action of our story, and those of its personages to whom we must now
return--with very little to which pen can do justice, except what
the reader’s imagination probably has already anticipated; for though
thrilling events may be described with a good degree of adequacy, there
are yet certain states of high wrought feeling that language can never
but feebly portray. The search for the lost maiden, on the eventful
night of her capture and escape, had been, as the reader will have
inferred, as vain and fruitless as it was agonizing to her lover, and
anxious to all. The renewal of the search next day, till afternoon,
had been no better rewarded. More force having then arrived, the tory
encampment was assailed, but found empty of occupants, who had, some
hours before, scattered and fled. Still unwilling to relinquish his
object, Woodburn, with a small party of his friends, continued his
efforts in wider ranges through the forest, which, on the third morning,
brought him to the cabin in which her most fearful trials had occurred;
when the dead wolf, the remnants of the slain Indians, not yet wholly
carried off by the foxes or returning wolves, the guns, the torn and
blood-stained earth, and, above all, the white shreds of some part of
female apparel, discolored and scattered round the room, told a tale,
that, in spite of the entreaties of his sympathizing friends, who deemed
the evidence not yet wholly conclusive, drove the appalled lover, in a
frenzy of grief and horror, from the dreadful scene.

It was about a week, as we have said, after that night of adventure and
excitement. Three companies of the newly-enlisted regiment of Rangers,
embracing all the recruits yet raised on the east side of the mountains,
were paraded in the road before Coffin’s tavern, while their officers
were standing listless on the grass in front, and occasionally throwing
inquiring glances along the road to the east, as if awaiting some
expected arrival from that quarter. At length Woodburn, on whose brow
rested an air of gloomy sternness, advanced, and calling his sergeant
and scoutmaster, Dunning, to his side, in a low tone, imparted to him
some private order or suggestion; when the latter, beckoning from the
ranks his and the reader’s old acquaintance, Bill Piper, who was also
a subaltern in the same company, the two laid aside their guns and
equipments, and proceeded leisurely down the road, the way in which the
attention of all seemed directed. After proceeding about a quarter of
a mile, they came to a turn in the road, which, now becoming invisible
from the tavern, led down a long hill, and entered an extended piece of
woods nearly another quarter of a mile distant.

“Well,” said Dunning, here pausing and casting his eyes forward to the
woods, “they der don’t seem to make their appearance yet. I ditter think
they must have halted there by the brook to drink and rest a little so
we will stop at this point, where we can see both ways; and when the
troops begin to show themselves, we’ll then give the signal.”

With this, they threw themselves down in the cool shade of a tree by the
way side, and, for a while, yielded themselves to that listless, dreamy
mood, which reclining in the shade, after exercise, on a warm day,
almost invariably induces.

“Dunning,” said Piper, at length rousing up a little, and drawing from
his pocket a well-filled leathern purse, which he carelessly chinked
against his upraised knee, by way of preliminary--“Dunning, it is a
mystery to me where all this stuff comes from. Six weeks ago, it was
thought there were scarcely a thousand hard dollars, except what was in
tory families, in all the _Grants_. Now, there must be well on to that
sum even in our own company, every recruit having been paid his bounty
and month’s advance pay, in silver or gold, on the spot. Where does it
come from?”

“From the sales of the der tory estates, of which they have been making
a clean sweep, you know,” replied the other.

“Yes, yes, we all know that, I suppose; but where do the purchasers of
these estates get the money to buy with?” rejoined the former.

“I never ditter catechized them about it,” said the hunter, evasively.

“Nor I,” remarked Piper; “but I have lately heard a curious story about
the matter. They say there has been a sort of homespun-looking old
fellow, that nobody seems to know, following the commissioners of sales
round, from place to place, with an old horse and cart, seemingly loaded
with wooden ware, or some such kind of gear, for peddling; and that he
has bid off a great part of all the farms, and stock on them, which have
been sold, paying down for them on the spot in hard money, which they
say he carries about with him tied up in old stockings, and hid away in
his load of trumpery. Some mistrust he is a Jew; and some are afraid he
is a British agent, not only buying up farms, but also the Council of
Safety, who are also strangely full of money these days.”

“That last would prove a rather ditter tough bargain for him and his
masters, I reckon,” responded the hunter, dryly.

“Yes, that is all nonsense, no doubt,” observed Piper. “But still it is
a mystery to my mind, how money, that a short time ago was so scarce,
should now all at once be so plenty; and that was the reason I raised
the question before you, who generally know pretty near what is going on
among our head men, and who, I thought likely, could easily explain this
secret.”

“No,” said the other; “no, Bill; there might be der trouble about that.
When a state secret falls into my ears, it is not so easy to get it out
of my mouth. I’ve got an impediment in my ditter speech, you know,” he
added, with a slight twinkle of the eye.

“Your mouth goes off well enough on some public matters, I find,”
 remarked Piper, with an air fluctuating between a miff and a laugh.

“Der yes, to say, for instance, that the decree to confiscate and
sell the tory estates was a ditter righteous one--has worked like a
charm--called out the rusty dollars from their hiding-places thick as
der bumblebees in June--ditter drove off the blue devils from among the
people, and raised a regiment of men in less than three weeks!”

“Ah! and a fine regiment, too, it will be. I long to see it all wrought
together, for I don’t know a tenth of them--men or officers--not even
our colonel.”

“Herrick? Well, I can’t der quite say I should know him now; but he is a
ditter go-ahead fellow, who loves the smell of gunpowder nearly as well
as Seth Warner himself, whose pupil he is in the trade. We shall have
the pleasure of seeing him in a few minutes, probably, as Coffin told me
he passed along here night before last, on the way to _Number Four_, to
come on with Stark. _That_ may be told without ditter mischief.”

“And so may another thing, perhaps, which I should like to know,
Dunning.”

“Der what is that, Bill?”

“Why, you know that Bart, the night after we discovered the place where
we supposed the girl was destroyed, disappeared, and has not been here
since. Where have they sent him, and what after?”

“Piper, you are as brave as a lion, and as strong as a horse, der
doubtless; but your tongue may ditter need training, for all that.
Still, as you mean right, and will probably learn to bridle that unruly
member only by practice, I will, for once, put you to the trial. Bart
has gone a spy to the British camp. Though Harry, in his despair, would
for a while believe nothing but that she was der dead, or worse, yet,
as I and others, putting all things together, hoped and reasoned ditter
different, in part, and thought she might not have been killed there,
but retaken; and, for fear of pursuit, hurried off directly to the
British, he concluded to despatch Bart to his friend Allen, of the
Council, to take advice, and then proceed in some disguise or other,
right into the lion’s den--ascertain whether the girl was there--and,
after ditter learning what he could about the enemy’s movements, return
with the news.”

“Well, I’ll be chunked if the project wan’t a bold one! But if any
creature on earth can carry it out, it is Bart; and he will, unless they
get word from this quarter that such a fellow is among them. Ah! I
now see the need of a close mouth on the subject, and will keep one,
thanking you kindly, Dunning, for your caution and confidence.”

“It will be all right, I presume, Bill, now you perceive Bart’s neck
may depend on your ditter discretion. But who have we there?” added the
speaker, pointing down the road towards the woods.

While Dunning and Piper were thus engrossed in conversation, two men, on
foot, had emerged from the woods and approached within a hundred yards,
before attracting the attention of the former. They were without coats,
or in their shirt sleeves, as, in common parlance, is the phrase for
such undress; and, having handkerchiefs tied round their heads, and
carrying in their hands rough sticks, picked up by the way-side, for
canes, they presented an appearance, as they leisurely came along up
the ascending road, with occasional glances back towards the woods,
that left Dunning and his companion wholly in doubt, while attempting to
decide who or what they were.

“Now, who knows,” said the wary hunter, “but they may be der tory spies,
hanging round the skirts of Stark’s army, and intending soon to be off
cross-lots to the British, to report his progress. I’ll ditter banter
them a little, at all hazards, before we let ‘em pass.”

But as the strangers drew near, their appearance grew less and less like
that of the ordinary footpads for whom they had been taken; and there
was something in their bearing which considerably shook, though it
did not wholly alter, the hunter’s intention to banter them. One was
a strongly-built, broad-chested man, with a high head, hardy brown
features, and a countenance betokening much cool energy and decision
of character. The other was rather less stocky, and slightly taller, of
quicker motions, but withal a prompt, resolute-looking person.

“Well, my friends,” said the former, coming up and pausing before the
expectant Rangers, with an air that seemed to challenge conversation,
“this is Coffin’s tavern here ahead, I suppose. Will the captain be
pleased, think ye, to see a little company about this time?”

“Der yes,” replied Dunning, eyeing the speaker with a curious, half
doubtful and half quizzing expression. “Yes, if of the right sort,
he wont ditter cry, I reckon. But the captain is sometimes rather
particular--for instance, if you should happen to be tories----”

“Tories!--do we look like tories?” demanded the former glancing to his
companion with a droll, surprised look.

“Why der no,” replied the hunter, a little abashed, “I ditter think
not.”

“Well, I had hoped not,” rejoined the man. “But who are you, my
friend--one of the Green Mountain Boys, that we hear so much about?”

“Not far from the mark, sergeant, or commissary, or whatever is your
ditter title; for you belong to the army that’s at hand, I take it?”
 said Dunning.

“O, yes,” briskly returned the other, again looking at his companion,
and joining him in a merry laugh. “Yes, I am one of them, and mean to
have a hand in stirring up Burgoyne, when we reach him, I assure you.”

“That’s right, commissary!” exclaimed Dunning. “You are a der chap of
some pluck, I’ll warrant it. I begin to ditter like you. What shall I
call your name, friend?”

“My name is John Stark, if you will allow,” replied the stranger, with
an amused look.

“John Stark? Why, that’s your der general’s name!” said the hunter,
incredulously. “Come, come, friend, you are ditter gumming me. I have
seen John Stark--Captain Stark, that was then--now general--the same
that was bought back by our folks for a white pony--ditter dog cheap,
too, as the British will find, before he is der done with them, or
I mistake the amount of fight that’s in the critter, amazingly.”
 [Footnote: When General Stark was exposed for sale in Montreal, by the
Indians, by whom he had been captured in the French war, and some of his
countrymen were trying in vain to make his savage master set a price on
him, an English gentleman happened to ride by on a handsome white pony,
which so greatly struck the Indian’s fancy, that, pointing after the
coveted animal, he exclaimed, “Ah! ugh! me take that you get him.”
 Whereupon the gentleman was followed, the pony purchased, and, with it,
the captive Stark redeemed.]

“Thank you, sir!” heartily exclaimed the former, now evidently as much
gratified as amused at what he heard. “In behalf of that same John
Stark, I thank you, sir, for your good opinion of him. But where, my
good fellow,” he continued, with at look of lively interest, “where did
you ever fall in with Captain Stark?”

“Why, in the old war, when he der marched through here with Colonel
Hawk, I ditter acted as the colonel’s guide over the mountains to Otter
Creek. Stark, as I’ve said, was one of the captains, though I wasn’t
much with him, to be sure,” replied the hunter, becoming more doubtful
and puzzled every moment, at the turn matters were taking.

“Ah! yes, yes,--our hunter guide on that rough march! I remember now.
Well, well, the fault is not wholly on one side after all!” said the
other, musingly.

“Der--der--ditter how? der--ditter--” began Dunning opening his eyes
with an uneasy stare.

“This is General Stark, my boys,” here quickly interposed the other
gentleman. “I see by your badges that you belong to the Rangers. I am
your colonel, Herrick, and this the general himself, who, by way of
relief from a long ride in the saddle, threw off his uniform, like
myself, down in the woods yonder, and walked on, while the troops were
halting to refresh a moment, and recover from the effects of their
march in this scalding heat, before they made their appearance at your
rendezvous. They will now be on the move shortly.”

“Der--der--ditter--” cried the confused hunter, rising hurriedly to his
feet, and lifting his cap, in a tremor of respectful deprecation, before
the general, while his tongue began to trip and fly in the vain attempt
to get out an apology--“der--der--ditter--ditter--ditter--”

“Never mind, my brave fellow!” exclaimed Stark, with a hearty slap on
the other’s shoulder; “never mind a mistake so naturally growing out
of our unmilitary guise. No offence, even had your remarks been less
pleasant. But you, sir!--why, you have paid me the greatest compliment I
ever had in my life!”

“No--no offence whatever to either of us,” added Herrick. “But yonder
come the columns of our friends and helpers from New Hampshire. If
you are here to give notice of their approach, as I suppose, make
the signal, and back to your post. And here, general,” he continued,
pointing to two fine-looking and gayly caparisoned horses, now led up by
waiters, with the coats, swords, sashes, and great military cocked hats
of the denuded officers swinging on their arms--“here, general, come our
horses and uniforms. Let us rig up before a worse mistake shall befall
us.”

With a curious mixture of chagrin and gratification at what had just
occurred, the two Rangers now made the appointed signal, and hurried
back to join their companions in arms at the tavern. And in a few
minutes, the fine little brigade of the hardy and resolute New Hampshire
Boys, headed by their intrepid leader, now equipped in imposing
regimentals, and mounted on his curvetting charger, came pouring along
the plain in all the pomp of martial array, and were received by the
customary military salutes, and the reiterated cheers of their congenial
welcomers of the Green Mountains.

The hour that succeeded was a bustling and a joyous one. The greetings,
the introductions, the mutual compliments for deeds done at Ticonderoga
and Bunker Hill, and the merry jokes given and taken, as the mingling
forces partook of the good cheer prepared for the whole at the expense
of the public or patriotic individuals, together with the strong
community of feeling that agitated their bosoms in view of a common
object to be accomplished, and common dangers to be encountered,--all
combined to render the scene one of no ordinary interest and animation.
At length, the drums of the different companies began to beat to
arms, and the soldiers were seen gathering at their respective stands,
preparatory to the march of the combined forces across the mountains.

At this juncture, a single horseman came galloping along the road from
the west; and, the next moment, Ira Allen, the active and untiring
secretary of the Council of Safety, with a countenance betokening good
or exciting news, rode up to the door, and, throwing himself from the
saddle, turned to receive the greetings of his acquaintances gathering
round him. With a significant look and gesture to Woodburn to follow,
he led the way to an unoccupied room, at length found in the crowded
tavern.

“What news do you bring, Mr. Allen?” said Woodburn, with an effort at
calmness, as soon as the two were by themselves.

“That which will scatter the blackest part of that cloud on your brow,
I trust, my dear fellow,” replied Allen, with an animated and exulting
air. “Here, look at this!” he added, pulling out and presenting a small
and closely-folded letter.

With trembling eagerness, Woodburn seized the missive, and, with
a glance at the well-known hand of the superscription, “To Captain
Woodburn, or Mr. Allen, of the Council,” opened it, and read as
follows:--

“I am at the British head-quarters--not exactly a prisoner but evidently
a closely-watched personage, having reached here with my captors, after
a forced and fatiguing journey, which however, was not made unpleasant
by any disrespectful treatment. Although the party, to whom I became a
prisoner, have been frightened back or recalled, and the expedition,
of which they were the advance, given up, yet I think it my duty to
say that another, and much more formidable one, is in agitation against
Bennington. I hope our people will be prepared for it, and show these
haughty Britons that they do not deserve the name of the undisciplined
rabble of poltroons and cowards by which I here daily hear them branded.
S. H.”

We will not attempt to describe the emotions of Woodburn on the
occasion. But the letter disclosed that which involved more momentous
interests than those merely that concerned the individual feelings of
a lover. And it was soon concluded to lay it before General Stark, who,
with Colonel Herrick, was then called in, the letter shown, and all
the attending circumstances, past and present, so far as concerned the
public to know, fully explained.

Mean while the troops were drawn up, in marching order, before the
tavern, and stood wondering why their general did not appear, or, at
least, give order for the column to move onward.

At length, however, the long expected leader, attended by those with
whom he had been in consultation, made his appearance at the door,
and ordered the horses of those who were to travel mounted to be led
forward.

“There’s something more than common on John Stark’s mind,” whispered a
tall New Hampshire Boy, to his fellow in the ranks. “See how his eyes
snap! I am an old neighbor of his, you know, and can read him like a
book. I shouldn’t be surprised if we heard from him soon; for he an’t
one of those that like to keep chawing on a thing that makes him feel,
but wants to out with it, and always will, unless he has good reason for
a close mouth. Yes, I’ll bet a goose we hear from him before we start.”

The speaker had conjectured rightly. Stark was heard to say to Allen,--

“Mount and ride along against the centre there, sir, where you can best
be heard. We must have it; for, besides preparing their minds for what
they probably must soon meet, it will make a battle cry for your boys
and mine as potent, for aught we can tell, as was the name of Joan of
Arc among the Frenchmen.”

The officers, with Allen, then sprung into their saddles; and as the
latter reached his allotted post, and faced round to the lines, the
general commanded attention, and added,--

“My men, let me introduce you to Mr. Allen, the patriotic secretary of
the Vermont Council of Safety, and say that I hold myself voucher for
the truth of what he shall tell you. Listen to his communication.”

The secretary, now bowing respectfully to the attentive and already
prepossessed ranks before him, began by saying that among the recreant
few of any note in the Green Mountains, who had basely deserted their
country and joined the enemy, there was one who had a daughter of
whom he was wholly unworthy. The speaker then proceeded to relate Miss
Haviland’s noble stand for the American cause, from which she was not
to be allured or driven by all the inducements and menaces held out by a
tory father and lover, both of whom had received royal commissions--her
absolute refusal to go with them, on their late departure for the
British army, and her more recent capture and abduction, while on her
way to her friends, by the probable instigation of the rejected lover,
and with the connivance, perhaps, of the father; all of which was
concluded by reading the letter just received, it was added, by a trusty
messenger, who had gone in disguise to the enemy’s camp to receive it,
and who had now returned to keep open the important communication.

“Men of New Hampshire!” now cried Stark, in a loud, animated voice, as
with flashing eyes he glanced over the throng of upturned and excited
faces before him, “is it any wonder the Green Mountain Boys are so
gallant and brave in fighting for their wives and sweethearts, when such
is a specimen? Will you join them in defence of their homes and country,
and help fulfil this matchless girl’s expectations when we meet that
taunting foe at Bennington, as by God’s favor we will? If so, then let
it now be told in three cheers for _the good cause_, and as many more as
you please for _The Tory’s Daughter!_”

The next instant, as the bidden drummers brought their sticks to the
bounding parchment of their instruments with blows that seemingly would
have thrown their arms from their shoulders, a thousand men were seen
leaping wildly into the air, and giving their patriotic response in
a round of cheers that rent the ringing heavens above, and shook the
startled wilderness for miles around them.

“Order in the ranks!” at length broke in the deep, stern voice of the
general, as the last cheer was dying away. “Prepare to march! March!”

And the excited troops could scarcely be kept in their places as, with
the stirring strains of lively fife and rattling drum, they went rushing
and pouring along on their way to the seat of war.



CHAPTER IX.

  “In dreams the haughty Briton bore
   The trophies of a conqueror.”


The scene of our story changes to the vicinity of the Hudson, to which
the eyes of millions were now turned as the theatre of approaching
events, on which hung, perhaps, the great issue of the American
revolution. Although both parties seemed to look upon the matter at
stake as one of immense magnitude, yet far different were the views
and feelings which, at this time, pervaded the two opposing armies.
The British, flushed by their successes, and confident in that strength
before which every opposing obstacle had thus far given way, were
looking down with little other than absolute contempt on the American
forces in their front, believing them wholly incapable, either from
numbers or courage, of opposing any serious resistance to their march,
when they chose to move forward. And here thus lay their proud and
infatuated chief for weeks, dreaming of coronets, frittering away the
time in feasting with his officers, and indulging himself and them in
all the follies which characterized their gay and licentious camp. On
the other hand, the Americans, deeply sensible of the consequence of
suffering their enemies to effect their contemplated junction at Albany,
were vigilant, active, and determined. Though firmly resolved to dispute
the way of the invader to the death when they must, they yet preferred,
for a while, the policy of embarrassing and impeding him, rather than
openly exposing themselves to his attacks. Whole brigades were therefore
employed in the work of destroying the bridges, blocking up the roads
with fallen trees, and putting every possible obstruction in the way of
his advance, so that his delay, where he now lay at Fort Ann, might be
protracted till a sufficient force could be gathered to meet him with a
more reasonable hope of success.

And every hour that hope waxed stronger and stronger. Every day brought
fresh accessions of strength to their self-devoted bands, and every gale
wafted to their gladdened ears the sounds of the warlike preparations of
an aroused and indignant people gathering from afar to the rescue; and
they began to breathe more freely while they thought, as with trembling
solicitude they still did, of the fearful meeting that must now soon
follow.

At the time which we have selected for opening the scene that forms the
next connecting link in the chain of our tale although the road had been
at length opened, and a few detachments thrown forward to the Hudson,
the main part of the British army still lay at Fort Ann; where their
long lines of tents, marked, at intervals, by the colors of the
different regiments flying from their slender flagstaffs, were now seen
stretching, a city of canvas, over the plain. A little apart from this
imposing array stood a small number of dwelling-houses of different
sizes, irregularly scattered along on both sides of the road towards
the south, over the largest of which floated the broad British flag,
proclaiming it the head-quarters of the commander-in-chief. The next,
in size and commodiousness, among these various structures,--all now
occupied by the general officers and other favored personages of the
army,--was a large, low farmhouse, which the intermingling devices of
the British and Hanoverian flags, conspicuously displayed from the roof,
denoted to be the quarters of General Reidesel, suite, and well-known
family. This last building seemed now to be the principal point of
attraction. Gayly dressed officers and ladies were seen entering the
doors, or standing inside at the open windows; while the sounds of the
familiar greetings, lively sallies, and merry laughter of the assembled
and assembling company, sufficiently indicated the convivial character
of the scene about to be enacted within. Let us enter. Around a long
and richly-furnished table, in the principal apartment, were just seated
those who deemed themselves the _elite_ of that boastful army. Its
notorious chief, the weak and wise, vain-glorious and energetic
Burgoyne, occupied the post of honor, at the head, and the fair hostess,
the amiable, learned, and vivacious Countess of Reidesel, the foot of
the table: while, at the sides, were ranged, according to the prevailing
notions of precedence, the variously-ranked individuals composing the
rest of the company, among whom, with other officers of less note,
were Generals Reidesel and Frazier, Major Ackland and his devoted wife,
together with several Americans, including the elated Esquire Haviland
and his beautiful daughter. The latter who, sorely against her
inclinations, had been prevailed on, or rather constrained, by her
father to attend him to the entertainment, was seated by the side of
Lady Ackland, to whom she seemed shrinkingly to cling as a sort of
shield against the fierce glances she was compelled to encounter from
the eyes of those whom it was there counted treason to repulse.

The feast proceeded. With the constant bandying of compliment, joke, and
repartee, among the merry and self-satisfied lordlings who assumed
the right of engrossing the conversation, course after course came and
passed in rapid succession, till a sufficient variety of viands and
other substantial esculents had been served to warrant the introduction
of the lighter delicacies of the dessert. But still there seemed to be
a saving of appetite, a looking for some expected dish that had not
yet made its appearance, on the part of several of the guests, and
especially on that of the pompous votary of Mars, who had been installed
master of the ceremonies, and who at length ventured to say,--

“I had looked, my lady hostess, to have seen, ere this, among your many
other delectables, the fulfilment of your ladyship’s promise gracing
the table, in the shape of the blackbird pie, wherewith we were to be
regaled, at your entertainment, if your polite note of invitation was
rightly read and interpreted.”

“O, the blackbird pie!” replied the countess, with a sprightly air and
a charming touch of the German brogue. “I was waiting to be reminded
of that; for there is a condition, which I wish to propose to your
excellency, before the promised extra can make its appearance.”

“Ah! What is that, my incomparable cateress?” asked the former.

“Why, only that you carve and serve the pie to the company yourself, mon
general,” archly replied the countess.

“A challenge to your chivalry, general, which no true knight can refuse
to accept,” cried Frazier and others.

“I yield me, and accede to the condition,” said Burgoyne, gracefully
waving his jewelled hand, and joining in the general laugh.

“It is well,” said the countess, with a finely-assumed air of mock
gravity, as she raised her exquisite little table bell, which now, under
her rapidly-plied fingers, sent its sharp jingle through the house.

The next moment, a liveried servant, whose countenance seemed slyly
gleaming with some suppressed merriment, was seen advancing with a
broad, deep dish, tastefully crowned by the swelling crust of snow-white
pastry, which tightly enclosed the supposed contents beneath.

At a motion of the indicating finger of the hostess, the tempting
dish was brought forward, and carefully placed on the table before the
many-titled carver, amid a shower of compliments to the distinguished
artificer of so fine an edible structure, from him and many others
of the admiring company. The general now rose, and, intent only on
a dexterous performance of the duties of his new vocation, gave a
preliminary flourish of knife and fork, and dashed into the middle of
the pie; when lo! through the rent thus made in the imprisoning crust,
out flew half a score of live blackbirds, which, fluttering up and
scattering over the dodging heads of the astonished guests, made for
the open windows, and escaped, with loud chirping cries, to their native
meadows! At first, a slight exclamation from the gentlemen, a half
shriek from the ladies, then a momentary pause, and then one universal
burst of uproarious laughter, followed this strange _denouement_ of the
little plot of the playful countess. She, it appeared, had engaged a
fowler to bring her a couple of dozens of blackbirds, which, by a net,
he had taken, and brought to her alive; when, keeping part as they
were, she contrived up the scheme to amuse and surprise her guests here
described, and, slaying the rest, made of them a veritable pie, that was
now brought forward, and partaken, with great gusto, by the delighted
company.

At length the cloth was removed, and the table replenished with bottles
and glasses. Then followed the usual round of toasts--“the health of the
king,”--“the invincibility of British arms,”--“success to the present
expedition,”--and, with many a deriding epithet, “confusion to the
rebels and their ragged army.”

“Fill, gentlemen,” said Burgoyne, after the subjects above named had
been sufficiently exhausted--“fill up your glasses once more; for, in
descanting on the public responsibilities and glory of the soldier, let
us not be unmindful of those private felicities which are to reward
his prowess. I give you,” he added, with a significant glance at our
heroine--“I give you, ladies and gentlemen, the health and happiness of
our two loyal American officers, Colonel Peters and Captain Jones, the
prospective bridegrooms of the double wedding of to-morrow, extremely
regretting that _both_ of the fair participants of the happy occasion,
instead of one, are not here to give the beautiful response of their
blushes to the sentiment.”

As the lively applause with which this toast was received and drank
was subsiding, the ladies, to the great relief of the astonished and
confused Miss Haviland, now rose and retired to another apartment. Here,
pleading some excuse for an immediate departure, Sabrey hurried out
through a back way, and escaped unperceived to her father’s quarters, a
small adjoining cottage, where she had lodged since his arrival in camp,
and where she now secluded herself, to endeavour to fathom the plot
which the unexpected and unwarranted announcement just indirectly made,
together with some other circumstances of recent occurrence, plainly
told was in progress to in snare her.

But it may here be necessary, for a clear understanding of some things
which have preceded, and others which may follow, to revert briefly
to the experience of the luckless maiden since placed in her present
uncongenial and embarrassing position.

When Miss Haviland, on the termination of her compulsory journey,
arrived at the outposts of the British army, she was conducted, by the
order of some one evidently apprised of her coming immediately to her
father’s quarters. The old gentleman, at the somewhat awkward meeting
that now took place between them, seemed both surprised and gratified
at seeing her there; and though his manner betrayed a sort of guilty
embarrassment arising, perhaps, from the consciousness of his former
harshness to her, he yet at once, and pointedly, disclaimed having had
any agency in her abduction, which he laid to the chances of war; to
which, he contended, her perverse and unadvised conduct had been the
means of exposing her. Peters, also, who soon made his appearance,
joined in the disclaimer; and tendering some empty apologies for what
had happened, which, he said, grew out of the mistake of a subordinate
officer in construing an order in relation to taking hostages from the
enemy, in certain cases, offered to convey her back, if she chose it, as
soon as found consistent with her safety. The offer, however, was never
repeated; and his own conduct very soon belied his assertions, and
convinced her of the truth of her suspicions from the first, that he
was the sole instigator of the outrage she had received, and that it was
still his purpose to detain her and keep her in a position which would
enable him the more effectually to prosecute his designs; for although
in the few formal calls he continued to make at the house, he never
pressed his suit, but seemed rather to avoid the subject, as if
determined to afford her no opportunity to repeat her former refusals,
she yet quickly perceived that he was busy at his intrigues to bring
about, by the agency of others and by secret management, what
by himself, or by any open and honorable means, he despaired of
accomplishing. All this, from day to day, unfolded itself in the renewed
importunities and reproaches of her father, the added entreaties of
Jones, the lover of Miss McRea, then soon expected in the British camp
to be married, in the reports which had been put in circulation to place
her in a false light,--that of a perverse and coquettish girl,--in the
efforts made to force her into social parties, where the opinions of
all were obviously forestalled, and especially in the contrived
introductions she was compelled to undergo to those who had evidently
been enlisted as intercessors, among whom were some whose ambiguous
conduct often greatly annoyed, and, at times, even filled her bosom with
perplexity and alarm.

Such was the position of the unhappy girl at the time of her reluctant
attendance as one of the guests of the merry party we have described.
Although annoyed, sickened, and disgusted at what she had daily
witnessed, and vexed and indignant at the contemptible artifices and
intrigues of Peters, which, however intended, were beginning to be the
means of exposing her to new trials, yet, till what took place at that
party, she had entertained no serious apprehension that any attempt
would be made to coerce her into a marriage which she had so decidedly
repudiated.

But the announcement which had just been so strangely made coming as
it did from so powerful a personage, and one, at the same time, whose
equivocal behavior, when she had casually met him, had excited her
deepest aversion, now gave her to understand that such an attempt was
indeed about to be made by the assumed arbiters of her fate, and that
her resistance to the contemplated scheme, should she be able to make
one against the overawing influence that was about to be brought to bear
upon her, and even her acquiescence, she feared, was to be followed
by persecutions, from the thought of which she shrunk with dismay. She
might have taken that announcement, perhaps, as a mere ruse, as in
part it really was, got up to place her in a predicament in which most
females would yield rather than become the principal actor in the scene
that would follow further resistance; or she might have viewed the whole
as a contemptible fabrication, but for a circumstance of that morning’s
occurrence. Captain Jones had called and apprised her that he was about
sending an escort to Fort Edward for his betrothed, informed her that
the next morning was appointed for his wedding, and concluded by making
his last appeal to induce her to consent to be united to Peters at the
same time.

And it was this occurrence, in connection with the former, that had so
thoroughly alarmed her.

While pondering on the means and chances of escaping the threatened
destiny, she perceived from her window that the company at Reidesel’s
had broken up, and were scattering to their respective quarters. And
presently her father entered her room, and after announcing that he had
been honored by the commander-in-chief with a mission to Skenesboro’,
from which he should not be able to return till late at night, presented
her a sealed billet, and immediately departed. With a trembling hand she
opened the suspected missive and read,--

“Miss Haviland will pardon the mistake involved in the sentiment
delivered at Lady Reidesel’s table. Its author, however, cannot but
think that the full arrangement which he had supposed to have been
already settled may still be effected in season. And he therefore
proposes, if Miss H. will permit, a call for friendly intercession, at
twilight this evening.”

With a flushed and flashing countenance the offended maiden instantly
sprang to her feet, and paced the room several minutes in silent
agitation. Her naturally mild spirit was at length evidently aroused
for some decided action; and the manner in which it was to be commenced
appeared soon to be determined in her mind.

“Ay, and the step, as bold as it may be, shall first be taken,” she
said, as, preparing to leave the house, her burning thoughts began to
press for utterance. “Ay, if it will not avail me, in bringing aid to
escape from this den of iniquity, or protection to remain, it shall, at
least, serve as a proclamation of villany, which shall yet be heard in
every house and hamlet of the American people!”

The next moment she was in the street; and, with hurried step making
her way to General Reidesel’s quarters. Instantly seeking a private
interview with the readily assenting countess, she frankly and without
reserve told the whole story of her wrongs, and implored assistance
in escaping the toils that had been spread for her, or, at least, the
protecting shield of an influence which should enable her to withstand
them. And the effect of her forceful recital soon showed her that she
had not over-estimated the discernment and magnanimity of the noble lady
she was addressing.

“Well, that is right, my bonny rebel, as they call you!” said the
countess, encouragingly. “And it is the spirit in a woman which I like,
and which I will have no hand in repressing. Yes, I see clearly, now,
what I half suspected before--the man who had you brought here, where he
could more surely noose you, is repugnant even to the misery; and some
of those he has been fool enough to enlist as intercessors, are still
more dreaded. Ah! wicked, wicked Briton! But, do you know, he is king
here and that it is treason to talk, and worse treason to try to thwart
him?”

“I have greatly feared so, my lady.”

“What, then, do you propose to do, wherein I could befriend you?”

“Leave the army before night.”

“Have you a carriage at command, and a protector?”

“I have, strictly speaking, neither, madam.”

“Then how can you go?”

“On foot, and alone, unless I chance to engage one to attend me in the
character of a servant.”

“You are a brave one, my young lady. But they will be likely to detain
you at the outposts.”

“I had supposed so, and therefore came here with the hope that, after
you had heard my story, you might be moved to prevail on your husband to
give me a pass.”

“O girl, girl! No, no, he would not dare to do it, after finding out
the cause, which he must first know,” exclaimed the lady, in a tone of
kindly remonstrance. “He would dare do no such thing. But _I_ would,
in such a case; indeed I would! And, stay, let me see!” she continued,
rising and opening the general’s desk. “Here are several passes which he
keeps for occasions of hurry, all signed off and ready, except inserting
the name of the bearer. O, what shall I do? I am tempted to write your
name in one, and trust to your honor and shrewdness to shield me, in
case of your failure, from exposure and blame.”

“Will your hand-writing be acknowledged, madam?”

“O, yes, I don’t hesitate on that account; for I often fill up the
general’s passes under his direction.”

“O, then, dear madam, as I know you would do by a daughter, do by
me--trust to my discretion, and hesitate no longer.”

The good-hearted countess soon yielded, and our heroine, with tears of
gratitude, mutely imprinted a farewell kiss on her cheek, and departed
with the coveted pass in her pocket.

When Miss Haviland reached her chamber, she seated herself by an open,
but partially curtained window, where, unseen her self, she could easily
note what was passing in the street below, to which her attention seemed
somewhat anxiously directed. She had been but a few minutes at her post
of observation, before she was apprised, by the hooting of boys, and the
gibes and laughter of the idling soldiers, with whom the street, at
this hour, was commonly thronged, that some unusual spectacle was
approaching. And peering forward through the folds of the curtains, she
beheld, amidst a slowly-advancing crowd, a meanly clad, simple looking
country youth wearing a ragged broad-brim, and mounted on an unsightly,
donkey-like beast, whose long tail and mane were stuck full of briers,
and whose hair, lying in every direction, seemed besmeared with mange
and dirt; all combining to give both horse and rider a most ungainly and
poverty-struck appearance. The fellow was trying to peddle apples, which
he carried in an old pair of panniers swung across his pony’s back and
which seemed to be bought mostly by the boys, who with them were pelting
him and his cringing pony, to the great mirth of the bystanders. While
the crowd, and the object of their attention, were thus engaged, at a
little distance, an officer, who was passing, paused near the house,
and, calling a couple of soldiers to his side, said to them,--

“Keep your eyes on that fellow with the scurvy pony yonder, and if you
notice any thing suspicious in his movements, arrest him. It appears to
me I have seen him in almost too many places to-day.”

An expression of concern passed over Sabrey’s countenance, as she heard
these words, and she gave an involuntary glance to the object thus
pointed out, who, as she thought from his appearance, had also heard
the order himself, or at least guessed its import. But instead of making
off, as she expected, he spurred up his pony, and, coming directly up to
the officer, asked him, with an air of confiding simplicity, to buy some
of his apples, which he said were “eny most ripe, and grand for pies.”

“Who are you, fellow?” said the officer, without heeding the other’s
request.

“Who I be? I am Jo Wilkins. But aint you going to buy some of the
apples?” persisted the former.

“Blast your apples!” impatiently replied the officer; “that is not what
I want of you. Where do you live?”

“Up in the edge of Arlington, when I’m tu hum--next house to uncle
Jake’s great burnt piece there, you know,” answered the other; “but
these ap----”

“Whom are you for? King or Congress?” interrupted the officer.

“Who be Congus? I don’t know him,” said the former, with a doubtful
stare.

“Well, then, whom do you fight for?” resumed the somewhat mollified
officer.

“Don’t fight for nobody tu our house,--cause dad’s a Quaker--but then if
you’d buy--”

“Yes, yes; but you must tell me honestly, what you came here for to-day,
and who sent you, my lad?”

“Why, dad sent me to sell the apples, ‘cause he wants the money to buy
some rye with. But I’ve been all round, and aint sell’d half, they kept
bothering me so. And now its time to go hum, and nobody won’t buy ‘em!”
 said the speaker, with a doleful tone, and evident signs of snivelling.

“Well, well, my honest lad,” responded the commiserating and now
satisfied officer; don’t mind it--nobody wants to harm you. There is
half a crown to pay you for my part of the bothering.

“Why, you going to buy ‘em all?” eagerly asked the other, as, with a
grin of delight, he clutched the precious metal.

“No, no,” said the former, kindly. “I don’t wish for any of your
apples--they are too green, though they may do for cooking. You would be
most likely to sell them in some of these houses.”

“Well, now, I vown! I never thought of that! jest’s likely’s not I
mought, you!” exclaimed the fellow, brightening up. “Good mind to go
right straight into this ere house and try it--will, by golly!” he
added, leaping nimbly from his pony, swinging his panniers on his arm,
and hurrying off round for the back door.

“Don’t molest the poor simpleton any more, but disperse to your
quarters,” said the officer, now waving his ratan to the scattering
crowd, and resuming his walk up the street.

Waiting no longer than to hear this order, and see that it was about to
be obeyed by the crowd, Sabrey hurried down to the kitchen, where she
encountered the object of her solicitude standing within the door,
holding up the half crown between the fingers of one hand, and snapping
those of the other, with a look that needed no interpreting.

“Your disguise, Bart,” said the maiden, looking at the other with a
smile--“your disguise is so perfect, or rather, the new character, in
which you this time appear, has been so well acted, that had it not been
the afternoon you set for your third appearance, I should have never
known you. I think you make a better Quaker boy than you did a crazy man
last time, or buffoon and tumbler the first one. But what have you been
able to gather, to-day?”

“Pretty much all that’s afoot, guess. The movement on Bennington is
begun. Peters’s corps of tories and Indians have gone on to Cambridge;
and he, who is off to the lake, to-day, to consult with Skene and others
about the expedition, is to follow some time to-morrow, as is the German
regiment picked out to the service. Got at it all, think?”

“Nearly. It is the plan, however, I understand, that when the stores
are secured at Bennington, the troops are to proceed to Manchester, make
prisoners of all the Council of Safety, and others of the principal men
whom they can find, and return through Arlington.”

“They’ve got to get there, first, guess, and then catch ‘em afterwards.
But have you fixed out a letter about that and other things, ready for
me to take? I’m aching to be off with the news.”

“No, Bart. I have just discovered plots to entrap me that have made me
resolve to die before I will remain here any longer. My old persecutor,
and others a thousand times more powerful, are in league against me.”

“The girl that killed the wolf would stand the racket against big bugs
and all, rather guess, if she tried it. Don’t know, though, being about
woman matters so.”

“Ay, sir, to a woman there are human monsters more terrible than all the
wolves of the forest. And I am determined on at tempting to escape from
this place without another hour’s delay with you, if you will permit.”

“Yes, glad to go into it; and by Captain Harry’s request, I was a going
to propose the same thing myself, even without your new reasons.
But this getting you off before dark, which you name, may be rather
ticklish, miss. How did you think to manage it?”

“Look at this, sir!” said Sabrey, exhibiting her permit by way of reply.
“Signed by a man whose authority, I think, will not be questioned, and
allowing me, with my servant, to pass through the lines to my friends in
the country. I engage you to act as that servant, Bart.”

“I vags, now if that aint lucky!” exclaimed the former, with glistening
eyes. “Yes, lucky enough, whether it come by ploughing with heifers or
steers. But let’s see a bit, though. How will my turning servant to a
lady, all at once, tally with the stories I’ve been telling,--that is,
till we get beyond all who heard ‘em? Don’t know about that. But look
here, miss!” he added, beckoning the other to the window. “Do you see
that tall old pine, standing alone, nearly in a line with the road, a
mile or so off there, at the south?”

“Yes, very clearly.”

“Well, that tree, which is beyond, and out of sight of the last pickets,
stands near a house where a widow woman lives, who washes fine clothes
for some of the officers, but wants to keep in with all sides, and so
asks no questions and tells no stories. My saddle and fixings are
hard by there, in the bushes. Now, suppose I go on there alone, and be
scrubbing up Lightfoot, and feeding her with these apples, to pay her
for playing Quaker so well. Can you get on to that place by the help of
the pass, and tell straight stories, if questioned, about your servant
being at the wash-woman’s, fixing things?”

“If you think it wisest, as it may be, I will try, and be there within
an hour, if not detained. If I am, do not desert me, Bart, but return to
this kitchen at dusk.”

“Agreed! But you’ll go it without the ifs, I reckon,” said Bart,
swinging his panniers to his shoulder, and departing with full
confidence in his ability to effect an escape perilous to them both,
but made much more so to him by the new charge to had so cheerfully
undertaken.



CHAPTER X.

  “But a gloom fell o’er their way,
   A fearful wall went ey’”


Fortunately for Miss Haviland, all those who had been enlisted to act
as spies upon her movements happened, that afternoon, to be absent, or
busily engaged in a quarter of the encampment from which all view of her
proposed path of escape was intercepted by intervening buildings. Much
to her relief, therefore, on setting out on her perilous journey, she
was permitted to pass forward through the street unquestioned, and
without exciting any particular observation. And when she arrived at the
outpost, the soldier on duty, with a bare glance at her offered pass,
respectfully motioned her to proceed on her way. A short walk then
brought her to the house to which she had been directed; and here,
finding every thing in readiness, she immediately mounted the now
strangely-improved pony, and, with her trusty attendant on foot, set
forward, at a quick pace, in the main road leading from the lake to Fort
Edward. Their way was now mostly through a deep forest, and over a road
which every where exhibited evidence with what perseverance and skill
the Americans had labored to destroy and block it up, and with what
incredible exertions it had been reopened by their opponents, wholly
untaught in the easiest modes of accomplishing the Herculean task. In
some places, long causeys over miry morasses had been entirely torn up,
and every log of which they were composed drawn off beyond the means of
recovery; and, in others, streams had been dammed up, causing extensive
overflows, or turned from their natural channels, and thus made to
wash out impassable gulfs. Every bridge had disappeared, and all the
surrounding timber rendered useless for constructing more; while, for
mile after mile, one continued mass of gnarled and crooked trees, here
pitched together in seemingly inextricable tangles, and there piled
mountains high, had been felled into the road, which even now had
scarcely been made passable by the toiling thousands who, for weeks,
had been employed upon it. In consequence of this, and the time spent
in making circuits round in the woods to avoid parties of the enemy,
who were seasonably discovered by the wary guide to be still at work, in
several places, in trying to improve some of the worst portions of the
road, the progress of our heroine was slow and obscure. And it was not
till after a dreary and fatiguing ride of several hours, that she and
her attendant began to emerge into the more open country bordering the
Hudson.

“Now, miss,” said Bart, falling in by the side of the maiden, and
speaking in a low, cautionary tone--“now we are coming out on to the
river, and at a spot that I feel kinder shyish of.”

“On what account, Bart?” asked the other, with a glance of concern.

“Well, it’s for a reason I have, and then one or two more on top of
that,” replied the former, with his usual indirectness. “In the first
place, it is a sort of a torified neighborhood about there which may
hold those more likely to mistrust and snap us up than the regular-built
enemy, who may, some of ‘em, be there too, likely; as a regiment, or so,
have already gone on, by this same road, to Fort Edward, which is not a
great ways beyond.”

“Is there no way to avoid going through the place?” asked Sabrey.

“That is what I’m thinking about,” replied Bart, musing. “But one thing
is certain, you must be got somewhere, and a little reconnoitring be
done, before we try to go through or round the pesky place. Now, here
on the left is a pine thicket, that reaches along, and comes to a point,
very near this Sandy Hill place, as they call it; and by entering the
woods, and keeping on in a line with the road, we both might gain a
spot, in that point, where we could safely see enough of what is going
on there to judge of the rest.”

“I am unacquainted with the locality, and the character of the
inhabitants, and shall, therefore, be wholly guided by you,” responded
Sabrey, reining up in compliance with the motions, rather than the
words, of the other. “But what means have you had of ascertaining what
you suggest respecting the place?”

“Why, I came this route the last spying trip I made,” replied the
former; “and being afoot--crazy folks don’t ride, you know--I kinder
naturally kept going back and forward and calling at places on the road
to inquire for swamp angels, or blue dogs I had lost, or some sich-like
whimseys, till I managed to fine out who and what lived in most every
house, all the way to Bennington. It is a tory concern of a place, and a
sort of rendezvous for those running away from our parts. One fellow,
of the last sort, came plaguy nigh knowing me; and would, forzino if
I hadn’t suddenly gone into a fit, to screw my features out of his
acquaintance. Yes, we may as well be turning in here, I am thinking.”

In accordance with the plan just suggested, Miss Haviland now turned her
willing steed, and plunged directly into the dark forest bordering
the road on the left. Here following her guide, who kept some rods in
advance to select and point out the places affording the most feasible
route through the thick undergrowth, she slowly, and with no little
personal inconvenience, made her way forward in the proposed direction,
till she at length succeeded in reaching the desired station, which was
the top of a low, woody bluff, commanding, from some portions of it, a
near and distinct view of the hamlet, in the opening below, of which the
intended _reconnaissance_ was to be made. Bart, now assisting the maiden
to dismount, and directing her attention to a mossy hillock at hand, as
an eligible seat or bed for resting herself, turned the pony loose to
crop the bushes, and disappeared to commence his observations. In a few
minutes he returned, and, having reported the discovery of a safe and
easy route for passing to the east of the public road, as far as it
might be necessary to avoid it, proceeded to reconnoitre the houses
below. And taking a well-screened seat on a log, lying on the verge of
the bluff, he looked long and intently.

“Well, sir, what discoveries are you making there?” at length asked
Sabrey, wondering at his prolonged silence.

“Why, nothing very alarming, be sure,” replied the other. “The place
looks as if it was deserted, except one house; but there’s something
going on about that which I don’t somehow seem to understand. Suppose
you throw a few of those evergreen vines near you over your head and
shoulders, to prevent your dress from attracting notice, and come here
to help me read out the puzzle.”

In compliance with the unexpected suggestion, the maiden instantly rose,
and, preparing herself, as directed, cautiously advanced and seated
herself at his side. The road they had recently quitted was in plain
view, a little distance to the right, and continued distinctly visible
as it swept round towards the broad Hudson, whose tranquil surface was
gleaming with the reflected brightness of the low-descending sun. On
each side of the road, till it disappeared over a distant swell, were
scattered, at irregular intervals, the dwellings to which allusion has
been made. Among the nearest and most respectable of these, stood, in
a retired situation considerably to the east of the highway, the house
presenting the questionable appearances to which Hart’s attention had
been directed. On one side of the spacious yard or lawn, in front of
this building, stood, tied to a post, and impatiently pawing the ground,
a noble-looking horse, equipped with a richly-caparisoned side-saddle;
while near by, under the fence, sat, patiently smoking their pipes,
three Indians, one of whom, as was evident by their contrasted bearing
and accoutrements, was a chief, and the other two his attendants.
Near the principal entrance was drawn up a two-horse team, having the
appearance of awaiting the reception of persons about to depart on some
journey. At length the family, consisting evidently of father, mother,
and their children, slowly, and in seeming mournful silence, issued from
the door, and approached the wagon, when the former, lifting the latter
into the seats, again turned an anxious look towards the house, and,
with his companion whose handkerchief was frequently applied to her
eyes, stood lingering and hesitating, as if reluctant to part with
some object of their solicitude still remaining behind. Presently the
agitated couple returned to the door, and, with gestures of grief and
supplication, appeared to be making a last appeal to one standing
just within the entrance, whose partially disclosed form, and white
fluttering decorations, proclaimed her to be a gayly-dressed female.

“It acts some like a funeral there,” observed Bart, doubtfully; “but
then those Indians, that seem to be waiting for some one--and that horse
with the lady’s saddle on him, which they appear to have the care of,
and which looks, by the trim, like a British army horse--and----”

“Bart, do you know who lives there?” interrupted Sabrey, with a sudden
start.

“A tory,” replied the other; “but not a fighting one, I gathered.
That’s him and his wife standing before the door, I take it. His name is
Me--something.”

“Merciful Heaven!” exclaimed Sabrey. “I understand it all now. That
lady, in the door, is dressed for her wedding--those before her are her
brother and sister-in-law, pleading with her to go with them, instead
of taking the questionable step she is evidently meditating. O, that I
dared rush down to the side of her well-judging friends, and join them
in dissuading her from listening to the ill-timed summons of her lover,
and especially from going with such, an escort as the infatuated man
appears to have sent for her!”

Although Miss Haviland was wholly unprepared for here finding the
residence of her friend, Jane McRea, which she had supposed to be
in another and more distant locality, yet her quick perceptions, in
combining the past and present circumstances, had not misled her. It
was, indeed, that lovely and hapless girl, passing through the last
trial she was destined ever to be conscious of undergoing,--that of the
distracting conflict of emotions produced by being now finally compelled
to decide between the behests of prudence and of love,--between the
advice and entreaties of confessedly kind and judicious relatives,
and the opposing counsels and impassioned importunities of an idolized
lover. Deeply and anxiously, that afternoon, had the thought of her
situation engrossed the mind of our heroine, who both expected and
dreaded to meet her on the way--expected, because her coming had
been announced; and dreaded, not only on account of the pain it would
occasion to witness her disappointment, and resist her entreaties, but
also on account of the danger of the unintentional betrayal which
would be likely to attend a meeting with that guileless creature of
the affections and her probable escort. And it was now with the mingled
emotions naturally called up by the associations of former friendship,
the contrast between the circumstances of the past and present, together
with fears and anxieties for the future, that Sabrey, after a few brief
explanations to her attendant, resumed her observations of the scene
before her, which she hoped, might still result in the triumph of wisdom
over the delusive pleadings of love.

At length, she who had now become the principal object of solicitude in
the family group, to which the attention of our concealed spectators
had been directed, followed, with slow and hesitating steps, her still
importuning friends into the yard, where, in her bridal robes of vestal
white, and with her rich profusion of bright and wavy tresses hanging
like a golden cloud over her shoulders, she stood at once a vision of
loveliness and an object of commiseration. Again and again did those
friends appear to renew their entreaties, at which the agitated girl
seemed sometimes to waver, and at others to reply only with her tears;
till at length the former, evidently wearied with their fruitless
attempts, and despairing of success, ascended their vehicle, and drove
off at a rapid pace, along the road to the south, without turning their
heads to look behind them. Once, as she stood, like one bound by some
fatal spell to the spot, wistfully gazing after the receding wagon,
a momentary relenting appeared to come over the wretched maiden. She
irresolutely ran forward a few paces, and, imploringly stretching forth
her white arms, uttered a faint, sobbing cry of, “_Come back! O, come
back!_” But the late appeal, which would have so gladdened the hearts of
those for whom it was intended, was destined to be unheeded. The cry was
lost in the din of their rattling wheels, as they urged on their horses,
as if anxious to escape from the painful scene. And the poor girl,
dropping her arms, and turning hopelessly away to a small tree near by,
leaned against the trunk for support, and, for a while, seemed to yield
herself wholly a prey to the wild grief which now burst forth from the
dreadful conflict of emotions that was rending her distracted bosom. At
length she appeared to be slowly regaining her self-possession, and now
soon fully arousing herself, she advanced towards the Indians, and, by
signs, signified her readiness to attend them. With eager alacrity,
the horse was led up for her to the door-step; when, lightly throwing
herself into the saddle, she immediately set forth along the road to the
north, preceded by the chief, and followed by his dusky assistants.

“Well, the poor thing has settled it at last,” observed Bart, drawing a
long breath. “But I aint so sure that those red characters, who appear
to feel so crank at having got her started, will be allowed to get far
with their prize, without seeing trouble.”

“Why, sir?” asked Sabrey, wiping away the sympathetic tears that had
started to her cheeks at what she had been witnessing--“why do you make
such a remark?”

“Well, it may not amount to any thing, be sure,” replied the other. “But
having had one eye on the lookout, during this affair at the house, I
noticed, a while ago, some five or six scores, slying along on the other
bank of the river, over there, and crossing in a boat, and entering
the woods on this side. By their appearance, I think they must be
Continentals from our army below; and if it is these Indians they
have been spying out, and are after, they will waylay them along here
somewhere, likely.”

“O, if they could but take her from these creatures, and send her to her
friends!” said the former, with emotion.

“Yes, but I hope they won’t attempt it,” said Bart; “for if these
Redskins, who are probably to have a smart price for getting her safe
to camp, should find themselves about to be robbed of her, there’s no
telling what they would do.”

At this juncture, their attention was arrested by the sounds of
footsteps approaching in the road from the north; and, the next moment,
a second party of Indians, headed by a tall, fierce looking chief,
emerged into view, and advanced nearly to the edge of the woods; when
the chief, beholding the other party coming on with their charge,
suddenly halted, and stood awaiting their approach, with an air of doubt
and disappointment, and with looks that plainly bespoke his jealous
fears of losing the reward, which, it appeared, the short-sighted lover,
in his impatience at the delay that had occurred, had offered him
also to bring off his betrothed. The bold and arrogant air of the
newly-arrived party, standing in the middle of the road, and seemingly
intending to dispute the path, caused the others, as they now came
up, to pause, as if for parley or explanation; when a fierce and angry
debate arose between the rival chiefs, in which the new comer, with dark
scowls and menacing gestures, demanded the exclusive possession of the
lady, which the other, at first mildly, and then in a tone of defiance,
persisted in refusing. At length the latter, under the pretence of
wishing to obtain water, but with the real object, probably, of avoiding
a collision till some compromise could be effected, approached the
alarmed maiden, and led her horse out into a little opening in the
bushes on the left, where a cool and inviting spring was seen bursting
from beneath the wide-spreading roots of a stately pine-tree standing in
the background; and here leaving her under the shade of the tree, still
sitting on her horse, he and his attendants gathered round the spring
for the purpose of quenching their thirst. At this instant, white
streams of smoke, followed by the startling reports of muskets, suddenly
burst from a neighboring thicket, and the band of concealed scouts, with
challenging hurrahs, were seen springing from their coverts, and
rapidly gliding from tree to tree towards the spot. The astonished and
unprepared Indians, who had escaped death only by the distance from
which the missiles of their assailants had been discharged upon them,
all, with one accord, slunk instantly away into the surrounding bushes.

Scarcely had they disappeared, however, before the tall chief, whose
ill-omened appearance and conduct we have noted, again darted out into
the opening; when, with a quick, wild glance around him, and a yell
of fiendish triumph, he rapidly whirled his arm aloft, and, the next
instant, the glittering tomahawk was seen, like a shooting gleam of
light, swiftly speeding its way on its death-doing errand.

One solitary, piercing shriek, suddenly cut short, and sinking into an
appalling groan, rose from the fatal spot; while the white robes of the
victim, like the ruffled pinions of some struck bird, came fluttering
to the ground. The deed was done and the spirit of the beauteous and
unfortunate Jane McRea had left its mangled tenement and fled forever!
[Footnote: From the various published accounts of the massacre of
Miss McRea, we have followed, in our illustrations of that melancholy
tragedy, as far as our limits and plan permitted us to carry them, the
one deemed by us the most probable. By way of finishing the details
of the horrible scene, however, it may be proper here to state, that
Captain Jones, the strangely infatuated lover, having despatched, for
the reward of a barrel of rum, one party of Indians after her, and
then a second one, for the same reward, had started to meet her, when,
encountering the murderer with the scalp, which he recognized by the
peculiar color and length of the hair, he hastened, in a state bordering
on absolute distraction, to the fatal scene. A British officer, with a
few attendants, had, in the mean time, removed the corpse to a wagon by
the road side, and was guarding it, when the lover arrived to claim it.
But his lamentations were so terrible, and his conduct so frantic, that
it was deemed advisable to remove him, and bury the remains from his
sight. From that hour, the bereaved lover was an altered and ruined man.
And he died soon after, as there is every reason to believe, of a broken
heart.]

A momentary pause ensued; when, amidst the intermingling shouts and
cries of murder and vengeance, that now burst from both scouts and
Indians, the fiend-like perpetrator of the foul deed, who had been
seen to leap forward towards his fallen victim with his scalping-knife,
bounded back into the road, and, there holding up and shaking the
gory trophy at his rival, immediately plunged into the forest and
disappeared. The next moment a detachment of British cavalry, who had
been sent out to intercept the scouts, came thundering down the road,
and put an end to the tumult. Turning away in horror from the spot, now
made dangerous by the presence of the British, who, on seeing what was
done, and learning the facts, soon began to scatter in all directions
after the murderer, Miss Haviland and her guide hastily resumed their
journey by the route which the latter had discovered for avoiding the
road, and which they pursued till dark, when, arriving at the house of
a family in the interest of the American cause, they found a comfortable
shelter for the night, and the repose so much needed to counteract the
effect of the agitating events of the day on our heroine, and fortify
her for the trials yet in store for her.



CHAPTER XI.

  “Still on? Have not the forest gloom,
   The taunt of foes, the threatened doom,
     Shaken thy courage yet?”


The indefatigable Bart, after seeing the object of his greatest
solicitude in safety for the night, that of his next, his loved
Lightfoot, well stabled and fed, and, lastly, his own wants supplied,
determined, with his usual caution and forethought, on making a little
tour of observation to Fort Edward, now some miles in the rear, for the
purpose of gathering what new intelligence could be gained respecting
the movements of the enemy, which might both enhance the value of his
budget of news to carry home, and enable him to shape his course more
understandingly and safely on the morrow. Accordingly, in the new
disguise of a barefooted, bareheaded, coatless farmer’s boy, with a
basket of green corn to sell for roasting slung on his arm, he proceeded
on foot to the recently-established rendezvous of the enemy at the place
above named, and boldly entered their encampment. Here he soon made
discoveries that filled him with uneasiness, and, finally, those which
thoroughly alarmed him for his own and the safety of his charge. The
whole camp was in a state of bustle and commotion. Colonel Baum, in
anticipation of the time fixed for his march, had just arrived with his
appointed force, and was intending, after allowing his troops a short
respite, to press immediately forward that night on the contemplated
expedition. Bands of painted Indians, who had also arrived from the main
army since dark, were feasting and drinking in grim revelry, or enacting
the frightful war-dance, on the outskirts of the encampment. Parties of
tories were constantly coming in from the surrounding towns, receiving
arms, and departing to their different allotted stations, to act as
pickets to the force about to advance, or as scouts to scour the country
along the road to the south. And at last, to crown all, Peters and
Haviland, with a small number of attendants, all bearing, on their
bespattered persons, evidence of hard and rapid travelling, rode
hurriedly into camp, and announced that a dangerous spy had, that
afternoon, been at the head-quarters of the main army audaciously
abducted a young lady, and with her escaped in this direction, for the
arrest of which a handsome reward should be paid.

“It is time you and I was jogging, Bart,” muttered the unsuspected
personage within hearing, who deemed himself not the least interested in
this unexpected announcement, as he gradually edged himself out of the
camp, and made his way, with unusual haste, back to his quarters for the
night.

Scarcely had the first faint suffusions of morning light begun to be
distinguishable in the chambers of the east, before the well-recruited
Lightfoot stood pawing at the door, as if impatient to receive and bear
off her precious burden from the scene of danger. In a few minutes, the
fair fugitive, in answer to the summons of her vigilant attendant,
came forth, evidently refreshed by her repose, and, in a good measure,
recovered from the shock occasioned by the sad and fearful spectacles
of yesterday. Without any allusions to the startling discoveries he had
made since they parted for the night, other than the quiet remark that
he had ascertained that it might not be wholly safe for them to proceed
any longer in the main road, Bart assisted the lady to mount, and led
the way on their now doubly difficult and hazardous flight. Striking off
obliquely to the left, into a partially cleared pine plain, and then,
after thus proceeding a while, again turning to the right, they directed
their course forward in a line parallel to the great thoroughfare to the
south, but at a sufficient distance from it to insure them against the
observation of all who might be passing therein, or scouting along its
borders. And on, on, now through open fields, and now through dense
forests, now through splashy pools, or rapid rivers, and now over sharp
pitches or deep ravines, now in cross-roads or cow-paths, and now
in trackless thickets, now over fenny moors, and now along the rocky
declivities of mountains,--on, on, did they pursue their toilsome and
weary way through the seemingly interminable hours of all the first half
of that eventful day.

At length, however, believing themselves many miles beyond the
rendezvous of Peters’s corps, who were understood to have been selected
as the pioneers of the expedition, they emerged from the woods, and fell
into the main road leading up the winding Walloomscoik to the village
of Bennington. Greatly rejoiced that, at last, she could be permitted to
travel in a smooth road with some assurance of safety, and encouraged
by the prospect of soon reaching the friends and acquaintance of her
old neighborhood, from whom she was confident of a cordial welcome, our
heroine now rode on with lightened feelings and renewed spirits. But
she soon perceived, by the manner of her guide, as he examined the
appearances of the road, as he went on, and occasionally cast uneasy
glances before and behind him, that he did not consider it yet time to
rejoice. And soon he stopped short, and observed,--

“There are too many tracks in this road for my liking, and not of the
right kind to read well, either.”

“I hope you will indulge in no unnecessary alarms, Bart,” said the
other, reluctant to leave the road, as she supposed he was about to
advise. “You, who yesterday manifested little uneasiness, to-day, when
we are farther removed from danger, have appeared extremely cautious and
apprehensive, I have thought. Why such a change, while the reverse would
seem so much more rational?”

“Well, miss, the question is not so onnatural as it might be, I reckon,”
 replied the former; “and I have been expecting you’d wonder some why I
led you on such a jaunt as we’ve had. But the fact was, your chance
of getting off has been a little scaly, to-day, to say nothing of the
shadow of a rope that’s been round my own neck in the mean time.”

“I cannot comprehend you, Bart,” said the maiden, with a look of
surprise and concern.

“Spose so; for I have held in, cause I thought I wouldn’t worry your
mind till needful, which it may be now; so I’ll tell you the whole
kink,” replied Bart, proceeding to relate his last night’s discoveries,
and then adding,--

“Now a party of the enemy--for I saw a moccason track just now, and none
on our side would be in such company as that means--a party of ‘em have
gone on before us; and my notion is, that we strike off through this
bushy pasture to the left.”

“Let us do so, then, if such is our situation, and that without a
moment’s delay,” cried Sabrey, in alarm at the unexpected disclosure.

“Well, perhaps it an’t best to fret about it, jest at this minute,”
 responded the imperturbable guide--“I kinder want to make an observation
or two, before we start,” he added, ascending an elevation near
by, which commanded a view of the road both ways for a considerable
distance.

After glancing along the road in front, a moment, he turned and bent
his searching gaze in the other direction, where he soon appeared to
discover something that both interested and disturbed him.

“It is, by Herod! it is the whole main body, Germans and all, at their
rations, within a mile of us, and their pickets on the move in this
direction!” he at length exclaimed, hastily quitting his post of
observation.

Hurrying down to the side of the startled maiden, he sprang to the
nearest length of the fence, here enclosing the road, and grappling,
with main strength, the topmost of the heavy poles of which it was
composed, soon effected a breach sufficiently low to allow the horse to
leap over without endangering the seat of the rider.

“Here, go it, Lightfoot! gently! there you are! Now off with ye, as if
the divil was at your heels!” cried Bart, as the horse, with her fair
burden, dashed lightly through the breach, and cantered off in the
direction indicated by the finger of her master.

Pausing to replace the fence, lest the opening should attract the
notice of those coming on behind, Bart rapidly followed, and, in another
minute, the fugitives were safely screened from observation by the thick
foliage of the different clumps of bushes, which they managed to keep
between them and the road they had just quitted.

“There is a house,” said Bart, musingly, after they had proceeded a
while in silence--“there is a house about half a mile ahead, and nearly
the same distance from the great road, with woods between, which is
a place I called at when I came down, and which I had been all along
calculating to turn off to, for a short stop, as we might shape our
course to do now, if not somewhat risky.”

“A little rest and refreshment would certainly be very acceptable,” said
the other, “if it could be safely obtained. Who lives there?”

“Well, some folks.”

“Loyalists?”

“Tories, d’ye mean? No, not by a jug full.”

“Who are they, then, sir?”

“The man,” said Bart, glancing up to his wondering companion, with an
odd air of shyness, as he provokingly persisted in his evasions--“the
man is one of Warner’s sergeants, and a sort of relation to somebody
that I thought likely would be visiting at his house by this time.
And--and I guess we’ll venture there, considering,” he added, suddenly
dashing some distance ahead, under pretence of pointing out the way
After winding their course a while among the variously grouped little
thickets that studded the old pasture, they at length entered a tall
forest of maple, which the incisions in the trees, together with the
marks of an old boiling-place, that they soon reached, proclaimed to be
the sugar orchard, belonging, probably, to the establishment they were
seeking. And, now falling into a beaten path, they soon perceived, by
the glimpses of an opening which they occasionally caught through the
trees, that they were drawing near to the object of their search. The
serpentine course of the path, however, and the undergrowth, so thick as
to be nearly impervious to the sight, prevented any direct view of
the opening; and they passed on without any very exact notions of
propinquity till a sudden turn of the path brought them unexpectedly to
the edge of the wood, and in full view of the house, not a hundred yards
distant; when, to their astonishment and dismay, they beheld the place
in possession of a large party of the enemy. Bart instantly caught the
bridle, and was turning the horse for the purpose of fleeing back into
the forest, when five or six armed men sprang out from the bushes behind
and around them, cutting off their retreat in every direction. And the
next moment they were prisoners to the minions of the vindictive Peters.

Bart’s quick eye had told him, at a glance, that there was no chance
for him to escape; and, before his natural looks could be noted, he
had become transformed into a lout of so stolid and inoffensive an
appearance, that his captors seemed greatly disappointed, and evidently
entertained doubts whether he could be the one they supposed they
were about to secure. And it was not till his pale and trembling
fellow-prisoner had been conducted off on her horse some rods, that they
could make him seem to comprehend that he was a prisoner, and must
go with them. He then burst out into a piteous fit of weeping, and,
passively receiving the kicks and cuffs of his keepers to get him in
motion, went bawling along, like a whipped schoolboy, towards the house.

“I thought ‘twould be jes so!” he exclaimed, between his sobs and
outcries. “I most knowed when that man hired father to have me go to
show the woman the way--I most knowed she was running away, and would
get me into some scrape. Then the man, like enough, had done something,
so he darsent go any furder with her. And now they’ll lay it at to
me--boo-hoo! oo-oo-oo!”

“Conduct the lady into the house!” said the officer in command, as the
prisoners were led into the yard--“conduct her into the house, and set a
guard round it, till orders can be got from the colonel. And as to this
bawling devil,” he continued, turning with a scrutinizing, but somewhat
staggered look, to the blubbering Bart, “take him to the barn, where
I just noticed some good cords, bind him hand and foot, and guard him
closely, he will make less noise within an hour from now, I fancy.”

“But, your honor,” began one of the scouts who had brought in the
prisoners--

“Yes, yes,” interrupted the other, “I have just been informed of his
pretences; but there’s an even chance that he is shamming, and the
fellow we want, after all. Do as I have ordered.”

Bart was now led into the open barn, which stood facing the yard, and
projecting in the rear over a steep bank, making from the floor, on the
back side, that was also open, a perpendicular fall of nearly a dozen
feet. He was then ordered to sit down in the middle of the floor, when
two of the half dozen keepers who had him in charge, with many a half
taunting, half pitying joke at his doleful whimpering, carelessly
proceeded to prepare the cords for binding him, while the rest laid
aside their guns, and went searching about the barn for eggs, all,
notwithstanding the caution of their commander, being evidently so
much impressed with the idea of his innocence as to disarm them of the
vigilance usually exercised on such occasions. At this juncture, just as
the two men, one standing before and the other behind him, were in the
act of stooping to take his legs and arms, Bart started to his feet with
the suddenness of thought, and giving the one in his rear a paralyzing
kick in the pit of his stomach, grappled round the legs of the other,
and, bearing him, in spite of all his struggles, across the floor,
leaped with him from the verge to the earth below. Managing to keep
uppermost in the descent, Bart, as the man struck heavily on the ground,
leaped unhurt from the senseless body, and, with the speed of a wild
deer, made his way to the nearest point of woods, which he fortunately
reached just in time to avoid the volley of bullets that was sent after
him by the rallying guard from whom he had so strangely escaped. While
the balked tories, in the general commotion that now ensued, were giving
vent to their rage and mortification, in cursing one another and the
more particular object of their wrath, whom they concluded it was
useless to pursue, a long, shrill whistle was heard issuing from another
point of the forest, to which it was thought the escaped prisoner could
not have had time to pass round. Scarcely had the sound died away, when
a movement, accompanied by a low snorting, was heard in the high-fenced
cow-yard, into which Lightfoot had been turned for safe keeping. The
whistle was soon repeated, and the next moment the sagacious animal
was seen rearing herself nearly upright in the air, and then, with a
prodigious leap, throwing herself over the fence into the field beyond.
Although the tories, for a while, as little comprehended this movement
of the pony, as they did, at first, that of her master, yet they raised
the alarm that the horse had broken away; and a dozen men threw down
their guns, and ran out into the field to head her, but, dashing at and
through them, like a mad Fury, she bounded off at full speed, and soon
disappeared in the woods in the direction in which the whistling had
been heard, leaving the baffled pursuers and their associates now fully
to perceive how completely they had all been outwitted and outdone by
both horse and master.

Much of our happiness is the result of contrast. A slight alleviation,
unexpectedly springing out of a disheartening misfortune, not
unfrequently affords a comparative pleasure more keenly appreciated than
unalloyed blessings arising out of the ordinary circumstances of life.
The pleasure of Miss Haviland was equalled only by her surprise,
when, on entering the house, she found her former fellow-prisoner, the
sprightly and fearless Vine Howard, a transient but favored inmate,
whose presence here now fully explained the enigmatical language of
Bart, on the way, while it soon raised a shrewd suspicion of the cause
of the awkward shyness he had exhibited in making his partial and
roundabout revelations. Their mutual salutations, inquiries, and
explanations, had scarcely been exchanged, before they were called to
the window by an outcry and commotion among the tories without; when
they had the unspeakable satisfaction of witnessing the escape of Bart,
for whose situation and fate they had both, from different causes, felt
the deepest commiseration and the most gloomy apprehensions.

“Now,” said the animated Vine, as she turned exultingly away from the
gratifying scene that had opened by the escape of Bart, and closed by
that of his pony--“now, Sabrey, if they will let you remain here till
dark, I will see what _I_ can do towards effecting _your_ escape, which,
to be candid about it, I mainly came here to favor. But whether you
escape, remain, or are dragged back to the British camp, I will not this
time be separated from you.”

The proffered assistance of the spirited girl, however, at least so
far as related to the contemplated attempt to escape by night, was not
destined to be called in requisition. In a short time, a messenger
was seen to arrive; upon which the whole party of tories commenced
preparations for an immediate departure. Presently a closely covered
vehicle, drawn by one horse, appeared coming from the main road, and
approaching the door. The next moment, the officer, whom we have already
noted, entered the house, and told Miss Haviland she was required to
depart.

“This young lady attends me, if I am compelled to go, sir,” said Sabrey,
firmly, pointing to Vine, who instantly advanced and locked her arm
within that of the former, by way of confirming the assertion.

“Such are not my orders,” responded the officer, with an air of slight
perplexity.

“Then I go not with you alive, sir,” said Miss Haviland, with calm
determination.

“Nor will I be separated from _her_, by you, while I am living,” added
Vine, with no less spirit.

“Well, well, ladies, you must have your own way, I suppose. But be
prompt; the carriage waits for you,” replied the officer, stepping back
to the door.

In a few minutes more, the ladies presented themselves at the door, and,
without accepting the offered assistance of their summoner, entered
the unoccupied vehicle, which was now immediately put in motion, and
conducted on in the rear of the main column of the tories, who had
already commenced their march towards the great road. As they emerged
from the short piece of forest through which their way now led, the
exciting spectacle of a large body of troops, moving in military array
along the road, accompanied by the hum of mingling voices, the steady
tramp of men and horses, the rattling of tumbrels, and the heavy
rumbling of artillery, unexpectedly burst upon the senses of the
startled maidens. Baum’s select and finely-equipped regiment of Germans
and British occupied the front, and Peter’s motley corps of tories
and Indians the rear of the long-extended column. As the head of the
detachment in possession of the fair prisoners reached the road,
they came to a halt, when, after waiting till the corps to which they
belonged had mostly passed by, they, to the agreeable disappointment
of the girls, turned in, and moved on with the rest towards that little
anticipated scene of defeat and death from which so few of them were
destined to return.

“By this time,” observed Vine to her thoughtful companion after they
had concluded the remarks which the novelty of their situation naturally
elicited--“by this time, Bart, at the rate he will be likely to ride,
has nearly reached Bennington, now less than ten miles distant; and in
another hour after, if the news he carries has the effect on our army
there that I anticipate from what I learned when I came down, these
fellows will be met on the way by a force which they cannot be expecting
to see. Can they, do you suppose?”

“I think not,” replied Sabrey, “or we should have been sent back at
once, to the British camp, as we expected; but, believing he shall meet
with no serious opposition, and probably fearing I should find some
means to escape, if sent back, my magnanimous persecutor concludes
to drag me round with him and his minions, that I may be watched more
closely, till, having completed his anticipated triumphs, he is ready to
return.”

“But where _is_ Peters?” asked the other; “where _is_ that remarkable
gentleman _now_, that he don’t present himself here, to pay his respects
or make his apologies, or assure you of your safety, or frame some story
by the way of accounting for his conduct, or at least, of smoothing the
matter? One would suppose the fellow would want to say _something_ on
the occasion.”

“Yes,” replied the former; “but he wishes to see me as little as I do
him, I presume. Should he find it impossible to avoid me, however, he
would probably come up boldly, and say my detention was a mistake of his
subaltern; or that he only directed it to afford me a safe escort to my
friends in the Grants.”

“There would be a deal of love in such doings.”

“He entertains none; not one particle now, if he ever did, for me,
Vine.”

“What the deuse, then, does he want with you?”

“Indeed, I hardly know myself.”

“Marry you?”

“If he does still aim at that, it is with no honorable motives, I have
had some strange suspicions lately, and I feel but too thankful at this
prospect of a battle, for I shall cheerfully meet all dangers I may
encounter from the flying bullets of our people for my chance of a
release.”

“Chance, Sabrey? Why, I know our side will get the victory, when we
shall be made prisoners to--well, to about the right sort of fellows,
probably,” added the girl, with a merry laugh.

The conversation was here interrupted by the scattering reports of
musketry somewhere in front, which instantly threw the whole line into
commotion. An immediate halt was commanded, and the troops hastily
formed in order of battle, as well as the ground would permit. Glancing
over the line in front, from the small elevation on which they chanced
to have stopped, the girls perceived that the head of the column had
reached the banks of the stream that here crossed the road, and were
rapidly deploying into the fields, to the right and left, to be prepared
to receive their yet invisible foe. The bridge over the stream had
just been torn up, and its scattered wrecks were seen floating down
the stream below. While Baum was hurrying forward his artillery to the
front, a body of about two hundred Americans emerged from their coverts
in the bushes, some distance from the opposite bank and, with an ominous
shout of defiance, discharged their guns and disappeared over the hill
beyond, before the slow Germans who alone were yet near enough to do
any execution with muskets, were ready to return a single shot. A
strong guard of pickets, consisting of tories and Indians, were now
sent forward to ford the stream, and keep watch of their retreating
assailants while the few wounded and dying wretches who had
experienced the effects of American marksmanship were carried back
in hastily-constructed litters to a house in the rear, affording the
shocked maidens, as they were borne by groaning and writhing in their
agony a sad and sickening foretaste of the fearful scene of blood and
carnage they were destined soon to witness. As soon as the bridge
was repaired by the engineers, who were occupied nearly two hours in
rendering it passable, the column was put in motion, and again moved
forward, but much slower and more cautiously than before; for there was
something in the manner of this attack, as unimportant as it was, and
even in the shouts of their assailants, that had disturbed the minds,
and cast a visible shade of thoughtfulness over the countenances,
of these hitherto self-confident and boastful invaders of the Green
Mountains. For the next three or four miles, however, they moved on
unmolested; when, coming to a hamlet of log-houses scattered along the
highway on both sides of the stream, that, here again crossing the road,
wound through a smooth meadow of considerable extent, the word _Halt!
halt!_ rang loudly, and from company to company, through the line, with
an emphasis and significance that instantly apprised all that trouble
was at hand. The next moment all were in commotion, hurry, and alarm.
Amidst the furious beating of the rallying drums, and the mingling
clamor of dictating voices, the cannon were detached from the horses,
run forward, and unlimbered; the fences on each side of the road were
levelled to the ground, and the whole force rapidly thrown into battle
array, the tories taking position in the meadow on the right, and the
regulars on the more elevated grounds to the left of the road, there to
await the foe, understood to be approaching in unexpected strength just
beyond the thick copse which terminated the opening on the east. While
this was transpiring, the officer who had before taken charge of Miss
Haviland and her friend came forward, and, summoning them from their
carriage, hurried them to a large, strongly-built log-house, around
which a company of tories had been posted, when, bidding them enter and
take care of themselves, he hastened back to his post, to take part in
repelling the menaced onset. Neither that day nor the next, however, was
destined to be the one which was to cover the untrained freemen of New
England with the deathless laurels of Bennington. Stark, after marching
out into the open field, offering battle, and vainly manoeuvring to
draw the enemy from their advantageous ground, retired about a mile, and
encamped for the night, leaving Baum to intrench himself in his chosen
position, and despatch expresses to Burgoyne to apprise him of his
unexpectedly perilous situation, and ask for reenforcement.



CHAPTER XII.

  “Sad was the year, by proud oppression driven,
     When transatlantic liberty arose,
   Not in the sunshine and the smile of Heaven,
     But wrapped in whirlwinds, and begirt with woes,
     Amidst the strife of fratricidal foes.”--_Campbell._


The house, into which our heroine and her attendant had been ushered
for safe keeping during the expected conflict, was divided into two
compartments, and separately occupied by a couple of young farmers, and
their still more youthful and recently espoused wives, twin sisters,
by the names of Mary and Martha. But as happy a social circle as these
close and interesting ties should have continued to render the inmates,
the fiend of discord, with the approach of the opposing armies, had just
entered in among them. One of the young men was a whig, and the other
a tory; and the wives had very naturally adopted the predilections of
their respective husbands. The young men had, as yet, however, taken no
active part in the public quarrel; and, while the war was at a distance,
their difference of opinion had not been permitted very essentially to
disturb their friendly intercourse. But now, as the war was brought to
their door, the sight of the two hostile armies, coming together for
deadly conflict on the great issue in which their hitherto repressed
sympathies were oppositely enlisted, had aroused the demon of contention
in their friendly bosoms. The boastful assumptions of the tory, uttered
in his excitement at beholding the imposing display of the British
forces around him, were promptly met by the counter predictions of the
other. Retort, recrimination, and darkly-hinted menaces followed, till
jealousy and rancor seemed completely to have usurped the place of all
those fraternal feelings that lately blessed their peaceful abode.

Such was the painful and ill-omened scene which was passing in the
apartment of the brother who had espoused the cause of his country,
where both families were assembled to witness the anticipated battle,
when the unexpected entrance of the girls put an end to the altercation;
and it soon after being announced that the Americans had retreated, the
tory, followed by his wife, retired with an exulting sneer, to his own
room, leaving the fair strangers, as it happily chanced, to the care
and more congenial companionship of the young patriot and his warmly
sympathizing Martha, who now kindly supplied their wants, and then
conducted them to their attic chamber, where, it being now nearly dark,
they immediately betook themselves to their homely but grateful couch.
And, overcome by the fatigues and harrowing anxieties of the day, they
soon fell asleep, expecting to be roused in the morning by the din of
the battle, which they felt confident was yet to take place before the
invaders would be permitted to advance farther on their boasted mission
of plunder and outrage.

But the next day was to be marked by the battle of the elements, rather
than of men. The morning was ushered in by a storm of unusual violence.
And as the day advanced, so seemed to increase the power of the tempest.
The black, flying clouds, deeply enshrouding the mountain tops, and
dragging the summits of the low, woody hills around, closer and closer
begirt the darkened earth. Heavier and heavier dashed the deluging
torrents against the smitten herbage of the field, and the trembling
habitations of men; and louder and louder roared the wind, as it went
howling and raging over the vexed wilderness, as if in mockery of
the intended conflict of the feeble creatures of earth, who now stood
shrinking and shivering in its rain-freighted blasts.

Miss Haviland and her friend, in the mean time, closely kept their
little chamber; and as little enviable as were their sensations under
the terrors which the tempest, as it roared around the rocked dwelling,
naturally inspired, it was soon with feelings of thankfulness that they
found themselves permitted to remain even there unmolested; for their
ears were continually shocked, and their liveliest apprehensions often
excited, by the profane vociferations, the noisy ribaldry, and lawless
conduct of the tories, who, driven from their drenched tents, which
afforded them but a feeble protection against the fury of the storm,
had crowded into the lower rooms of the house, where, half stifled, and
jostled for want of space, they filled up the stairway, and repeatedly
attempted to force open the fastened door of the trembling inmates
of the apartment above. But the latter were at length permitted
to experience a temporary relief from this source of annoyance and
apprehension. Towards night the tempest lulled, and the rain abated,
when the tories left the house, and joined in the universal rejoicing of
the troops of the encampment, that the discomforts and sufferings of the
storm were over. It soon became manifest, however, that they had been
relieved of one evil only to be disturbed by another. In a short time,
the American scouting parties began to show themselves on the border of
the field in various directions around the encampment. Presently, the
sharp crack of the rifle, followed by the whistling of bullets, and the
fall of one of their number, in the midst of the startled camp, apprised
them of the danger of remaining longer inactive. And Baum, astonished at
the temerity of his foes, and scarcely less so at their evident ability
to do execution with small arms at such a distance, instantly issued
orders to fit out parties of tories and Indians, to go and dislodge
them. At this juncture, the girls received a visit from their friendly
hostess, who, with a troubled look, entered their room, and, after
telling them that she and her sister had been, like themselves, little
else than prisoners in the other chamber, proceeded to inform them that
her husband, impressed with a sense of duty to his country, had secretly
stolen off, during the preceding night, to the American camp; and that
his tory brother-in-law, from whom she had contrived to conceal her
husband’s absence through the morning, had just discovered the fact,
and, with bitter imprecations, seized his gun and rushed out to join the
parties fitting out to fight his countrymen. Scarcely waiting to finish
her hurried communication, the agitated woman hurried down and joined
her no less excited sister in the yard, to witness the expected
encounter of the opposing skirmishers; while Sabrey and Vine, sharing
with the sisters, though less keenly, perhaps, in the interest of the
event, took post at their window, which commanded a clear view of the
scene of action, and looked forth for the same purpose.

A company of tories were cautiously stealing along a low, bushy vale,
towards the most westerly of the opposite woody points, from which the
firing had proceeded. On the extreme right of the field, under a clump
of tall evergreens, was seen the encampment of the Indians, who were
in lively commotion, and evidently preparing to join in the meditated
sally. One, whose stature, accoutrements, and bearing denoted him to
be a chief, and principal leader of the band, appeared to be actively
engaged in giving orders, and pointing out the course to be taken to
reach some designated station in the woods. But just as the whole party
were beginning to file away in their usual fashion, their steps were
suddenly arrested by a rapid discharge of rifle-shots, that burst upon
them from behind an old bush fence on the border of the forest, about a
hundred yards to the east; when the tall chief, and three or four of his
followers, in different parts of their line, were seen leaping wildly
into the air, and then pitching headlong to the earth, to rise no more.
The next instant, every dark form had vanished, and their places of
refuge were only distinguishable by the occasional reports of their
guns, as the protracted skirmish gradually receded within the depths of
the forest.

Meanwhile, the tories had proceeded on their destination undiscovered,
till they reached the termination of their screening ridge on the left,
which brought them within fifty yards of the bushy point where the
largest party of their opponents lay concealed, unsuspicious of any
immediate attack. Here the former made a brief pause, when they rushed
forward with a loud shout, and, after a rapid exchange of shots, and
a brief hand to hand conflict, drove the others from their ground, and
compelled them to flee across the intervening opening to the opposite
jungle, for protection. A cry of exultation now burst from the lips
of the wife of the tory, as she witnessed this successful onset of her
husband’s party, and, crowing over her disappointed sister, she began
to treat the insignificant result as the certain precursor of the speedy
flight of the whole rebel army. But her triumph was of short duration;
for, almost the next moment, the discomfited party, in conjunction
with the band of their associates, to whose covert they had retreated,
sallied out, and, returning impetuously to the charge, sent a fatal
shower of bullets into the huddled ranks of the unprepared tories, and
soon routed them entirely from the woods, from which they were seen
flying, in wild disorder, towards the encampment. The rallying wife of
the whig now, in turn, broke out in retaliatory exclamations of joy and
exultation. But her triumphs, also, were destined to be cut short as
speedily as those of her equally thoughtless sister, but in a different,
and far more sorrowful manner.

A man, bearing the lifeless body of one of the slain on his shoulders,
now emerged into view, and came hurriedly staggering along over the
field, directly towards the house. The instant the careless eye of the
elated Martha fell on the approaching figure, it became fixed as if
enchained by a spell. The half-uttered word she was speaking suddenly
died on her faltering tongue. An instinctive shudder seemed to run over
her; and, for nearly a minute, she stood gazing in motionless silence.

“What is that? O! what is that?” at length burst sharply from her
blanched lips.

But no one answered; and she again relapsed into the same ominous
silence, and continued gazing with the same burning intensity, till the
man, with a look of conscience-smitten agony, came up, and laying down
his burden on the grass, gently turned it over, and presented to her the
face of her slain husband; when shriek after shriek broke, in quick and
startling succession, from her convulsed bosom, and she was carried, in
a state of wild and fearful frenzy, into the house. The homicide was the
tory husband, who, having met his victim in the fight, and acting, as he
averred, under an irresistible impulse, had singled out and slain one,
whom, the next moment, he would have given worlds to have been able to
bring to life. [Footnote: The scene here introduced is drawn from an
incident belonging to the local history of the battle of Bennington, and
is but one among the many sad and touching occurrences which tradition
has preserved as connected with that memorable conflict.]

The scattered forces of the sky now again began to collect, the rain
to descend, and the angry winds to roar through the surrounding forest,
compelling both the assailed and assailants to retire from the fields
and woods to their respective places of rendezvous for shelter. And soon
night closed over the scene, and shrouded every object from view with
its Egyptian darkness.

Widely different were the feelings and impressions which the events of
that afternoon had imparted to the troops of the two opposing armies.
The advantages gained, though not very important or decisive, had yet
been almost wholly on the side of the Americans. Their different parties
of scouts and skirmishers, who, with the first slackening of the storm,
had filled the woods in every direction around the British encampment,
had slain or disabled, in the various encounters of the day, more than
thirty of their opponents, and, among them, two Indian chiefs, whose
destruction caused a rejoicing proportioned to the exasperation which
their presence here had occasioned. And the effect of the whole had been
to banish the last remaining doubts of success from their bosoms, and
make them long for the hour when they should be permitted to meet the
foe in regular battle. The losses and defeats of the royal forces, on
the other hand, had proportionally depressed their feelings, and filled
them with dark forebodings of the fate which was in store for them. Nor
did these feelings, in conjunction with the natural effect of the
gloom and physical discomforts of their situation, long fail of a
characteristic manifestation among the contrasted bands of that fated
army. And strange and fearful were the sights and sounds which their
encampment exhibited during the night of storm and darkness that
followed. The sullen oaths and outlandish grumbling of the Germans,
delving and splashing away at their unfinished intrenchments,--the noisy
execrations of the exasperated tories moving restlessly about from tent
to tent, and swearing revenge for the losses,--the sputtering of the
Canadians,--the frightful whooping of the discontented savages, as their
dark forms were seen darting about in the flickering light of their
camp fires, and finally, the groans and blaspheming curses of the poor
wretches who had been wounded in the skirmishes of the day, all mingling
with the wailing of the wind, and the ceaseless pattering of the rain,
combined to form a scene as wild and dismal as language could well
paint, or even imagination conceive, and throw over this devoted spot of
earth more of the air of the regions of the damned, than of the abodes
of human beings.

But what, in the mean while, were the thoughts and sensations of
the hapless maiden, whose fate and fortune seemed to have become so
strangely involved in the movements and scenes we have been
describing? To her the day had been but a varying scene of gloom and
wretchedness--of maidenly terror and painful excitement. And night had
come only to be made still more hideous by its accumulated horrors.
Shuddering at the strange and appalling sounds, that constantly assailed
her recoiling senses from without, and pained and distressed at the
ceaseless wailing of the bereaved and heart-broken wife within--often
startled and alarmed at the noisy intrusions of the heartless tories in
the room below, and their frequent threats, and even occasional
attempts to get into her apartment above, and tortured by the anxieties,
suspense, and apprehension she felt respecting the fate for which she
might be reserved, independent of the more immediately-menaced evils
around her, she lay, hour after hour, during the first watches of that
fearful night, tremblingly clinging to her less-troubled companion, and
earnestly praying for death, or the approach of morning, to relieve her
from some of the horrors of her situation. But at length her exhausted
system yielded to the requirements of nature, and her senses became
locked, and her cares lost, in the forgetfulness of slumber.

She and her attendant were awakened, the next morning, by the reveille
of the clangorous brass drums of the Hessians, and the mingling hum
of the stirring camp around them. Attiring themselves with that haste
which, whether required or not, is usually consequent on a state
of great anxiety, they ran to the window and glanced out over the
landscape. But what a contrast with what it yesterday presented! The
black storm-cloud, that had so closely brooded over the earth, had been
rolled away, and the cerulean vault above was as calm and cloudless as
if storm and tempest had never disfigured its beautiful expanse. The air
was full of balmy sweetness; and soon the golden sun, slowly mounting
over the eastern hills, poured down his floods of light upon the
varigated landscape, transforming the still-weeping forest into a sea of
glittering diamonds, converting the hitherto unnoticed openings on the
surrounding hill-sides into bright spots of smiling verdure, and
adding a brighter tint to the yellow fields of waving grain, that stood
ripening in the valley, soon to be trod and trampled by other than
peaceful reapers’ feet:--

  “For here, far other harvest here
     Than that which peasant’s scythe demands,
     Was gathered in by sterner hands,
   With musket, blade, and spear.”

Slowly rolled the bright hours of that calm and beautiful morning away,
as Miss Haviland, with her attendant, sat by the window, often and
anxiously glancing along the road to the east, to catch a glimpse of
that army, in whose movements all her hopes were centred, making its
expected advance. But it came not. No American--not even a scout or
skirmisher--any where made his appearance; and no signs of a battle
were visible in any quarter, unless they might be gathered from the
busy labors of the British troops in putting their arms in order, or the
unusual stillness and the air of anxious suspense that seemed to pervade
their whole encampment. Noon came; and still all remained quiet as
before. That hour, and the next, also, passed away with the same ominous
stillness; and the desponding girl began seriously to fear, that the
Americans had indeed retreated from the vicinity, and left her and
the country alike at the mercy of the foe. But just as this depressing
thought was taking possession of her mind, a sound reached her ears from
afar, that caused her suddenly to start to her feet with a look of joy
and animation that, for weeks, had been a stranger to her countenance.



CHAPTER XIII.

  “Death to him who forges
   Fetters, fetters for the free!”--_Eastman_.


“Did you hear that?” exclaimed the maiden, with flushed cheek and
kindling eye.

“Hear what?” asked her surprised and wondering companion, who had heard
nothing to warrant so sudden a change in the other’s demeanor.

“That sound from the forest yonder,” answered Sabrey, pointing over to
the wood bordering the opening to the south. “But hush! listen! it may
be repeated. There--didn’t you hear it then?”

“I heard nothing but the hooting of an old owl over there What do you
make out of that?” responded Vine, still surprised and doubtful.

“I make much out of it: but let us listen further,” answered the other.

They did so; and presently the same slow, solemn hoot of the bird just
named rose more loud and distinct than before. And scarcely had the last
sound died away in its peculiar melancholy cadence, when the solitary
report of a musket sent its echoing peal over the valley from the forest
in the opposite direction.

“There! the story is told,” exclaimed Sabrey, exultingly. “Three
hoots of the owl is the secret watchword of the Rangers. The admirable
imitation we have just heard was doubtless given by him who communicated
to me this fact, and gave me a specimen of his faculty of making the
sound as we were coming through the woods in our recent flight. It here
shows, unless I greatly err, that his regiment is passing round to the
rear of the enemy; while the gun we have just heard must proceed,
I think, from some other force going round through the woods on the
opposite side,--these sounds being a concerted interchange of signals
to apprise each other and General Stark of the progress they have
made towards the appointed station. In fifteen minutes, this camp may
discover itself surrounded and assailed on all sides by men who know
what they are fighting for. Then Vine then comes the struggle we have
been praying to witness. O, may Heaven prosper the defenders of their
homes, and enable them to triumph over their haughty foes.”

The conjectures of Miss Haviland respecting the plan of attack which the
Americans had adopted were well founded. Colonel Herrick, with his brave
and spirited regiment of Rangers, had been despatched through the woods
to the rear of the enemy, where he was to be joined by nearly an equal
force of militia, under the command of Colonel Nichols, coming through
the forest, also, in an opposite direction; while the remaining and
larger portion of the army was to advance in front, in time to commence
with the former the general attack. And, in a short time, the long, deep
roll of drums, swelling louder and louder on the breeze, announced that
Stark, with the main body, was in motion, and rapidly approaching along
the road from the east.

Quickly every part of the British camp was in lively commotion. And the
hasty mounting of field-officers, the flying of the scattered troops to
their respective standards, the furious beating of the drums to arms,
and the deep, stern words of command, mingling with the rattling of
steel, and other sounds of hostile preparation, all plainly told that
they were at length aroused to the conviction that their opponents in
front were coming down in full force upon their encampment; and that
something more might now be required to insure their safety, than
the empty vaunting, and the supposed intimidating display, of British
uniforms and brass cannon, which had thus far marked the expedition,
and constituted its only achievements. And scarcely had the different
divisions of their motley army become arrayed and fixed in their line of
battle, which consisted of the regulars within their strong field-works
on the elevated plain on the left, and the Canadians and tories behind
their more imperfect defences stretching from the former across the
meadow on the right--scarcely had this been done, before their line
of pickets, which had been placed among the trees at the eastern
termination of the field, suddenly broke from their station, and came
disorderly rushing back to the encampment. Presently a dark body of men
in motion began to be perceptible through the openings of the wood
along the line of the winding road; and, in a moment more, Stark’s noble
little brigade of sturdy and resolute peasant warriors came pouring into
the field.

Wheeling in beautiful order into battle array, they came to a halt in
the open plain near the border of the woods. Stark, then advancing,
rode slowly along the front of the line, and, at length pausing, ran his
practised eye collectedly over the firmly-standing ranks and dauntless
faces before him; when, raising his massive form to its full length, he
raised his glittering sword, and pointed to the hostile lines.

“Yonder, my men,” he said, in a voice whose clear, deep, and ringing
tones, in the stillness which at the moment prevailed, distinctly
reached the attent organs of our fair listeners--“yonder, my brave
men, stand the red-coats, your own and your country’s foe--their army
a mongrel crew of Hessian hirelings, fighting for eight-pence a day,
or thereabouts; of tories, who come to ravage and enslave the land that
gave them birth; and lastly, of Indians, dreaming of scalps and plunder!
Are you not better men? Have you not nobler objects? Call you not
yourselves freemen, with hearts to defend your homes and country? If so,
then let your deeds this day prove it to the world! As for myself, my
resolution is taken,--the field and foe is ours by set of sun, or Molly
Stark this night will sleep a widow.”

Three hearty cheers, bursting spontaneously from the listening ranks
before him, told the gratified leader that he had not overrated the
spirit and enthusiasm of the men to whom his brief but effective appeal
had been addressed.

The British forces, in the mean time, awaited the approach of their
opponents in silence. Baum even forebore to open upon them with his
cannon, in the delusive hope that they would prove to be one of the
large bodies of friendly inhabitants, who, he had been assured, would
rise up in arms to join his standard as he advanced into the interior.
His suspense, however, was soon ended. A scattering volley of musketry,
followed by a distant shout, rose from the woods in rear of the station
occupied by the Indians. And suddenly the whole body of the savages,
contrary to their usual custom, quitted the woods, and came rushing into
the camp of their allies with manifestations of the greatest surprise
and dismay. The next moment, Herrick, at the head of his long files of
Rangers, emerged into the open field, rapidly formed them into column,
and advanced towards the rear of the enemy’s intrenchments; while, at
the same time, Nichols and his corps were seen approaching from the
forest in an opposite direction, to form the contemplated junction, and
move on with the former to the combined assault. The moment the Indians
obtained a view of both these forces, and perceived they were converging
together so as to form a continuous line of battle along the rear, they
began to manifest the greatest uneasiness and alarm. And heir innate
dread of being surrounded soon becoming too strong for the restraints
of discipline, they broke from their position, and, like a flock of wild
horses, commenced a tumultuous flight across the field towards the woods
in open space between the two approaching forces of their opponents,
who, quickly changing fronts, poured in upon them a rapid succession
of destructive volleys. A fierce shout now burst from the ranks of the
assailants; and, when the smoke rose, a line of dark, lifeless forms
marked the green field nearly to the woods; others were seen crawling,
like wounded reptiles, to the nearest coverts; while all the rest of the
savage foe had disappeared forever from the field. Herrick and Nichols
having now resumed their march, and Stark put his corps in motion, the
three divisions, with two small flanking detachments, despatched along
the woods to the right and left of the main body, all moved steadily on
to the different points of attack. They were not permitted, however,
to advance far unmolested; for suddenly every part of the royal lines
became wrapped in clouds of mingling smoke and flame; while the heavens
and earth seemed rent by the deafening crash of exploding muskets, and
the jarring concussions of cannon, which instantly followed. Unmoved,
however, by the tremendous outbreak, the American forces all moved
steadily and rapidly forward till the forms of their opponents could be
discerned beneath the lifting smoke, when they poured in a storm of fire
and lead which told with dreadful effect on the shrinking lines before
them. The general fire thus fatally delivered was speedily returned; and
the battle now commencing in fearful earnest in every part of the field,
both armies became so deeply concealed in the whirling clouds of smoke,
which enveloped them, that the opposing forces could be distinguished
only in the fierce gleams of musketry and the broader blaze of cannon
that burst incessantly along the lines, filling, with the mingled uproar
of a thousand thunders, the rocking valley and reverberating mountains
around.

In the mean while, our heroine and her companion, who, at the first
shock of this terrible onset, had shrunk back in consternation from view
of the scene, sat listening on their humble couch to the fearful din
that assailed their recoiling senses in every direction around them
from without, with feelings which can be far more easily imagined than
described. For more than an hour, while the battle continued to rage
with increasing violence, and showers of bullets were heard every moment
striking and burying themselves in the logs composing the walls of their
seemingly devoted shelter, the amazed and trembling girls remained in
the same position, dreading to look out upon the field, lest their eyes
should be greeted with the sight of the death and carnage which they
full well knew must there be going on to a fearful extent among both
friends and foes. But Sabrey’s increasing anxiety for the result, at
length, mastering all other considerations, she arose, and, against the
remonstrances of her companion, advanced towards the window.

“How awful!” she exclaimed, as she glanced out on the terrific conflict.

“Too awful to witness, unless there were some use in so doing,”
 responded Vine. “If we were permitted to mingle in the fight with our
friends, I, for one, would be willing to brave all the horrors of the
battle for the good I might do; but, as this cannot be, why should we
expose ourselves to danger so uselessly? Now, I do entreat you, Sabrey,
to venture no farther,” she continued, as the former, reaching the
window, leaned forward for a full view of the scene. “Step back from
that dangerous spot; don’t you hear the bullets rattling, like hail,
round the building?”

“Yes, but there is no danger where I stand, I presume, but if there
were, I could no longer forbear watching the issue of a contest in which
my own fate, as well as that of friends, is so deeply involved,” replied
Sabrey, with desperate calmness, as she continued to rivet her gaze on
the field below.

“If you will look, then,” said the other, “tell me what you see going
on.”

“I will,” answered the former, “as far as I can distinguish any
movements. But, at present, both sides are so completely concealed in
the smoke that enshrouds them, that I can only discern dark forms in
active motion along the lines, as the blaze of their fire-arms reveals
portions of their ranks. The struggle, however, is evidently a dreadful
one! In that continued, deafening crash which you hear, flames and
smoke seem to be vomited forth from the earth, as if from the mouth of a
volcano.”

“There seems to be less firing now,” observed Vine, after listening in
silence a few minutes. “Can you perceive any new movements afoot? Can’t
you distinguish any of the words of command, or any thing that is said
among that uproar of voices, which, between the booming of the cannon,
once in a while, plainly reaches my ears?”

“Ay,” returned the other, intently bending her ear towards the scene of
action--“ay, I think I can, now. Hark! I hear one voice in particular,
rising loud over all others; but it is the voice of one in prayer,
invoking the God of battles to strike with the free and aid in bringing
down quick destruction on their foes. How mightily he cries to Heaven
for succor and success!”

“Where is he? among the rest in the fight?”

“No, not directly in the battle, I should think, but a little aloof, in
the rear of this end of the American lines. There! I can now distinguish
his form coming obliquely out of the smoke in this direction.”

“Who is he?”

“I know not; but he seems a venerable old man, and his long, white locks
are streaming in the wind, as, with a grasped musket in his hands, and
the cry of _The sword of the Lord and Gideon_ on his lips, he rushes
towards the foe.”

“What! to encounter them alone?”

“Yes, alone, and in advance of all others. Now he takes his stand in
front of a group of tories partially concealed by the bushes on the bank
of the stream. There! he raises his gun, and crying, God have mercy on
your soul, fires, and his victim pitches headlong to the ground. They
return his fire, but harm him not; and he again raises his gun, and,
with the same prayer for mercy on the soul of the foeman he has singled
out, fires, and another tory falls heavily to the earth. Mercy! they are
now rushing forward to slay the old man! But now they are met by a party
of the Americans, running forward with shouts, _For the rescue of Father
Herriot_! Both sides fire; and again all are enveloped in the cloud of
smoke that rolls over them.”

“Father Herriot--Father Herriot,” said Vine, musingly. “I have heard a
great deal said about one they call Father Herriot, lately; but can he
be here fighting?”

“Why, who and what is he, that he should not be here?” asked the other.

“A sort of preacher, I believe,” answered Vine, “but rich enough to have
bought several large tory estates; though where he came from, or how he
got so much hard money as he seems to have, nobody can tell.”

A fresh and general outbreak between the opposing lines here interrupted
the conversation, and turned Sabrey’s attention again to the field. And
for nearly another fearful hour did she keep her stand at the window,
heedless of the danger from the bullets which were whistling round her
head, and unable, in the agonizing anxiety she felt for the result, to
withdraw her eyes from that dread field, where the continued thunders
of the artillery and musketry, shaking the solid earth along the line of
conflict proclaimed the battle to be still raging with unabated fury.

At length, a brisk breeze sprang up in the north-west, and the battle
cloud rolled heavily away before it from the field, disclosing, not only
the relative positions of the opposing forces, but the awful picture of
carnage that every where strewed the blackened earth. Mutually anxious
to avail themselves of this opportunity to ascertain each other’s
situation, both parties at once suspended operations, for the purpose
of obtaining observations which should enable them to resume the battle
with more deadly effect. The deafening roar of musketry which, for
nearly two hours, had shaken the embattled plain like one continued
peal of thunder, was now heard rolling away, in dying echoes, among the
far-off hills, leaving only the monotonous din of the martial music,
kept up to drown the cries of the wounded, and the heavy booming of
Baum’s artillery, that still maintained its regular fire on the hill,
though only to send--as it now became evident it had done from the
first--its iron missiles high and harmlessly over the heads of the
Americans, into the tops of the crashing forest beyond.

“Is the battle over?” asked Vine, as the noise of fire-arms thus
subsided.

“No--that is, I conclude not,” hesitatingly answered the other, still
more closely rivetting her anxious gaze on the unfolding scene
before her. “No, I think not--I trust not; for the British yet remain
unconquered.”

“Can you see them now?”

“Yes; the wind is driving away the smoke, and both armies are now fast
becoming visible.”

“Do our men maintain their ground?”

“Ay, and more. They have advanced almost to the hostile intrenchments;
and there they stand face to face with their foes; and with ranks less
thinned, thank Heaven, than I should think possible after withstanding
so long the dreadful fire to which they have been exposed; though I can
distinguish the forms of many poor fellows stretched upon the earth.”

“And have not the ranks of the enemy suffered also?”

“Severely, it is evident. The ground along their lines as far as I can
see, and especially that part opposite to the station occupied by the
Rangers, whom I can distinguish by their green uniform, is thickly
strown with the bodies of the slain. And if our men could see the
destruction they have caused behind those intrenchments to encourage
them! But stay! what means that commotion? Can it be? Heaven forbid!
But it is so. They fly!”

“Who fly?” eagerly demanded Vine.

“The Americans--Stark’s division--and all is lost, when one more effort
might have given them the victory! If my feeble voice could but reach
them, I would rush out and raise it, though I perished in the attempt!”
 rapidly exclaimed the heroic girl, agonized at the thought that her
countrymen were actually retreating from a field she believed so nearly
won. “Ay, and who knows but I might be heard, or, at least, understood?”
 she added, glancing hurriedly through the window to the grounds round
the house, to see what might be there to prevent her from trying to put
her half-formed resolution into execution.

In looking out, with this object, her eye fell on the rude portico
running along that side of the house, the narrow, flat roof of which
rose to within a few feet of her window. And, suddenly changing her
purpose, she hastily tore out the fastenings of the window, removed the
sashes, and leaped down upon the roof of the portico, and stood in open
view of the greater partion of both armies. But still regardless of her
exposure, she advanced to the verge of the roof, and, turning towards
the Americans, waved high her kerchief, and essayed to lift her voice
over the tumult in words which, she hoped, would catch their attention
and arrest their supposed flight. But the Americans, who had only fallen
back a short distance to avoid the now unobstructed aim of the enemy,
and prepare for a fresh onset, had already come to a stand, but were at
first too busily engaged in loading their guns, and watching the motions
of their foes, to observe her. The tories, however, whose forces were
posted in the more immediate vicinity, instantly noted her appearance,
and pointed her out to their officers, who, at once, appeared to read
her intentions. And the next moment Colonel Peters, now for the first
time presenting himself to her sight since her recapture, rode up; and,
with a countenance flushed with suppressed passion, commanded her to
retire within the house. A look of ineffable scorn was the only reply
the maiden vouchsafed to give him, while she redoubled her exertions to
attract the attention of his opponents. Stung by this public exhibition
of her disdain, and defiance of his commands, the tory chief hastily
raised a pistol towards her, and, in a fierce and menacing tone,
demanded an immediate compliance with his orders.

“God have mercy on your soul!” was at that instant heard issuing from
a covert near the American lines, in the well-known voice of Father
Herriot. With the exclamation came the report of a musket, and at the
same time a bullet struck and shattered in his hand the raised pistol
of the dastardly Peters, who, casting away the remnant of the weapon
to which he had been indebted only for his life, hastily wheeled and
galloped back to his post barely escaping the shower of balls that, as
he had rightly anticipated, was sent after him from the nearest of his
foes.

But although the maiden had failed at the onset to attract the attention
of the Americans by her attempt, as she had designed, yet the incident,
to which the bold step she had taken gave rise, more effectually
subserved her purpose. The firing had at once drawn all eyes to the
spot. Presently the low hum of questioning voices was heard running
through the American lines, while many an uplifted hand was seen
pointing to her conspicuous form, as, still undeterred from her purpose,
she stood waving her signal kerchief towards them. And the next moment
the loud and cheering cry, _Forward, to the rescue of the Tory’s
Daughter!_ burst from the Rangers, and was speedily caught up and echoed
in lively acclamations, from detachment to detachment, through the whole
encircling lines of the assailing army, which, with one impulse, now
threw itself forward towards the foe. And, unmoved by the tremendous but
hasty and misdirected fire that every where met them on the way,
they swept onward like an avalanche to the very foot of the tory
intrenchments; when, pausing only to pour in their devouring volleys,
they mounted the works, and raising their clubbed muskets, dashed down,
with shouts of defiance, upon the recoiling ranks of the amazed and
panic-stricken foe, who, unable to withstand the force and fury of the
onset, instantly gave way and threw down their arms, or scattered and
fled in every direction.

Astonished and alarmed at beholding all his outworks so suddenly and
unexpectedly stormed and carried, Baum seemed immediately to have
resolved on a desperate effort to retrieve the fortunes of the day.
And in a few minutes he was seen at the head of a long column of his
grenadiers, issuing from his intrenchments on the hill, and bearing down
with hasty step on the assailing forces below. But the next moment,
that imposing column, with its luckless leader, disappeared before the
enfilading fire of the death-dealing Rangers, like frost-work before the
breath of a furnace; while, nearly at the same time, an upleaping cloud
of smoke and flame, followed by the shock of an exploding ammunition
wagon within the principal works, completed the only signal of
encouragement that was wanted by the already flushed assailants to
decide them on an immediate attempt for the completion of their triumph.
And before the dull roar of the explosion was lost among the echoing
hills, the deep-toned voice of the intrepid Stark, ever eagle-eyed
to see, and prompt to seize, an advantage, was heard rising over the
tumult, in ordering the final assault, which, having leaped from his
horse, and sprung forward to the head of a forming column, he was the
next moment seen, with the air of a roused lion, leading on in person.
In one minute more, all the various forces, not required to guard the
prisoners already taken, were in motion, and, with flashing eyes, and
rapid, determined tread, charging up the ascending grounds towards the
different sides of the doomed redoubt; in another, they were furiously
rushing over the embankments, and pouring their bristling columns in
resistless streams down upon the weakened and dismayed forces of
the Germans and British in the enclosure. Then succeeded the
rapid, scattering reports of pistols and musketry, the sounds of
fiercely-clashing steel, and the wild cries of those struggling hand
to hand in deadly contest, and the wilder shrieks of the wounded,
all rising in mingled uproar from the spot. Then all was hushed in a
momentary stillness; and then rose the long, loud shout of a thousand
uniting voices, pealing forth to the heavens the exulting acclamations
of victory!



CHAPTER XIV.

  “The strife, that for a while did fail,
   Now trebly thundering, swelled the gale.”--_Scott_.


Like the rapidly-flitting scenes of some dioramic exhibition passed the
crowding events of the next half hour before the half-bewildered senses
of our heroine. The sudden appearance of Woodburn in the now deserted
yard of her prison-house, whither, the moment the battle was won, he
had hastened, with the usual anxiety of the lover made intense by the
distracting fear that she might have been carried off by the escaping
tories,--his eager inquiries for her presence and safety,--her own
involuntary but silent response to his calls, by rushing out to meet
him, and placing herself under his coveted protection,--the hurried
congratulations that passed between them,--the complimentary greetings
of the gallant hero of the day, and other distinguished persons soon
gathering around her and her fair companion, as they stood shrinking
from the admiration and applause which the conduct of one, and the
position of both, had called forth from the lips of all,--their welcome
escape from the embarrassing scene, in a carriage, under the guidance
of Bart, to whom they were given in charge by Woodburn, as he hastily
departed, at the head of a chosen band of followers, in pursuit of
Peters, and a body of tories that were discovered to have escaped,--the
passage of the vehicle through the contested field, ploughed up by
artillery, blackened by the fire and smoke of battle, and strewed with
the dying and the dead, among whom the busy groups of the dismissed
soldiery were every where scattered in pursuit of their different
objects--here to collect plunder from their slain enemies, and there
to minister to the wounded, or search among the fallen for missing
comrades,--all these followed so rapidly upon a victory, the sudden
announcement of which had nearly overpowered her with joyful surprise,
that it was not till she and her companion had passed beyond the
confines of the battle-field, and entered upon the comparatively
solitary road leading towards the village of Bennington, to which
they were now directing their course, that she could realize her happy
deliverance. Then, for the first time during that terrible day, the
woman in her prevailed, and she melted into tears. But they were
the tears of joy and gratitude, that she and her native land, whose
immediate fate had so singularly become interwoven with her own, had
alike been permitted to triumph. We must, however, leave her and her
friend to indulge their overflowing feelings, and listen to the recitals
of the no less happy Bart, who had been in the hottest of the fight,
while they pursue their unmolested way to their present destination--we
must now leave them, and return once more to the field of battle, where
the dismissed troops were still busily engaged in gathering up the
trophies of war, preparing refreshments, and exulting over the glorious
result of the conflict, little dreaming of any further appearance of the
enemy after so signal a defeat.

But hark! What means that heavy firing which suddenly comes echoing over
the forest from the west? Does it portend only some skirmish on the
line of the retreat, where a portion of the foe have come to a stand
to shield the rest, or favor their escape? No; it is the booming of the
deep-mouthed cannon, and not those of the defeated forces; for they have
left all theirs behind them. While every eye and ear, through the hushed
field, were turned in anxious perplexity towards the ominous sounds, a
horseman came dashing at full speed along the wood-begirt road from
that direction, loudly proclaiming, as he drew near, the startling
intelligence, that the broken and flying bands of the enemy had been
met and rallied by a reenforcement of five hundred fresh veteran troops,
well supplied with artillery; and the whole, making a more formidable
army than the first, and evidently resolved to retrieve the lost
credit of the day, and revenge themselves on the victors, were rapidly
approaching, and within two miles of the place!

The next moment the loud and quickly repeated cry of “To arms! to arms!”
 rang far and wide over the field. Then followed the rapid roll of the
alarm drums, the rattling of hastily-grasped muskets, the trampling of
hurrying feet, and the confused clamor of voices; while the scattered
and commingling bands of the surprised troops were seen throwing down
their plunder, or leaving the half-partaken meal, and flying, in all
directions, to their respective rallying points, to be ready to meet the
menaced onset, and die, or keep the field they had so gloriously won.
But notwithstanding the spirit and alacrity with which the troops
responded to the call, so rapid was the advance of the enemy, that,
before Stark, with all his energy, could collect much more than half his
former forces, refit them with ammunition, and bring them into line, the
British, led on by the cool and experienced Breyman, and driving before
them the detachment of Americans sent in pursuit of the fugitives, came
pouring onto the field; and, immediately throwing themselves into battle
array, opened a tremendous fire, with cannon and small arms, upon the
half-formed lines of their opponents, gathering to dispute their passage
in front. The Americans returned the fire, which, though partial and
irregular, was yet so well directed as to put a temporary check upon the
advance of the foe. But the latter, seeing the unprepared condition of
the former, and becoming confident of an easy victory, were soon again
upon the advance; while Stark, destroying the breastworks that had
sheltered the foe in the first action, as far as the time would permit,
and dragging the captured cannon along with him, slowly fell back,
continuing to make his dispositions, and pour, from time to time, as he
went, his well-aimed volleys upon the thinning ranks of his pursuers.
At length, however, he took his stand, resolved, in despite of all his
disadvantages, to make a final and desperate effort to regain the lost
mastery of the field. But closer and closer pressed the exulting and
determined foe; and, although well and bravely did his weakened and
exhausted men repel the fierce charges of their assailants, yet it soon
became evident that they could not long withstand the repeated assaults
of those heavy and disciplined columns upon their unequal lines. Both
the men and their officers began to exchange doubtful and despairing
glances; and even their bold and unyielding chief was seen to look
uneasily around him. But at that critical juncture, when the fate of the
free seemed trembling doubtfully in the balance, an inspiring shout rose
from the copse-wood bordering the road in the rear. And the next moment,
the far-famed regiment of Green Mountain Boys, whose earlier arrival
had been prevented by the storm of the preceding day, emerged into view;
and, led on by the chivalrous Warner on his fiery charger, that would
know no other rider,[Footnote: It may be interesting, to the antiquarian
at least, to learn that the splendid war-horse, which Warner was known
to have rode in all his battles, could neither be mounted nor managed by
any except the colonel and his son, then a lad of sixteen or seventeen,
who attended his father in the service mainly on that account. This fact
I have from the lips of Colonel W.’s second son, now living in Lower
Canada.] advanced with rapid and resolute tread directly to the scene of
action.

“Warm work, warm work here, Colonel Warner,” said Stark, as the other
dashed up to his side for his orders.

“Ay, general; but we will make it still warmer for the Red coats, at
least, if you will give us a chance at them in front of your line,”
 promptly responded the gallant officer.

“That chance you shall have, with the thanks of my exhausted troops, to
whom, and myself, your presence, at this time, my brave friend, could
scarcely be more welcome,” said Stark, with a frankness and cordiality
of manner which attested the pleasure he felt at the other’s timely
arrival.

“Thank you--thank you, general,” replied Warner, galloping back to his
regiment, and commanding their attention.

“Soldiers,” he exclaimed, in his clear, trumpet tones throwing back
his tall, superb form, and displaying his noble and beautifully-arched
brow,--“my brave soldiers, shall this be _our_ battle, and _our_
victory?”

A deafening cheer was the affirmative response.

“In God’s name, on, then!” he resumed, in a voice of thunder--“on,
and avenge yourselves for country’s wrongs, and for your flogging at
Hubbardton.”

In eager obedience to the welcome command of their idolized leader, who
now led the way, with flashing eyes and waving sword, they all swept on
through the opening ranks of their loudly-cheering companions in arms,
rapidly deployed into line, and, the next instant, wrapped themselves
in the flame and smoke of their own fire, which burst, with an almost
single report, into the very faces of the astonished foe, whose ranks
went down by scores before the leaden blast of that terrible volley.
And, by the time they had recovered from the shock of the unexpected
assault, the relieved and encouraged forces of Stark, now strengthened
by the arrival of additional numbers of the scattered militia, and
formed into new and more effective combinations, returned with,
fresh ardor to the contest. And, as the different detachments, moving
resolutely on, with flying colors and rattling drums, to the various
points of attack assigned them in front and around the hostile squares,
reached their allotted stations, they successively poured in their
withering volleys till the rebounding plain trembled and shook beneath
the tumult and thunders of a conflict, to which, in obstinacy and
sanguinary fierceness, few engagements on record afford a parallel. On
one side was discipline, with revenge, the hope of reward, and the fear
of the disgrace attending defeat, to incite them, to action On the other
side, the stake was home and liberty; and these as the trained officers
of Europe soon found to their astonishment often more than compensated
for the lack of discipline and military experience; for, in contending
for a stake of such individual moment, every man in the ranks of
freedom, though frequently wholly untrained, and in battle for the first
time in his life, at once became a warrior, fighting as if the whole
responsibility of the issue of the battle rested on his own shoulders.
And, in every part of the field, deeds were performed by nameless
peasants rivalling the most daring exploits of heroes. Here a company
of raw militia might be seen rushing upon a detached column of British
veterans, firing in their faces, and, for want of bayonets, knocking
them down with clubbed muskets. There old men and boys, with others
who, like them, had come unarmed and as spectators of the battle, would
spring forward after some retreating band, seize the muskets of the
slain, and engage, muzzle to muzzle, with the hated foe. The intrepid
Stark, harboring no thought but of victory, and as regardless of
exposure as the unconscious charger that bore him through the leaden
storm, was every where to be seen; now heading an onset--now dashing off
to rouse or rally a faltering column, and now leaping from his horse
to show his inexperienced men how to load and fire the captured cannon;
while Warner and Herrick, fit men to second the efforts of such a chief,
were constantly storming, like raging lions, in the smoke and fire
of the hottest of the fight; here breasting, with their brave and
unflinching regiments, the desperate assault, and there, in turn,
leading on the resistless charge.

Thus, with the tide of war alternately surging to and fro, like the wild
waves of the ocean lashed by contending winds, continued to rage this
fierce and sanguinary conflict, till the sun went down in the semblant
blood with which the smoke of battle had enshrouded him.

But now, soon an unusual commotion, attended with new and rapid
movements, was observable among the contending forces of the field.
Presently an exulting shout rose from the American lines; and the enemy
were seen at all points to be giving way. Their retreat, however, though
rapid, was yet, for a while, conducted with order; and they repeatedly
turned and made desperate efforts to resist the fiery tide that, with
gathering impetus, was rolling after them. But vain and fruitless
were all their attempts; for, while their whole rear was wasting with
frightful rapidity, under the terrible volleys which were poured upon
it, in one incessant blaze, by the hotly pursuing squadrons of Stark and
Warner, a strong detachment of the heroic Rangers, under the daring lead
of the now half-maddened Woodburn rushed forward and fell upon their
flank with a fury that threw their pierced and staggering columns into
such disorder and confusion as to destroy their last indulged hope of
escaping in a body from their infuriated pursuers. And, the next moment,
their whole force broke, and, abandoning their cannon and baggage, fled
in a tumultuous rout from the field, some escaping along the road, some
yielding themselves prisoners on the way, and others, to avoid their
outstripping pursuers, seeking refuge in the surrounding forest. But
neither road, nor field, nor forest, were this time permitted to afford
many of them the means of escape, or shield them from the harassing
pursuit of the exasperated Americans, who, in furiously-charging
columns, overthrew, shot down, or captured, all their broken and flying
bands within reach, in the road and open grounds, or in small parties,
or singly, closely followed and boldly encountered them in the woods,
whose dark recesses soon resounded with the scattering fire, the
clashing steel, and the hurrying shout, of the pursued and pursuing
combatants.

But of the scores of promiscuous conflicts and personal encounters which
marked the _finale_ of this memorable triumph and made so conspicuous
the prowess of the heroic men by whom it was achieved, it were in vain
for us, within our limits, to attempt a description. There was one of
these encounters, however, which the approaching development of our
story requires to be more particularly noted. And, for this purpose, we
will now change the scene to a wild glen, far within the depths of the
forest, where, hedged in by an impassable morass in front, and steep
ledges of rocks on either side, a gang of a half dozen of the fugitive
tories, headed by an officer in British uniform, had turned round
with the desperate ferocity of wild beasts, to give battle to the
indefatigable pursuers, who had followed them from the battle-field
with a vigilance and speed from which there was no escape, and with such
demonstrations of marksmanship as had already told fatally on nearly
half their numbers on the way. But those pursuers, as wary as they were
brave and untiring, with the double object of concealing the inequality
of their numbers, which were but four, and securing the advantages that
a choice of positions in all sylvan contests especially affords, had
instantly fallen back to a line of hastily-selected coverts, stretching
across the gorge, and had now become wholly invisible to their advancing
foes, who soon paused in turn, and, shielding themselves behind the
bodies of trees stood eagerly peering out to catch sight of the
objects of their aim. Suddenly the sharp report of a rifle burst from
a bush-covered cleft in the rocks nearly abreast of one of the exposed
flanks of the tories; and the tallest of their number, with a wild
start, and half-uttered oath, floundered into the bushes and fell. The
next moment, our old acquaintance, Bart Burt, who, having conveyed the
ladies to their destination, had sped back to the battle-field in time
to participate in the last part of the final action, was seen stealthily
creeping round the point of the ledge, from which the fatal shot had
issued, and approaching the leader of the concealed assailants, who,
as the reader may have already anticipated, was no other than Captain
Woodburn.

“Bart,” said the latter, “you have executed my order as no other man
could. But whom have you slain? Not Peters?”

“No--couldn’t get him in range; but did as well, though--may be
better--fixed out the only one whose aim I was ‘fraid of--the big,
fierce-looking whelp that shot father Herriot, in our last sally in the
field; the same that made that bullet-hole in your coat on the way
here; and the same, too, who would have finished me, likely, but for the
glancing of his bullet on a bush before me. But I have settled all the
grudges at a blow, now.”

“You have done bravely; but did you discover who they are--any of them
besides the leader, Peters?”

“Yes, two of ‘em, who are, as Dunning and Piper surmised, Dave Redding
and Tiger Fitch, that beauty of a constable, who bothered us so in old
times, at Guilford. He’s now some kind of an officer among ‘em, guess;
and, dead or alive, I’m bound to have him; though, if you’ve any
particular plan, captain, I’ll follow it, instead of going round to
‘tother ledge for another pick of the flock.”

“I have one; and that is, to draw their fire, or most of it, and then
rush upon them. You may creep on, then, to Dunning and Piper, and, with
them, contrive and execute some plan to effect that object, and I will
stand here ready to order, and lead the charge, at the favoring moment.”

Bart now, with the noiseless tread of a cat, rapidly glided away into
the bushes and disappeared on his errand. In a few minutes, the cracking
of sticks, as if under the pressure of cautiously moving feet, was heard
in a thicket of bushes within full range of the guns of the tories,
who, now safely ensconced behind the new coverts, to which, in alarm at
Bart’s fatal shot, they had betaken themselves, instantly turned their
attention in that direction, and, levelling their pieces, keenly watched
for the expected exposure of the persons of some of their opponents.
Soon the dim outlines of two or three apparently human forms could
be traced in the thicket, rising up one after another, with the quick
hesitating motions of men intent on a stealthy _reconnaissance_ of the
objects before them. And, the next moment, every tory, but one, sent the
contents of his gun at these supposed forms of the lurking besiegers.
But instead of beholding, as they had anticipated, the riddled bodies
of the dreaded foe dropping to the earth, they soon discovered, to
their astonishment and dismay, that the empty coats and caps, which
the outwitting Rangers had raised on their ramrods over their prostrate
persons, were the only sufferers.

“Der--der--der--ditter ready!” shouted Dunning, in a voice which at last
went off like the terminating clap of a rattling thunder peal, as he and
his two associates leaped, coatless, from the ground, to be prepared for
the instant execution of the expected order.

“On, then, and suffer not a wretch of them to escape you alive!”
 exclaimed their impatient leader in reply, dashing forward himself, and
leading in the headlong onset which they all now made on the foe.

Taken by complete surprise by this rapid and unexpected movement of the
assailants, now bursting upon them with cocked and levelled rifles, the
dismayed tories, at first, made no attempts at escape or resistance;
while part of then threw down their half-loaded guns, and stepped out
from their coverts.

“Surrender at discretion, or take the consequence!” sternly cried
Woodburn, pausing within twenty yards of the tory leader.

“We are in your power, sir, I suppose,” replied Peters evasively, and
in a tone of affected submission, as, avoiding the burning gaze of the
other, he threw a significant glance to the tory who had reserved his
charge at the fruitless fire just made by the rest of his party.

In an instant, the gun of the latter, who still stood behind a tree
shielding him, as he supposed, from the other Rangers, was levelled at
Woodburn, whose attention was too intently fixed on his chief foe to
notice the movement. But before the finger of the assassin was permitted
to tighten on the trigger, a bullet from the unerring rifle of the
watchful Dunning had pierced his brain, and his gun, as he fell over
backwards, exploded harmlessly into the air. Three of the tories,
however, taking advantage of the momentary confusion occasioned by the
noise and smoke of the guns, made a desperate spring for the surrounding
thickets and succeeded in breaking through the line of their assailants,
three of whom instantly gave chase, leaving Woodburn to cope alone with
the rival foe, whom he had vainly sought through the day to confront
in battle. Peters threw a quick, furtive glance around him; and, for
an instant, seemed hesitating whether he should attempt to follow the
example of the rest of his band; but another glance at the watchful
and menacing eye of his opponent gleaming at him over the barrel of the
deadly rifle, taught the folly of any such attempt, and, throwing down
his weapons, he said,--

“I yield myself a prisoner of war, sir.”

“A prisoner of war!” exclaimed Woodburn, repeating the words of the
other, in a tone of bitter scorn. “After signifying your submission, and
then instigating an attempt to shoot me, you hope to be received as a
prisoner of war, do you? Villain!” he added, advancing and presenting
the muzzle of his piece within a yard of the other’s breast--“villain,
your last claim to mercy is forfeited!”

“You would not slay an unarmed man, and a prisoner, would you?” said
Peters, recoiling, and casting an uneasy glance at his opponent.

“Yes,” replied the former, with increasing sternness, “if, like you, in
defiance of all the rules of war as well as honor, he would do the same
to me the first moment he had it in his power. No submission shields the
life of an outlaw from any one disposed to take it. But you shall have
one minute for uttering your last request, if you have any such to
make.”

Being now thoroughly alarmed by the words, as well as the demeanor of
his incensed captor, the once haughty loyalist fell on his knees, and
humbly besought the other to spare his life.

“Live, then, wretch!” said Woodburn, at length moved to both pity and
contempt by the entreaties and abject manner of the former--“live then,
if you choose it, to be dealt with as a traitor and a spy, by men who
will award you your deserts with more coolness, doubtless, than I should
have done, but with no less certainty.”

“O, spare me from that,” pleaded the abased supplicant, with redoubled
earnestness. “Kill me on the spot, if you will; but spare me from that
fate. Allow me to be delivered up as a prisoner of war, and I will
consent to any thing--yield any thing you wish. I will ensure you, by
my influence at the British camp, any advantage in a future exchange of
prisoners you may ask; and----”

“Peace! miserable craven!” interrupted Woodburn. “I could promise you
no exemption, if I would, from a punishment which our exasperated people
will justly say you have brought upon your own head.”

“And I will also,” resumed Peters, encouraged by the somewhat softened
tone, and slightly hesitating manner of the other--“I will also
relinquish all claims, and forego all interference, in matters that may
have stood in the way of your private interests and wishes.”

“I will make no pledges, nor grant, nor receive any terms, at your
dictation, sir,” said the former, haughtily.

“I will trust to your magnanimity to a fallen foe,” then, rejoined
Peters, rightly appreciating, for once, the character of his conqueror.
“Here, take this,” he continued, drawing a carefully-preserved document
from his pocket, and extending it towards the other--“take it, and
deliver it to the one whom it most concerns. Tell her it was voluntarily
relinquished, and that I will trouble her no more.”

As small as was the measure of credit which Woodburn’s judgment told him
should be accorded to the motives prompting this unexpected course in
his old enemy, it nevertheless quickly banished every vindictive feeling
from his generous bosom; and after a momentary hesitation, he took the
proffered document, glanced at its contents, and silently deposited
it among his other papers. But soon growing jealous of himself lest he
should compromit the policy which his superiors might deem it just
and wise, under the sanction of the stern rules of war, to enforce,
he restrained himself from making any immediate reply. And, the next
moment, he was relieved from what apparent necessity there might be for
so doing, by the approach of the first of the returning Rangers.

“Where is your prisoner, Piper?” he asked, turning to the latter, now
coming up.

“He would not be taken alive, sir; and the order was to let none
escape in that condition,” replied the broad-chested subaltern with a
significant look.

“In order, then, that you go not home empty-handed,” rejoined Woodburn,
“I will give you charge of _my_ prisoner, Colonel Peters here, whom you
will conduct to Bennington Meeting-House, whither the prisoners of the
day were ordered, and whence you will deliver him to the officer in
command as a prisoner of war--at least for the present; for any doubt
that may arise about his final disposal can be settled hereafter.”

“Der well, captain,” exclaimed Dunning, whose tall, gaunt form, in the
rear of his prisoner, the infamous David Redding, whom it had been his
lot to capture, was now seen emerging from a thicket near by--“here is
one, about whom we shan’t be bothered with der doubts, a great while, if
his captor can have his say.”

“Aha!--but what _is_ your say about him, sergeant?” said Woodburn,
smiling.

“Der well,” replied the other, “I say, if the ditter devil don’t take
him from a traitor’s gallows, then we may just as well have no devil.”

“I shall not be the one to gainsay you in that, sergeant,” responded
Woodburn. “But hark! what is the uproar yonder?” he added, pointing out
into the woods in a direction from whence the sound of an occasional
stiff _whack!_ followed by groans, curses, and calls for protection,
were now heard to issue.

On turning their eyes towards the spot, the company beheld Bart, with
his rifle in one hand, and a long beechen switch in the other, driving
in before him the whilom constable, Fitch, who was chafing, like
a chained bear, under the lash which his catechizing captor was
administering every few yards on the way.

“Why are you so rough with him, Bart?” expostulated Woodburn, as they
came up.

“Well, captain, I have a reasonable wherefore for it--may be,” answered
the former, gravely.

“What is it?” asked the other.

“Why,” replied the imperturbable Bart, “perhaps I don’t remember, and
perhaps I do, how a chap of about my size sat sweating near two cool
hours, at the sight of an ugly-looking bunch of beech rods, that a
certain constable had ordered for his back. And as ‘twas no fault of his
that the matter wasn’t carried out at the time, and, as I always thought
there was a mistake made as to the one whose back ought to take it, I
felt rather bound to have the order executed now, and in a manner to set
all to rights between us.”

“Well, well, boys,” said Woodburn, with a good-humored smile, “you must
all be indulged in your notions, I suppose, at such a glorious hour as
this. But you may now be moving on with your prisoners to the field, and
thence by the road to Bennington. Business calls me there by a nearer
route, and at a quicker pace. You shall find good cheer awaiting your
arrival.”

So saying, he struck off rapidly from the rest, and soon disappeared in
the forest.



CHAPTER XV.


  “Sing it where forests wave,--
     From mountain to the sea,
   And o’er each hero’s grave,--
     Sing, sing, the land is free.”


It was evening; and all that met the eye was joy and animation in the
little village of Bennington, in which, not only the great body of the
opposing armies, either as conquerors or prisoners, but the best
portion of the patriotism, wisdom, and beauty of young Vermont, were now
congregated. There her statesmen and sages--many of whom had mingled
in the strife of the day--were gathered to rejoice over a result which
their own heads, and hearts, and hands, through the anxious days and
nights of the preceding month, had been unceasingly engaged in
securing for their country and their homes. There, too, the old men and
striplings, drawn from all the neighboring settlements by the ominous
sounds which had reached them from the distant battlefield, and there
the maids and matrons, whose solicitude for the near and dear ones,
supposed to be engaged in the conflict, would not permit them to stay
behind, were all found mingling with the victors, and participating in
their exultations. Bright lights were streaming from every window, or
dancing in every direction in the streets; while the smiling faces and
animated voices, everywhere seen and heard among the commingling throng,
seemed to tell only of a scene of universal joy and triumph. But as
joyous and lively as was the scene, in its predominating features, it
was yet not without its painful contrasts. The broken sob, or the
low wail of sorrow, was heard rising sadly on the night air, in
every interval that occurred in the more boisterous but irrepressible
manifestations which characterized the hour. And, even in the same
dwellings, these two contrasted phases in war’s exciting but melancholy
picture were not unfrequently presented; for, while in one room might be
heard the notes of joy and exultation, in another might be distinguished
the stifled groan of some wounded soldier, or the lamentations of the
bereaved over the body of a slain relative.

Among the most noted of the class last mentioned was the late residence
of Esquire Haviland, situated in the outskirts of the village, and
recently occupied as the quarters of the officers of the Rangers, on the
invitation of the patriotic but singular and mysterious man, who, at
its sale by the commissioners of confiscation, had purchased the
establishment, among several others of a valuable description thus sold
in this section of the country. To this residence, the scene of a former
portion of our story, we will now once more, and for the last time,
repair.

While in one part of the building the officers just named, with other
distinguished persons, were engaged in discussing the incidents of the
day, in another and more retired apartment, on a pillowed couch, lay
the wounded Father Herriot, who, having been stricken down in the last
moments of the battle, as before intimated, had been borne hither to
complete the willing sacrifice he had made of his life to the cause of
his country. On a small table, within his reach, lay several documents,
which were fresh from the hand of that ready writer, the accomplished
secretary of the Council of Safety, who had just left the apartment.
And around his bedside stood those in whom all his private interests and
sympathies had been for some time secretly concentrated, though to two
of them personally unknown till a few hours before, when he had beer
brought in wounded and committed to their care. Those persons were Henry
Woodburn, Bart Burt, Sabrey Haviland, and Vine Howard, who, ignorant of
his particular wishes or intentions, and wondering why the presence of
all of them should be desired at the same time, had been summoned to his
bedside to hear his last communication and receive his blessing.

“My prayer is answered,” said Herriot, after looking round
affectionately a while upon his expectant auditors, who, at his request,
after the room was cleared of other company, had advanced to his
bedside. “My last prayer has been to be permitted to see all of you,
in whose personal welfare I have been led to take a peculiar interest,
assembled before me while life and reason remained, so that I could
commune with you; and the prayer has been graciously answered. Still,
when, at the close of our first, and, as we all then supposed, final
triumph to-day, Miss Haviland, with her friend, at my request, was
conveyed here to her former home, of which I had become the purchaser,
I then thought to have met you all here this evening under circumstances
in which I could have actively shared with you in the rejoicings that
our victory so naturally calls forth, as well as in the happiness,
which, as far as regards you, I believed I could superadd by my own
acts. But He who holds the fate of individuals, as well as that of
armies, in his hands, has seen fit to deny me such participation; and
_He doeth all things well_.”

“Your wound is not necessarily a mortal one, Father Herriot and I trust
you may yet live to enjoy the fruits of a victory you have contributed
so much by your bravery to win,” observed Woodburn, feelingly.

“That may not be. I feel the destroyer busily at work here, undermining
the citadel,” responded the other, placing his hand on that part of his
chest where the bullet had entered. “But I regret not having made the
poor sacrifice of my life for so righteous a cause. And though I shall
not live to see the happiness I would be the means of imparting, yet
the wish and the duty of doing what I proposed to that end remains to be
fulfilled, and for this purpose I have requested your presence.”

The speaker here paused, as if at a loss how he should open the subject
which seemed to rest on his mind. But at length he resumed:--

“Miss Haviland, what you have done and suffered for the cause, in which
you so nobly took your stand, is known to many. The part you have acted
in the events of this day is known to still more; but have not those
events had a bearing on your happiness beyond what would arise from the
bare liberation of your person?”

“They have, sir,” replied the maiden, frankly, but with an air of
surprise at the unexpected question.

“And have I been correctly informed, by the person who has just left us,
and who has long been my confidential friend and adviser, that, by the
relinquishment of a certain contract, you are now left free to bestow
your hand on one whose character and feelings may be more congenial with
your own?”

“Why am I questioned in so unusual a manner, and by one so much a
stranger?” asked the former, in a half-remonstrating, half-beseeching
tone.

“I knew,” rejoined the other, “that you, as well as the rest of those
present, might, at first, wonder why and how I should have kept myself
apprised, as I confess I have long done, of all that concerned the
individual interests, and even inclinations, as far as could be
conjectured, of each of you. And I know, also, that my ways are not like
those of other men. But cannot you trust to the motives of a dying man,
and let him proceed in his own manner?”

“I can--I will, Father Herriot,” answered Sabrey, touched by the appeal.
“And I will not affect to misunderstand you. I have been freed from
fetters under which I have suffered--perhaps unnecessarily--both
persecution and embarrassment of feeling. And I am thankful,” she
continued, throwing a grateful glance to Woodburn--“greatly thankful for
that generous forbearance by which this was effected without bloodshed.
Yes, I am free, doubly free; but whoever takes me,” she added, slightly
coloring, “must now receive a penniless bride.”

“Perhaps not,” said Herriot, musingly--“perhaps not. But I did not mean
to be understood as imposing any conditions to the act I was about to
perform, after ascertaining your entire deliverance from the power and
supposed claims of one whom I deem a bad man, as well as a foe to his
country. Here, deserving girl,” he continued, taking up one of the
documents from the table and extending it towards her, “here is a deed
of gift, from me to you, of all this, which was your father’s estate.
Take it; it is freely given and worthily bestowed.”

Surprise at an act as unexpected as it was munificent, kept all mute for
some seconds; when Sabrey, whose sensibilities were too deeply moved
to permit her to speak, threw upon the donor a look which her grateful
emotions made more eloquent than any language she could have summoned
for a reply; and then, turning, she silently extended her hand to
Woodburn, with the deed still laying across the open palm.

“Which?--the hand or the paper?” asked the latter, in a low tone, and
with a slightly apprehensive air.

“Either, or both,” replied the maiden, as a blush stole over her
conscious cheek.

“The hand, then,” exclaimed the delighted lover, grasping the coveted
prize, and bearing it in triumph to his lips.

“It is all right; but no words,” said Herriot, making a motion for
silence to Woodburn, who was about to address him--“no words. I have
much to say--let me proceed. Bart,” he continued, after a thoughtful
pause, as he turned to the young man who had stood mutely noting the
proceedings with a puzzled look--“Bart, do you remember the old Rose
Homestead, which was confiscated, and also purchased by me?”

“Well, yes,” replied Bart, looking up with an inquiring, doubtful
expression--“yes, for as many as two several reasons, or more,” he
added, with one glance to Woodburn, and another, and more significant
one, to Vine, who was standing demurely at his side.

“Would you like it for your own?” asked the former.

“My own!” exclaimed Bart, casting an incredulous but searching look at
the other’s countenance, in which, however, he read something that at
once changed his demeanor; and, in a softened and respectful tone, he
replied to the question, “Yes, Father Herriot, as soon as the smell of
toryism got fairly out of it, I would like it grandly, that’s a fact.”

“It is yours, then, as this deed will show,” said Herriot, handing to
the surprised and hesitating young man the instrument in question; “it
is yours; but have you no one to share it with you?”

“Well, don’t know exactly, but may be the chap that helped me fix up
my spy disguises, and gave me so many good hints for ferreting out the
tories, won’t object much to that, seeing we have had considerably
the start of the captain and his lady here, in the way of finished
bargains,” replied Bart, turning, with an expression of droll gravity,
to the blooming girl at his side, who, thereupon, with an arch and
blushful smile, placed her hand in his, which had been extended to
receive it.

“Who are you, Father Herriot?” exclaimed the now completely surprised
Woodburn; “who are you, to take such an interest in us, and bestow on us
gifts so valuable, with so little hope, as you can have, of any adequate
return?”

“Listen, and you shall be answered,” replied Herriot; “for the time has
now arrived when you all should know the relation in which we stand to
each other; and I know not but I have already delayed the disclosure of
this fact too long. Perhaps I should have made it, as I had nearly done,
when, at the breaking out of the war, you and Bart visited my hermit
cabin in the vicinity of the Connecticut. But when I found you about
to embark in the cause of liberty, for which I stood ready to make any
sacrifice, I concluded to defer it, lest the discovery, which I had but
then just made myself, should turn you from a service that I thought
none were at liberty to withhold. I therefore, after communicating to
you enough to lead you, in case of my death, to all the knowledge
I wished you to obtain, encouraged you on your way. And it has all,
doubtless, been for the best; for who knows but your individual
exertions were needed to turn the scale which has been so long trembling
at equipoise? But the events of this day,” continued the patriot,
kindling at the thought--“the events of this day, which will be
memorable through all, time, have turned that scale in favor of American
freedom. I read it with a prophetic eye, which is made for me too clear
for error or misconception. Our avenging armies will henceforth go on
conquering and to conquer, till the last vestige of British usurpation
is swept from the land.”

Here the speaker paused a while to recover from his exhaustion, and
indulge his mental vision, apparently, with the enrapturing glimpses
he was catching of the future destiny of his country. But soon arousing
himself from his reverie, he resumed,--

“Harry Woodburn, you had once a paternal uncle?”

“I have been told so,” was the reply.

“Who, by his folly and wickedness, disgraced himself and ruined your
father,” proceeded the former.

“I had such an uncle,” responded Woodburn, with an expression of
gathering interest and surprise; “or, rather, I had an uncle, who,
though not a bad man, was, I have understood, at one time, a very
indiscreet one; and, by his indiscretion, lost his own property, and
deeply involved that of my father. But I do not feel to condemn him as
much as your words imply you expect I should.”

“Or as he has always condemned himself,” rejoined Herriot, with an air
of deep self-abasement. “But I thank God for giving me the means, and
the will, for making ample restitution to such as remain of my injured
brother’s family, or of my own. Harry, I am that uncle. I am the erring
Charles Woodburn.”

“I am surprised, deeply surprised,” said the other; “for, attributing
the interest you have taken in me to other causes, I have, till within
a few minutes, been totally unprepared for such a revelation. And now
it seems as if it could not be. You could not have much resembled my
father, and you bear another name.”

“I did not strikingly resemble my more staid brother, in person or
character,” responded the former, meekly; “and my reasons for assuming
another name are explained by the circumstances under which you first
saw me, the accused of a revolting crime, of which, as I then declared,
I was never guilty. And this the wicked men, who combined against me,
and hunted me out, even in this new settlement, full well knew. But they
knew, also, that I had somewhere at command the large amount of money
that had been left me by a wealthy and heirless gentleman, whom I had
previously rescued from death. Are you now satisfied that I am the man I
claim to be, and, as such, willing to acknowledge me?”

“Fully, now--not only satisfied of the identity, but willing, nay, proud
to acknowledge the relationship,” said Woodburn, with warmth and rising
emotion. “Nor is this all, my uncle, my friend! The acts you have just
performed will ever--”

“Enough, enough!” interrupted the former; “but let me go on. I have
still another and more humiliating duty to perform. Bart,” he continued,
turning, with an agitated countenance, to the young man, “as forsaken
and guideless as you have been, many a parent has had a less deserving
offspring. And had you not done more for yourself than he, who should
have been your protector and guide, has done for you, you had been less
than nothing among men. But listen; for the story of your origin, which,
thus far, has been as a sealed book to you, must now be disclosed Your
father contracted a private, but legal marriage, with a woman, who, as
the world falsely esteemed it, was below him in station; and, in
his pride, he refused to acknowledge her, and, having squandered the
property that should have been applied to her support, absconded from
the country. In after years, however, conscience drove him back, but
only to find her dying of destitution and a broken heart, and to learn
from her last words that the offspring of their connection, a male
infant, had been thrown unacknowledged on the charity of the
public. Aroused by a new sense of duty, he diligently sought for the
child--followed it from its first lodgment to its next asylum in the
city; from that to another in the country; and then, through various
shifts and wanderings, till the trace was lost far in the interior; when
he gave up the search, and again left the country. In the process of
time, he once more returned to New England, in altered circumstances,
and located himself in this settlement, where he soon met with a youth,
whose countenance so strikingly resembled that of his deceased wife,
as to put him instantly on inquiry and research, which, in a few weeks,
resulted in supplying the broken chain of evidence, and in identifying
the youth as his lost son. Bart, you were, and still are, that son.
I was, and still am, that father. Do I die, my much injured son,
acknowledged and forgiven?”

The young man was too deeply affected by his surprise and emotion to
utter a word in reply; but tears, which all the wrongs and hardships he
had endured had failed to wring from him, now stole out on his sunburnt
cheeks, testifying, not only his gratification at the discovery, but
that the slumbering fountain of a naturally generous nature was now
effectually stirred within his bosom. And the speaker, seeming satisfied
with the answer which this evidence implied, soon proceeded:--

“Little more now remains to be imparted. You remember, Harry, that at
the visit at my cabin, to which I have already alluded, I showed you two
small casks, labelled ‘_Printers Type_,’ concealed under a stone in the
cellar?”

“I do; and the impression they caused of the absurdity of bringing that
kind of property into our new settlement,” replied the other.

“They were so marked for greater security,” resumed the former; “for
they contained silver coin, and, at that time, nearly all the property I
possessed. Of these, one has been recently appropriated to the purchase
of confiscated estates, whenever a lack of money in others was likely to
prevent a sale at a fair value. The other remains in the same spot. And
this, and the rest of my property, except what I have just conveyed, and
except, also, bequests of small farms to Dunning and Piper, for their
friendship to you, and faithfulness to the cause, you will find, by my
will here on the table, to be equally divided between you, my son and
nephew. And now,” he added, in a faltering tone, and in accents of
touching tenderness, “now, my children, having said all I wished to
communicate, I will commend you to our common Parent above. Kneel and
receive my blessing.”

Hand in hand, and side by side, with the fair sharers of their gushing
sympathies, the young men now reverently knelt around the dying patriot,
and bowed their faces beneath his outspread hands to receive the
proffered blessing, which was then pronounced with much fervor, but with
the last words he was destined ever to utter; for after waiting a while
after he had ceased to speak, the tearful group gently removed his hands
from their heads, and arose to be greeted by a face pale in death.



CONCLUSION.

On a summer afternoon, nearly a year after the occurrence of the
events last described, there was an unusual gathering in the village
of Bennington. As early as one o’clock, multitudes of people were seen
pouring in by every road leading into the place from the surrounding
country, and filling up the streets with a promiscuous crowd of all
ages, sexes, and conditions. And as the hour of two approached, the
commotion increased to a degree which plainly showed that some crisis
was at hand; and soon the dense throng, gathered in the vicinity of the
Green Mountain Tavern, then the principal place of public resort,
broke away into groups and companies, and began to flock towards
a newly-erected gallows, standing, at no great distance, on the
neighboring common. Here arranging themselves, as they came up, in a
circle round the ill-omened structure, they assumed the attitude of
spectators awaiting the advent of some promised spectacle.

Presently a clamor rose from the outer part of the crowd, as, with the
exclamations, “_There comes the new Overseer of the Tories!_” [Footnote:
The Overseer of the Tories, an officer peculiar to the times, and
perhaps to the locality, was one to whom was intrusted the general
surveillance and control of that class of persons, to prevent them from
communicating with the British, and see that they did not pass over
the limits of the farms, or town lines, within which, under various
penalties, they were doomed to remain, unless called out by such officer
for some public service, such as clearing out the highways, &c., to
which they were held subject.] “_There comes Dunning and his gang of
beauties!_” They pointed to a column of some dozens of variously-clad,
dejected-looking men, headed by a well-armed officer in the continental
uniform, just coming round a corner into view, and advancing towards the
spot.

“Der open there to the right and left!” cried the commander of this
unique company, as he marched them up to the crowd. “Make way for Mother
Britain’s ditter darlings! The coming sight is as much for their der
benefit as your ditter fun. There, halt!” he continued, bringing the
submissive creatures into their allotted place. “Now, the first one
of you that attempts to sneak away hem the sight, takes a der pistol
bullet. So face the music without flinching. It will ditter do you
good.”

Scarcely had this transpired before the crowd, whose attention, for the
moment, was too much engrossed to notice the approach of the principal
procession, now close at hand, was again thrown into commotion by the
sound of a muffled drum, followed by the loud cry of, “_Clear the way
for the prisoner and his escort!_” in a voice whose well-known tones
never fell unheeded on the ears of a Green Mountain assemblage. With
magic quickness, a clear space opened through the ranks of the receding
throng, in the direction of this fresh summons, when the first object
that met the eye was the towering form of Ethan Allen, mounted on a
large black horse; he having recently returned from his captivity, and
been appointed, in the quaint language of his commission, “_to conduct,
in behalf of the state, the trial and execution of that inimical person,
David Redding_” [Footnote: David Redding, the only person ever executed
in Vermont for political offences, was, after changing two or three
times from the American to the British cause, and two trials, hanged
July 17, 1777. at 2 o’clock, P. M.] Next to Allen came the prisoner,
riding in an ox-cart, and sitting between two armed men, who were acting
as his special guards. Then followed a company of soldiers, under the
command of another of our old acquaintances Bill Piper, who had been
promoted to a captaincy in a volunteer service then recently projected;
while the president, secretary, and members of the Council of Safety,
succeeded by a band of private citizens, brought up the rear of the
procession. On reaching its destination, the team was brought to a stand
immediately beneath the gallows, which was a naked cross-tree, set into
the ground like a sign-post, and wholly unprovided with platform, or
other of the usual adjuncts of such structures. The prisoner was then
ordered to stand up in the cart, when the noose at the end of the rope,
dangling from the arm above, was securely adjusted round his neck, and
every thing made ready for the awful moment.

Ira Allen, having mounted some object at hand, then addressed the people
in an eloquent exhortation on the duty and policy of a faithful and
unwavering adherence to the cause of the country, which he enforced
by giving a rapid sketch of the character and career of the wretched
traitor before them, as contrasted with those who had been true to that
cause, and especially those who had captured him.

“Of the four brave men,” he said, in conclusion, “who, at such odds
and risk, pursued and took the prisoner and his party, on that glorious
occasion, two are present, and in positions which amply testify the high
estimation that has been placed on their gallant conduct. The others,
the two Woodburns, who remained in the city, are--as I learn from
letters I have recently seen from them or their scarcely less heroic
young wives, left to conduct the affairs of their respective homes--now
in New Jersey, acting under the eye of their beloved Washington, whose
confidence in them in their different spheres of action--one as the
honored colonel of a regiment and the other as the most trusty and
adroit manager in the secret service--they consider their sufficient
reward, and one that was only wanting to crown that which, on the eve of
our memorable battle here, they received in their wives, and the wealth
obtained through the romantic disclosures of their dying relative, the
lamented Father Herriot. And of the party taken alive by those
gallant men, the tory leader, Peters, was exchanged for several of our
imprisoned officers, and at a bargain which secured us advantages not
to be obtained by stretching his worthless neck; and he has retired into
Canada, to sink into insignificance, despised and hated by those whom
his misrepresentations respecting the alleged easy conquest of our state
so completely deceived. Fitch, after having ransomed himself by the
payment of all he could raise, offered through his fear of a fate to
which, after all, he probably would not have been condemned, sneaked
back to his old haunts in Guilford, where he perished miserably by the
hand of one whom former wrongs, committed in acts of official cruelty
and extortion, had made desperate. And the other, and last of the
infamous trio, now stands before us, to make atonement for his crimes by
an ignominious death on the gallows.”

When the speaker had concluded, the prisoner, after glancing around him,
with that fitful, furtive, and restless expression, which at all times
so strongly marked his countenance, turned to Ethan Allen, and meekly
begged permission to address the multitude.

“Why--yes,” hesitatingly replied the rough old hero, who had been
sitting upon his horse, moodily looking at his watch lying in his broad
palm, and occasionally exhibiting signs of impatience at the length of
his more wordy young brother’s remarks--“yes, it may be right enough,
that you should have your say unless you want to preach some more of
your damnable tory doctrines to the people. But be short, sir. Your hour
is nearly up; and I do not intend that the earth shall be polluted by
your living presence one moment beyond the time.”

Immediately availing himself of this ungracious permission, the prisoner
turned, shrinkingly, towards the crowd, and said,--

“All you who hear me, I hope, will take warning by my miserable end--an
end to which I have been brought, in my opinion only by my inconstancy.
In the first place, I adhered to my oath allegiance, and supported the
king; but, finding myself in danger, I enrolled myself under the new
state, and went for the authority of Congress. Conscience, however,
quickly carried me lack to the royal cause, which I again supported a
while; and then, being over-persuaded by my neighbors, I came out once
more openly for the state, and went for it till the approach of Burgoyne
emboldened me to risk another change, and go for my old master. But,
being soon taken in arms, I must now untimely perish. It is, therefore,
my advice to you all--never fluctuate as I have done; but you who are
for the States, stick by the States; and you who are for the king, stick
by the king, and prove--”

“And so,” fiercely interrupted old Ethan--“so you would have an
interminable war, would you? Take your treason along with you to Tophet,
ye doubly-damned miscreant! I will have no more of it here. Teamster,
drive on the cart!”

The teamster did so; and the next moment the traitor Redding was
launched into eternity.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Rangers; or, The Tory's Daughter
 - A Tale Illustrative of the Revolutionary History of Vermont and the Northern Campaign of 1777" ***

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