They linger yet.
Avengers of their native land.
Gray.
A month passed away, the stranger had departed, and whatever had been
the original object of his visit, it never was made known to the
villagers. Grace had as yet received no letter or token from her lover.
The suspense had paled her cheek, and dimmed the soft light of her eyes.
It gave also a sad plaintiveness to her voice, and a languor and
debility to her movements, which awoke the anxiety of her parents to a
painful degree.
They also, in common with the rest of the villagers, were, however,
suffering during this time apprehensions from another cause.
At this period in the progress of the American colonies, Britain had one
or two powerful emissaries on the borders, whom she had sent to crush
the settlements. To disguise their purpose, or perhaps to embrace
another equally important, these emissaries were officers of the army,
sent with a military force to establish forts on the borders, for
defense against the encroachments of the Indian tribes. As the reader
has received some intimation in the course of our tale, it became the
policy of these men to direct their chief efforts against the settlers,
and for this end, when it was practicable, they won by bribery the
co-exertion of the savages.
Very recently, the little settlement in which a portion of our tale is
laid, had received intimations of an intended attack from the Indians.
Considerable alarm had been felt, and the fire-arms long in disuse, were
burnished and prepared for operation in every family.
Things were in this state when, one calm and cloudless night, when the
moon shone with her brightest effulgence, quenching the stars in their
radiance, and bringing out into clear and softened perspective the
scenery below. Within the peaceful village of our story reigned the most
profound repose. Its inhabitants, unconscious of impending danger, had
long since offered up the nightly incense of their pious hearts, and
resigned themselves to sleep--sleep in the old, deep, undisturbed and
dreamless; in the young, light, peaceful and visionary--in all, the
unfeverish, refreshing rest which was the natural reward of their simple
habits, and the rectitude of their lives.
The silence was suddenly broken by sounds that curdled the blood of
those who heard them, and made them spring to their feet as if a
lightning flash had stricken them. Before any one could find words, the
appalling war-cry of the savages burst from every quarter, startling the
very air through which it passed, and falling like a blight upon the
spirit. The devoted villagers beheld throughout the settlement lines of
streaming torches moved by dusky forms. These torch-lights carried high
above their heads showed not only the grim faces of those who bore them,
but also those of others who were partly concealed by the foliage of the
forest in which they stood. With that forethought and cunning so
remarkable in their race, they had conveyed firebrands and straw to the
doors of each dwelling in the early part of the evening. The yell
already noticed was the signal for firing their previous preparations,
and, ere many moments had elapsed, a number of the cottages were in
flames. Glancing instinctively toward their pastor’s home, the terrified
settlers found that it shared in the general fate. To hold a short
conclave, and then dispatch a few of the more fearless and active of
their number to the assistance of its helpless inmates was the work of a
moment.
Hurrying along the little path, the heroic men reached the spot as the
high and agonizing scream of a woman arose far above the discordant yell
even of the savages. It came from Grace Bartlett. Scarcely conscious of
what she did, the unhappy girl, leaving her chamber, gained the top of
the stair-case, and loudly as she could, called upon the name of her
parents.
Her piteous accents were responded to only by a shout from the crowd.
Bounding footsteps mingled with shouts reached her, approaching momently
nearer, and ascending the stair-case.
With all the instinct of self-preservation, the affrighted Grace rushed
back again into her own apartment. There, sinking on her knees, she
reposed her forehead against the side of the windowsill, and nearly
suffocated with smoke, and in a state of indescribable agony, awaited
the consummation of her fate.
The ascending feet had now reached the passage without, and in another
instant a man rushed fearlessly into the room. The blood of the young
girl curdled in her veins. She mechanically caught the ledge of the
casement on which her aching head rested, and closing her eyes awaited
in trembling the blow which should put an end at once to her misery and
her life. But in another moment she felt herself firmly secured in the
grasp of an encircling arm, and speedily carried through the chamber.
Instinctively, a sense of something more dreadful even than death now
flashed across her mind, as the unhappy girl opened her eyes wildly upon
her captor.
A heart-rending shriek escaped her as she did so. She was in the arms of
a gigantic savage. His long, raven hair was matted with blood, and hung
loosely and disfiguringly over his eyes, while his face and brow were
marked with crimson spots--doubtless spatterings from the wounds of
others--and a slight stream that trickled from his cheek gave evidence
that he himself had been hurt in the affray.
“Oh, my God, save me!” exclaimed the shuddering girl, raising her eyes
imploringly to heaven. From that moment she was insensible to all that
was passing.