VOL. VI.] FEBRUARY 3, 1877. [NO. 68.
IRON HAND,
CHIEF OF THE TORY LEAGUE.
BY FREDERICK FOREST.
NEW YORK.
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
FRANK STARR & CO.,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. THE QUARREL. 9
II. THE MURDERED MAN. 16
III. THE STRANGE FACE. 21
IV. THE NIGHT RIDE. 29
V. THE RED WITNESS. 32
VI. THE HOT TRAIL. 43
VII. THE SECRET MISSION. 52
VIII. THE HUNTED LIFE. 67
IX. A SAVAGE FRIEND. 75
X. THE MASK REMOVED. 82
XI. THE UNNATURAL BROTHER. 87
XII. THE END OF THE TRANSGRESSOR IS HARD. 89
XIII. SMILES THROUGH TEARS. 93
IRON HAND,
CHIEF OF THE TORY LEAGUE:
OR,
THE DOUBLE FACE.
CHAPTER I.
THE QUARREL.
When the colonists had acquired a mastery over the savages of the
wilderness, and assisted in breaking the French power on their
frontier, they began to feel their manhood stirring within them,
and they tacitly agreed no longer to submit to the narrow and
oppressive policy of Great Britain. Their industry and commerce
were too expansive to be confined within the narrow limits of those
restrictions which the Board of Trade, from time to time, had
imposed, and they determined to cast off these chains. Moreover,
the principles of civil and religious liberty urged them on; and,
at last, the trumpet of the Revolution was sounded, as the violent
result of their dissatisfactions.
It was during the fourth year of this Revolution, in the year of our
Lord 1778, that our tale opens in the vicinity of Lake George, near
Fort Ann.
In a pretty, white cottage a short distance from the fort sat two men
over their wine, discussing the politics of the day.
One, who is destined to be our hero, was about five and twenty years
of age; he was tall and commanding; his features nicely molded and
in perfect harmony; the eyes were gray, although, at a distance, one
might mistake them for black, and his hair was dark-brown and curled
close to his head.
Edgar Sherwood, for such was his name, was of English birth. Another
brother and he were the last of an aristocratic family. These two
had, however, some few years previous, separated on account of a
misunderstanding in regard to their paternal acres. After the death
of their father, our hero inherited the greater part of the estate.
This his brother declared to be unjust, and had sworn he would have
satisfaction. Thus they parted.
Edgar had been treated perhaps a little unfairly by his native
country in some affairs, and becoming enraged against her he had come
to America to espouse the cause of the struggling colonists.
The man with whom Edgar Sherwood was conversing was the father of his
betrothed; his name was Thomas Lear. He was a native of England, and
a thorough Tory.
“Can it be possible, young man, that you are so rash as to think of
joining the Continental army?” said Thomas Lear, gazing at Edgar
Sherwood with a look of astonishment, and his face flushing to a deep
crimson.
“It is, sir.”
“And have you no respect for your king, or love for your family and
friends?”
“For the former, none whatever, but for the latter a great deal of
love and respect.”
“Well, then, how can you go to work deliberately and bring this
disgrace upon them? Why, Sherwood, it is absurd to think of doing
such a thing!” and Lear began to grow angry.
“If it is absurd to lend one’s aid to a righteous cause, then I am
willing to be called absurd or rash, but I am determined to do this.”
“But, do you have faith in this war? Do you believe these colonists
will ever overcome King George?”
“Most assuredly they will!” replied Edgar Sherwood. “Why, sir, they
fight like tigers, and they never will remain conquered. What arouses
these men to arms is the love of liberty, their firesides, their
wives and children.”
“Very well; perhaps they are good at fighting, but, where is the
money coming from to maintain this war any longer? Congress has
none.”
“They will fight without pay; and, moreover, each soldier will
contribute his mite.”
“Nevertheless, they are but a handful at best, and can not hold out
much longer.”
“Ah, my good sir!” and Edgar Sherwood’s eyes sparkled with
enthusiasm, “do not be deceived in this. The colonists, though few in
number, have been compelled from the beginning to be self-reliant,
and have been made strong by their mother’s neglect. Heretofore they
have built fortifications, raised armies, and fought battles for
England’s glory and their own preservation, without England’s aid and
without her sympathy; and, think you now they can not do this again,
with twofold zeal, for themselves?”
Thomas Lear was beginning to chafe under the young man’s patriotic
words, and perceiving that he could not persuade him to abandon his
purpose, he became very angry.
“I ask you once more, Sherwood,” said he, “to pause and consider the
consequences; think--I entreat you--of my daughter, Imogene, before
you take this rash step.”
“I have considered it all, sir, but my mind remains the same.”
Lear grew deathly pale with rage at these last words. Thomas Lear was
a rich man, and he had long counted upon having Edgar Sherwood for
a son-in-law, but this could not be under these circumstances. He
dashed his wine-glass savagely upon the table, and sprung to his feet.
“You are mad! stark mad!” he cried. “Henceforth our connection is
severed; never dare to cross my threshold again, for you are a
traitor to your king, sir--begone!”
Having uttered these words, the old man sunk back in his chair
perfectly exhausted.
At this moment, the door was suddenly thrown open, and Imogene
Lear--Edgar Sherwood’s betrothed--appeared upon the scene.
“Oh, father!” she cried, casting herself at the feet of her parent,
“I implore you to have mercy! Recall your words--forgive!”
“Never!” cried Lear.
“Be it so!” said Edgar Sherwood, scornfully, and was gone.
One month has passed away since the events last related, and during
this time Edgar Sherwood had become a captain in the American army,
and was stationed with his regiment at Fort Ann.
It was a bright, clear morning in the month of September, and a
gentle breeze caused the flag of freedom to rise and fall in graceful
folds over the garrison, inspiring the heart of every loyal man with
patriotic fervor as he looked up to it.
Within the fort, every thing seemed in commotion, but without, all
was quiet, and an observer would never have surmised that any thing
particular was going on. The soldiers were hurrying back and forth;
and some were collected in groups busily talking.
During the past night, the commander had received information from
one of his spies that the notorious band, called the Tory League, led
by their villainous chief, Iron Hand, was preparing to attack the
house of a prominent Whig, and that it would be necessary to send a
company or two of men to secure the patriot’s safety.
The colonel had chosen Captain Sherwood to go on this little
expedition with his company, and the men were now preparing for that
purpose.
The Tory League was composed of Tories and Indians, whom King George,
foreseeing at the beginning of the war would be valuable allies
to him if but secured, sent over agents to enlist in his cause.
Among these agents came the man who had made himself so notorious
throughout the country under the title of Iron Hand, which name the
Indians gave him. The villainous deeds of this band and their white
chief were countless, and they had become a terror to all stanch
Whigs.
A large reward had been offered for the capture of Iron Hand, dead or
alive, but to no profit; he was too artful for his enemy. In fact, no
one, as yet, in the Continental army had been able even to obtain a
sight of him. Search had been made for the rendezvous of the band but
without success.
The attacks of the Tory League were always made with so much privacy
as to exclude the sufferers, not only from succor, but frequently,
through a dread of future depredations, from the commiseration of
their neighbors also.
The soldiers received the orders to prepare for action with delight;
excitement of any kind had been scarce for the last few months around
the fort, and time dragged heavily on with them. Captain Sherwood
felt some pleasure also on being chosen for this occasion, as he had
had but little opportunity to show his valor since his enlistment.
Yet, all day long his face wore a troubled look, and his whole manner
seemed changed from usual gayety to sadness. The few who had observed
this attributed it to fear, and yet could not believe that such a man
should even know the meaning of the word.
When evening came, and a few hours before he was to start out upon
his mission, he sat down, and, writing a short note, dispatched it to
the little white cottage on the hill.
Imogene Lear, on receiving her lover’s note, cast a shawl about her
delicate form, and hastened to the place appointed for their meeting.
It was in a thick grove of cedars a short distance from the cottage.
Captain Sherwood, dressed in his long military cloak, with his sword
girded to his side, was pacing to and fro in a thoughtful mood under
the shadow of the stalwart trees.
“Edgar,” whispered Imogene, approaching with noiseless steps behind
him, and placing her little white hand upon his shoulder.
“Imogene? It is you!” said he, turning quickly and throwing his arm
around her waist. “I was afraid you would be unable to come, my
darling.”
“Father was asleep and I stole out unobserved, but I must not remain
long away, or he may awake and miss me.”
“Is he as savage against me as ever?” asked Edgar.
“Yes; but, do not let this trouble you, dear Edgar, I am the
same--as--ever.”
“I know you are, my darling,” and he imprinted a kiss upon her cheek.
Imogene Lear was eighteen years of age. She was tall in stature, and
most exquisitely formed. Her skin was white, even waxen white; and
now and then a tinge of the rose visited her cheek; her lips were of
that ruby red which goes with perfect health; perfectly arched brows,
and long, dark lashes, shading eyes of wonderful brilliancy and depth
of expression, made up this face suitable for an angel.
“Let us sit down,” said Edgar, leading the way to a fallen tree. “How
are we to overcome this prejudice of your father, Imogene?”
“I know not,” said she; “he is very angry with you, but time may
change him.”
“Do you think he is right and I am wrong in this matter?”
Imogene colored and did not reply. Edgar saw this, and dropping his
head, said, sorrowfully:
“Then you think I am in the wrong?”
“Oh, no! but you know--he--is my father.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” said Edgar, impatiently.
“There, dear Edgar, do not let us quarrel about this; of course you
are in the right.”
Then the couple remained silent for some time.
“We were to be married next month. Need this rupture between your
father and me make any difference?”
“You would not urge me to marry against his will?”
“Oh, no,” said Edgar, coldly.
“We can wait awhile and he may relent.”
“And pray how long will you wait for me?”
“All my lifetime, if need be!” and Imogene looked him full in the
face with her beautiful eyes.
“And will you never forget, whatever may happen?”
“Never.”
“My beautiful one, I believe you. Forgive me for asking you to do
wrong.”
“You said in your note, Edgar, that you were going away to-night.”
The same troubled look that had haunted him all day now again was
plainly visible on Edgar Sherwood’s face.
“Yes,” said he, “but we return to-morrow morning.”
“Are you going to battle?” asked Imogene, quickly, perceiving this
look. “Is there any thing serious about to happen?”
“No; why do you ask?”
“Because you seem troubled about something.”
“I am a little--shall I tell you why?”
“Certainly, dear Edgar, are we to have any secrets between us?”
“But you will laugh at me if I tell you?”
“Try me.”
“Are you superstitious, Imogene?”
“No, not very.”
“Well, it is all about a strange dream that I had last night, and you
will say that I am superstitious if I tell it to you.”
“Come, now, do not delay any longer, but tell it to me at once; my
curiosity is excited.”
“It appeared to me as follows:
“I seemed to be walking by the side of a lake, when, suddenly, a
shriek, which fairly chilled my blood, filled the air, and then I
thought I saw you rush past me, dressed in white, and crying, _help!
help! help!_
“Approaching the water you sprung into a canoe and pushed far away
from the shore. I could neither move nor speak to you, and my agony
was killing me. The canoe began to float, I thought, bearing you with
it. Then I was trying to swim to you, when, in a moment, the boat
mysteriously disappeared. I was paralyzed, and looking down into the
clear water, I thought I saw you lying upon the bottom.
“At this moment some one behind me laughed--laughed as only a fiend
could laugh. Turning around, I thought I saw my own image, and I
started back a step. The apparition approached, and pointing down at
you, said: ‘Look, look, this shall be your grave also! Beware of your
shadow!’ and then it vanished.
“I awoke. Cold perspiration stood in great beads upon my forehead.
You will tell me that I ought not to let this trouble me, as it was
only a dream; nevertheless, I can not help it; it has taken a strong
hold upon me, and I can not shake it off.”
“It was strange,” mused Imogene. “I hope nothing will happen to you,
Edgar, for if I could hear that you were--well, never mind what--I
should die with grief.”
The couple now observed that there was a light in the cottage.
“I must go now,” said Imogene, starting up, half-affrighted lest her
father should miss her.
“I will go part way with you,” and they moved away.
As they arrived near the house, they stopped a moment before parting,
and Edgar happened to cast a glance back to the woods.
There, standing by a huge tree, where the moonlight fell upon him,
was the form of a man--a perfect copy in every respect of Edgar
Sherwood.
“Do you see it?” whispered Imogene, trembling and turning ashy pale.
“Yes.”