Through solid curls of smoke, the bursting fires
Climb in tall pyramids above the spires,
Concentring all the winds; whose forces, driven
With equal rage from every point of heaven,
Whirl into conflict, round the scantling pour
The twisting flames, and through the rafters roar.
BARLOW.
Yes, thou must die—there is but one resource,
The last—the worst—if torture were not worse.
BYRON.
Several topics of excitement began at this time to prevail in the
village of L., in addition to that connected with the haunted rock. One
was the projected marriage of Lucy Ellet very shortly to Mr. Elmore, to
whom she had been for some time betrothed; another, the reappearance of
Messrs. Brooks and Dale in the village, where they took up their abode
for a short period; and a third, the threatened incursion of some of the
neighboring Indian tribes.
To guard against this last evil, the inhabitants were obliged to appear
at all times armed, and prepared for repelling hostilities. A fast was
likewise appointed by the governor of the colony, and public worship
held daily to offer up prayer in view of the impending danger. At such
times, a guard of men, with muskets ready for immediate use, was
stationed without the building, to repulse any attack of the savages,
and give the word of warning to those engaged within. In this way, as
the situation of the village was in itself strong, owing to the hills
that surrounded it, the inhabitants trusted that they were fully
prepared to resist any sudden attack.
Things were in this state, when, on a certain day, the morning beams had
shone on the unpretending spire of L. for five or six hours, and the
people had assembled in the building beneath as usual. The lengthy
prayer with which the Puritans were wont to commence their exercises had
concluded, and, just as every voice was attuned to the melody of a pious
psalm, a loud and unusual noise was heard.
The worshipers of that humble meeting-house paused to listen with ears
erect and faces filled with boding expectation. It was the terrific yell
of the approaching Indians. This was speedily followed by the appointed
signal from the soldiery stationed without, and at the instant that the
report of the musketry rang in the air, the congregation started from
their seats in terror. Each man rushed for his arms, and crowding to the
doors and windows, found the building completely surrounded by savages.
The females, remaining in the interior, shrieked in the extremity of
their alarm.
The scene that followed is not easily described. A fearful struggle, of
course, ensued. Heaven, too, at that moment, added its terrors to the
scene. A furious thunder-storm arose, and amidst the most vivid flashes
of lightning, and awful reverberations, the rain began to descend in
torrents. The villagers now yielded themselves completely to terror, and
abandoning the conflict, prostrated themselves on their knees, and
resorted to prayer. The Indians took fresh courage from this
circumstance, and commenced firing the meeting-house. For a little time
the rain prevented their efforts from taking effect. But at length, as
the strong army of a battle will rout the less powerful, so did the
fiercer element dispel the weaker.
The fire was finally triumphant, and spouted in jets of flame out at
each window of the consuming building, while huge flakes of burning
materials went driving on the wind, and rolling a dark canopy of smoke
over the neighborhood. The lurid glow lit up the air, and showed with
terrible distinctness the waving crowd that stood around. The rain,
however, prevented the progress of devastation further. But the shouts
of the Indians resounded far and wide, as they turned to continue their
work of destruction by setting fire to the other dwellings in the
village.
At this crisis, the villagers, as if animated by a sudden and
simultaneous impulse, arose from their knees, and betook themselves
again to the defensive. Previously, in their resistance, wild confusion,
despair, and frenzied efforts had been blended in such a manner as
completely to destroy any thing like unity of action. But now, in
concert, and disposed according to the best military arrangements, they
advanced a second time upon these invaders.
The Indians, in confidence of their approaching triumph, had uttered the
whoop of success, which called their warriors from the adjoining
vicinity to behold the approaching scene. In surprise, therefore,
notwithstanding this addition to their forces, they found themselves
resisted with a power and a skill such as they had never before
witnessed. But their previous success had given new spirit to an enemy
already sufficiently audacious, and continuing their war-cries with
redoubled ferocity, they pursued the attack. The combat raged for about
half an hour, when the Indians were utterly defeated, and betook
themselves to flight.
At that moment the clouds of heaven suddenly opened, shedding the
blessed light of the returning sun upon the village; and it might have
been seen that the recent victory had been obtained through the means of
a stranger, who had appeared and aroused the people from their panic of
fear, assumed the command, arranged and ordered them in the best
military manner, and thus enabled them to repel and rout the Indians,
and save the village. This person was a man of dignified and majestic
bearing, and with an interesting beauty and pallor of countenance.
The parting clouds had scarcely permitted the gleams of renewed sunshine
to fall upon the rescued spot, and the inhabitants began to realize
their safety, and look around to return thanks to the skillful and
unknown commander to whom the rescue was due, ere it was discovered that
he had mysteriously vanished. Awe and amazement filled the minds of the
spectators, for they were utterly unable to account for the singular
arrival and sudden disappearance of this remarkable person. After many
unsatisfactory conjectures, the only conclusion they could arrive at was
that the Lord had sent an angel to their deliverance.
It was on the evening of the day on which this attack took place, that
Frank Stanley was proceeding on his second errand to the rock. As he
walked on, he pondered deeply upon the discovery he had that morning
made. The recent scene of excitement in the village had banished the
thoughts of it throughout the day from his mind. But now his curiosity
recurred to the subject with all the strength with which that feeling
fixes upon a mystery but partially solved. The stranger who had so
singularly appeared during the conflict with the Indians and put them to
flight, seemed somehow associated in the boy’s mind with the Lady of the
Rock, and he could no more join with the villagers in believing the one
an angel of the Lord, than he could now in supposing the other an evil
spirit.
The more perplexed the more he reflected, Stanley one moment resolved at
all hazards to penetrate the singular mystery, to overcome on his
present errand the internal and undefinable feelings which would
restrain him from accosting the lady, and offering her any further
assistance in his power, and discovering the place of her retreat. Yet
to press himself on her confidence might be impertinence, and as she had
in the morning disappeared without noticing his presence, it was evident
that she did not mean voluntarily to make him her confident, and
probably she was involved in no difficulties where he might be useful.
The next instant, therefore, he resolved to suppress all desire to
penetrate the secret, dismiss his disquieting and fruitless conjectures,
and without attempting to invade the manner and place of the sudden
disappearance of the fair but living vision, await the period when time
should throw light upon the subject.
He was thus divided in his own determinations when he reached the woods
at the foot of the hill where his purposed visit lay. At that moment he
became startled from his reflections by the rustling of leaves.
Remembering the assault from the Indians in the morning, the youth
paused, and leaned forward to listen, holding his breath, and condensing
every faculty in the single sense of hearing. Silence, however, seemed
restored to the disturbed foliage, and reigned as completely as though
it had previously been unbroken. The boy pursued his course, supposing
the noise he had heard simply to have been occasioned by a sudden gust
of wind. But he had not proceeded many steps when the sound was
distinctly perceptible of approaching voices, speaking in the deep tones
of the savages. He turned, and ere many minutes elapsed, the forms of
three Indians were visible. “Dog of the pale faces!” was their
exclamation, as they rushed upon him. The youth was entirely
alone—cheered by no friendly eye, emboldened by no encouraging voice,
and so sudden had been the event that his mind was wholly unprepared for
the emergency. Yet, perceiving at once his danger, and determined to
make one bold effort for his life, he burst from them ere they were
aware of his purpose, and bounded off with the swiftness and alertness
of a deer. There was but one breathless moment, the Indians raised the
cry of alarm, and pursued hotly after him. As soon as a favorable
instant presented itself, he darted through an opening and ascended the
hill. A bullet grazed his clothes, and several branches from the bushes
at his side, but not one harmed him.
Stanley knew too well the nature of the struggle in which he was engaged
to lose one of the precious moments. Accordingly, he kept his way up the
acclivity, which, though neither very high nor very steep, was yet
sufficiently toilsome to one contending for life to render it painfully
oppressive. There, however, he was obliged to slacken his speed to
recover breath. The violence with which his heart beat showed how great
had been his exertions. He must proceed again, however, for the
footsteps of his pursuers were near.
He started off a second time, but his strength was exhausted, and ere he
had gained the summit of the second hill, he fell prostrate upon the
ground. He rose, proceeded again for a few moments at his former swift
pace. By degrees this slackened—the Indians were within a few yards of
him. He had a loaded pistol in his pocket—but he knew it could only
destroy one of his enemies, and there would still remain two to contend
with. Generously, therefore, he refrained from using it, and prepared to
resign himself into their hands, and yielded himself up a prisoner with
a dignity that was remarkable for his years.
Dragging him to a glen which intervened between the two hills, they
bound him tightly, and then turned apparently to make some consultations
respecting the manner of his fate. The prospect of death is terrible at
every period of life; but in the first spring-tide of youth, with all
the capacities of pleasure astir and eager for gratification, to be
forcibly snatched from the untasted banquet is peculiarly trying, even
when the change comes in the form of a natural death-bed. But to sit,
like young Stanley, in horrid uncertainty in regard to the mode in which
life was to be extinguished, was a situation to break the boldest
spirit; and the unhappy captive could not restrain the tears which
flowed from his eyes. We have seen that although he was a brave youth in
any danger which could be met by action, yet withal, he was strongly
imaginative and apt to be led away by the exaggerations of
fancy—exaggerations likely to act more or less upon the soul of any one
who is in suspense and passively awaiting an approaching calamity. This
agony of mind continued until the feelings of the youth arose almost to
a state of frenzy. He started up, and struggled so violently to become
freed from his bonds, that it almost seemed that they should have burst
by the force of his strength, as did the withes of Sampson. But the
cords were of too firm a texture, and, after an unavailing struggle, the
boy fell back exhausted.
The Indians were evidently now preparing some torture, which would put
the sufferer to severe bodily anguish. As Stanley lay and looked on,
overcome with his late violent exertions, the scene swam before him. At
this instant he became aware of an interruption to the preparations of
the savages, and had just time to recognize the mysterious stranger of
the morning, to whom the preservation of his native village was due, and
behold him fall upon the enemy, when he became insensible.