CHAPTER I.

Produced by David Garcia, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks,

and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

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?