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 T II E 
 
 WRECKER'S DAUGHTER 
 
 . 
 
 AND OTHER TALES 
 
 THE FOREST, THE SHORE, AND THE OCEAN. 
 
 BY CHARLES P. ILSLEY, ESQ. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 ALBERT COLBY AND COMPANY, 
 
 20 WASHINGTON STREET. 
 
 1861.
 
 Entered according to Act of CongreM, in the yetr 18M, hy 
 
 JOHN P. JKWETT AND CO., 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of 
 
 AMKfttCAN STEREOTYPE COMPAHT, 
 
 23 I'HCBHIX BUILDING, POBTOX.
 
 TO 
 
 THE SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF MAINE, 
 
 WHEREVER FOUND, 
 
 THIS VOLUME, 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 TRADITIONARY TALES OF THE OLD PINE-TREE STATS, 
 IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 
 B T 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 -: 3
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 IT certainly was not the intention of the author, 
 when writing the stories contained in this volume, to 
 give them to the public in the present shape. Writ- 
 ten under the pressure of manifold duties, the most 
 that he anticipated for them was a brief newspaper 
 immortality a passing notice and oblivion. Much 
 to his surprise, however, many of them have con- 
 tinued to float on the current of popular favor ; a.nd 
 by the advice, repeatedly received, not only from 
 friends but strangers, he has been induced to make 
 the present collection. 
 
 The tales, it will be perceived, are mostly of a tra- 
 ditionary character, although some of them must be 
 received with liberal grains of allowance. We make 
 this remark because a lady writer, now deceased, in 
 encouraging the author to continue his legendary 
 tales, wrote of them as follows : " They will be valu- 
 able to the future historian, perhaps, more than they 
 deserve ; for the sober, truth-telling air of your legends 
 will expose them to being ranked side by side with 
 1*
 
 Yi PREFACE. 
 
 veritable history. And," she added, with perhaps not 
 a little truth, "they will doubtless have as good a 
 claim to be so considered as much that has come down 
 to us as history from remote antiquity." 
 
 The stories founded on the history of the early set- 
 tlement of our State are entitled to more credence 
 than those the scenes of which are laid on our sea- 
 coast. An exception should be made here in favor of 
 " The Liberty Pole," a tale of Machias. All the inci- 
 dents of that sketch are purely historical. 
 
 It has not been so much the aim of the writer to 
 portray character as to describe scenes and detail 
 incidents, in doing which he flatters himself that he 
 has avoided exaggeration. He is not aware that his 
 pages inculcate any particular lesson, but he feels per- 
 fectly assured that they contain not a word offensive 
 to the purest morality. Such as they are, he submits 
 them to the public. 
 
 C. P. I. 
 
 PORTLAND, APRIL, 1856.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 BMM 
 
 THB WBKCKIR'S DAUGHTER, 9 
 
 THI SCOUT, 113 
 
 T HI LIGHT-KEEPER,. . . ,.",'.' . 223 
 
 THI SETTLERS, . . . . . . . 258 
 
 THlLlBBRTYPoi,K, 347 
 
 THB STORM AT SKA, . . . . . 369 
 
 THI CANADIAN CAPTITI, . . . . 590
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Along its solitary shore 
 
 Of craggy rock and sandy bay, 
 
 No sound but ocean's roar, 
 
 Save where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home, 
 Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam. 
 
 DANA. 
 
 THE scene to which we would introduce the reader 
 is one in which nature exhibits herself in her wildest 
 aspect. Far along as the eye can discern, on either 
 hand, stretches a bleak, rocky shore, whitened by the 
 foam of the rough Atlantic, which chafes perpetually 
 against its jagged boundaries. Here and there a few 
 stunted pines, springing up on some headland, and 
 scattered patches of grass, dry and brown from the 
 poverty of the soil, serve rather to heighten than 
 relieve the dreariness of the scene. In clear weather, 
 under the most favorable circumstances, the view is 
 not one on which the eye, fond of the beautiful, would 
 delight to dwell; much less attractive is it in the 
 gloom of the storm, when nothing is heard but the 
 hoarse voice of the waves as they beat against the 
 cavernous shore, the strong rush of the gale, and the 
 hrill cry of the soa-bird mingling with th elemental 
 
 (9)
 
 10 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 uproar, and nothing seen but the black, sunken ledges 
 that line at intervals the entire coast, hidden at times 
 by the sparkling foam, the stern, craggy cliffs, and the 
 gray, barren heath. And yet there is something in the 
 gloomy grandeur of the scene which often wins my 
 steps to its neighborhood. 
 
 Amid such an uninviting display one would scarcely 
 look for signs of human life, more especially at the 
 period of which we write. And yet they were to be 
 found. At one spot the shore abruptly recedes, in- 
 denting the coast for some distance, forming a deep 
 and rather broad cove, its sides lined with rugged and 
 precipitous rocks, but the bight terminating in a steep 
 shingly beach, the apex of which, owing to the wash 
 of the sea, is considerably higher than the adjoining 
 main-land. Close in shore the rocks on one side of 
 the cove jut out some distance; then, falling back at a 
 sharp angle, a snug little bay is formed, where, in the 
 roughest weather, a small craft might ride with safety. 
 Leaving the shingles you pass over a broad belt com- 
 posed of fine white sand, intermixed with innumerable 
 tiny shells, and enter on a stony patch of some half 
 dozen acres, hemmed in with huge rocky fragments, 
 in the crevices and along the sides of which dwarf 
 trees may be seen, standing in every possible attitude 
 save a perpendicular. Here and there dark scraggy 
 bushes may be found, almost devoid of verdure, 
 although the greenness of summer be abroad. 
 
 On this desolate spot were erected three or" four 
 huts, ill-looking shanties, built of various materials, 
 the foundations composed of boulders clumsily piled, 
 and the sides and roofs of plank and board, the dark 
 stains and paint on which showed them to be frag-
 
 THE WRECKEIl'S DAUGHTER. 11 
 
 ments of wrecks. The aspect of these dwellings was 
 in perfect keeping with the place in which they were 
 located. From the fish which were spread out on 
 rude flakes near most of the huts, one would infer 
 that the occupants were fishermen. This was indeed 
 their calling in part, although a glance at the inside of 
 the habitations would lead one to the conclusion that 
 fishing was not their only pursuit. From the rough, 
 unpromising exterior, one would look for a correspond- 
 ing interior. But, instead of scant and rudely made fur- 
 niture, a visitor would have been surprised to find the 
 apartments comfortably furnished, with quite a show 
 of gentility. More particularly would this have been 
 observed in one of the huts, which stood a little apart 
 from the rest, in a more choice situation, if there could 
 be a choice in such a place, and which appeared supe- 
 rior to the others in many respects. 
 
 The painted and panelled double door, evidently 
 taken fr<5m the state-room of some vessel, would first 
 attract the attention. Entering this, one would be 
 struck with the singular aspect of the rooms, all of 
 them being finished and furnished something after the 
 manner of a ship's cabin. In the centre of the largest 
 room, fastened to the floor, stood a heavy mahogany 
 table. Around the sides of the room ran a boxed 
 scat fixed similar to a transom. The walls consisted 
 of panelled boards, one perhaps painted green, its 
 mate white, and a third deeply stained to resemble 
 mahogany. Suspended around the walls were various 
 nautical instruments, sextants, spy-glasses, barometers, 
 ind a number of rolls of charts, together with one or 
 two rusty muskets, grainse, &c. The bedrooms, four 
 n number, were finished in about the same manner,
 
 12 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 Instead of bedsteads, bunks or berths were fixed up 
 as on shipboard. 
 
 One of these apartments was quite tastefully ar- 
 ranged, the berth being neatly curtained, the sheets 
 and pillow-cases of spotless linen, the window hung 
 with a fringed drapery, and the walls ornamented with 
 a mirror set in a handsomely-gilded frame, while the 
 floor was covered with Venetian carpeting. There 
 was adjoining this a small room, fitted up with a few 
 shelves containing a small supply of books. The 
 furnishing of this room evidently showed that it was 
 intended for a sort of boudoir, if such a fashionable 
 term may be used in connection with so humble a 
 dwelling. 
 
 This remote and obscure hamlet was the abode of a 
 small gang of wreckers and fishermen combined, the 
 latter calling being followed when the former failed 
 them. The company consisted of six or seven men, 
 and it must be confessed, from their geneffc appear- 
 ance and bearing, one would be apt at first to cherish 
 rather an unfavorable opinion of their characters. A 
 more intimate acquaintance with them, however, would 
 serve to do away with this impression. 
 
 The captain or chief of the band was a man whose 
 gray locks and weather-beaten face told of years of 
 toil and exposure, perhaps of suffering. He was a 
 strong, hale man, nevertheless, and there was a light 
 in his eye and a sprightliness in his movements that 
 spoke of vigor un wasted and nerves well strung. The 
 remainder of the crew were of various ages, all but one 
 ranging past the meridian of life. This individual, 
 known by the name of Antonio, was a young man of 
 perhaps twenty-three, a hardy-looking fellow, not
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 13 
 
 wanting, despite his swarthy face and unshaven locks, 
 in indications of manly beauty. There was in his 
 countenance, withal, an expression that would lead one 
 to prefer him rather as a friend than an enemy. He 
 was of Spanish descent, as his name indicated, although 
 from early life he had lived among Americans. 
 
 Save the females in the family of the leader, none 
 of the gentler sex were to be found in this hamlet ; and 
 of these two we shall speak hereafter. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Soft as the memory of a buried love, 
 
 Pure as the prayer that childhood wafts above, 
 
 Was she, the daughter of that rude old chief. 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 LATE one afternoon, in the faU of the year, at the 
 time our story opens, two persons were standing by 
 the open door of the dwelling whose interior we have 
 described, which was occupied by the leader of the 
 crew, gazing towards the sea, which was fast rough- 
 ening under a smart north-easter. They were both 
 females one of them considerably past the prime of 
 life. The somewhat masculine proportions of the 
 eldest of the two, together with her wrinkled and sun- 
 burnt visage, set off by thin gray locks and an elfish- 
 looking cap, gave her at first sight rather a repulsive 
 appearance ; but the gentle and affectionate glances 
 that she directed toward her companion, and the mild 
 tone with which she addressed her, were proofs that 
 a warm heart was concealed beneath that rugged 
 exterior. 
 
 2
 
 14 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 Her companion was a maiden of about eighteen 
 summers ; her figure was very symmetrical, exhibiting 
 a healthy, though by no means a coarse, physical 
 development. Dark chestnut hair, arranged with a 
 native grace, surmounted a countenance of more than 
 common beauty, rendered more striking, perhaps, by 
 the contrast exhibited in her companion. Exposure 
 had thrown a slight shade of brown on her skin, but 
 where her dress interposed as a veil, it was of a clear 
 and almost snowy whiteness. Eyes large, full, and 
 intelligent, shaded by long lashes, a slightly oval face, 
 through the warm tinge of which the rich blood could 
 be seen mantling, an exquisitely-formed mouth and 
 clear red lips, around which, like sunshine on fruit, an 
 arch smile loved to linger, a neck beautifully propor- 
 tioned, and a full, swelling bust, a model for a 
 statue, formed the maiden's charming contour. 
 
 Could it be that so lovely a bud was an off-shoot 
 from so graceless a stalk? that so rare a flower had 
 sprung up amid this wilderness of rocks been nur- 
 tured among the rugged plants which surrounded it? 
 Even so, in the by-places of this world, amid the sterile 
 roughness of humanity, we sometimes find grace, 
 beauty and intellect so predominant, a's if nature 
 sought a favored object on which to lavish her gifts, 
 that she might not be without a witness of her lovely 
 and beautiful creations. 
 
 " I am afraid we are going to have a severe gale," 
 said the eldest of the females, as she cast an anxious 
 glance seaward ; " the wind increases in violence and 
 the sea rises fast. I wish the schooner would return." 
 
 " Had I not better go on to the headland, mother ? "
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 15 
 
 replied the younger female ; " perhaps I may see her 
 in the offing." 
 
 " Yes, go, my dear child, and take the glass with 
 you. I feel anxious about her, for it is growing dark 
 fast, and it will be a bad night to be out in." 
 
 The young girl entered the door for the glass, and 
 then, throwing her apron over her head, she started 
 for the high bluff which springs up at the eastern 
 entrance of the cove, skipping from rock to rock with 
 the grace and lightness of the mountain chamois. 
 
 " If I see them, mother," she said, on leaving, " I 
 will wave my handkerchief as a signal." 
 
 In a short time, although the path was difficult, she 
 stood on the beetling cliff, gazing from its dizzy 
 height with unshaken nerve. From that elevated 
 point she had a full view of the ocean. The scene 
 was not new to the maiden, yet she could not gaze 
 upon the world of waters spread before her, rolling 
 in from the outer deep with an unbroken swell, and 
 dashing against the base of the headland with a noise 
 like continuous thunder, without a thrilling sense of 
 the grandeur and awful sublimity of the scene. She 
 was not one of those, common as was the sight, who 
 can gaze with an indifferent eye and unaffected heart 
 on such an exhibition as was there presented ; and, as 
 the huge billows rushed madly in and beat upon the 
 opposing barrier, and were thrown back in clouds 
 of foam, a sense of His omnipotence who has said, 
 " Thus far shalt thou go and no farther," touched the 
 deepest chords of her soul, awakening emotions which 
 she could not define or shape into expression. 
 
 For hours had she stood gazing, as at present, on a 
 scene like this, silent and spell-bound, the working of
 
 16 ' FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 her countenance betraying the agitation of n<n inind. 
 Alas ! the key to that inner sanctuary might never be 
 applied, and its hoarded treasure never brought to the 
 light. Her mind was like a hidden fountain, gushing 
 with pure waters, but wasting its crystal currents ir 
 dark channels and murmuring unheard its subterranean 
 music. Shall not the clods be removed, and the bright 
 stream, sparkling in the sunbeams, flow gladly forth 
 with its rippling melody ? 
 
 Some time elapsed, so absorbed was the maiden in 
 the contemplation of the scene, ere the nature of her 
 errand occurred to her, when, raising the glass to her 
 eye, and slowly sweeping the misty horizon, she hastily 
 turned toward the house and suffered her handkerchief 
 to flutter in the breeze. Afar off, heading for the cove, 
 she caught sight of the object of her search. The 
 vessel was a small fore-and-aft schooner, and was 
 under a heavy press of sail, notwithstanding the gusts 
 came stronger and stronger and the sea ran higher 
 and higher every moment. She was evidently a fine 
 sea boat, and bore herself bravely, riding lightly the 
 heavy billows and nearing rapidly the shore. 
 
 " I must kindle a fire on the Head," said the maiden, 
 as she gazed at the struggling vessel ; " they will want 
 a beacon-light to guide them before they reach the 
 land." 
 
 The daylight was fast disappearing, and, feeling 
 assured that it would be entirely dark before the 
 vessel could make the harbor, the maiden, like one 
 accustomed to the business, commenced collecting 
 the brush which was scattered around the place and 
 heaping it in a mass on the edge of the cliff. Having 
 formed quite a pile, she started toward the house.
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 17 
 
 whence she shortly returned with a flaming pitch knot. 
 By this time, night had shut in, hiding the little craft 
 from sight, and leaving nothing to be seen but the 
 sparkling of the spray as it was thrown up along the 
 shore, and the occasional cap of a distant wave, the 
 crest of foam flashing for a moment above the black 
 billow like the lurid gleam we sometimes see playing 
 on the edge of the thunder-cloud. 
 
 Carefully guarding her light, the wrecker's daughter 
 bent down and kindled the pile of brush at its base. 
 Immediately a bright flame shot crackling above the 
 heap, followed by a dense volume of smoke, shrouding 
 the light in its thick folds and threatening to choke 
 the fire. The strong wind, however, soon fanned the 
 whole mass into a brilliant blaze. At times, the 
 tongues of flame would shoot high in the air, whirled 
 about by the breeze, illuminating the surrounding 
 scenery, and bringing out the neighboring cliffs in 
 bold relief, while the crested waves would catch the 
 lurid reflection afar off, seeming as if wreathed with 
 fire. At other times they would bend low, as if 
 licking the earth, darting serpent-like beneath and 
 amidst the heavy black smoke that curled above them, 
 while a tenfold gloom and darkness seemed to settle 
 upon the troubled deep. The effect of this beacon- 
 fire light and shade thus alternating was as 
 singular as it was imposing, heightened as it was by 
 the deafening roar of the sea and the strong rush of 
 the gale. Conspicuous on the headland, as the light 
 flashed upon her form, stood the young girl, like some 
 beautiful enchantress, gazing delighted upon the scene 
 which her own magic had wrought. 
 2*
 
 18 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Far o'er the watery waste a beacon-light 
 Beams its bright welcome to the seaman's sight ; 
 Exultant now he marks the whirling foam, 
 Nor heeds the growing storm that light 
 Guides to his home. 
 
 " A BLESSING on that girl ! " said the old skipper, as 
 he stood at the helm of his little craft, directing her 
 through the wallowing sea; " a blessing on that girl ! " 
 he repeated more fervently, as his eye caught the first 
 glare of the distant fire that served as a guide to his 
 course. 
 
 " What light is that ? " asked a young man in a 
 feeble voice. The speaker was closely wrapped in a 
 shaggy overcoat, lent him by the captain, and stood 
 by the side, or rather reclined on the companion-way, 
 near the binnacle. 
 
 " That light is kindled on Gull's Head, at the star- 
 board entrance of the cove," answered the old man, 
 " and by as fair a lass, young sir, though I say it, as 
 e'er graced a prince's hall. A blessing on her, say I." 
 
 " Your daughter, I presume ? " said his young com- 
 panion. 
 
 " She calls me father, ay," replied the old man, with 
 a little hesitation, " and never had parent more reason 
 to pride himself on " 
 
 "Are you sure the light is kindled on the Gull's 
 Head ? " said one of the crew, interrupting the enco 
 mi urns of the old' man. "If it is on the Hawk's Nest 
 we shall hardly weather Dead Man's ledge, if you 
 steer your present course."
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 19 
 
 " Sure ! " said the aged helmsman, " ay, my life on 
 Nell's forethought. She has too much good sense to 
 kindle a fire to leeward on such a night as this, know- 
 ing where-away we are. But keep a sharp look-out 
 for'ard," he continued, as he bent a searching gaze on 
 the distant beacon. " A bad ledge, sir, a bad ledge is 
 that, with a bad name. It stretches here-away, about 
 half a league from the Hawk's Nest, the name given 
 to a broad shelf that laps out from the larboard cliff, 
 as we enter the cove." 
 
 The young man with whom this conversation was 
 held was not, as the reader will infer, one of the crew. 
 The wreckers had been on a cruise, during which they 
 had providentially fallen in with a stranded ship, some 
 leagues down the coast, from which, with much diffi- 
 culty and risk, this young man was rescued. He was 
 a passenger, and the only one saved, all the rest, pas- 
 sengers and crew, having been swept off ere the 
 wreck was discovered. The survivor was not rescued 
 a moment too soon, for he was nearly insensible and 
 entirely helpless when fallen in with, and, had it not 
 been for the old man, he would probably have been 
 left to his fate. At the imminent, risk of his life, he 
 boarded the wreck and took the sufferer off. Owing 
 to the heavy sea that was running, and the threaten- 
 ing appearance of the weather, they abandoned the 
 vessel without attempting to save anything from her. 
 
 " Whence did the ledge you mentioned derive its 
 name ? " inquired the young man, after a brief pause. 
 
 " It has always borne that name since my knowl- 
 edge," replied the old man. " There is a tradition 
 among the few dwellers on this coast, that in the 
 olden time a gallant ship, driven in by stress of
 
 20 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 weather, struck on this reef in the night and was 
 shattered, so that when morning came not a speck 
 was to be seen of her. One man alone, of all her 
 crew, was found when the tide receded, cold and stiff, 
 clinging with a death-grasp to the kelp and sea-weed 
 growing on the ledge, and swinging about with the 
 wash of the sea. Ever since, it is said, when the tem- 
 pest is abroad, through the livelong night his lone 
 wail can be heard mingling with the tumult of the 
 gale. We are nearing the spot now, young man," 
 added the old skipper, in a low tone of voice. " Look 
 yonder you can pee it break under our lee-bow. 
 Listen 1 there should be wailings from Dead Man's 
 ledge to-night, if ever. I have often heard them in 
 the pauses of the gale." 
 
 The old man bent his head, while his companion 
 gave an involuntary shudder as he cast a glance on 
 the long line of foam a short distance to the leeward, 
 along the very edge of which the little craft was dash- 
 ing with the speed' of the wind ; but it was not from 
 a dread of hearing supernatural cries. He shuddered 
 when he thought of the dangers he had passed 
 through, and of the certain fate which must have 
 awaited him had he been exposed to the fearful storm 
 now gathering. He thought, too, of the companions 
 of his voyage, now dashed about by the turbulent sea, 
 or thrown, mangled corpses, on the rock-bound shore. 
 Fortunately, among them he had to mourn no kindred 
 lost, no friendly tie broken. As they approached 
 nearer the shore, and the breakers sounded more 
 loudly in his ears, still more vividly was he impressed 
 with the horrors of the scenes through which he had 
 passed, and a prayer of gratitude went up to Him
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 21 
 
 who had vouchsafed his deliverance. He was aroused 
 from this silent communion by a shout from the old 
 man, and on looking up he found the vessel was in 
 the close neighborhood of the cliff, on the summit of 
 which blazed the bright beacon. 
 
 " Thanks, my brave girl I thanks for your light 1 " 
 shouted the old man, gazing, as he spoke, towards the 
 burning pile. 
 
 The young man turned his eyes in the same direc- 
 tion. At first the glare of the flames dazzled them so 
 he could not discern any other object ; but in a mo- 
 ment he discovered the person addressed. Standing, 
 as it appeared to him, on the very edge of the cliff, 
 which sunk sheer to the sea a hundred feet or more, 
 he detected the graceful outlines of a female figure. 
 In her hand she held a blazing brand, which she 
 waved two or three times in the air, while " Welcome 
 back ! " came down from the dizzy height in sweetly 
 musical tones. Once more swinging her torch in the 
 air, she turned and darted from the spot, bearing with 
 her the flaming brand. The young man followed with 
 his eyes the light as it flashed along the maiden's 
 path. One moment it seemed to run along the very 
 brink of the tall cliffs the next it would curve in- 
 ward from the cove now the light would pass 
 quickly down some sharp descent now seem to rise 
 with less rapidity one moment approaching, the 
 next receding, until it at last faded and flickered to a 
 dim twinkle, and then suddenly disappeared. Mean- 
 while, the sails having been lowered and furled, the 
 schooner rounded the point we have described, where 
 she was protected from the rough weather, and was 
 shortly moored in safety. 
 
 We will not stop to portray the emotions of the
 
 22 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 young man as he once more placed his foot on the 
 land. Chastened joy mingled with sadness were his 
 first feelings, soon, however, succeeded by a deep, all- 
 pervading sense of thankfulness and praise. 
 
 As he stood apart, leaning against a huge rocky 
 fragment that had once formed a portion of the tall 
 cliff that frowned threateningly above him, scanning 
 with a bewildered gaze the blackened sky and the 
 stern scene faintly revealed around him, while the 
 crew arranged the boat for the night, the wrecker's 
 daughter, still bearing the burning brand, came trip- 
 ping down to the shore, and, skipping on to a narrow 
 shelving rock that jutted over the tide, extended her 
 light so as to facilitate the work of the men, while 
 hearty greetings were interchanged, her sweet voice 
 and merry laugh calling forth lively echoes from the 
 gloomy caverns and dark clefts of the surrounding 
 rocks. 
 
 The young man, unobserved himself, had a full view 
 of her person. He gazed upon her wondrous beauty, 
 rapt in astonishment. The grace of her attitude, as 
 she bent forward with her torch, the animation of 
 her countenance, glowing with health and exercise, 
 the very disarrangement of her dress, which served 
 more fully to reveal her charms, rivetted the eyes of 
 the youth upon her. The encomiums of the old man 
 recurred to his mind, which he had imputed to a 
 parent's fondness, but his heart now confessed that 
 princely hall never was graced with a fairer being 
 He thought of those flattering lines of the poet, and 
 here found their application : 
 
 " Her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, her shapes, her features, 
 Seem to be drawn by Love'a own hand ; by Love, 
 Himself in love."
 
 THE WKECKER'S DAUGHTER. 23 
 
 Half doubting the evidence of his own senses, 
 hardly knowing whether the lovely creature before 
 him were an inhabitant of earth or a being of a 
 brighter sphere, and completely fascinated with her 
 surprising charms, an involuntary exclamation burst 
 from the young man's lips. 
 
 The maiden started as the murmured exclamation 
 met her ear, and, turning the light of her torch in his 
 direction, made a movement of surprise, as she dis- 
 covered him, a rich blush at the instant stealing over 
 her neck and face. Her father noticed the action, and 
 then bethought him he had not informed her of the 
 stranger's presence. 
 
 " A young gentleman," said he, in a sort of intro- 
 ductory way, " whom we were so fortunate as to save 
 from a wreck this morning ; and you had better show 
 him to the house, Nell, for a dry shelter and a warm 
 bed would better befit his weak state than this damp 
 night air, and these cold, wet stones. Never mind 
 your light, we can do well enough now without it." 
 
 " I was not aware of your presence, sir," said the 
 maiden, stepping towards the young man in a free and 
 unembarrassed manner. "You have been unfortu- 
 nate," she continued, in a tone of unaffected kindness, 
 while her features expressed the deepest sympathy 
 as she gazed upon the pale countenance of the 
 stranger ; " you have been unfortunate, and perhaps 
 need assistance. Permit me to show you to the 
 house;" and with a tact and delicacy he little dreamed 
 of meeting in this remote and wild spot, she carefully 
 guided him over the broken and difficult way. There 
 was that in her tone and manner, a warmth, tender- 
 ness and frankness, an absence of that awkward shy-
 
 24 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 ness, and of those coarse manifestations of kindness 
 sometimes met with, and withal a propriety of lan- 
 guage, that astonished the young stranger almost as 
 much as did her unequalled and bewildering beauty. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Dreams in their development have breath, 
 And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy. 
 
 BTEON. 
 
 There is a Mr behavior in thee, captain, 
 And though that nature with a beauteous wall 
 Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee 
 I will believe thou hast a mind that suits 
 With this thy fair and outward character. 
 
 SHAKSPEABJ:. 
 
 WARM and unbounded was the hospitality which 
 awaited the stranger at the wrecker's dwelling. A 
 glowing fire lent its cheering influence to bestow an 
 air of comfort to the strange-looking apartment, which 
 contrasted strongly with the forbidding aspect of the 
 exterior of the hut. The constant yet unobtrusive 
 attentions of the wrecker's family were as grateful to 
 the heart of the new-comer as they were conducive to 
 his bodily comfort. After a slight repast, worn and 
 wearied with the scenes he had passed through, he 
 gladly sought his couch. Fatigue soon induced sleep, 
 but it was a restless one. There was no rest to 
 his mind, though slumber pressed heavily on his eye- 
 lids. The poet Maturin describes his state, 
 
 " He sleeps, if it be sleep this starting trance, 
 Whoe feverish tossings and deep muttered groan 
 Do prove the soul shares not the body's rest."
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 25 
 
 His excited fancy had placed him again on the 
 stranded wreck, and the rocking and grinding of the 
 vessel and the incessant beating of the spray were 
 again felt. The waves again boiled in fury around 
 him, and their deafening roar was in his ear. He felt 
 the broad billows lifting the huge hulk upon their 
 backs ; then came the dreadful shock as it settled 
 down on the sharp rocks, the dark wave bursting in 
 a deluge of foam around him. 
 
 Yet ever amid the gloom and terror of that fearful 
 scene there hovered about him one radiantly beautiful, 
 whose countenance beamed angel-like upon him, and 
 whose tones stole like soothing music to his ears. 
 The last waking thought of the young man, as his 
 cheek pressed the snow-white pillow, was of the fair 
 hand that smoothed it j and the lovely spirit of his 
 dreams and the wrecker's daughter were wonderfully 
 like ! 
 
 After the others had retired, the wrecker and his 
 wife sat before the crackling fire engaged in conversa- 
 tion, the former indulging the luxury of a pipe, the 
 blue smoke from which, after floating in aerial curls 
 around his head, rushed in a broad ribbon up the rude- 
 built chimney. 
 
 " So you saved nothing from the wreck? " said the 
 wife. 
 
 "Not a single article," was the reply. "The surf 
 ran so high it was dangerous boarding her, and it was 
 at the risk of my life that I got the youngster off." 
 
 " We should be thankful for that, husband. One life 
 is of more value than a thousand cargoes." 
 
 "Yes," replied the old man with great sincerity; 
 " wealth may be replaced, but life once gone is gone 
 3.
 
 26 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 forever. The ship thrown on her beam-ends may be 
 righted, but the craft that goes to the bottom, good 
 bye to her ; she will never rise again ! " 
 
 The old man knocked the ashes from his pipe and 
 continued : " The crew tried to persuade me from 
 making the attempt, but I could not leave a human 
 being to perish without one trial to save him, though, 
 for the matter of that, his troubles were nearly over 
 when I got to him. Precious little life was there left 
 in him when I took him on board." 
 
 "It was a mercy you fell in with him, John," 
 rejoined the woman, in a compassionate tone. 
 
 " You may well say that, wife, it was a mercy, 
 for by this time not two planks of that ship are left 
 together. Two hours, with such a sea as there is 
 now on, would grind the stoutest vessel that ever 
 floated to splints, placed in the situation of the 
 wreck." 
 
 " Pray God, no vessel be exposed to this frightful 
 gale ! " ejaculated the wife, with an inward shudder, as 
 the strong blast swept over the house, causing the 
 rafters to creak and tremble, while the deep, awful 
 roar of the sea broke upon the ear in thunder-tones ; 
 and the rain and the driving spray plashed with a dull ; 
 dreary sound against the side of the building, and bub- 
 bled in the crevices of the small seaward window. 
 
 " Amen to that, Bess ! " rejoined the old sailor, care- 
 fully laying aside his pipe. " God grant that no ship 
 be abroad in this ugly night ! Though wrecking is 
 our business, and we are ready to take what the sea 
 gives us, yet, He knows, I wish no harm to my fellow- 
 creatures. They talk hard of us poor wreckers, wife; 
 they give us a bad name ; but, though other folks' mis-
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 27 
 
 fortune is our meat, sooner would John Brown pine 
 with hunger ay, and often he has, too, as you well 
 know than wrong his conscience by wishing ill to 
 others." 
 
 " What do they say of you, John ? what can they 
 say of you?" asked the wife, in astonishment. 
 
 " They speak of false lights," said the indignant old 
 man, " set like bait in traps to lure the unwary to 
 destruction. And then they hint, if the sea spares the 
 poor sailor, the wrecker proves less merciful, for 
 ' dead men can teh 1 no tales/ say they ! No more 
 they can, wife, seeing as a cold tongue must needs be 
 silent," 
 
 " But have they any cause for giving you such a 
 name?" 
 
 11 Why, the world is full of bad men, and there may 
 be some in our trade. I commenced the business on 
 Florida shore, as good wrecking ground as you will 
 find on the coast, and I have heard tell of men who 
 followed the trade in olden time on the Cape who 
 were little better than pirates. False lights were 
 kindled in dark, stormy nights, and when the devoted 
 vessel was lured on to the rocks, never one of the 
 crew* escaped to tell the tale. If the surf threw them 
 ashore, there were always those ready to thrust them 
 back again, with a clip on the head, perhaps, to quiet 
 them." 
 
 " Cruel wretches ! how could they ? " murmured 
 the wife, in a low, half-whispered tone. 
 
 " A few years before I left the Cape," continued the 
 old man, " there was a report of a Spanish wrecker, on 
 one of the neighboring Keys, enticing a brig ashore 
 and murdering the crew. A number of bodies, it was
 
 28 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 eaid, were found soon after washed ashore, all bearing 
 gaping wounds, showing that the poor fellows had met 
 other than a drowning death." 
 
 " I never liked the Spaniards," remarked the wife, 
 with strong feeling ; " they seem to be a cruel, blood- 
 thirsty race." 
 
 " Not all of them, Bess. There is a set of despera- 
 does among the islanders, but we must not judge of 
 the national character by these men. There 's Anto- 
 nio, now, he is a fine fellow, certainly." 
 
 " I don't know about that," said the old woman, with 
 a shake of the head. " I can't say he altogether suits 
 my fancy ; nor more does he some one's else, though 
 he tries hard to win it." 
 
 "What, does Nell look coldly upon him? Why, I 
 thought he was just the one to catch a maiden's 
 heart." 
 
 "Love will go where it is sent, John, and only 
 there. You cannot change or check the current of 
 woman's affection any more than you can the ocean 
 tides." 
 
 " True, Bess, true ! " said the old man, playfully ; 
 " nor, for the matter of that, her hate either. Ye are 
 headstrong, stubborn creatures, and will have ^our 
 way, right or wrong. But I am not sorry that Nell 
 does not affect the lad, for he has a good deal of the 
 warmth of his clime in his blood ; you may see that in 
 his eyes. With Nell's gentle and yielding disposition, 
 I fear me she would find more of the master than the 
 kind husband in him." * 
 
 " She will find neither, with my consent," replied the 
 wife, in a tone which, had it reached Antonio's ears, 
 would have closed the gate of hope against him for-
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 29 
 
 ever. " Who r this young Spaniard, that he should 
 seek to mate with one like her ? " 
 
 " We all know who he is," replied the husband ; 
 " but who is Ellen ? " he asked, rather significantly. 
 
 " She is an angel 1 " .was the wife's reply, a shade of 
 sadness stealing over her face as she rose from her 
 seat. 
 
 "Ay, that is she, Heaven's blessing on her inno- 
 cent head ! " responded the husband. A brief conver- 
 sation followed, when the wrecker and his wife retired 
 for the night, the sough of the storm, like the moan of 
 a troubled spirit, filling their ears, a sound too often 
 heard to banish sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 woman! in our hours of ease, 
 Uncertain, coy, and hard to please; 
 When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
 A ministering angel thou. 
 
 SCOTT. 
 
 WHEN the young man awoke the next morning, with 
 the angry strife of the elements still in his ears, for a 
 while his memory played him false, and he gazed con- 
 fusedly about the strange-looking apartment, com- 
 pletely at a loss to account for his being in such an 
 unfamiliar place. By degrees, however, he became 
 aware of the true state of the. case, and he lifted his 
 head from the pillow to survey the singular appear- 
 ance of the room. Barely had he time to notice the 
 neatness and taste with which it was furnished, ere a 
 feeling of extreme dizziness forced him back to hia 
 3*
 
 30 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 pillow. The exposure to which he had been subjected, 
 coupled with the excitement he had undergone, operat- 
 ing on a frame not yet recovered from a debilitating 
 sickness, had proved too much for him. A burning 
 fever preyed upon him, and through the day the symp- 
 toms grew more and more unfavorable, so that by the 
 second night the violence of the attack was mani- 
 fested by the frequent wanderings of the patient. 
 
 Well has the poet 'characterized woman, "a minister- 
 ing angel, when pain and anguish wring the brow." 
 Such an angel flitted around the couch of Edward 
 Irving, while the hand of disease was heavy upon him. 
 Day after day he continued to grow worse, and, for the 
 many weeks he was confined to a sick-bed, on Ellen 
 devolved the duties of nurse. It was her hand that 
 smoothed his pillow, and it was from her hand he 
 received the simple medicines prepared by the wreck- 
 er's wife. During all the wanderings of her patient 
 he bestowed upon her the tender epithet of " sister," 
 and often would she resign her hand to his burning 
 clasp while he addressed her in all those endearing 
 terms prompted by a strong brotherly love. Often, 
 too, would he speak of his mother, wondering that she 
 was not present ; and then, pressing the hand he held 
 to his lips, he would thank the blushing girl for her 
 kind attentions. So accustomed at last did she be- 
 come to the familiar appellation, that she immediately 
 started to do his bidding whenever he mentioned that 
 sister's name. And when at last the veil was removed 
 from his mind, and he inquired, in a feeble w T hisper, 
 forgetful that he was amidst strangers, for " sister 
 Caroline," she stepped softly to his bedside and gently 
 answered, " I am here, Edward : can I do anything for
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. . 31 
 
 you?" the sucHen start and the inquiring look he 
 gave were the first intimations to the delighted girl 
 that his delusion had vanished. 
 
 'i Surely sister Caroline has been with me ! " said 
 he, as he gazed with an earnest look into the face of 
 his lovely attendant. 
 
 She shook her head, while, in a tone slightly em- 
 barrassed, she informed him of his deception, at the 
 same time cautioning him not to exert himself by talk- 
 ing in his then critical state. 
 
 " Then it is to your kindness and care I am indebted 
 for 
 
 He would have said more, but she gently checked 
 him, imposing upon him for the present strict silence. 
 He obeyed her, but expressed what he would have 
 said by raising her unresisting hand to his lips, and 
 breathing the word " Thanks ! " 
 
 Slowly did health and strength come back to young 
 Irving, and for a long time he was compelled to 
 endure the irksomeness of a sick-chamber. But did 
 the young man find it irksome ? If he did, he exhib- 
 ited no signs of weariness, unless on those occasions 
 during the absence of that lovely being whose delicate 
 attentions and gentle sympathy operated as a spell 
 upon him, banishing the gloom of confinement and 
 the ennui of inaction. In ordinary cases, perhaps, 
 the attentions of a young female towards a stranger, 
 thrown, as Irving was, upon the hospitality of the 
 family, would have ceased in a measure during the 
 period of 'his convalescence. But the artless and 
 sympathizing heart of 'the wrecker's daughter saw no 
 impropriety in still continuing the offices of a nurse. 
 Indeed, so occupied was the mother in her household
 
 32 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 duties, that Ellen was compelled nothing loth, it 
 must be confessed to attend upon the sick stranger. 
 
 It was a pleasure to her, during his slow recovery, 
 to take her needle-work and sit by his side, and, wlien 
 his returning strength permitted, to enter into conver- 
 sation with him, or to read to him from the few vol- 
 umes that by chance had found their way to this 
 remote place. If Ellen listened eagerly to the words 
 of one whose mind was richly stored with intellectual 
 treasure, not less eagerly did young Irving watch the 
 manifestations of a spirit congenial with his own, a 
 spirit shackled, as it were, to earth, yet striving, in 
 obedience to its native impulse, to plume itself for a 
 flight into a higher and purer atmosphere. If he had 
 been surprised to find so much beauty, and so much 
 that is endearing in the feminine character, in this wild 
 and out-of-the-way place, not less was he surprised to 
 find, united to this loveliness, so much of the germ 
 of that which, in its development, is so ennobling to the 
 other sex. Before him he saw a fair and beautiful 
 field, in whose rich soil the precious seed were waiting 
 for the invigorating rays to quicken them. Could he 
 hesitate? He would cultivate this inviting soil; he 
 would strive to repay the obligation he felt resting 
 upon him for the care and kindness he had received, 
 by aiding the growth jf those powers which promised 
 such rich fruition. Ah ! the beams that lent the quick- 
 ening warmth, darted they not from the heart as well 
 as the mind? 
 
 It was a delightful task on which he now entered, 
 delightful to pupil as teacher, for Ellen, although 
 Irving had not hinted his intentions, intuitively seemed 
 to fathom his designs, and, by her eagerness to gather
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. . 33 
 
 instruction, manifested her ready acquiescence. For- 
 tunately for the young man's purpose, the wrecker, on 
 revisiting the scene of the shipwreck, had found in a 
 neighboring hamlet, among other things, the trunk of 
 Irving, which he succeeded in securing for a slight 
 compensation. The contents of this trunk were pecu- 
 liarly valuable to Edward, for they consisted of a large 
 set of books, which, in his new character of instructor, 
 were almost indispensable. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 They read together, reading the same book, 
 Their heads bent forward with a half embrace, 
 
 So that each shade that either spirit took 
 Was straight reflected in the other's face. 
 
 ASON. 
 
 EDWARD IRVING for it is time to give some ac- 
 count of our hero was a young Virginian. He was 
 about twenty-four years of age. His personal appear- 
 ance was certainly prepossessing, without laying claim 
 to any distinguishing marks of manly beauty. His 
 countenance could not strictly be called handsome ; 
 but there was an intellectual cast to his features, 
 an expression which spoke of aa open and a generous 
 heart, that at once won him the good will of those 
 with whom he chanced to associate. His father had 
 been some time deceased, leaving a handsome estate 
 to his family, which consisted of the widow, and two 
 children, Edward and Caroline. 
 
 Unlike too many of the " chivalrous " sons of the 
 Old Dominion, left in a similar situation, who spend
 
 34 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 their time and patrimony in horse-racing and like 
 "manly sports," to the neglect of the higher and 
 nobler employments and enjoyments of life, Irving 
 determined to strike out a path for himself, to pursue 
 a loftier career ; for which purpose he sought to store 
 his mind with those intellectual treasures which bestow 
 such a lustre on the character. He heard his fellows 
 boast of their " nice sense of honor," of their high, 
 chivalric feeling, but he was grieved to see so little 
 evidence of that which gives to man his only true 
 worth and dignity. He was not satisfied with the 
 poor, beggarly chaff which fed -the ambition of many 
 of his acquaintance. His aspirations were not bounded 
 by the foolish desire of astonishing the gaping multi- 
 tude by the brilliancy of his establishment, by a prod- 
 igal waste of money, or by a wild and reckless course 
 of life. He sought for no such distinction as this : he 
 felt, with the poet, that 
 
 " The suffrage of the wise, 
 The praise that 's worth ambition, is attained 
 By sense alone, aad dignity of mind." 
 
 Not unfrequently had he heard his companions 
 boast of their being the " sons of Virginia," the de- 
 scendants of heroes and patriots, good men and 
 true ; but he was not content to bask in the reflected 
 glory of other days. True, he felt proud of his 
 native State, of the illustrious names that shed such 
 a halo around her annals; and, conscious of lofty 
 capacities, he resolved not to waste them, but, by 
 cultivating his powers, to render himself a worthy 
 scion of the proud old commonwealth, and, it may be, 
 to rub off some of the rust which perchance had
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 35 
 
 gathered on her escutcheon. With these views and 
 feelings he had visited the North, and entered " old 
 Harvard," where he applied himself to a strict course 
 of mental discipline. Actuated as he was, it may 
 safely be presumed he did not slight the opportunities 
 afforded him. He bent his whole energies to the 
 task before him, and, when he took his degree, his 
 name stood first on the list of aspirants. So eager, 
 indeed, had been his pursuit, he overtasked his 
 strength, and about the time of his leaving college 
 his health had become very much reduced. In the 
 hope of deriving benefit from a sea-voyage, he took 
 passage for a southern port, and met with the disaster 
 we have stated. 
 
 The fall months had passed away and the winter 
 set in ere Irving's health would permit him to leave 
 the house. Even then it was so precarious he dared 
 not risk the fatigue and exposure of a journey home. 
 To the joy of the wrecker's family, he at last con- 
 cluded to remain with them until a milder season, or 
 until his strength was sufficiently recruited to permit 
 him to travel with safety. He had ingratiated himself 
 wonderfully with the wrecker and his wife. Unculti- 
 vated themselves, though not wanting in a natural 
 shrewdness which preserved them from boorishness, 
 they were not the less sensible of the importance of 
 education ; and it was with no slight degree of joy that 
 they noticed the interest that existed between Ellen 
 and the young stranger in their studies. Whether, in 
 their simplicity, they ever cast a thought on the pos- 
 sibility of the young couple conning a lesson not to 
 be found in the books, we cannot take it upon ourself 
 to say. At any rate, they never evinced the slightest
 
 36 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 suspicion. The modest and frank bearing of tho 
 young man entirely won their regards, and they re- 
 posed the fullest confidence in his integrity. 
 
 As for Ellen, she had scarcely analyzed her feelings 
 from the day the young man became an inmate of her 
 father's dwelling. She was sensible that a brighter 
 light beamed upon her pathway, that a new fountain 
 of joy had been opened in her heart, that the world 
 wore a more beautiful aspect ; buf she attempted not 
 to> solve the mystery of the change. With a mind all 
 athirst for knowledge, it seemed to spurn the slow, 
 laborious process by which it is usually obtained, and 
 to grasp at once the prize. Scale after scale fell 
 rapidly from her eyes, until, like sudden sight to the 
 blind, she became dazzled and bewildered in the light 
 that beamed around her. Her young teacher, albeit 
 he gazed delighted on the almost miraculous workings 
 of her spirit, found as much difficulty irf curbing her 
 impatient zeal as many do in spurring on the dull 
 laggard. 
 
 Day after day, as Irving ^at by the side of thai 
 ardent-minded girl, and watched the changes of he? 
 beautiful countenance as new truths constantly burst 
 upon her mind, and witnessed the rich glow which 
 ever and anon irradiated her face as some newly- 
 encountered difficulty gave way before her uncon- 
 querable perseverance, day after day, as he marked 
 the unfolding of her mind, the development of powers 
 so much mre brilliant than he dreamed of her pos- 
 sessing, deeper and deeper grew his adrnirat'on. 
 He saw her striving to win his approbation by r ould 
 ing her intellect in accordance with his OWP by im 
 buing herself with his spirit, catching the i-one and
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 37 
 
 hue of his intelligent nature, turning towards him 
 ever, as the flower to the sun, with a sweet confi- 
 dence; and as he thus contemplated her, his heart 
 grew to her with an affection stronger, if possible, 
 than love. She leaned upon and looked up to him 
 with such a childlike earnestness, pursuing her in- 
 quiries with such an artless familiarity, and abandon- 
 ing herself to his mental guidance so unreservedly, 
 and yet in her unrestrained freedom preserving always 
 such a modest propriety, that the young man felt flat- 
 tered as well as charmed by her devotion. Mingled 
 with that deeper and more impassioned sentiment 
 which had sprung up in his heart, he cherished toward 
 her the pure affection of a brother. He felt proud of 
 the task he had undertaken as he beheld the rapid 
 growth of her mind, and reflected that, but 'for him, 
 perhaps, this lovely casket would never have been un- 
 sealed and its*precious treasures never revealed. 
 
 There was one, however, who viewed these pro- 
 ceedings with far other than pleasurable feelings. 
 From the first hour that the young man had found 
 shelter beneath the wrecker's roof, there was one who 
 had fixed a jealous eye upon him. This was Antonio, 
 who, as has been hinted, looked upon the young 
 maiden as a prize destined for himself alone. With 
 all the vindictiveness of his race, coupled to a mind 
 trammeled by ignorance* and low associations, the 
 reader may imagine the feelings with which he wit- 
 nessed the growing intimacy of the young couple. 
 At the very first the devotion of Ellen to the stranger 
 during the severity of his sickness aroused his sus- 
 picious nature, and as the young man grew better 
 and a closer union seemed to subsist between the 
 4
 
 38 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 two, while broader and broader grew the separation 
 between the maiden and himself, bitterer and more 
 vengeful grew his ire towards the cause of this 
 change ; and when at last Ellen withdrew herself en- 
 tirely from his companionship, insensibly indeed to 
 herself, he was goaded to an almost ungovernable 
 rage. He swore in his heart the deadliest vengeance 
 against young Irving, although, with all that cunning 
 so often engendered by malice, he smothered the pas- 
 sion-fires that raged fiercely in his bosom, so as to 
 conceal them from the notice of others. Impatiently 
 he waited for the coming spring, trusting that the 
 young man would take his departure, brooding over, 
 meanwhile, a plan by which he might rid himself of so 
 dangerous a rival, should he still linger in his way, or 
 return to snatch the treasure from his grasp. 
 
 Slowly and drearily to him, but marvellously rapid 
 and pleasant to the youthful couple, passed the winter 
 months. To them it was like the passage of a bril- 
 liant dream, and they could scarcely credit their own 
 senses when they observed that the huge snow-drifts 
 had disappeared and the budding spring was at hand. 
 They could not be convinced that it had been a rough 
 > and rude season, and the old folks chuckled with 
 delight and rubbed their hands in great glee at their 
 mutual astonishment, when they told them that a 
 " harder winter had rarely ben known." 0, the sun- 
 shine of the heart 1 how it softens and mellows 
 where'er it falls and whate'er it touches 1
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 31 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 They had not spoken ; but they felt allured 
 As if their souls and lips each other beckoned. 
 
 BTKOX 
 
 Though absent, present in desires they be ;. 
 Our souls much further than our eyes can see. 
 
 DRAYTOH. 
 
 THE time at last arrived when young Irving felt 
 compelled to tear himself away from one who had 
 woven so powerful a spell around his heart. Strong 
 as were the ties that drew him to his home, ardently 
 as he desired once more to embrace a mother and sis- 
 ter whom he fondly loved, still he contemplated the 
 hour of his departure with emotions of the deepest 
 sadness. He had never made an avowal of his love, 
 he had nevermought an expression of the sentiments 
 of her whose image was enshrined in his very heart 
 of hearts; yet well l^knew that maiden's heart was 
 all his own. Why then did he hesitate ? What should 
 prevent his securing the treasure which it would 
 seem Providence had placed in his reach ? Not on 
 his own account did he refrain from declaring his pas- 
 sion and seeking a return. Nay, feeling that life 
 without her companionship would be a poor boon, he 
 had determined at some future time on revealing his 
 affection, and, if possible, securing her hand. 
 
 But he had reasons for delaying this declaration. 
 He belonged to one of the old patrician families of 
 Virginia. He was well aware that his mother was of 
 that class which cherishes for the class is not ex- 
 tinct peculiar notions in rega?d to birth and fortune ;
 
 40 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 a class which shrinks from, or scorns, an alliance with 
 those in a humbler rank ; which arrogates a superiority 
 above the common herd, as though the purple cur- 
 rents that course their veins sprung from a purer 
 source than that of the rest of God's creatures. Such 
 were the ideas early instilled into young Irving. But 
 as he grew in years his good native sense taught him 
 better. He saw among the different grades of society 
 no radical distinction ; he saw those in the lower walks 
 of life, borne down and fettered by circumstances, 
 fitted to adorn any station in life ; and, on the other 
 hand, he beheld those who boasted of their blood, 
 who were not, so far as true merit is concerned, worthy 
 to undo the latchets of many whose companionship 
 they spurned. Seeing this, he felt, with the poet, that 
 there is 
 
 "No distinction 'tween man and mad(fc 
 But as his virtues add to him a glory, v 
 Or vices cloud him." 
 
 
 
 Well knowing his mother's views on this point, he 
 thought, for the happiness of all, ere he committed 
 himself, it would be best for him to confer with her. 
 It required, however, all the force of restraint which 
 he could command when he announced his intention 
 of leaving for home. He first mentioned it to Ellen 
 alone, and the manner with which the information was 
 received, the tone with which she uttered the words, 
 involuntarily, as it were, " Home, Edward ! 0, why 
 should our homes be apart?" the deep dejection 
 which accompanied this artless though meaning excla- 
 mation almost threw him off his guard, and he was 
 on the point of clasping the lovely girl to his heart
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 41 
 
 and pouring into her ear the tender avowal which 
 trembled on his lips. Fortunately for his purpose, 
 the entrance of the wrecker and his wife checked the 
 impulse. 
 
 Many and hearty were the regrets expressed by the 
 parents when informed of his intentions. He had 
 been domesticated with them so long that they looked 
 upon him as one of the family, and quite as much 
 interest was manifested as if he were indeed their son. 
 His preparations for departing threw a shade of gloom 
 over the household, and only the reiterated assurances 
 of the young man that he would soon revisit them in 
 the least reconciled them to his going away. 
 
 We will not stop to describe the leave-taking : it 
 was a sad one to all concerned. Irving alone was 
 cheered with the hoflfcof soon returning to claim the 
 hand of her whose depth of feeling prevented her 
 presence when the final moment of parting came. 
 
 With feelings little to be envied, the young man 
 traversed the barren .region that separated the small 
 hamlet from the great living world, and, as he slowly 
 journeyed, his thoughts constantly reverted to her on 
 whom, rested all his earthly hopes. From the depth 
 of his own feelings, well could he imagine the state 
 of hers. A change had indeed come over the spirit 
 of her dream, and bitter to her was that change. The 
 light which had beamed so brightly in her pathway 
 was suddenly withdrawn, and the gloom of night 
 closed around her. Still, one little star looked kindly 
 down upon her. Like the silver sheen on the edge 
 of the black cloud which veils the moon, so Hope 
 threw its light on the darkness which enveloped her. 
 Dwelling on his promised return, her spirits soon
 
 42 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 regained their wonted elasticity, and a cheerful smile 
 again came back, like a bird to its nest, as if loth to 
 remain long from the spot around which it loved to 
 linger. 
 
 Irving had left behind him all his stock of books, 
 and the lonely girl derived a pleasure from going 
 over them, reviewing her course of study, and fondly 
 dwelling on the many pencilled passages, thus marked 
 in order the more forcibly to attract attention. Every 
 moment not devoted to other duties was spent in the 
 little apartment used as a study, and there she held 
 silent communion with the absent; and, while she 
 sought to hoard up new treasures to enrich the mind, 
 daily did her love strengthen toward him who first 
 revealed to her their existence, and taught her to 
 appreciate their worth. 
 
 With a very wildness of joy, which he found it dif- 
 ficult to conceal, Antonio beheld the departure of one 
 whom he looked upon as standing in his way. He 
 had long flattered himself with the assurance that his 
 success in winning the wrecker's daughter was certain, 
 until the arrival of the stranger dissipated some of 
 his confidence, at the same time arousing his jealousy. 
 Far different was the love if it may be dignified by 
 the name he entertained from that which had been 
 kindled in Irving's breast. Antonio's was a grosser 
 passion. He looked upon her as a beautiful woman, 
 an object of desire merely to minister to the coarser 
 appetites of his nature. He could not appreciate those 
 intrinsic qualities, those higher and purer manifes- 
 tations of character, wanting which, the possessor 
 of the most captivating personal attractions is but a 
 mere painted toy, a thing of art and show.
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 43 
 
 But a short time elapsed after his rival's departure 
 ere, flushed with new hope, he began to prosecute his 
 suit. Urged on by his fiery temperament, and seem- 
 ingly unaware of the very evident fact that Ellen 
 studiously avoided him, he boldly threw himself in her 
 way and perseveringly sought to win her favor. If 
 before the maiden had a distaste for his companion- 
 ship, more strongly than ever did she cherish it now. 
 
 In point of mere external appearance, perhaps, the 
 Spaniard had the advantage of the stranger; but, 
 in the address and conversation, in everything that 
 related to character, the contrast between the two 
 was so great that distaste grew almost into disgust, 
 which she found it difficult to conceal when in his 
 presence. Still, notwithstanding she plainly evinced 
 her disrelish for his society, the young man ceased not 
 his annoying advances ; on the contrary, each repulse 
 appeared to stimulate him to renewed perseverance. 
 
 So marked at last became his attentions, that, to 
 bring matters to a crisis, and so rid herself of his un- 
 pleasant pertinacity, she relaxed a little from her 
 accustomed reserve, nor sought to avoid him as be- 
 fore. Seizing immediately upon the apparently favor- 
 able omen, Antonio lost not a moment in formally 
 preferring his suit. Ellen calmly listened to his pro- 
 testations of love, and then, in a voice of great mild- 
 ness, blended with a determination which shut out 
 e /ery hope, assured him that, with her present feelings, 
 she could not entertain his proposal. The young man 
 gave an involuntary start as he listened to his rejection, 
 and then, as if doubting whether his ears had not 
 deceived him, pressed his suit anew, and with a more 
 passionate earnestness.
 
 44 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 " It is in vain, Antonio," said the embarrassed girl, 
 as she gazed with a feeling akin to pity on the glow- 
 ing face of the excited youth, " it is altogether vain 
 our paths through life must be separate." 
 
 This time there was no mistaking her meaning, and 
 for a moment Antonio stood silently gazing into the 
 maiden's face, his compressed lips trembling in spite 
 of his efforts, and a sickly pallor overspreading his 
 swarthy countenance, giving it the ghastly hue of 
 death. Thus he stood, statue-like, the only sign of 
 vitality being the nervous twitching of his lip and the 
 slightly convulsive heaving of his breast, until the 
 maiden shrunk from the very intensity of his gaze; 
 when suddenly a fierce gleam lighted up his fixed and 
 stony glance, and a wildly vengeful expression swept 
 across his features. The change was so quickly 
 wrought, and so complete, that Ellen began to tremble 
 with a sense of undefined apprehension. She dreaded 
 the burst of passion which she doubted not would 
 follow this r forcible manifestation of the struggle 
 within. 
 
 " Ah ha ! I thought as much," said he, in a low, sar- 
 donic tone, " I thought as much, and I may thank the 
 pale-faced stranger for this reception ! " 
 
 " Antonio ! " said the maiden, startled at his remark, 
 and somewhat indignant, " I cannot listen to such lan- 
 guage ! " and she attempted to leave him. 
 
 " Nay, nay, Ellen Brown, you must hear me ! " he 
 exclaimed, as he stepped in her path. " I have long 
 suspected this. The stranger is at the bottom of it 
 all. He has tampered with you; he has won your 
 affections with his smooth tongue, and fooled your
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 45 
 
 ignorance with his bookish jargon. He has robbed 
 me, curses on him 1 and little he cares for " 
 
 " Let me pass, sir ! " interrupted the wrecker's 
 daughter, now highly excited at the reproach thrown 
 upon the absent. " Your language is as unmanly as it 
 is unjust." 
 
 The enraged Spaniard for a moment fixed upon the 
 maiden a lowering look, in which were concentrated 
 every dark and malignant passion; then, making room 
 for her to pass, he muttered : " Go, proud girl ! go 
 your way ; but know that I can hate as strongly as I 
 can love. Your path is clear, but I give you fair 
 warning, maiden. Tell your sickly paramour to be- 
 ware, for, if ever he crosses my path, a worse fate will 
 await him than that from which your foolish father 
 rescued him ! " 
 
 It is doubtful if Ellen heard the threat conveyed in 
 the last sentence, for she hastily seized the opportu- 
 nity to leave the presence of her infuriated lover, who 
 turned from the spot, invoking the most horrid impre- 
 cations on the^head of his rival. 
 
 Time passed on, and the excitement in Ellen's mind, 
 consequent upon the interview we have just described, 
 had given place to other feelings. Sometimes a vague 
 fear would flit across her heart that Irving's return 
 might be attended with danger. But this apprehen- 
 sion was soon banished, for Antonio appeared to have 
 mastered his passion. Everything in his manner 
 evinced an entire change in his feelings. He had 
 become cheerful as ever, and he greeted Ellen with 
 the same cordiality he had always manifested, insomuch 
 that she deceived herself with the belief that he had 
 forgotten, or was indifferent to, the repulse given to
 
 46 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 him. Ah! little did she dream of the horde of evil 
 passions which nestled, like so many venomous ser- 
 pents, beneath that calm and smiling exterior, await- 
 ing only.the return of the young Virginian to arouse 
 them to action. 
 
 But would he ever return? The spring passed 
 away, the burning summer came, and the glowing 
 autumn drew nigh, and still he came not, still came 
 there no tidings from him. Was he sick? Had he 
 forgotten her? The wrecker's daughter could not 
 repress a sigh as she pondered these questions. Yet 
 hope and faith triumphed over fear and doubt. The 
 distance was so great, the opportunity of sending 
 to a place so remote occurred so seldom, she felt she 
 had no reason to expect a letter from him, although 
 he had promised to write. Banishing, therefore, her 
 despondency, she bent herself with renewed zeal to 
 the acquisition of knowledge. 
 
 Not for the sake of knowledge alone did she thus 
 task her energies, although to one of her cast of mind 
 no other stimulus were needed. In all her mental 
 strivings one motive alone impelled her, one desire 
 only did she cherish, to win the approbation of the 
 absent one, to raise herself to his mental standard. 
 Her great ambition was to assimilate her character 
 with his, and thus render herself more worthy of his 
 friendship. If a warmer sentiment inspired her en- 
 deavors, its existence was not acknowledged, although 
 the shrewd reader may decide that love alone was the 
 prime mover of all her actions.
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 47 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Love gives esteem, and then he gives desert; 
 He either finds equality, or makes it. 
 Like death, he knows no difference in degrees, 
 But flames and levels all. DRTDKN. 
 
 Absence, with all its pains, 
 Is by this charming moment wiped away. 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 NO ! Edward Irving was not forgetful. Nay, 
 absence served rather to strengthen his passion. 
 Though he moved among beautiful forms, and caught 
 the winning glances of brilliant eyes, and encountered 
 wooing smiles, yet his heart went back to the lone 
 flower, blooming amid the desolate rocks, true to its 
 first impulses. Courted by the wealthy and high-born, 
 for the possessor of so many rich acres was a prize 
 coveted by many, feted and flattered by designing 
 mothers and worldly-minded fathers, mingling in that 
 circle whose members affect to look down upon those 
 shut out from its charmed precincts, still, young Irving 
 forgot not for a moment the wrecker's daughter, 
 cast not a single- regretful thought on her humble 
 birth, but only sighed for the time when he should 
 take her to his home and heart. During his residence 
 at the North, he had imbibed more strongly those 
 notions (peculiar, as we believe, to New England) 
 which lead one to measure a man, not by the false and 
 contracted views of a clique, but by the broad rule 
 which the Creator himself has laid down, by a men-' 
 tal and moral standard which alone is infallible. 
 
 It was no slight undertaking to enter into an exola-
 
 48 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 nation with bis mother. He had deeply rooted preju- 
 dices to encounter, prejudices imbibed in earliest 
 youth, and which had grown and strengthened with 
 years. He had still more to overcome. His mother 
 had already fixed upon a choice for her son, and since 
 his return she had lost no opportunity in bringing 
 about the end she had in view. She well knew that 
 Edward cherished rather " vulgar notions " of " equal- 
 ity," and fearing that he might carry them out in 
 forming a connection, she thought it would not be 
 amiss to avert the calamity by selecting a partner 
 every way desirable. 
 
 Poor woman ! her air-built castle was destined to 
 tumble to the ground, and its ruins laid heavily on 
 her heart. She could hardly listen patiently to Ed- 
 ward's avowal that he had already settled the affair. 
 Her very worst fears were more than realized. What, 
 her son marry a low-bred wrecker's daughter ! The 
 proud blood of the Irvings be contaminated by its 
 sole representative uniting with the daughter of a 
 fishmonger, a half pirate ! Alas, it was a sore trial 
 to the aristocratic widow ; and vainly might Edward 
 have essayed to reconcile her to what she deemed the 
 degradation, had he not had powerful advocates to 
 assist him. 
 
 One of these was his own sister, a fine, intelligent 
 girl, who partook much of the spirit of her brother. 
 From Edward's representations she had been com- 
 pletely won over to his interests, and already had she 
 begun to cherish a warm regard for the humble Ellen. 
 From the glowing accounts of her brother, the ardent- 
 minded girl was impatient to welcome the object of 
 his affection as a sister. The other advocate on thia
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 49 
 
 occasion was a widow lady in the neighborhood, the 
 early companion and always friend of Mrs. Irving. 
 Her opinions had great weight with the latter lady, 
 and, by her influence, Mrs. Irving in time became some- 
 what reconciled to what, in fact, from her knowledge 
 of the determined spirit of her son, she knew could 
 not be avoided. 
 
 Mrs. Randolph had drunk deeply of the bitter cup 
 of life. Though of a wealthy family, the possessor 
 of nluch wealth herself, and moving in the same circle 
 with Mrs. Irving, yet sorrow had chastened her feel- 
 ings, and taught her to view objects in a different light 
 from that of her friend. Her own wedded happiness 
 early crushed by a peculiarly painful blow, by which 
 she was at once deprived of husband and child, she 
 had retired in a measure from the world, her heart too 
 much wedded to the lost to permit her to accept the 
 many offers to again enter the married state. Edward 
 was an especial favorite of Mrs. Randolph, and he 
 looked upon her almost as a second mother. The 
 most perfect confidence existed between them, and he 
 had revealed to her everything relating to his heart- 
 affairs, and all her sympathies were enlisted in his 
 behalf. The good offices she rendered have already 
 been noticed. 
 
 Elated with success, and impatient to rejoin her 
 whose image was ever present with him, Irving hast- 
 ened to despatch some affairs relating to his property, 
 and then left home, determined not to return without 
 bringing with him the wrecker's daughter, not as a 
 visitor, but as the wife of his bosom, the mistress of 
 his mansion. 
 
 Night had closed in, and the broad harvest moon, 
 5
 
 50 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 rising from out the ocean', had thrown a pillar of light 
 along its unruffled surface, as Irving arrived in the 
 neighborhood of the little hamlet towards whicii his 
 path tended. It was a dreary-looking spot, yet the 
 rays of the moon, as they fell on the still waters of the 
 cove and lent their chastening light to the dark dwel- 
 lings, gave to the scene a very picturesque effect. It 
 will not be wondered at that to the young traveller it 
 appeared one of surpassing beauty, and that the hum 1 
 ble hut, whose dingy roof was just tipped by the 
 beams of the rising moon, was more attractive in his 
 eyes than would have been the most finished specimen 
 of architectural beauty. 
 
 He had arrived at a slight eminence in close prox- 
 imity to the clustered hamlet, and for a moment 
 paused to look around him. Everything seemed 
 hushed in the deepest repose, not a sound breaking 
 the impressive stillness, save the low wash of the sea 
 as it broke in gentle ripples on the shore. Before 
 him spread out the ocean like a vast mirror, reflecting 
 in its clear depths the queen of night with all her lus- 
 trous train, while on either hand rose the beetling 
 cliffs, like giants set to guard the land from the en- 
 croachments of its ancient enemy, the sea. Here a 
 lofty promontory stood boldly out in the pale moon- 
 light, and there a vast chasm seemed to yawn, black 
 as night's mantle, the whole forming a checkered and 
 singularly grotesque scene, affording striking effects 
 of light and shade. We know not how long the 
 young man might have been absorbed with the view, 
 had not his eye caught sight of an object which in- 
 duced him to hurry from the spot, the beating of his 
 heart keeping time to the rapidity of his movements.
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 51 
 
 Standing on one of those promontories which spring 
 from the sea, fully revealed in the broad moonbeams, 
 the quick eye of the young man detected the outlines 
 of a female form. It needed not a second glance to 
 inform him who it was. Striking out from the path 
 he was following, he hastened in the direction of the 
 maiden. 
 
 So completely abstracted were the senses of the 
 wrecker's daughter, as she stood gazing upon the 
 scene before her, that she was not aware of the young 
 man's approach until, standing nearly by her side, he 
 whispered her name. The first impulse of the startled 
 girl, as she turned and immediately beheld before her 
 the vety being who at that moment solely occupied 
 her thoughts, was to throw herself into the arms that 
 were extended to welcome her. It was an involun- 
 tary a,ct, and when she hastily extricated herself from 
 his passionate embrace, 
 
 " How beautiful she looked ! her conscious heart 
 Glowed in her cheeks, and yet she felt no wrong." 
 
 We will not attempt to portray the feelings that 
 agitated her bosom at this unexpected meeting. The 
 poet we have just ^ quoted best describes them, per- 
 haps, in the following passage : 
 
 " Joy trickled in her tears, joy filled the sob 
 That rocked her heart till almost heard to throb ; 
 And paradise was breathing in the sigh 
 Of nature's child in nature's ecstasy." 
 
 The time, the place, the little circumstances attend- 
 ing the first moment of meeting, all were favorable to 
 the object the young man had in view. Can there be
 
 52 FOKEST AND SHORE. 
 
 a doubt that he improved the propitious opportunity, 
 or a doubt of the result of that unpremeditated inter- 
 view ? " By the light of the moon," as the old "ballad 
 runs, they exchanged their vows ; " by the light of 
 the moon " the young man sealed his pledge on the 
 rosy lips of his betrothed ; and " by the light of the 
 moon " at a late hour they walked home, two as 
 happy hearts as that planet, or any other, ever smiled 
 upon. 
 
 There was one being lurking in the neighborhood, 
 who, from his hiding-place, had witnessed the rap- 
 turous meeting, and listened to the murmured inter- 
 change of feeling, and who went home that night, dog- 
 ging their footsteps, with a heart overflowing with all 
 th^ bitterness of malignant hatred, and racked with the 
 most vengeful jealousy. The sleeping serpents were 
 aroused, waiting to dart forth their poisonous fangs ! 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Nothing shall assuage 
 Your love but marriage. LILLY. 
 
 serpent-heart, hid with a flow'ring face ! 
 
 SHAKSFEARE. 
 
 THE delight of the wrecker and his wife at the 
 return of Irving was unbounded, nor was it at all 
 lessened when he informed them of the object of his 
 visit, and that their consent only was wanted to 
 crown it with success. 
 
 " Take her, young man," said the aged wrecker, 
 with a slightly tremulous voice, as he placed the hand
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 53 
 
 of the blushing girl in living's, " take her and cherish 
 her. She has been a treasure to us, yet we cheerfully 
 entrust her to one who, we believe, will not slight the 
 gift. We are rude and unlearned ourselves, and Nell 
 has ever lived among these wild rocks ; yet," he con- 
 tinued, glancing affectionately, and it may be with a 
 touch of pride, at the object of his remarks, " though 
 I say it, the proudest lady in the land need not be 
 ashamed of her companionship." 
 
 A slight pressure of the hand he held was the 
 assent given by .the young man to the old sailor's 
 plain-spoken encomiums. 
 
 Having won the blushing consent of Ellen that the 
 "happy day" should not be postponed any longer 
 than was necessary, Edward, to while away the time 
 that must necessarily elapse in preparation, the 
 ladies know how much is consumed on these all-im- 
 portant occasions, roved about the rocks, sometimes 
 with his gun and sometimes with his rod, deriving 
 pleasure and health from the exercise. In most of 
 his excursions he was accompanied by Antonio, who 
 seemed particularly desirous of cultivating his friendly 
 acquaintance. Finding him such excellent company, 
 Edward rarely started on an expedition without ex- 
 tending him an invitation. It is true at first he was 
 not very partial to his companionship. There was a 
 certain something about the young Spaniard which 
 impressed him unfavorably. What it was he could 
 neither define nor explain. Sometimes it was the ex- 
 pression of his eye, when, turning suddenly, perhaps, 
 he found it resting upon him ; sometimes it was in his 
 lips, where he thought he detected a slight curl of 
 scorn, or defiance, which grated harshly on his feel-
 
 54 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 ings ; then again it was a peculiarity in his smile, or 
 in the tone of his voice. This, however, in time 
 wholly wore off, and his partiality at length grew 
 quite as strong as had been his former prejudice. 
 
 It may as well be mentioned here that Miss Irving 
 and Mrs. Randolph had sent on by Edward, whose 
 assurance of success must have been undoubted, am- 
 ple tokens of their love and good-will, in the shape of 
 silks and satins, and all those little etceteras of dress 
 and ornament which are deemed so essential to the 
 bridal wardrobe, and which they. rightly supposed 
 would not be unacceptable. The letters which accom- 
 panied these munificent gifts touched the heart of 
 Ellen more than the rich presents. That of Caroline's 
 breathed the very spirit of sisterly affection, while 
 Mrs. Randolph's was couched in the endearing lan- 
 guage of motherly fondness. Mrs. Irving, also, con- 
 descended to write, assuring her that, as the wife of 
 her son, she would be warmly welcomed. It must be 
 confessed that the wrecker's daughter lingered with 
 greater delight over the warm expressions contained 
 in Caroline's and Mrs. Randolph's letters than she did 
 on the rather formal tone of Mrs. Irving's epistle. 
 
 Time passed on, and it had been settled that the 
 proposed ceremony should take place at the expira- 
 tion of a week. An itinerant preacher, one of those 
 self-denying characters who go about doing good, 
 leaving the crowded thoroughfares of life, and striking 
 off into lone by-places, searching out the remote and 
 tmvisited places of the earth, taking neither purse nor 
 scrip, but sacrificing ease and comfort, content so that 
 they can bear to their fellow-mortals the word of ever- 
 lasting life, an individual of this stamp very oppor-
 
 THE WRECKERS DAUGHTER. 55 
 
 timely paid a visit to this distant spot, and was invited 
 to remain and perform the nuptial rites. 
 
 Meanwhile, one pleasant morning, it was proposed- 
 by Antonio that the young men should take the small 
 boat, which was fitted with a sail, and go on a fishing 
 expedition. Irving readily acceded to the proposition, 
 and, taking in a supply of stores, as they intended to 
 be absent until nightfall, they started, with a light 
 wind, and with a fine prospect of a good day's sport. 
 Everything seemed propitious. At an early hour they 
 reached the fishing-ground. Excellent luck attended 
 them, and, in the edge of the evening, they were on 
 their return, in high glee at their success. 
 
 About a league or so from the entrance of the cove 
 in a westerly direction, there is a sunken rock, which 
 at low tide is left quite bare at its summit, but when 
 the tide is full it is covered to the depth of ten or 
 twelve feet. It was about sunset when they reached 
 this rock, which was fully exposed, the tide being in 
 its young flood. Owing to some remark thrown out 
 by Antonio, apparently in a careless manner, respect- 
 ing a certain species of cockle to be found upon it, 
 Irving proposed landing. 
 
 Antonio spoke of the lateness of the hour and the 
 distance from the cove, as if hesitating. " There will 
 be time enough, however," said he, " for we have the 
 wind, what there is of it, and the tide, in our favor ; " 
 and he ran the boat alongside the rock. A savage 
 gleam of satisfaction lit up the eyes of the young 
 Spaniard as he sprang upon it, followed by his com- 
 panion. 
 
 For some time they remained gathering the cockles, 
 from some of which a rich dye, similar to carmine, may
 
 56 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 be obtained, a species very common on our coast. 
 While Irving was thus busily employed, the young 
 Spaniard covertly stepped into the boat, gave her a 
 hasty shove off, and was quite a distance from the rock 
 ere Irving noticed his absence. Presuming, of course, 
 that it was done in joke, he made some slight remark, 
 and continued gathering the cockles. Having ob- 
 tained a sufficient quantity, he hailed Antonio, who 
 was now at some distance, to take him off. A scorn- 
 ful laugh was the response. Still free from suspicion, 
 and, finding the space on which he stood was rapidly 
 encroached upon by the tide, he again hailed his com- 
 panion, requesting him to return. This time no reply 
 was made, but Irving noticed that the sail of the 
 boat was trimmed that she might head to the west- 
 ward. 
 
 Now, for the first time, suspicion flashed upon his 
 mind. Ellen had told him of Antonio's offer and of 
 her rejection of his suit, and of the exasperated feeling 
 he manifested on the occasion ; and this was the horrid 
 revenge he had determined upon, leaving him on 
 that lone rock to perish by a slow and miserable 
 death ! 
 
 Hoping that, after all, his fears might be .groundless, 
 
 though he now vividly recalled the unfavorable im- 
 pressions he cherished on first meeting Antonio after 
 his return, which served to increase his apprehension, 
 
 for a third time he hailed him, in a voice as uncon- 
 cerned as if he regarded it all as a matter of sport. 
 
 " Come, Antonio," he said ; " it will be late before 
 we get home. The tide, too, is coming in fast, and 
 will soon overflow the rock." 
 
 This time an answer came back, and Irving' s blood
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 57 
 
 receded coldly to his heart as it fell upon his ears, 
 for he knew that he was a doomed man ; that the 
 Spaniard had decoyed him on to the rock for the very 
 purpose of leaving him there to his fate. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " he shouted, as he sat down in the stern 
 of the boat. " A pleasant night may you have of it, 
 my young buck ! " he continued, in a mocking tone, as 
 the boat slowly receded from the rock. " The priest 
 you have bidden to your bridal may be wanted for a 
 less joyful occasion, if the sea should throw your 
 battered carcass on shore. I gave the maiden fair 
 warning, yet I have trapped you at last. Kneel to 
 your God, for in an hour's time it will be all over with 
 you." And another savage laugh floated over the 
 calm waters. 
 
 In an agony of mind which for the moment benumbed 
 every faculty, the young man stood as if carved out 
 of the solid rock, motionless, almost pulseless, his 
 cheeks blanched as death, every muscle strained to its 
 utmost tension, with his glassy eyes fixed in a despair- 
 ing gaze upon the distant boat, now fast disappearing 
 in the gloom of the fading twilight. Her course lay 
 to the westward, probably tending toward some by- 
 port, there being a number of fishing-stations scattered 
 at intervals along the coast, whence the young Span- 
 iard would doubtless make his escape. 
 
 The last faint glimpse of the receding sail had flit- 
 ted like a vague shadow on the young man's sight 
 ere he was aroused from his death-like stupor, when 
 the full sense of his fearful and hopeless doom burst 
 upon him. From the far-off horizon, into whose misty 
 obscurity the boat had vanished, the gaze of the un- 
 happy victim of treachery was directed, with a sbud-
 
 58 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 der, to the water at his feet. Inch by inch the tide 
 was gaming on his narrow foothold, every moment 
 creeping nearer and nearer to the slight elevation to 
 which he had retreated. In a momentary feeling of 
 despair, he threw himself upon the rock, giving himself 
 up to the fate which appeared inevitable, waiting 
 for the rising tide to wash him off to his watery grave. 
 
 In that hopeless moment, what thoughts tumultu- 
 ously crowded his brain ! His home, his mother and 
 sister, dearer than all, his almost-bride, the endearing 
 associations that clustered around each and all of these 
 objects of love, the glowing hopes he had cherished, 
 the long lifetime of happiness he had anticipated, 
 must he v resign them all? At the very moment when 
 all he coveted in life was just within his grasp, in the 
 freshness and vigor of youth, must he be taken away ? 
 Must he die? He sprang to his feet as the bitter 
 thought shot like a pang through his heart. 
 
 " God of mercy, spare me ! " he cried, with a choked 
 utterance, lifting his arms on high, as he felt the swell- 
 ing water plashing around his feet as it broke with a 
 gentle motion over the rock. " Spare me, heavenly 
 Father!" he repeated; "but, if it be thy wiU that I 
 perish, in mercy let my sufferings be short." 
 
 The moon had now risen, and a long line of trem- 
 bling light shot across the ocean's surface, apparently 
 terminating at the spot where the young man stood. 
 Its gentle beams, resting so like a smile on the face 
 of the deep, seemed, to his frenzied feelings, as sent in 
 mockery to his sufferings ; and, as they broke in fitful 
 flashes among the ripples that played about the inun- 
 dated rock, they enabled the wretched young man to 
 observe the tide as it rose gradually, each little wavelet
 
 THE WRECKERS DAUGHTER. 59 
 
 washing in succession up, up, higher and higher, send- 
 ing a clammy, deathlike chillness through his frame. 
 Slowly, as the waters rose, now reaching the instep, 
 now the ankle, now creeping, creeping stealthily up 
 the limb, its cold embrace feeling like the clasp of 
 death, in the very calmness of desperation, the 
 young man entered into a calculation as to the length 
 of time it would take before the tide would be breast- 
 high, before it would reach the lip, before it would 
 prevent the last bubbling breath ! A strangling sen- 
 sation, as thus in imagination he followed the rising 
 waters, aroused him from the reverie, and, giving a 
 convulsive gasp, with a sickness of heart not to be 
 described, he was about turning toward the far-distant 
 shore, barely discernible in the thick haze which had 
 settled down upon it, it may be with the faint hope 
 of observing some sign of relief, though in what shape 
 it would come he had not even a vague idea, he was 
 in the act of turning, we say, when his eye detected a 
 slight ripple in the water, some distance seaward, and 
 presently he discovered a black object slowly crossing 
 fehe narrow line of light. He started, and bent his gaze 
 eagerly in the direction, while his heart throbbed with 
 a tumultuous violence. At first he thought it was some 
 inhabitant of the deep, a shark, perhaps, attracted to the 
 spot by the scent of human prey, and a thrill of terror 
 shot through his frame at the idea of falling into the 
 power of the voracious monster. Although but a 
 short time before, he had prayed to be relieved from 
 the torments of a lingering death, yet he trembled as 
 the idea occurred that perhaps the object before him 
 was the terrible instrument of relief, sent in answer to 
 his petition. He held his breath while the dark object
 
 60 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 was crossing the track of the moonbeam, when sud- 
 denly a bright ray of hope flashed, lightning-like, 
 through the gloom of his despair. 
 
 O, what a wild cry of joy rang over the waters, 
 more like a maniac-shriek of mirth than a glad out- 
 burst of sanity, as, tearing his garments from him in 
 frenzy, the young man plunged into the sea. Dash- 
 ing the water aside in his swift career, a few vigorous 
 strokes carried him to that dark object. God be 
 praised ! it was a floating spar, the fragment of the 
 mast of some large vessel, 'drifting with the current. 
 One nervous grasp, one convulsive effort, and the 
 panting swimmer threw himself at length along its 
 slippery surface, while a fervent prayer of gratitude 
 rose to his lips. He was safe, safe ! He felt that his 
 deliverance was sure, precarious as was his situation. 
 No longer did the smile on the ocean appear to him 
 like a mockery : he now saw that it was a beam of 
 mercy, sent in the darkest hour of his peril, and to 
 Him who ordered it was poured forth thanks as 
 devout as ever fell from human lips. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Such tricks hath strong imagination. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The dread of evil is the worst of ill. 
 
 PROCTOR. 
 
 BUSILY occupied throughout the day, and knowing 
 that the young men did not intend to return until 
 evening, Ellen did not at first regard their prolonged
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 61 
 
 absence ; although, as the afternoon wore away and 
 the shadows began to lengthen, she cast frequent 
 glances towards the entrance of the cove, momentarily 
 expecting the return of the boat. As the sun went 
 down and the shades of evening deepened into twi- 
 light, she began to experience an anxiety which grew 
 stronger and stronger as the hour grew later. To 
 relieve her mind, she visited the promontory known as 
 the Hawk's Nest, hoping to catch sight of the absen- 
 tees. 
 
 A strong feeling of apprehension filled her mind as 
 ehe cast a hasty glance in the offing without perceiv- 
 ing the object of her search. A slight smoky haze 
 hung round the shore and prevented her seeing far 
 in the distance, yet at one time she thought she caught 
 the glimpse of a sail in the direction whence she 
 expected the fishermen. It was but a transient 
 glance, and vainly did she strain her eyes to obtain 
 a second. Nothing met her sight but the dull waste 
 of waters. 
 
 The anxiety of the wrecker's daughter momentarily 
 increased. She could not account for the prolonged 
 absence of the young men. The weather had been 
 pleasant and moderate, the breeze, which had fresh- 
 ened considerably since nightfall, and the tide, were 
 directly in their favor: what could detain them? 
 Some accident must have befallen them, something or 
 other have transpired to keep them out so late. What 
 could it be ? 
 
 A fearful thought now flashed upon her mind: 
 strange that it had slumbered so long ! She remem- 
 bered her interview with Antonio, she remembered his 
 threatening language, the terrible warning (for it 
 6
 
 62 FOREST A2tf> SHORE. 
 
 reached her ears) uttered in that moment of passion. 
 The whole scene, the fiery aspect of the Spaniard, the 
 sardonic tone, ah 1 , all came freshly to her mind. Mer- 
 ciful Heaven ! what should prevent the execution of 
 his jealous vengeance when such an opportunity 
 offered, alone with his intended victim, away from 
 all human help, with no scrutinizing eye to mark the 
 deed, no babbling tongue to tell the tale? It was but 
 a blow unawares, and the deed was done. Her fears 
 thus aroused, the whole minutiae of the dreadful scene 
 was pictured to her excited fancy. She saw the little 
 boat floating a lone thing on the wide ocean, she 
 caught the dark glance of the Spaniard watching for 
 the most favorable moment. Ah ! the murderous blow 
 was given. She beheld her lover weltering in his gore, 
 his impotent struggles; nay, so much was her imagina- 
 tion wrought upon, she thought she heard the sullen 
 plash as the bleeding victim was thrust into the sea, 
 and the last bubbling cry as the waters closed over 
 him. Shrieking almost with the intensity of feeling 
 excited by the scene thus conjured up, she darted 
 from the spot and hastened home, determined to pre- 
 vail on her father to go out in search of the missing. 
 
 The old man laughed at the fears of Ellen when she 
 informed him of her suspicions of Antonio's treach- 
 ery, and tried to ridicule her out of her "foolish 
 whim," as he termed it. " My word for it, Nell, the 
 lad's honest. I've known him from a boy, .and 
 though he is quick tempered, and ready to take 
 offence," said the old man, "he'd never commit so 
 foul a crime. No, no, girl, you wrong him. Fear 
 has made you unjust." 
 
 "But, father, what should keep them so late?"
 
 THE WRECKER S DAUGHTER. 63 
 
 inquired Ellen, not at all relieved by her parent's 
 assurance ; " the sun went down an hour ago, and still 
 they are not in sight." 
 
 "What of that, my child? Perhaps the fish did not 
 take to the hook freely, and, not wishing to come home 
 without bringing some tokens of their skill, they did 
 not leave the ground quite so early as they otherwise 
 would ; or perhaps they found the sport so good the 
 time slipped away unnoticed. Cheer up, Nell; your 
 lover is safe enough, and will be here betimes." 
 
 Not yet satisfied, Ellen still urged her request. She 
 had never mentioned to her parents her rejection of 
 Antonio's suit. A natural feeling of delicacy had pre- 
 vented her making it known; but her anxiety now 
 grew so great she determined on revealing it. She . 
 told the old man the whole circumstances of the inter- 
 view, of the rage of Antonio, and of his fearful 
 denunciation. 
 
 " Ah, there is something in that; the girl has reason 
 for her fears, though I have too good opinion of the 
 lad to distrust him," muttered the wrecker to himself. 
 
 His wife, who did not coincide in her husband's 
 favorable estimation of Antonio's character, on hear- 
 ing Ellen's story caught some of her alarm, and joined 
 in persuading him to go out. 
 
 Yielding at last to their united importunities and to 
 the too evident distress of Ellen, he consented to go 
 in search of the boat. 
 
 "The breeze is freshening fast," said he, "and blow- 
 ing right into the cove, and by the time we have 
 worked our way out, no doubt we shall fall in with 
 them, and be laughed at for our pains. However, the 
 young fellows shall not know our errand; "and the
 
 64 FOKEST AND SHOKE. 
 
 old man started to muster a crew and get under way. 
 It was not long ere the impatient girl was in some 
 slight measure relieved by the sight of the schooner 
 stretching across the cove, making short tacks as she 
 slowly worked her way into the open sea. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 No hand did aid Mm ; 
 Alone he breasted the broad wave, alone 
 That man was saved. MATUBIN: 
 
 I cannot speak, tears so obstruct my words 
 And choke me with unutterable joy. 
 
 OTWAY. 
 
 IT had got to be pretty well along in the evening 
 by the time the schooner had beat out of the cove. 
 A thin, white, luminous mist hung like a silvery veil 
 over the land, enveloping the whole coast in its deli- 
 cate folds ; but about a pistol-shot from the shore the 
 atmosphere was perfectly clear, and the moon looked 
 down in unclouded brightness. 
 
 It was but a short time before the little wrecking- 
 schooner emerged from the land fog into the clear 
 moonlight. 
 
 " Strange, strange where they can be ! " muttered 
 the old man to himself as he threw a hasty glance 
 over the glistening ocean. "Do you see anything 
 there for'ard ? " he demanded, in a loud voice. 
 
 " Not a sign of a thing, sir." 
 
 " Keep a good look-out, they must be somewhere 
 near."
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 65 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir ! " was the prompt response from one 
 of the hands, who was stationed in the weather fore 
 rigging, gazing into the offing. 
 
 The breeze had now begun to freshen fast, causing 
 quite a smart chop of the sea; the sky looked watery, 
 and there appeared every sign of a coming storm. 
 
 " Greasy-looking weather," said one of the men, as 
 he cast a glance at the southern sky. " There is a 
 south-easter breeding, and we shall have an ugly night 
 of it." 
 
 Throwing hasty glances around him without seeing 
 the object of his search, the wrecker himself now be- 
 gan to grow a little anxious. The wind had been fair 
 all day for the return of the boat, if she had gone on 
 to the usual fishing ground ; and what could prolong 
 her stay was a mystery to him. He began to think 
 some accident had occurred, for he could not bring 
 his mind to believe that Ellen's suspicions of Antonio 
 were true. 
 
 The schooner had just weathered Dead Man's 
 Ledge, and was standing to the southward, close- 
 hauled on the wind, when one of the men forward 
 sung out that he saw something floating in-shore. The 
 words had scarcely left his lips when a distant hail 
 came from the quarter designated. All eyes were 
 turned in that direction, but for some time nothing 
 could be seen, even the man himself who first dis- 
 covered the object having lost sight of it. Shortly a 
 second " Holloa " came faintly over the water, and in 
 a patch of moonlight, that glimmered about an eighth 
 of a mile or more on their lee quarter, a small object 
 was just visible, floating on the surface ; but what it 
 was they could not make out. 
 G*
 
 66 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 il It is the boat 1 She is capsized, and they are on 
 her bottom ! " was the startling exclamation of the 
 old man, as he jammed the helm hard a-port and bore 
 away for the object. 
 
 " It must have been a white squall," he continued, 
 as the schooner wore, and was running down before a 
 smart breeze "a catspaw a sudden flaw from the 
 land : for we have had no wind en shore to-day." 
 
 As the schooner drew near the supposed boat, so 
 that objects could be more distinctly observed, some 
 one remarked there was but one person to be seen. 
 
 " Only one ? only one ? " said the old man, quickly ; 
 " then the other is lost. Pray God it be not young 
 Irving. Boat ahoy ! " he shouted in the same breath, 
 and in an excited voice. 
 
 " Holloa ! " was the answer sent back. 
 
 "Who-r-who answers?" again shouted the wrecker, 
 with a tremulous stammer. 
 
 " Mr. Irving, sir." 
 
 " Thank God for that ! " exclaimed the old fellow, 
 in a hearty tone. " Where is Antonio ? " 
 
 " Gone off," was the reply. 
 
 " Gone off gone off," repeated the skipper to 
 himself, puzzled at the answer ; " I don't understand. 
 He means fell off. Antonio has slipped his hold, poor 
 fellow, and gone to the bottom. You mean Antonio 
 is gone drowned ! " again shouted the wrecker. 
 
 " Yes, sir, gone, not drowned, but gone off! " was 
 Irving's reply, emphasizing the last two words. 
 
 The old man was nonplussed ; but he had not time 
 to ask for a more explicit answer, as he had to attend 
 to the duty of relieving the sufferer from his uncom- 
 fortable situation.
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 67 
 
 Running a little to the leeward, the schooner was 
 dexterously brought up in the wind, so that, as she 
 ranged ahead, her sails shivering the while, the sup- 
 posed boat was brought close under her lee. Four 
 men were stationed, two in the fore and two in the 
 main rigging, ready to seize .upon the young man. 
 
 " Holloa ! what's this, a log ? " exclaimed one of 
 the men, as the mast grazed the side of the vessel. 
 The next moment Irving was in the brawny grasp 
 of two of the crew, and almost before he was aware 
 of it he stood safe and sound on the schooner's deck, 
 though coatless, hatless, and dripping with brine. 
 
 " God bless you, my dear fellow!" said the wrecker, 
 seizing the hand of the bewildered youth ; and " How 
 is this? how came you on that log? where is the 
 boat? where 's Antonio ?" were the questions show- 
 ered upon him from all quarters. 
 
 A few words sufficed to explain the whole matter, 
 and curses, loud and deep, were invoked on the head 
 of the treacherous Spaniard by the indignant crew. 
 
 " He cannot have got far with this wind," said one ; 
 " let us go in pursuit of the black-hearted villain." 
 
 " Agreed, let 's have him back ! " was the response 
 of the others ; and had not Irving interfered and per- 
 suaded them to leave him to his fate, the fugitive 
 would no doubt have been followed and taken, and, 
 perhaps, have tasted of the mercies of the ancient 
 Lynch law, which, among those rude men, it is prob- 
 able would not have been very tenderly administered. 
 
 " Ay, let us leave him to his fate," said the old man, 
 " and a sad one it will be, too, if I am not deceived in 
 the present signs. If the wind holds as it does now 
 he cannot make a harbor, unless he runs for the cove,
 
 G8 FOUEST AND SHORE. 
 
 which it is not likely he will do ; and if he attempts to 
 stay out and weather the storm that is breeding, the 
 Lord have mercy on his soul, he will never see day- 
 light again ! " 
 
 The old man's advice was followed, and in a short 
 time the schooner was on her way running for the 
 cove. 
 
 With feelings little to be envied, Ellen awaited the 
 return of the vessel, trembling with apprehension as 
 first one and then another hour slowly passed away 
 without her arrival. Again and again had she visited 
 the different headlands in the hope of catching sight 
 of the returning sail; but the mist was so dense she 
 could not pierce its thick folds. 
 
 At last the schooner hove in sight and entered the 
 cove. The wrecker's daughter hurried down to the 
 shore, and, crouching under a cliff, waited with the 
 most intense anxiety to learn the result of the search. 
 Her fears were painfully heightened when she noticed 
 that the small boat was not in tow. A faint, sickly 
 feeling crept over her at' the dread silence which 
 reigned on board of the schooner, for not a word was 
 spoken. They had been unsuccessful, or perhaps the 
 body had been found. As this terrible thought oc- 
 curred to her, a dizzy, swimming sensation in the head 
 caused her to lean upon the rocks for support. 
 
 But the poor girl was not kept long in suspense. 
 Edward was the first to step on shore, and, just as the 
 senses of the despairing girl were failing her, he hap- 
 pened to make some casual remark. The first word 
 had barely escaped his lips, when a quick, wild cry of 
 joy met his ear. Turning on the instant, he felt him- ^ 
 self clasped in the convulsive embrace of the half-dis-
 
 THE WRECKERS DAUGHTER. 69 
 
 tracted maiden, who leaned trembling and sobbing like 
 a child upon his bosom. That moment repaid him for 
 all his suffering. 
 
 It was a happy household gathered beneath the 
 wrecker's roof that night. And as Edward related his 
 story, and told of the peril he had passed through, 
 and described the feelings he experienced on that lone 
 rock, away from all human help, night coming or, and 
 the greedy tide creeping every moment nearer and 
 nearer, bringing with it death in its most fearful shape ; 
 as he spoke of clinging to the drifting mast, weak and 
 exhausted, and every moment in danger of losing hia 
 hold as it rolled and was tossed about by the rising 
 billows ; of the agony he experienced as he found him- 
 self borne slowly towards the breakers on shore, now 
 whitened by the angry foam, certain, as he was, if he 
 should be dashed among them his doom would be 
 sealed. as he dwelt on these circumstances, a thrill of 
 horror ran through the listeners. And when the man 
 of God invoked a blessing ere they separated for the 
 night, and in simple though forcible language alluded 
 to the events of the day, and with fervid eloquence 
 returned thanks to the Omniscient and Omnipresent 
 Being for the wonderful preservation and deliverance 
 he had vouchsafed, there was not a dry eye present, 
 while the wrecker's daughter gave expression to her 
 highly excited feelings by audible sobs, which she 
 vainly strove to restrain. 
 
 Nor was he forgotten who, with the foul crime of 
 murder on his soul, was that night a fugitive and 
 wanderer. Pardon was implored for him, the wrath 
 of an offended God deprecated, and fervent petitions 
 put up to the throne of mercy that he might be pre-
 
 70 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 served from the gathering storm, and be led to a 
 hearty and sincere repentance. Such was the influ- 
 ence of that simple invocation, every evil feeling 
 toward the intended murderer was banished from the 
 hearts of those who listened to it. Could their voices 
 have reached him, they would unitedly have echoed 
 the merciful injunction, " Go, and sin no more ! " 
 
 But the prayer of the good man did not avail the 
 wretched offender. The storm came upon him long 
 before he reached the place of his destination, which 
 lay a score of miles or more to the windward. As 
 he beheld its approach his cowardly heart at first 
 prompted him to run back to the rock and take off 
 his intended victim; but a moment's reflection con- 
 vinced him that long ere then he must have been 
 washed away by the rising waters. Not daring to 
 return to the cove, for he well knew he could frame 
 no plausible excuse for Irving-s absence, he strove 
 with the recklessness of despair to work his way 
 along, carrying sail for this purpose until his frail 
 masts bent like rods, and at the perilous risk, every 
 moment, of the struggling boat's capsizing. The wind 
 still continuing to freshen and the sea to roughen, he 
 was obliged to reduce his sail. Ere long the gale 
 raged with such violence that his little boat was 
 tossed like a plaything amid the angry surges. At 
 last he lost all control of her, and, shaking with 
 guilt and fear, he found himself drifting rapidly 
 toward the precipitous rocks that lined the shore, 
 forming an unbroken and inaccessible wall, against 
 which the huge billows thundered and recoiled in a 
 seething mass of foam. 
 
 The horrors of his hopeless situation were now
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 71 
 
 fully realized, and, with an anguish of mind which the 
 pen can but faintly describe, he saw that the misera- 
 ble death to which he had doomed another, a Greater 
 than he had decreed to himself. He would have 
 prayed, but when he lifted his eyes towards the black 
 and frowning heavens, conscience was busy at his 
 heart with her worse than scorpion-stings, and the 
 half-uttered words died upon his white and trembling 
 lips. Even he felt that it would be blasphemous to 
 appeal to Him, who has said, " Thou shalt not kill," 
 while the blood of a fellow-mortal dyed his soul. 
 
 On and on drifted the frail bark, now whirled amid 
 the foam that crested the black billows, and now rush- 
 ing down the watery hollows, in whose awful depths 
 the rack and tumult of the storm was unfelt. 0, in 
 those momentary pauses, in that brief, dread silence, 
 hemmed in by liquid walls, and plunged into a gloom 
 as fearful as that of the eternal abyss, not daring to 
 call upon his God, and scourged by the unrelenting 
 monitor within, who can portray the soul-rending 
 agony endured by that poor wretch? 
 
 Backed quite to frenzy by the horrors that thick- 
 ened around him, at last he fancied he could hear, 
 amid the tumult of the elemental uproar, the gibber- 
 ing of unearthly voices mocking his fears; and, as he 
 drifted near the fatal rocks, and caught sight of the 
 angry gleam of the spray as it was dashed high up the 
 sides of the black cliff, his imagination converted the 
 sheets of fbam into spectral forms beckoning him on 
 to destruction. 
 
 A loud, piercing howl, rather than shriek, of anguish 
 rose high above the noise of the tempest, as, lifted 
 upon a huge roller, the boat was borne with lightning-
 
 72 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 like rapidity toward the jagged rocks. Twice arose 
 the fearful cry, once on the wave and once high in the 
 air, whither the miserable wretch was thrown like a 
 weed by the shock of the giant-wave as it burst on the 
 shore, and all was over ! A fearful retribution had 
 been exacted. Who will question the dealings of a 
 just and righteous God? 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Her gentle spirit 
 
 Commits itself to yours to be directed, 
 As from her lord, her governor, her king. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 His house she enters, there to be a light 
 Shining within, when all without is night; 
 A guardian angel o'er his life presiding, 
 Doubling his pleasures, and his eares dividing! 
 
 ROGERS. 
 
 THE day at last arrived to which the young couple 
 had looked forward with so much interest. To 
 Irving it was one of unalloyed happiness ; and, though 
 Ellen shared largely in the same feeling, yet other and 
 conflicting emotions agitated her breast. She was 
 about leaving the home of her youth, the arms of 
 those who had ever shielded her with the most affec- 
 tionate tenderness, to reside amongst perfect stran- 
 gers. From the very depths of humble retirement, 
 she was about emerging into the great world of which 
 she had heard so little, and concerning which her con- 
 ceptions were so very indistinct. More than all, she 
 was about stepping from lowly obscurity into the
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 73 
 
 highest walks of life, to take ^rank and associate with 
 those born to wealth and all the consequence attached 
 to it, with those intimately conversant with all the 
 etiquette of fashionable 'society, accomplished in man- 
 ners, and possessing cultivated minds. No wonder, as 
 she thought of her humble condition, her ignorance of 
 the routine of the world, that she should shrink &s she 
 contemplated the path before her. 
 
 Limited as had been her education, untutored as 
 she was in the usages of society, wanting, as she 
 deemed herself, in those elegant accomplishments 
 which lend such a grace to the person, how should 
 she conduct herself? What would be her reception 
 among those to whom she was about to be intro- 
 duced? These reflections, natural to one in her sit- 
 uation, crowded with much force on her mind. It 
 was some relief to her, however, that she was not to 
 be ushered at once into scenes so entirely strange ; 
 for it was Irving's intention not to proceed directly 
 home with his bride, but to spend some time on a 
 tour, visiting various places of fashionable resort, pos- 
 sibly for the very purpose of affording her an insight 
 into the manners and customs of society, where she 
 could observe, without being obliged to mingle with, 
 the gay throng. 
 
 At an early hour in the day the ceremo*ny took place. 
 The rites were performed by the itinerant sojourner, 
 who alluded in his prayer to the peculiar circumstances 
 of the occasion, praying that the bride might be kept 
 unspotted from that world which she was now for the 
 first time entering, and that he who had won her from 
 the retired and quiet scenes of her youth would guard 
 and guide her in the strange and crooked paths that
 
 74 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 were spread before her. With a plainness of speech 
 which evinced that his words came from the heart, h.e 
 charged the young man to cherish the treasure com- 
 mitted to his keeping, for to him alone could she look, 
 and on him alone could she lean, in those untried 
 scenes on which, for his sake alone, she was now 
 about to enter. It was a simple though touching 
 appeal, and was not without its effect on the young 
 bridegroom. 
 
 The ceremony was over, and the moment of parting 
 arrived. Every one of the inhabitants of the little 
 hamlet clustered around the door of the wrecker's 
 dwelling, to bid farewell to one beloved by them all ; 
 and, amid the homely though sincere expressions of 
 regret of the neighbors, and the blessings of her own 
 family, Ellen left the humble roof, now dearer to her 
 than ever. 
 
 Many and many were the lingering looks she cast, 
 as the carriage moved slowly over the rough and un- 
 trodden road, on the cherished scenes she was leaving. 
 Headland after headland gradually was lost to sight, 
 fainter and fainter grew the murmur of the sea, 
 sound familiar to her ears, and at last the broad 
 ocean, sparkling in the gay sunbeams as if rejoicing in 
 the happiness of the young bride, faded from her 
 view. A tear glistened in her eye, and a sigh was 
 forced from her lips, as the last strip of blue, by a 
 turn in the road, was shut from her lingering gaze. 
 
 But, as she journeyed on, leaving the barren scenes 
 she had ever been accustomed to, and entering upon 
 others where nature assumed a more inviting aspect, 
 -as for the first time she beheld dense woodlands, 
 Clothed in their liveriei of living green, broad fields
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 75 
 
 spread oufrinthe highest state of cultivation, verdant 
 lawns and blooming gardens, decked with flowers of 
 every hue, as these constantly recurring objects 
 were presented to her view, and the sweet melody of 
 birds at times broke upon her ear, her thoughts were 
 turned into a new channel ; sadness forsook her coun- 
 tenance, her eye kindled, and a rich glow lighted up 
 her face, while she gazed with unsatiated delight on 
 what appeared to her scenes of perfect enchantment. 
 " Beautiful, beautiful world 1 " burst almost uncon- 
 sciously from her lips, as, ascending a slight rising in 
 the road, a wide and charming landscape was revealed 
 to the travellers' sight. The scene was one on which 
 Nature seemed to have lavished her gifts with an un- 
 stinted hand. " Well can I enter into the feelings of 
 the poet," she continued, " when he exclaimed, 
 
 " ' 0, how canst thou renounce the boundless store 
 
 Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! 
 .The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, 
 
 The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; 
 All that the genial ray of morning gilds, 
 
 . And all that echoes to the song of even, 
 All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, 
 And all the dread magnificence of heaven.' 
 
 You need not smile : it is one of your own marked 
 passages in your favorite ' Minstrel/ Beatti >" added 
 Ellen, blushing at her own enthusiasm. 
 
 Edward gazed with a passionate fondness into the 
 face of his lovely bride, as she thus gave expression 
 to her enraptured feeling. Is it not Moore who has 
 something to say about the charms of nature, how 
 much they improve when reflected from looks that we 
 love ? Be that as it may, our young traveller thought
 
 76 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 the world never appeared so beautiful, th'e fields sc 
 green, the flowers so fair, the sky so blue, the warbling 
 of birds so delicious, as on that self-same journey. 
 The weather was delightful, and all nature seemed to 
 sympathize and to be in harmony with his feelings. 
 
 It would be pleasant to linger with the "happy 
 pair" on their bridal tour, and paint the emotions 
 experienced by the young bride as she entered upon 
 the new and untpied scenes that daily opened before 
 her. But we must hasten on with our story. 
 
 After visiting various cities and watering-places, 
 after presenting Ellen to the too-much-dreaded world, 
 Irving gladly turned his face homeward, impatient to 
 introduce his beautiful bride to his own family. He 
 felt not a little proud of her, for her unshadowed love- 
 liness was the universal theme of praise wherever she 
 went, and her unassuming bearing won her the re- 
 gards of all. Though she shrank at first, with a nat- 
 ural timidity, as she encountered successively scenes 
 she was entirely unaccustomed to, her embarrassment 
 soon wore off. Intuitively she caught that air and 
 tone, that easy and graceful address, which character- 
 ize those who mingle in refined circles ; and, though 
 she could not repress a slight fluttering at the heart 
 as she entered a brilliant assembly, yet there was 
 nothing in her outward deportment, save, perhaps, a 
 total absence of affectation, of those starched, artificial 
 manners, assumed by those to whom Nature has been 
 chary of her gifts, to distinguish her from, the rest of 
 the throng. 
 
 With a deep feeling of joy for he ponged for the 
 quiet of domestic repose, the substantial enjoyment 
 of home comfort Edward Irving entered upon the
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 77- 
 
 last stage, of his journey. Soon the familiar scenes 
 of his childhood came in view ; and, when he entered 
 on his own inheritance, he began to anticipate with 
 much interest the meeting so near at hand. 
 
 As the carriage rolled up the broad, shaded avenue 
 that led. to the ancestral mansion, he felt no small 
 degree of anxiety as to the reception his wife would 
 meet with. Well he knew the cordial welcome await- 
 ing her from his sister and Mrs. Randolph; but he 
 feared that his mother's reserve might throw a chill 
 over the meeting, and thus wound the feelings of the 
 sensitive being beside him, who looked forward to 
 the coming interview with emotions the nature of 
 which the reader will easily imagine. 
 
 The carriage drove up to the door, stopped, the 
 steps were let down, and scarcely had the foot of the 
 new-comer touched, the gravelled walk ere she was 
 clasped in the warm embrace of Caroline Irving, and 
 welcomed with the affectionate title of" sister." Mrs. 
 Randolph stood by to receive the agitated bride with 
 an embrace and a welcome not less warm. 
 
 Hardly stopping to welcome Edward, they imme- 
 diately attended Ellen into the house, and sought the 
 presence of Mrs. Irving. Never, perhaps, did she look 
 more lovely than in that moment of meeting, the 
 excitement of the occasion lending an additional charm 
 to her features, while her neat riding-dress exhibited 
 to the very best advantage the symmetrical propor- 
 tions of her figure. Even the aristocratic widow was 
 not proof against so much loveliness. She started on 
 her introduction, and, as she glanced with a look of 
 astonishment on the wondrous beauty of the bride, 
 the frost-work of her pride melted at once, and sh 
 7*
 
 78 t FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 folded her to her bosom with an earnestness and wel- 
 comed her with a cordiality that could not be mis- 
 taken. It was a happy meeting to all ; to Edward a 
 triumphant one j and he gazed on Ellen with an over- 
 flowing affection, and a very pardonable degree of 
 pride, as she sat between Mrs. Randolph and Caroline, 
 with an unstudied elegance of manners, conversing 
 with an ease and freedom as if she had been habitu- 
 ally accustomed to all the etiquette of fashionable 
 society. 
 
 If the impression made by Ellen at the first inter- 
 view was so favorable, subsequent acquaintance only 
 served to endear her still more to her new relations. 
 Mrs. Irving was completely won over, and bestowed 
 the full measure of a mother's fondness upon her, for- 
 getting entirely that the object on whom she lavished 
 so much tenderness was the poor- fishmonger's daugh- 
 ter, who, but a few months ago, had aroused all her 
 jealous pride. As for Caroline, she was wholly taken 
 up with her new relation, and a congeniality of dis- 
 position and mind cemented a love between the two 
 as strong as ever existed in human breasts. 
 
 Mrs. Randolph felt a peculiar interest in the young 
 bride. Edward was her especial favorite ; she had 
 espoused his cause, and it was natural that she should 
 cherish the object of his affection. It was not a com- 
 mon interest she felt. Her heart warmed towards 
 Ellen with all the yearnings of maternal love ; nor 
 was the young bride long in discovering and recipro- 
 cating this ardent feeling. There was a reason for 
 this tender interest on .the part of one, which may be 
 explained hereafter. At present we will leave our 
 heroine, the humble wrecker's daughter, in the full
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 79 
 
 enjoyment of every bliss vouchsafed to us mortals. 
 We part with her, happy in the endearments of kin- 
 dred relations, happy it is a poor word to use here 
 in the love of him who realized all her fond hopes, 
 and happy in the esteem of her acquaintance. In 
 taking leave of her we will adopt the language of the 
 great dramatist, 
 
 " And whether we shall meet again, I know not. 
 Therefore our everlasting farewell take : 
 ***** 
 If we do meet again, why, we shall smile ; 
 If not, why, then this parting was well made." 
 
 PART II. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Go on, sir, with your tale we 've waited long 
 
 Your pleasure. s . OLD PLAT. 
 
 Beshrew my heart, but it is wondering strange ; 
 Sure, there is something more than witchcraft in them, 
 That masters ev'n the wisest of us all. 
 
 ROWB. 
 
 IN the last chapter of the first part of this veritable 
 history (if the reader's memory serves) we hinted 
 that Mrs. Randolph took an especial liking to our 
 heroine, the humble wrecker's daughter, then the 
 happy bride of young Irving, the reason for which 
 we did not explain. Trusting that a sufficient interest 
 has been excited to learn what further fate h'ad in 
 tore for the young bride, for we must confess that
 
 80 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 her gentle disposition and the amiable and lovely 
 traits she exhibited, and which we so poorly por- 
 trayed, hare won for her our warmest sympathies, 
 we will crave the patience of our readers while we 
 introduce to their notice a few more passages relating 
 to her somewhat checkered life. 
 
 It was on a fine autumnal afternoon that Ellen and 
 her sister, Caroline Irving, tempted, by the beauty of 
 the day, were sauntering through the noble park-like 
 grove which spread out on either side of the family 
 mansion. The house was a simple and chaste struc- 
 ture, with a very inviting aspect, surrounded by every 
 variety of inland scenery; the residence, the situa- 
 tion, the improvements, all possessing an air of wealth, 
 comfort, and refined taste. It was just far enough 
 removed from the bustle of the world to confer upon 
 it a pleasing retirement, and yet not so far isolated as 
 to give it a semblance of unsocial rusticity. 
 
 " Eeally, it is too bad ! " said Caroline Irving, in a 
 mock-pettish tone, as she occupied a seat fixed be- 
 neath a wide-spread elm, through whose rustling foli- 
 age the parting sunbeams flickered with a pleasant 
 light ; " it is too bad, Nell ! I declare, I shall become 
 jealous of you soon. Before you came I was the 
 acknowledged pet, particularly of dear aunt Ran- 
 dolph, but now poor I ani thrust into the shade 
 entirely. I won't put up with it, that 's poz ! " 
 
 " But how are you going to help yourself? Tell 
 me that, my sweet-tempered sis," rejoined Ellen, play- 
 fully, seating herself beside her, and twining a wild 
 rose in the dark locks of her companion. 
 
 " I was willing to yield Edward to your enchant 
 ment," continued the maiden, in the same tone ; " but
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 81 
 
 no, you were not content with throwing a spell over 
 him. There is mother, every thought of hers is 
 devoted to you ; and when aunt pays us a visit, if you 
 happen to be out, the first words that fall from her 
 lips are, ' Where is Ellen ? ' and when you come in 
 there are no more words or looks for me. I am so 
 glad I have no gallant, for I should expect nothing 
 more than that he. would be drawn away by the same 
 witching spell." 
 
 " You had better be careful what you say, Caro. 
 dear, or I may be tempted to exercise the same 
 power over you. But you alluded to aunt Randolph," 
 for by that appellation was the lady in question 
 addressed by the Irving family, although no tie of 
 consanguinity existed, " and you have promised to 
 detail to me the incidents of her life, which, I fear, 
 have not been so happy as her goodness would seem 
 to merit. Will you not gratify me with the relation 
 now ? for I confess I feel a strong interest to. learn 
 something of her past history, that I may yield to her 
 that sympathy which is always due to those who have 
 known sorrow." 
 
 "Her stdry is indeed a sad one," said Caroline, 
 in an altered and melancholy tone, " and will awaken 
 feelings hardly consonant with the charming scene 
 around. I will, however, recount the event, as told 
 me by mother, which darkened her early years and 
 cast a shadow over her whole existence. Let us 
 continue our walk, and I will speak of her history as 
 we stroll along." And the sisters locked their arms, 
 and proceeded with a slow pace in the shade of the 
 overhanging trees. 
 
 "Aunt Randolph was married," said Miss Irving to
 
 2 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 her sister-in-law, " quite young in life, and never, per- 
 haps, did one enter into the wedded state with a 
 brighter promise of happiness. In the first flush of 
 womanhood, tenderly .beloved, surrounded by every 
 blessing that affluence and warm friends could bestow, 
 joy strewed flowers in her pathway and hope wove 
 garlands for her future. But, alas ! as the old poet 
 asks, 
 
 " ' What are our hopes ? 
 Like garlands on affliction's forehead worn, 
 Kissed in the morning, and at evening torn.' 
 
 " Captain Randolph, her husband, owned and com- 
 manded a fine freighting ship. In the third year of 
 their marriage, in accordance with their mutual wishes, 
 it was decided that aunt should accompany him on a 
 voyage to Europe, which he had determined should 
 be his last, as he was possessed of a handsome prop- 
 erty, and had grown tired of the sea. He was pas- 
 sionately devoted to his wife ; besides, he had another 
 .tie, in the birth of a daughter, that led him to abandon 
 a pursuit which necessarily demanded separation and 
 long absence from a home now doubly endeared to 
 him. 
 
 " At first they thought of leaving their infant daugh- 
 ter at home, but, as the time of sailing drew nigh, aunt 
 could not bear the idea of parting from her child. 
 She evinced so much reluctance, it was at last decided 
 to take it with them, and a nurse was engaged to 
 accompany it. 
 
 "They had a fine passage out to Liverpool, and, 
 after remaining some time in England, Capt. Randolph 
 and his wife proceeded to Paris, and thence to Havre, 
 to which port the ship had been ordered. Here they
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 83 
 
 embarked for home. Nothing unusual transpired on 
 their homeward voyage until the fatal night in which 
 the dreadful event occurred that in the same hour ren- 
 dered our dear aunt a widow and childless. 
 
 " The day had been l.owery, but the wind, though it 
 blew rather fresh, was fair, and they were cheered 
 with the hope of soon catching sight of their native 
 land. As it grew near nightfall the weather thickened 
 fast, and quite a gale set in. There was nothing, how : 
 ever, to excite alarm, and the ship, under easy sail, 
 dashed over the billows as securely, apparently, as if 
 beneath a smiling sky. 
 
 " It was about nine or ten o'clock in the evening, 
 aunt says, she was sitting in her state-room, preparing 
 to retire for the night, her husband being at the time 
 on duty. All at once she heard an unusual noise on 
 deck, a loud shouting, the rapid shuffling of feet, min- 
 gled with the creaking of yards and blocks, all denot- 
 ing sudden alarm and confusion. Immediately, high 
 above the uproar, she heard her husband's voice shout- 
 ing through a speaking-trumpet, ' Port your helm ! 
 port your helm, or you will be into us ! ' The startling 
 exclamation had hardly died away when she heard a 
 rush down the companion-way, and the next moment 
 her husband burst into her state-room, crying, with a 
 hoarse voice, ' This way, wife, this way ! Up, for your 
 life ! ' at the same time seizing her about the waist and 
 carrying her by main force to the deck. 
 
 " What followed in the confusion that prevailed she 
 can but indistinctly remember. She recollects seeing 
 the crew running wildly about the decks, uttering the 
 most terrific cries; of hearing a strange rushing sound 
 in the water ; then followed a tremendous crash, which
 
 84 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 caused the ship to reel and quiver as if a thunderbolt 
 had burst upon her. Bewildered and horror-struck at 
 the scene about her, she was only sensible of being 
 borne rapidly along, amid the crashing of spars, the 
 outcries of men, and the dashing of billows, until she 
 found herself in a strange cabin, surrounded by 
 strange faces. Imagine, Ellen, the agony, the heart- 
 rending anguish of that moment, when the appalling 
 truth was revealed to her, that the ship in which she 
 then found herself had run down that of her husband, 
 and that, in all probability, both her husband arid* child 
 were lost to her forever ! I will not speak of the hor- 
 rors of that night. Language would fail me were I 
 to attempt to portray them. Aunt never alludes to 
 the event, never ventures to describe her situation, 
 and the further particulars which I shall relate of that 
 dreadful disaster were derived from another source. 
 
 " It appears," continued Miss Irving, in a voice 
 slightly tremulous with emotion, "that the ship on 
 board of which aunt found herself received compara- 
 tively but trifling injury, while her husband's was 
 completely cut down. It was ascertained that Captain 
 Randolph, probably knowing the damaged condition 
 of his ship, immediately exerted himself to place his 
 wife on board the strange ship. Having succeeded 
 in this, he returned to his own vessel to rescue his 
 child, who, with the nurse, was in one of the state- 
 rooms at the time of the accident. He had barely 
 got on the deck of his own ship, when the two vessels, 
 which had become locked together by the head, were 
 thrown apart by a tremendous sea. A second wave, 
 it is supposed, must have swept the decks of the dis- 
 abled ship, as she lay in the trough, carrying away
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 8,5 
 
 with it her unfortunate captain, for his drowning cries 
 were heard immediately after at a distance. It was so 
 dark and tempestuous, and so much confusion pre- 
 vailed, that nothing could be done for his relief, and 
 in a few minutes his voice was silent. In the mean 
 while the two vessels had widely separated, and by 
 the time that the crew of the strange ship had some- 
 what recovered from their consternation, and restored 
 things to order, the other vessel had disappeared' in 
 the gloom of the storm. 
 
 " Having mustered the crew, it was found that, with 
 the exception of Captain Randolph, the child, and its 
 nurse, there was no person missing. In the hope of 
 rescuing the last two, the strange ship laid-to during 
 the night, trusting that the Eoanoke, the name of the 
 ill-fated ship, would be in sight in the morning, if 
 afloat, a circumstance hardly within the bounds of 
 probability. 
 
 " Slowly the hours passed away, and anxiously was 
 the dawning waited for. Daybreak came at last, and 
 its cold, gray light revealed to the weary watchers 
 nothing but an angry ocean and a frowning sky. Not 
 a sign nor a vestige of the disabled ship could be seen. 
 As the weather moderated and the daylight increased, 
 the master of the vessel commenced cruising about in 
 various directions, until a late hour in the afternoon, 
 without seeing the missing ship, when he was reluc- 
 tantly forced to the conclusion that she had gone 
 down. ' With a heavy heart, he conveyed the intelli- 
 gence to Mrs. Randolph^who received the tidings with 
 a calmness wholly unexpected. Indeed, the sudden- 
 ness of the blow which deprived her of her husband 
 had deadened her sensibility. The cup had been 
 8
 
 86 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 drained to its very dregs, but its bitterness wa 
 reserved for the dreary future. All that had passed 
 seemed more like a fearful dream than an actual occur- 
 rence. The terrible realization of her double loss, 
 the heaviest weight of her affliction, was left for after 
 days. 
 
 " Fortunately for the comfort of the bereaved one, 
 the ship she was in was bound to a port not far distant 
 from her own place of residence. She soon reached 
 that port, whence aunt left for her home. It is need- 
 less to speak of her desolation of heart on arriv- 
 ing there. Everything spoke of her loss, everything 
 served to remind her of the departed. She almost 
 sank under the crushing burden, but she was sus- 
 tained by One who^always regardeth the widow in her 
 affliction. With a spirit of holy resignation she sub- 
 mitted to the chastening rod, and as time rolled on 
 the bitter became sweet. A repining murmur was 
 never heard to escape her lips." 
 
 " Dear aunt Randolph ! I shall love her more 
 strongly than ever, now that I know her sad story," 
 said Ellen, with a sigh, as Miss Irving finished her 
 narration. And the young ladies turned and walked 
 in silence and sadness towards the house.
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 87 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Ah! sweet it is, to gaze upon the face 
 
 Long seen but by the mind, to fondly trace 
 
 Each lok and smile again. * * * 
 
 And 0, how pines the soul, how doth it crave 
 
 Only a moment's look! . DANA. 
 
 How frequently in our walks through life do we 
 meet with persons, utter strangers, who remind us of 
 some friend or acquaintance long since gone to his 
 rest. There may be nothing in the general features 
 that awakens the association, nothing indeed which 
 we can account for or define, yet there is a certain 
 something which seems to recall as by magic the 
 departed. Perhaps, if we scan the countenance in 
 search of the likeness, we are unsuccessful ; and yet 
 a hasty glance reveals it to us in all its truthfulness. 
 A peculiarity in a smile, it may be, a particular expres- 
 sion about the lips or the eyes, a slight inclination of 
 the head or movement of the body, some such trivial 
 cause touches the electric chain of memory, and the 
 image of the loved and mourned is brought for an 
 instant before us, as in the fleeting phantasms of a 
 dream. 
 
 This was the secret of the strong partiality that 
 Mrs. Randolph felt for the younger Mrs. Irving. On 
 first meeting with Ellen she detected an expression in 
 her features, something in her manner, which brought 
 instantly before her the husband of her youth. And 
 yet, when she cast a second glance on the lovely face 
 which had called up such a sad remembrance, for 
 the very purpose of ascertaining wherein consisted
 
 88 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 the likeness, the resemblance had entirely vanished. 
 Time and again would this or some kindred expres- 
 sion flash upon her, awakening a secret thrill, and still, 
 as she endeavored to scan it more closely, like the 
 meteor-gleam it was gone. She scrutinized each look 
 of Ellen's with so much interest that it must have 
 been embarrassing to her, had she been aware that she 
 was the object of such rigid notice. As it was, the 
 mournful earnestness of. Mrs. Randolph's gaze, which 
 did not wholly escape Ellen's observation, aroused 
 feelings in her bosom which were both strange and 
 inexplicable. 
 
 In vain, however, did Mrs. Randolph endeavor to 
 fix that look which so haunted her with memories of 
 the past. She could not discover the least resem- 
 blance between the features of Ellen, when they were 
 in a state of repose, and those of the image enshrined 
 in her widowed heart. Hers were not the broad, 
 expansive forehead, the black, deep-set eyes, the 
 slightly aquiline nose, and the full, rounded chin of 
 her lamented husband. There was no single feature, 
 nor combination of features, that looked natural to 
 her ; yet, let but a smile play over Ellen's face, or let 
 her engage in an animated conversation, and there was 
 the look, distinct, but evanescent, indefinable, yet not 
 the less striking and apparent. Mrs. Randolph called 
 the attention of her friend, the elder Mrs. Irving, to 
 the circumstance ; but the passage of years had 
 rendered too indistinct the image of the lost on her 
 mind to enable her to recognize anew, or even recall, 
 the minute lineaments of the deceased. 
 
 - No wonder that the lone heart of the widow clung 
 with undisguised fondness to the object who pos-
 
 TUB WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 89 
 
 sessed the power of awakening associations so dear 
 to it. For Ellen's own sake, her amiable disposition, 
 her kind and devoted attention to her, she loved her ; 
 how much the tie that bound her to the young bride 
 was strengthened by the circumstance we have men- 
 tioned, the reader can readily imagine. Surely never 
 did a mother's heart glow with a deeper love toward 
 the child of her affection than did hers toward Ellen. 
 She experienced for her all the solicitude which is 
 deemed natural alone to the maternal bosom, manifest- 
 ing an interest in her happiness, and in everything 
 that related to her welfare, by a thousand little acts 
 of kindness and tenderness, which spring, as it were, 
 from the instincts of maternity. Need we say that 
 Ellen was sensibly affected by these demonstrations, 
 and appreciated them to their fullest extent. She 
 strove to repay them in kind, while she was inspired 
 with that ardent affection towards her second mother 
 which would naturally be engendered by such entire 
 devotedness. 
 
 But, amidst all the happiness which surrounded her, 
 the love and kindness of friends, the comforts and 
 elegant ease of wealth, amidst all these, did Ellen keep 
 in mind the circumstances of her humble birth ? Did 
 her thoughts go back fondly to the lowly wrecker's 
 wife, and did her heart remain constant in its affection 
 to her rough and untutored parents? yes, most 
 assuredly, yes ! Eilen was not one of those who grow . 
 giddy by the gifts of fortune. Dearly as ever did she 
 cherish the rugged scenes of her youth, warmly as ever 
 did her heart cling to those who watched over her 
 childhood and guided her later years ; and it was with 
 feelings of unbounded delight she anticipated a visit
 
 00 FOREST AND SHUHE. 
 
 to that endeared spot. She longed to stand once 
 anore on the threshold of the sea, to hear the boom- 
 ing shout of the vaulting waves, and to watch the 
 snow-white foam breaking over the dark, weed-grown 
 rocks. 
 
 With what pleasure she looked forward to the time 
 when, in company with Caroline (for she was to be 
 her companion), she could rove over the giant cliffs, 
 and revisit her favorite resorts amid the cavernous 
 rocks, where nature is exhibited in an aspect of 'stern, 
 wild grandeur, and along the pebbly shore, up which 
 the billows curl and break with a never-ceasing roar. 
 Not once did the humbleness of the home to which 
 she would introduce her high-born sister-in-law awaken 
 an emotion of regret, nor for once was her pride 
 startled at the thought of her parents' poverty and 
 lack of refinement. Affection hallowed the home of 
 her childhood, and softened the rough aspect of the 
 whole ; and the lively and amiable Caroline was quite 
 as impatient for the journey as Ellen. She had never 
 visited the ocean side, and her curiosity was stimu- 
 lated to the highest pitch to behold its wonders and 
 glories, of which she had heard and read so much.
 
 THE WEECKER'S DAUGHTER. 91 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Down her cheeks flowed the round drops ; 
 And, as we see the sun shine through a shower, 
 So looked her beauteous eyes, 
 Casting forth light and tears together. 
 
 LANS DO wx. 
 
 A hundred thousand welcomes ! I could weep, 
 And I could laugh ; I am light and heavy ; welcome . 
 A curse begin at very root of his heart 
 That is not glad to see thee ! * 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 AT a pleasant season of the year the journey was 
 accomplished, and Ellen stood once more beneath the 
 wrecker's roof. How dear to her every familiar 
 scene! How like a flower-gatherer did memory re- 
 trace the shining track of the past, lingering by each 
 bud that gave her young years such delight ! Tears 
 of joy glistened in her eyes as she witnessed the emo- 
 tion of her aged mother on her meeting. But a feel- 
 ing of sadness stole over her as she beheld, mingling 
 with the affectionate cordiality expressed by her pa- 
 rent, a certain deference toward herself, a show of 
 respect, as if she regarded the difference in their con- 
 ditions, and felt that humility would best become her. 
 The sensitive heart of Ellen was pained. 
 
 " Mother, dear mother ! " said she, as she clasped 
 her in a warm embrace, " I am not changed, I am still 
 as ever your Nell, still as ever, I trust, dear to you ! " 
 and the bright tears fell like diamonds adown the e.m- 
 browned neck of the wrecker's wife. 
 
 " Well, I know you are not changed, my child," re- 
 plied the mother, with choked utterance ; " and dearer,
 
 ' 92 FOREST AND. SHORE. 
 
 far dearer are you to my heart at this moment than 
 ever. The choicest blessings of heaven rest upon 
 
 you for not forgetting your poor old " What she 
 
 would have added was lost in the half-sob which 
 escaped her lips as she strained the lovely being con- 
 vulsively to her bosom. 
 
 It was a happy meeting, and yet, like all such meet- 
 ings, a tinge of sadness just shadowed the bright cur- 
 rent of feeling that swelled in the heart of mother 
 and child. More particularly was this to be observed 
 in the Vrecker's wife, in whose breast the bright and 
 dark tide seemed equally mingled. We will not specu- 
 late on the cause of this strange circumstance. The 
 sequel of our story may reveal it. 
 
 The wrecker was absent on a cruise at the time, for 
 Ellen's visit was wholly unexpected, and intended as a 
 surprise; but he was hourly expected to return. You 
 may be sure that the Hawk's Nest and Gull's Head, 
 the bold headlands at the entrance of the cove, were 
 visited more than once during the day by the impa- 
 tient girl. She was always accompanied by Caroline, 
 who felt no fatigue in climbing over the rough rocks, 
 so new and exciting were the scenes and her pursuits. 
 
 Towards night the little schooner was discovered 
 from one of the promontories, on which the new- 
 comers had 'taken their station to watch her approach. 
 We will not stop to portray the emotions of Miss 
 Irving, as she gazed upon the magnificence of old 
 Ocean, never, perhaps, more striking than at that 
 hour, when the hues of the declining day had tipped 
 it with a glory akin to that which flooded the western 
 sky. It was altogether a new revelation to her, and 
 she stood spell-bound, as it were, with the splendid
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 93 
 
 spectacle, watering the changing colors, as the light 
 faded gradually from the sea. As for Ellen, her 
 thoughts were too much occupied with the coming 
 sail to take much notice of the scene that fascinated 
 her companion. 
 
 It was dark, for there was no moon, although the 
 stars lent their feeble light, ere the schooner of the 
 wrecker entered the cove. As she shot into the deep 
 shadow of the cliff, Ellen, in the humble garb of for- 
 mer days, might have been seen tripping over the 
 rocks to the landing, bearing a lighted torch. While 
 those in the vessel were securing her for the night, 
 Ellen stood on a projecting ledge, and flared the light 
 pver the waters in such a manner as to assist the 
 voyagers without revealing her own person. 
 
 " Thank 'e, wife," said the old man, in a hearty 
 tone, as, having performed the necessary duty, he 
 pushed off from the side of the anchored vessel in a 
 little yawl. " You need not have put yourself to the 
 trouble of coming down, Bess, for we could have got 
 along very well without a light." 
 
 " Welcome home, father ! " exclaimed Ellen, as the 
 boat's keel grated on the beach, at the same time 
 waving the torch so that its light should flash over 
 her person ; " welcome back ! What luck ?" 
 
 " Nell, Nell ! Am I dreaming ? Is that you ? As I 
 live, it is the dear girl herself ! Why, where did you 
 come from? how came you here?" burst in rapid 
 tones from the lips of the astonished old man, as he 
 leaped to the shore, and rushed to the spot where she 
 stood, half-doubting the evidence of his own senses. 
 
 Could there have been a more delightful surprise, a 
 happier meeting than that between the wrecker and
 
 94 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 his child? Again and again he folded her to his 
 heart, with all the warmth of paternal love, as he 
 questioned her of her unexpected presence, whue the 
 dark cliffs resounded again and again with the loud 
 cheer of welcome which burst involuntarily, as it 
 were, from the lips of the hardy crew gathered on the 
 beach, who seemed as much astonished and overjoyed 
 as the old man himself at the return of their favorite. 
 It was the tribute of rough and honest hearts, stand- 
 ing on no idle and formal ceremony, and Ellen received 
 with deep emotions their boisterous demonstrations 
 of joy and good will. 
 
 Never was there a happier assemblage under one 
 roof than that which gathered beneath the wrecker's 
 that night. Until a late hour they all sat in conversa- 
 tion, the old man full of spirits, declaring time and 
 again that he felt as if a score of years had been 
 rubbed out of his life ; while his wife gazed with an 
 earnestness of affection on the countenance of Ellen, 
 which fully evinced that, if her emotions were not so 
 buoyant and cheerful as her partner's, her happiness 
 was equally as great. Caroline and Edward partici- 
 pated as fully as any in the joyful greeting, while 
 their sympathies were tenderly excited as they wit- 
 nessed the touching and unaffected manifestations of 
 love bestowed upon one so dear to their hearts. 
 
 " Observe her," said Edward in an under-tone to his 
 sister, his eyes beaming with affection : " 'twas in that 
 plain attire I first knew her and loved her. Do you 
 wonder at it ? " 
 
 " No, no ; how could you do otherwise ? Dear 
 Ellen, you are an angel ! " and the warm-hearted girl 
 stepped forward and impressed an affectionate kiss on 
 the lips of her surprised sister.
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 95 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I had so fixed my heart upon her, 
 That, whereaoe'er I formed a scheme of lifo 
 For time to come, she was my only joy, 
 With which I used to sweeten future oares. 
 
 OTWAT. 
 
 A FORTNIGHT, the period allotted for the stay of the 
 visitors, passed most happily. Every day they strolled 
 over the jagged rocks, exploring the deep chasms 
 hollowed out by the constant beating of the waves, 
 and gazing upon the frowning clifis, some of them 
 toppling to their fall, the wash of the sea having worn 
 away their bases, opening here and there, to their very 
 hearts, deep recesses and dark caverns, into which th<> 
 surges rushed with a dismal booming sound, gurgling 
 along unseen passages, and returning in rills of spark- 
 ling, milk-white foam ; or they would 
 
 " Stand on some high beetling rock, 
 Or dusky brow of savage promontory, 
 Watching the waves, with all their white crests dancing, 
 Come, like thick-plumed squadrons, to the shore, 
 Gallantly bounding," 
 
 sights and sounds which never sated the eye or palled 
 on the ear, and which thrilled the enthusiastic heart 
 of Caroline with emotions to which, ere this, it had 
 ever been a stranger. Frequently they were accom- 
 panied by the wrecker, who detailed to them, as they 
 sat on some bold height which overlooked the ocean, 
 some old legend of the sea, some tale of shipwreck 
 and peril, or some stirring adventure in which he had 
 taken part during a long and eventful life.
 
 96 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 Another week, and at last a month, had nearly ex- 
 pired, ere they took their leave, and then with feelings 
 of regret they tore themselves away from a spot 
 which, despite its barrenness, had charms for them all, 
 and which was endeared to Ellen by considerations 
 already sufficiently explained. 
 
 The evening of the day on which they left, the 
 wrecker and his wife sat alone by the door of their 
 hut, the former in the enjoyment of his time-colored 
 pipe ; but an occasional sigh from the latter seemed 
 to indicate a heart ill at ease. 
 
 " Come, cheer up, Bess ! " said the old man, placing 
 his hand affectionately on her shoulder. " Life is made 
 up of partings. The dear girl is happy: what more 
 can we ask ? A noble fellow is that husband of hers, 
 a worthy fellow ; and a fine girl, too, is that sister of 
 his. And then to see how Nell and she take to each 
 other ! " 
 
 " It is not the parting, John, that saddens me," said 
 the wife, in a subdued tone ; " my thoughts were on 
 something else. Do you remember that it is just 
 twenty-two years this day since the lost one was 
 restored to us?" 
 
 " Twenty-two years ! No, no, Bess ; you 're mis- 
 taken," rejoined the wrecker, taking his pipe from his 
 mouth and gazing into his wife's face with an expres- 
 sion of doubt. 
 
 " Twenty-two years this blessed day, husband." 
 
 " It can't be," replied the old man. " Let me see," 
 he added," it was in the year 17 ," and with the stem 
 of his pipe he touched the tips of the fingers of his 
 left hand to assist him in counting the years from that 
 date. "I wouldn't have believed it; twenty-two
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 97 
 
 years ! " he exclaimed, in a low voice, as he concluded 
 his reckoning. " How the time slips away 1 " 
 . "Am I right, John?" 
 
 " It can't be otherwise ; it must be o. But what 
 of that, Bess ? are you sad that we are growing old 
 and gray ? " 
 
 " no, that is not it, husband. It would be a sin 
 to repine when He has crowned all our days with 
 goodness. No, John; but I was thinking, as we shall 
 soon be called away, and as she has got to be a fine 
 lady, it is our duty to tell the dear girl the truth con- 
 cerning her parentage." 
 
 The wife paused and looked toward her husband as 
 if waiting his reply. But he was silent. With an 
 abstracted air he sat gazing on the ground, as if 
 revolving some unpleasant thought in his mind. The 
 proposition suggested by his wife had of late often 
 occurred to him, and engaged much of his thoughts. 
 From the manner of both it was evidently not one of 
 a very pleasing nature, for its consideration threw a 
 shade of gloom over them. 
 
 " I don't know but that you 're right, wife," at length 
 the old man said. " I have thought over this matter 
 much of late, and it has troubled me not a little. 
 Thinks I, coming home on my very last cruise, I will 
 talk the subject over with Bess, and get her opinion 
 on it. I hate to do it, not that I think it will 
 alter Nell's feelings toward us, that is, in the way 
 of loving us ; but it will seem like breaking a natural 
 tie." 
 
 " Yes, John, I feel it will be as you say. The little 
 one that was so early taken from us appeared given 
 back again when sh came, and th lov whiefc would 
 9
 
 98 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 have been buried in the grave with the lost, revived 
 anew in the poor foundling. I am sure I yearn over 
 that dear girl as much as if my own blood ran in her 
 veins." 
 
 A tear glistened in the eye of the speaker which she 
 did not attempt to conceal. 
 
 " And well may we love her," added the old man. 
 "Has she not been ever as a child to us? In sickness 
 and health, in infancy and youth, we watched over and 
 cared for her, and what more could we do for our 
 own flesh and blood?" 
 
 "Yes, thank Heaven, we have not neglected our 
 duty to her ; and there is comfort in that. And, though 
 Nell's feelings may be changed when we tell her she 
 is not our own child, I know her affectionate heart too 
 well to fear that her love will be weakened." 
 
 " I had some idea of making it known to young 
 Irving during his visit," said the old man, after a brief 
 silence ; " but I concluded it was best to wait until 
 they left, and talk it over with you first." 
 
 " I am glad you did, John, for the parting would 
 have been doubly painful had she gone away know- 
 ing that we had no natural claims on her ; and yet 
 I should like to be near her when she is told, and 
 hear from her own lips that she loves us none the 
 less. Would to God, if the desire be not sinful, that 
 she were our own 1 " 
 
 Until a late hour the wrecker and his wife sat by 
 the door, conversing on the subject. How to convey 
 the information to Ellen was a point long discussed. 
 A letter might serve the purpose, but the old man 
 was averse to this channel of communication, for h*
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 99 
 
 felt that he could not enter so fully into the details in 
 writing as he wished. 
 
 " No, no, wife ; she shall have it from my own lips, 
 and every circumstance connected with the event that 
 threw her upon our care. And moreover, Bess, as 
 you have always been confined to this barren spot, 
 not but that the place is pleasant enough, as how can 
 it help being, with the great sea forever rolling before 
 us in all its majesty and vastness ? - and have never 
 been where the earth is covered by the green grass 
 like a carpet, and the tall trees wave and rustle in 
 the breeze, and beautiful birds build their nests and 
 make music in the branches, and bright flowers spring 
 up everywhere and fill the air with a sweet perfume, 
 just as the easterly wind brings in the scent of the 
 sea ; now, Bess, you shall go with me and visit Nell 
 and her husband, and behold some of these wonders 
 wherewith God has blessed this world of ours. We 
 will accept their invitation, and when we are with them 
 I will make known the story." 
 
 This point settled, the honest old couple retired 
 to rest, with minds somewhat relieved, now that they 
 had come to a determination on a subject which had 
 burdened their minds for a long time.
 
 lOO FOREST AND SHOEE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 With wild surprise, 
 
 As if to marble struck, devoid of sense, 
 A stupid moment motionless she stood. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 A FEW months after Ellen's return she was sur- 
 prised, and not less surprised than delighted, by the 
 arrival ef the wrecker and his wife at her new home. 
 Their coming was altogether unexpected, for they had 
 given no intimation of paying her a visit. It is un- 
 necessary to say how joyfully they were welcomed, 
 and by no one more warmly than by the widow Irving, 
 whose opinion of the wrecker, the half-pirate as she 
 once stigmatized him, had undergone a wonderful 
 change since his daughter had become a member of 
 her family. Rough and unrefined as he was, there 
 was something in the blunt old sailor which won for 
 him the good opinion of all, and more particularly of 
 the aristocratic widow. She saw in him none of those 
 vulgar traits which she had thought were inseparable 
 from poverty and humble birth. 
 
 The meek and retiring character of the wrecker's 
 wife was altogether different, too, from the picture she 
 had formed of one bred in obscurity. She now saw 
 that there was not such a vast difference in the moral 
 and mental qualities of those born in the upper and 
 lower classes of society as she had been taught to be- 
 lieve ; that kind hearts and gentle affections, and ster- 
 ling if not as polished minds, were to be found clothed 
 in the humble garb of the poor as in the costly " pur- 
 ple and fine linen " of those born to wealth. In fact,
 
 THE WBECKEB'S DAUGHTER. 101 
 
 the high notions of the lady were levelled to quite a 
 reasonable and proper standard, and the sharp points 
 of her character had become rounded and moulded 
 astonishingly. After all, we are inclined to believe 
 that the pride and hauteur exhibited by many should 
 be ascribed more to an ignorance of human nature 
 than to a want of sympathy, to a defect in the judg- 
 ment rather than an obliquity of the heart. 
 
 Intent on making known the errand which induced 
 his visit, the wrecker sought the first opportunity that 
 offered to divulge it.- He first made Ellen and her 
 husband briefly acquainted with the facts. The del- 
 icate and to him painful task was not accomplished 
 without exciting strong emotions both in the speaker 
 and his astonished hearers. Ellen listened as one in a 
 dream, scarcely crediting her own senses. Her bosom 
 was agitated with feelings it would be difficult to por- 
 tray. A bitter, dreary sense of loneliness, a sadness 
 and sickness of heart, a dull, desponding weight, op- 
 pressed her spirits. She gazed into the face of her 
 whom she knew only as a mother, as if seeking there 
 for a denial of what she had heard. The earnest, 
 affectionate, tearful look that met hers, though it 
 confirmed the dark story, stirred the dead calm set- 
 tling like a poisonous mist on her heart; the fountain 
 of feeling gave way; and, rushing toward the wife of 
 the wrecker, she fell into her waiting embrace, ex- 
 claiming, with a tear-choked voice, 
 
 " Be still a mother to me ! Do not cast me off ! Let 
 me be as ever your child, let me love you as ever, let 
 me still share your love 1 " 
 
 The scene can be better imagined by the reader than 
 described by the writer. It was one calculated to 
 9*
 
 102 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 touch the heart's deepest fount, calling up its tender- 
 est emotions. It served, too, to remove any half- 
 formed doubts in the minds of the old man and his 
 wife in regard to Ellen's unchanging affection towards 
 them. 
 
 After the agitation growing out of the unexpected 
 development was over, it was proposed that the 
 wr&cker should relate in detail the facts connected 
 with Ellen's history to the family. Mrs. Randolph was 
 invited to be present on the occasion, and after the 
 evening lamps were lighted, the company assembled, 
 eager to hear the full relation of that of which they 
 had as yet received but a vague hint. 
 
 It would have formed an interesting and touching 
 picture, that little circle, grouped around the old man, 
 and listening eagerly to the words that fell from his 
 lips. The most striking figure in the group was 
 Ellen, who,. with a tearful eye and a pale, sad counte- 
 nance, sat by the side of her whom she had always 
 looked upon as her mother, holding one of her hands 
 within her own and half-leaning on her shoulder, as 
 she listened with a throbbing heart to the story in 
 which she was so much interested. The earnest in- 
 tensity of the glance which Mrs. Randolph riveted on 
 the speaker, as she sat motionless and statue-like 
 nearly in front of him, would at once have attracted 
 the notice of a casual observer. A hardly less strong 
 expression of interest was observed on the counte- 
 nances of the rest of the listeners. The details as 
 given by the old man were as follows : 
 
 " It is more from a sense of duty to that dear girl," 
 said the wrecker, glancing as he spoke affectionately 
 at the object of his remark, " than any promptings of
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 103 
 
 my own inclinations, that I am impelled to make the 
 statement I am now about to offer. Were it not in 
 the hope that she may under Providence be benefited 
 by it, I know not but that I should have carried the 
 secret relating to her parentage with me to the grave. 
 We have always regarded her as our own from the 
 moment we received her in charge from her dying 
 mother ; and sure I am, we could not have loved her 
 more if she had our own blood in her veins. She 
 came to us indeed like a messenger from heaven, at a 
 time when we were bowed down with a sore disap- 
 pointment, and it seems now like rending asunder a 
 tie of nature to declare that she is not our own, that 
 we have no parental claims on her. But it must be 
 done. 
 
 " Some years ago I was returning in my smack from 
 a cruise along the coast, and had arrived within a day's 
 sail of the cove, when I was providentially placed in 
 the way of rescuing two of my fellow-creatures from 
 a drowning death, one of whom is now present. For 
 two or three days prerious to this event the weather 
 had been rough, and the day before quite a strong gale 
 had raged. The day had just broke on' the morning 
 in question, but the weather was so thick that the 
 light came slowly, when I found myself running close 
 aboard of a wreck. I knew not at first what kind of 
 a craft it was, for I could perceive only the stump of 
 one mast standing. As I bore up for the wreck, how- 
 ever, I soon discovered that it was a ship. How she 
 came to be in such a disabled condition I could not 
 imagine, for, though the storm had been pretty tough, 
 yet it had not been so violent, at least where I was, 
 but that a ship could make very good weather in it.
 
 104 POiiEST 1ND SHORE. 
 
 " The waves ran so high at the time it would have 
 -een dangerous to attempt to board her ; but, as the 
 wind had hauled off shore and the sea was fast going 
 down, I determined to lay by her. Anxious to learn 
 if any one was on board, I ran close under her lee and 
 hailed her. It was then I discovered that she had set- 
 tled considerably by the head, and that she was liable 
 at any moment to go down. From the shattered state 
 of her bows I was at once convinced of the cause of 
 her disaster. She had evidently been run into, and 
 that, too, very recently. No notice being taken of my 
 first hail, I repeated it, when I saw a woman spring 
 up on the quarter-deck. At first she did not perceive 
 us, but gazed wildly around for a moment to the wind- 
 ward. She soon changed her position and caught 
 sight of us, and, as she did so, she stretched her arms 
 towards us in an appealing attitude, uttering at the 
 same time a gibberish sort of cry. A moment after- 
 ward she staggered to the side of the vessel and 
 stooped down. When she again raised herself, we 
 observed she had something in her arms that appeared 
 like a child closely wrapped up, which she held in a 
 beseeching manner towards us, all the time uttering 
 the same incoherent cry. 
 
 " It was a sad sight, ladies, in that uncertain light, 
 to behold the poor thing on that lone wreck, her 
 clothes, heavy with wet, clinging closely to her form, 
 and her loose hair streaming in tangled masses to the 
 wind. We immediately shouted to her to be of good 
 cheer, and that we would soon take her off. But the 
 poor creature appeared bewildered, and evidently did 
 not understand us, for, as our craft ranged ahead, she 
 ran shrieking with her burden to the fore part of the
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 105 
 
 ship, stumbling over the broken spars and rigging 
 that lumbered the decks, holding out her arms to us 
 all the while as if praying for succor. My heart ached 
 as I gazed on the piteous object, and I resolved to 
 attempt her rescue at once, although I knew it would 
 be at the risk of life. 
 
 " We got our boat out, however, as 'soon as circum- 
 stances would permit, and with four oarsmen pulled 
 away for the wreck. We reached her with great ex- 
 ertion, although we were once or twice in great 
 danger of being swamped. Nothing would have saved 
 us in that event, for we left the schooner short-handed, 
 and could have received no assistance from the crew 
 on board. But at last, through God's mercy, we 
 reached the ship, and succeeded, after many efforts, in 
 making fast to her. It then became necessary to use 
 the utmost caution in taking off the woman and child, 
 for, as the ship rolled and plunged in the surges, we 
 were every moment in imminent danger. The woman, 
 fortunately, instead of being a hindrance, seemed en- 
 dowed with an energy almost superhuman, and greatly 
 assisted us in our hazardous task. After repeated 
 failures in our attempts, we at last succeeded in get- 
 ting the sufferers into the boat, and ere long in placing 
 them safely on the deck of our own vessel. We took 
 them off not a moment too soon, for we had barely 
 got on board the schooner when the ship began to 
 settle fast, and presently, giving a lee lurch, she went 
 down bow first. Ah, ladies ! it was a dismal sight, that 
 sinking ship going down amid the raging billows, the 
 heavens hanging in blackness like a pall above her, 
 and the sea whirling and foaming around her as if 
 rejoicing over its prey."
 
 106 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 Here the old man paused awhile in his narration, as 
 if dwelling on the sad spectacle he had been de- 
 scribing, while the sighs and long-drawn breaths of 
 his audience testified the interest they felt in his 
 description. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 She gazed on us with fixed and anxious air, 
 That look consigned her infant to our care : 
 We read the sign and quick assent implied ; 
 She smiled, then turned her face away, and died. 
 
 'Tis she ! 'tis she ! the lost the mourned my daughter ! 
 
 OLD PLAT. 
 
 " BUT I had no time," continued the old man, after a 
 brief silence, " to indulge in the feelings such a scene 
 would naturally call forth, for my attention was imme- 
 diately diverted to the case of the survivors, who 
 demanded all my care. Soon after reaching my ves- 
 sel, the strength and energy of the mother, which she 
 had displayed so conspicuously in the moment of 
 peril, forsook her entirely. Every nerve became 
 relaxed, her spirits seemed completely prostrated, and 
 she became as weak and helpless almost as the child 
 in her arms. On questioning her concerning the par- 
 ticulars of the disaster, we found that her mind was 
 all afloat, and we could get nothing from her but the 
 most incoherent answers. Poor crazed thing! All 
 her thoughts-seemed to centre on her child, which she 
 had contrived to protect from the weather in a won- 
 derful manner. We could hardly persuade her to 
 trust it for a moment in our care, and she was restless
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 107 
 
 and uneasy until it was restored to "her. It was a 
 touching sight, ladies, to witness the endearments 
 heaped by the wretched sufferer on her child; her 
 heart still strong and gushing with affection, though 
 her mind was all wreck and disorder. But she soon 
 sunk into a state of imbecility, uttering only an occa- 
 sional wandering word. I saw that she was failing 
 rapidly, and was fearful she would not hold out until 
 we reached our station. Having a pretty fair wind, 
 however, we arrived at the cove just before nightfall, 
 and succeeded in getting the unfortunates safely and 
 comfortably housed. 
 
 " Every exertion that our limited means permitted 
 was put forth in behalf of the poor suffering woman ; 
 but all our care was unavailing. Fright and exposure 
 had prostrated both mind and body. She lingered for 
 a day or two in a sort of lethargy, then died. A 
 short time before she drew her last breath, she ap- 
 peared to revive a little, and made signs as if she had 
 something to communicate ; but when she attempted 
 to speak her tongue refused its office, and she only 
 uttered .a feeble, moan-like whisper. Thinking she 
 might wish to behold the child, wife took it from its 
 little couch, where it was slumbering, and carried it 
 to her bedside. Her eye lighted up at once on see- 
 ing it, an expression of satisfaction shot over her face, 
 and she made an attempt as though she would em- 
 brace it. But her strength was not sufficient for the 
 task, and she sank back on her pillow, gazing wist- 
 fully first into the infant's face and then casting a 
 meaning glance on my wife, as if she by that look 
 consigned the little one to her care. My wife an- 
 swered the silent appeal by pressing the child to her
 
 108 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 bosom. The dying one seemed to understand her, for 
 a faint smile played over her countenance. It was 
 the last gleam of expiring nature, for immediately a 
 slight tremor shook her frame, she turned her face a 
 little from us, gave one gasp, and her troubled spirit 
 was at rest." 
 
 The sobs of Ellen here interrupted the narrative 
 of the old man. " My poor mother ! " was all she 
 could articulate, as she leaned her head on the shoul- 
 der of the wrecker's wife, and gave way to the feel- 
 ings which agitated her breast. The sympathizing 
 tear glistened in the eyes of each of the group as 
 they witnessed the emotions of the sorrow-stricken 
 girl. It is true, she had never known that mother 
 whom she mourned ; yet the relation of her foster- 
 fatter, showing forth as it did the strong love of that 
 mother, triumphing even over the wreck of mind, and 
 sending the last glow of warmth through the death- 
 chilled veins, breathing out, as it were, in the last 
 gasping sigh, touched the deepest and tenderest chord 
 in her heart; while a contemplation of the extreme 
 suffering she must have endured on the wreck, suf- 
 fering so great as to induce frenzy, and her affect- 
 ing death, awoke the most poignant grief. After a 
 brief silence, the wresker proceeded with his narra- 
 tive in an unsteady voice. 
 
 " Yes, Ellen, it was thus she died ; happy, I believe, 
 in the consciousness that her child had found a pro- 
 tector. And warmly did we welcome the little stranger 
 thus providentially thrown on our care. But a short 
 month before we had consigned to the grave the only 
 child with which God had blessed us. We were child- 
 less and sorrowing, but when you came we felt that
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER. 109 
 
 our lost one had again been restored to us. Your 
 ages* must have been nearly alike, and we bestowed 
 on you the name borne by our ojvn child. Your 
 lively prattle soon chased the gloom from our dwell- 
 ing, and we forgot our bereavement. We made 
 many inquiries to find out something respecting the 
 lost ship; but we lived in a remote place, and the 
 means for the transmission of news were not so abun- 
 dant as at the present day, and all our endeavors were 
 fruitless. We were content with the result, for our 
 hearts yearned towards you with all a parent's love ; 
 and, as years passed by, and you grew dearer to our 
 hearts, we ceased to think of you as other than our 
 own, and such we shall always consider you, in what- 
 ever circumstances you may be placed, so long as 
 Heaven shall spare our lives." 
 
 " You did not ascettain the name of the ship ? " said 
 Edward, as the old man paused at the conclusion of 
 his narrative. 
 
 " It would have been a difficult thing as we were 
 then situated, although I might possibly have done so. 
 But, in the hurry and excitement of getting off the 
 woman and child, we had no thought for anything 
 else ; and by the time we had rescued them the ship 
 had settled so that any attempt to ascertain it would 
 have been fruitless." 
 
 " Can you give no description of the ship ? " asked 
 Mrs. Randolph, who had listened to the recital of the 
 wrecker with an* intensity of feeling which could not 
 have failed of exciting the notice of the company had 
 not their attention been wholly absorbed in the story 
 of the old man. The tremulous and earnest tone in 
 which the question was put attracted immediately the 
 10 

 
 110 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 observation of the whole party, while the interest of 
 those who were acquainted with her sad histor^ was 
 awakened at oncQ to the highest pitch. Ellen raised 
 her head involuntarily from the shoulder of her foster- 
 mother, and gazed anxiously in the face of the wrecker, 
 breathlessly awaiting his answer. 
 
 " Let me see," said the old man, rubbing his arm 
 thoughtfully across his brow. " I think I can, ma'am, 
 for I took particular notice of her before she went 
 down. If my memory don't deceive me, she was 
 painted black, with a white streak and white mould- 
 ings ; I believe she had a small round-house on deck, 
 and yes, I am sure a large gilt figure-head." 
 
 " Tell me, sir," continued Mrs. R., still more agitated, 
 " the date the year." 
 
 " It was in the year 17 , early in the fall the 18th 
 of September, ma'am ; I know thdt well, for we .always 
 dated Nell's birthday from that time." 
 
 " Pardon me," said Mrs. Randolph, rising from her 
 seat and approaching the wrecker, her face betraying 
 excessive emotion. "I have a reason, a most im- 
 portant motive for the question. Did you preserve 
 the articles of dress found on the child ? " 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," answered the old man, won- 
 dering at the question and the agitation of the speaker. 
 
 " Where, where are they now ? " 
 
 " I brought them with me ; they are in my trunk," 
 was the reply. 
 
 . " Bring them here let me see them. God, if it 
 should be so ! " and the widow sank on the sofa and 
 buried her face in her hands, while the wrecker's wife 
 left the room for the articles. 
 
 Each individual arose, as she re-entered tho parlor
 
 THE WRECKER'S DAUGHTER, 111 
 
 with a small bundle, except Mrs. Randolph, who con- 
 tinued her position unaltered. A silence as of death 
 pervaded the room as the wife of the wrecker unrolled 
 the small bundle and placed a little frock, cap, and 
 other articles of an infant's dress, on the centre-table. 
 Mrs. Randolph did not look up. She seemed to shrink 
 from a sight of that which was to confirm her suddenly- 
 raised hopes or dash them to the earth. The rest of 
 the company gazed on the clothing in silence, each 
 countenance expressing the most intense interest, 
 excepting Ellen's, who leaned on her husband's arm, 
 with a face pale as marble ; and yet, could her heart 
 have been laid bare at that moment, what a world of 
 contending emotions would have been there discov- 
 ered ! 
 
 " They are here, Julia," said Mrs. Irving, in a low 
 voice, as she stepped to the side of her friend and 
 touched her arm. 
 
 Mrs. Randolph arose. Her face was blanched and 
 colorless, and her trembling limbs barely supported 
 her as she staggered rather than walked toward the 
 table. One searching glance was cast on the dress : 
 it sufficed. A glow of ecstatic feeling lit up her face, 
 and, with a wild exclamation, "0 God ! they are 
 hers ; they are hers 1 My child, my long-lost daugh- 
 ter!" she rushed toward Ellen, and mother and 
 child, the lost and the mourned, were clasped in a 
 convulsive embrace. The sobs and tears of the sur- 
 rounding group burst forth unrestrainedly and height- 
 ened the affecting scene, over a further exhibition of 
 which we must be permitted to draw a veil. 
 
 The interest of our story is over. Why need w 
 attempt to portray the unbounded happiness of
 
 112 FOREST 1ND SHORE. 
 
 mother and child so long separated, so deeply mourned, 
 so strangely and unexpectedly united? Why describe 
 the felicity of that little circle, now knit by ties if 
 possible a thousand-fold more endearing than ever ? 
 Why speak of the delight of the humble wrecker and 
 his wife, on whom were lavished every endearment 
 which love and gratitude could prompt? It is only 
 necessary to say that the Irvings and Mrs. Randolph 
 would not listen to the return of the honest couple to 
 their former home, but urged and finally prevailed on 
 them to spend the remainder of their days on the 
 estate of the now happy Mrs. Randolph, where, in a 
 neat little cottage built expressly for them, they lived 
 in the enjoyment of every comfort that life could 
 afford. Hardly a day passed that their aged hearts 
 were not made glad by the presence of Ellen and her 
 husband ; nor did many years elapse ere first a little 
 boy and then a little girl might be seen playing around 
 their door and hailing them by .the grateful appellation 
 of " grandfather " and " grandmother," in the counte- 
 nance of each of whom might be seen a striking 
 resemblance to their loved and idolized " Nell," for 
 only by that name did they call the happy wife and 
 mother. 
 
 We will only add, in conclusion, that the memory 
 of the faithful nurse, whose tender care of Ellen amidst 
 the horrors that surrounded her, and whose love, so 
 strongly manifested in her dying hour, we have por- 
 trayed, was duly cherished, as the marble shaft, on 
 which are recorded her virtues and sufferings, plainly 
 testifies.
 
 THE SCOUT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 i 
 
 A CENTURY has rolled away since the events we ar 
 about to record transpired. A century ! Brief period 
 in the annals of history, passed over, perhaps, ' with 
 \the dash of a pen ; and yet in that time what wonder- 
 ful revolutions have been wrought, revolutions in 
 manners, customs, and every outward condition of 
 life ! One hundred years ago the red man bounded in 
 pursuit of the deer, or crept stealthily on the war- 
 path, where now the husbandman turns up the teem- 
 ing soil and reaps the* golden harvest, or the merchant 
 threads the busy mart. One hundred years ago the 
 forest waved in glory or in gloom over regions where 
 now are smiling farms, thriving villages, and crowded 
 .cities. One hundred years ago, but perhaps the con- 
 trast will be made more striking to the reader by the 
 relation of our humble story, the incidents of which 
 occurred in that remote period. 
 
 A little over a century ago there was but a solitary 
 log hut on what was then styled the " Causeway," but 
 which in modern times has borne the homely name 
 of " Horse Tavern," the location of which is about 
 two miles from Portland, on the Stroudwater road. A 
 10* UlS)
 
 114 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 particular description of the spot will not bo neces- 
 sary to the development of our story. It may not 
 be amiss to say, that its present name was derived 
 from its being the general watering-place for travel- 
 lers on their way to and from the city. 
 
 At that time the " Causeway " was covered with a 
 dense growth of woods, which formed a portion of 
 the primeval forest that once extended over our whole 
 city ; although the sturdy arms on Falmouth Neck, as 
 Portland was then called, had "laid many a leafy mon- 
 arch low. A man by the name of Wier, or, according 
 to our present orthography, Wyer, had selected this 
 out-of-the-way spot, as it was deemed, for his res- 
 idence. He had made a small opening, just sufficient 
 to allow room for the erection of his rude hut, and to 
 afford a limited space for a garden. Why he chose 
 this place, so remote from the settlement, when men 
 clustered together for mutual safety and protection, it 
 would be difficult to say. Some of the good people 
 of Falmouth, who, like many of their descendants, 
 were fond of indulging in groundless surmises, as 
 cribed it to a sinister motive, shaking their heads very 
 gravely and suspiciously as they spoke of Joe Wier's 
 temerity in thus exposing himself to the attacks of 
 the prowling red man. A number of well-disposed- 
 persons cautioned him of the danger which sur- 
 rounded him, and advised him to move into the set- 
 tlement. 
 
 But Wier was a strong, bold-hearted fellow, and a 
 very honest one to boot, for all that we can learn. 
 He had peculiar social notions of his own. He did 
 not like a crowd, he wanted plenty of elbow-room. 
 A creature of the woods, he feared nothing in human
 
 THE SCOUT. 115 
 
 shape. Paying but little attention to the cultivation 
 of the soil, he delighted in following the chase ; for 
 which purpose he would absent himself for weeks at a 
 time, roving amid the green forest, and conforming in 
 his mode of life more to that of the savage than his 
 civilized brethren. Joe was not always a follower of 
 the deer and the bear, for, in the frequent disturbances 
 of the whites by the red man, he was employed as a 
 scout to the expeditions sent out to punish and drive 
 off the wily foe. Well versed in the cunning so char- 
 acteristic of the Indian, and capable of enduring equal 
 exposure and fatigue, the savage found in him an 
 inveterate enemy. His prowess was so well known 
 that his name had become a terror to them. 
 
 " The varmints know me too well to molest me so 
 long as I have this trusty friend by my side," said he, 
 slapping the breech of his rusty rifle, which, had sent 
 death to the heart of many a wild denizen of the 
 woods. 
 
 This was no vain boast, for he was famous far and 
 wide for the accuracy of his aim. Nothing could 
 escape his practical eye. The bird on the wing and 
 the fleet deer alike fell beneath his fatal rifle. His 
 skill was so great, and his fondness for sport so well 
 known, that in time he was only known as Hunting 
 Joe, a sobriquet with which, he was evidently not a 
 little pleased. 
 
 Joe was tall and straight as an arrow when he stood 
 erect, and, though spare in flesh, his form exhibited a 
 muscular development which betokened great phys- 
 ical power. His face was bronzed by the weather, and 
 from under a singularly-looking cap, made from the 
 skin of some wild animal, a few gray hairs straggled,
 
 116 . FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 telling of length of years. The expression of his 
 countenance was rather mild than otherwise, though 
 the wrinkles and scars of time had made sad havoc 
 with features apparently once more than ordinarily 
 good-looking. His eye, however, still retained all the 
 fire of youth, and in its quick, penetrating glances 
 seemed to take an instantaneous, comprehensive view 
 of ah 1 that was transpiring around him. Besides the 
 odd-looking cap we have mentioned, the Scout wore a 
 loose hunting-frock, girt about the waist with a deer- 
 skin belt, suspended from which was a capacious pouch 
 of the same material, and a sheath containing a formi- 
 dable knife. His lower limbs were cased in leggins, 
 and instead of shoes he wore moccasins similar to those 
 used by the red man. 
 
 In the year 1745, the fifth French war, as it was 
 styled, broke out, the longest and most ruthless of 
 those desolating conflicts. Time and again the savage 
 hordes swept through the infant settlements with blood 
 and flame, sparing neither age nor sex. The tender 
 infant and the gray-haired sire alike shared the same 
 terrible fate. What the tomahawk and the scalping- 
 knife left undone the brand consummated. No one 
 felt safe for a moment. In the fields, in the house of 
 God, and by their bedsides, the gun was always at 
 hand, ready at a moment's warning. Men who lived 
 apart forsook their dwellings and congregated in block- 
 houses for mutual defence and security ; and when 
 they ventured abroad they stole out warily, dreading 
 each thicket as an ambush, and fearful that each tree 
 concealed a foe. 
 
 In some instances the fatal tomahawk was arrested 
 and the victim spared, not from motives of humanity,
 
 THE SCOUT. Ill 
 
 but from the lust of gain; for, though the French 
 awarded what may truly be called blood-money for 
 each reeking scalp, yet they offered a higher price for 
 captives, especially females, delivered in Canada : so 
 that cupidity often stayed the murderous hand when 
 mercy plead in vain. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN the summer of 1746, news was brought to Fal- 
 mouth that a band of savages had suddenly appeared 
 at New Marblehead, as the town of Windham was then 
 called, a pleasant village about ten miles from Port- 
 land. The report stated that they had attacked the 
 dwelling of a Mr. Hanson, and butchered all of the 
 family save one female. The survivor they had taken 
 into captivity. Early in the morning the distressing 
 intelligence reached Falmouth, and the Scout, who 
 happened to be there, was one of the first to hear it. 
 About one hour afterwards, he might have .been seen 
 leaving the Causeway and plunging into the woods, 
 with his long rifle at a trail, proceeding with hasty 
 strides towards the scene of murder. There was an 
 unusual fire burning in his eye, a dark red spot glowed 
 on each cheek, and his whole countenance* bore the 
 expression of a chafed and angry spirit! 
 
 He was evidently on no common errand, for he 
 strode the thick forest, right on through thicket and 
 brake, crushing the dead limbs beneath his heavy tread, 
 and dashing aside the dense bushes that beset his way, 
 with a recklessness and haste which betrayed the
 
 118 FOEEST AND SHORE. 
 
 agitated state of his mind. The startled deer broke 
 from its covert immediately within his range, but he 
 heeded it not^ the shaggy bear muttered an angry 
 growl as he roused it from its lair, but it served not 
 to attract his attention ; the stealthy catamount raised 
 its terrific, half-human cry, but his ear heard not the 
 warning. He still pressed on, thoughtless of danger, 
 heedless of the opportunities offered for the exercise 
 of his boasted skill, and regardless of fatigue. With 
 his head slightly bent and his body leaning forward, to 
 have seen him one would have thought he was wander- 
 ing at random through the mazy woods. There was no 
 defined path for him to follow, a wild, trackless region 
 of towering trees and heavy underbrush spread out on 
 either hand, presenting at every step the same unbro- 
 ken, unvarying .scene. Yet the Scout hesitated not 
 a moment on his way. Now and then, perhaps, he 
 would raise his head, and, after casting a hasty glance 
 around him, gazing for an instant through the opening 
 branches on the sky, he would resume his former posi- 
 tion, continuing his route in the same rapid manner. * 
 Mile after mile was traversed in this way, until at 
 length, in an incredibly brief period, he had reached 
 what was then known as Mallison's, but now enjoying 
 the unpoetical cognomen of "Horse-Beef Falls," in 
 Windham. The dwelling of the murdered family was in 
 this neighborhood, to which his steps were immediately 
 directed. The house was deserted. He entered the 
 battered door, and, following a crimson stain that ran 
 along the floor of the front room, he proceeded to the 
 fatal bedroom. The stillness of death brooded <over 
 the place as he stood there alone gazing on the crim- 
 son floor, still wet with the blood of the victims. A
 
 THE SCOUT. 119 
 
 vengeful fire gleamed in his eyes as his glance rested 
 on the dabbled walls and hearth-stone. For a while 
 he remained silent, his breast heaving with emotion, 
 overmastering his utterance. At length he found 
 words. 
 
 "Accursed race ! " he muttered between his clenched 
 teeth; "a life for each drop will be too poor a re- 
 venge ! " and he clutched^ his rifle with a convulsive 
 grasp, while an expression almost demoniacal shot 
 wildly over his face. 
 
 For the reader to understand the cause of the emo- 
 tion exhibited by the Scout, we need only say that the 
 murdered mother of the family was his only sister, and 
 the young female carried into captivity was his sole 
 remaining child, who had been on a visit to her aunt 
 during the summer, her own mother being dead. 
 Good reason had he for his emotion, with the blood 
 of his kindred all about him, clinging in clots to his 
 very feet, as if crying for vengeance, and a knowledge 
 of his idolized child's captivity, perhaps more cruel 
 suffering and death, racking his" mind. 
 
 Not long did the unhappy man remain in the cham- 
 ber of death. With a moan, rather than a sigh, he 
 left the room, and, tightening the belt around his body, 
 he prepared on the instant to strike on the trail of the 
 foe. Just at that moment a footstep was heard, as 
 of one cautiously approaching the house. The Scout 
 raised his rifle in readiness for use. The dry branches 
 crackled beneath the tread of the intruder, but still he 
 entered not the door. Half-hoping that it might be a 
 prowling savage, the Scout loosened his long hunting- 
 knife, and then crept softly to the window, disposing
 
 120 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 himself so as to catch sight of the one outside without 
 exposing his own person. 
 
 For a time nothing met his sight. Presently, from 
 behind a clump of bushes, there emerged, not the 
 expected red man, but a youth of some twenty-three 
 or four years of age. The young man was armed 
 with a rifle, and fully equipped, as for a long tramp. 
 He was moving carefully around, as if in search of 
 some object, first examining the bushes on either hand, 
 and then bending down and intently gazing upon the 
 grass. At length, as if satisfied with his scrutiny, he 
 was about plunging into the woods, when the Scout 
 addressed him. 
 
 " My young friend Mayberry where now ? This 
 way a moment." 
 
 The young man started, and, with a look of surprise, 
 turned and hastened toward the house, at the door of 
 which he met the Scout. A silent grasp of the hand 
 ensued. There was no occasion for words to explain 
 each other's object. 
 
 " I have discovered' their trail, sir," said the new- 
 comer, with a flushed though sad countenance. / " We 
 have no time to lose ; come." 
 
 " But you were not going alone ? " said the Scout, 
 as he stepped in front of the dwelling, glancing grate- 
 fully at the young man as he spoke. 
 
 " Alone, and to the end of the world, sir, for rescue 
 and revenge ! The rest are wanted at home for de- 
 fence, and they tried to persuade me to remain ; but 
 my mind was fixed." 
 
 " One word more, young man," said the Scout, in a 
 faltering voice ; " are all gone, all ? " 
 
 "Not one saved, ^ir, but Mabel. Every oul of
 
 THE SCOUT. 121 
 
 them shockingly butchered. They will be buried from 
 the block-house this afternoon." 
 
 The Scout hastily dashed a tear from his eye, then, 
 grasping his piece, he said, "Let us forward, fol- 
 low me ! " 
 
 And the two started, like hounds on the soent, in 
 pursuit of the foe, the Scout leading the way, hia 
 more practised eye at once striking the trail. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FOR some time not a word was said as they made 
 their way through the tangled forest ; each seemed to 
 he communing with his own thoughts. The younger, 
 i manly, athletic youth, with a fine, fresh countenance, 
 and a determined expression in his features, followed 
 close in the footsteps of his companion, whose tall, 
 sinewy form gave evidence of great physical strength. 
 Although he had long passed the meridian of life, yet 
 age had not dampened his vigor. His face was brown 
 with exposure and well seamed with years, still his 
 rough features wore a kindly expression, although an 
 occasional sternness would steal over them, and an 
 angry, fierce glance gleam from his eye, as a passing 
 thought of the object he had in view flitted through 
 his brain. The long silence was at last interrupted 
 by the Scout's addressing his companion, without 
 checking his pace, however. 
 
 " An i so you were going in pursuit alone, my 
 young friend? I honor your courage, boy, but it 
 would havt boon rash. Unacquainted as you are with 
 11
 
 122 FOREST AND SHOEB. 
 
 the cunning habits of these wood-fiends, how could 
 you expect to cope with them single-handed?" 
 
 " I could die, sir," said the young man, in a deter- 
 mined tone. 
 
 " And add one more to the number scored in blood," 
 rejoined the Scout. " No, no, young man, life is too 
 precious to be recklessly thrown away. Stout hearts 
 and strong arms are too scarce in the settlements, and 
 we shall need all we can muster before this bloody 
 war is over." 
 
 "But you were going alone, were you not?" 
 
 " Ay, but my life is not so precious as yours. If 
 Mabel is lost, I should have none to mourn me. Then, 
 again, I know the nature of these devils, and my 
 chance would be better. I am glad of your company, 
 however, and from my heart I thank you for the 
 interest you take in me and mine. I have heard there 
 was a liking 'tween you and the gal, and I am rejoiced 
 to know that you are worthy of her. With the bless- 
 ing of Heaven we may circumvent them that have her 
 yet, and, if so be she is alive, and we all get back to 
 the settlements again, she is yours, youngster. But, 
 if they have murdered her " 
 
 " You do not fear that event?" said the young man, 
 hastily, the glow on his cheeks giving place to the 
 pallor of alarm. 
 
 " I don't know, James," replied the Scout, shaking 
 his head doubtfully. " I am loath to think on it ; but 
 when their blood is up there 's no knowing to what 
 lengths they will go. If they suspected now that any 
 one was on their trail, and she should hinder their 
 flight, her scalp would dangle at their belts in a mo- 
 ment."
 
 THE SCOUT. 123 
 
 The thought of the possibility of such an event 
 produced a protracted silence, as they strode on their 
 way, brooding over the situation of the captive. Hour 
 after hour passed away, and still they slackened not 
 their speed. But few words passed between them; 
 for, besides the necessity of restraining every possible 
 noise, through |ear of a surprise, they were each too 
 much occupied with their own thoughts to continue a 
 conversation. Many a mile had been passed over, 
 when at last the Scout hesitated in his rapid gait, 
 and shertly came to a dead halt. 
 
 The sun was getting low, and the forest was so 
 dense, the fading light scarcely penetrated the thick 
 foliage of the overhanging branches. So shrouded in 
 gloom, indeed, had their way become, that it required 
 the closest scrutiny of the quick-sighted Scout to 
 detect the trail, which at first was broad and distinct, 
 as if the savages had roved carelessly along, thinking 
 pursuit out of question ; but for some distance it ap- 
 peared that they had grown more careful, for it was 
 evident that pains had been taken, if not to conceal, 
 at least to render their route as little marked as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 " It is getting too dark to travel farther to-night," 
 said the Scout, in a low tone, as he leaned his rifle 
 against the trunk of a fallen pine and wiped the drops 
 from his brow. "Something has occurred to make 
 them more careful, for I have observed the last hour 
 or two the trail has been growing more faint as we 
 proceeded. You see by the prints on the leaves all 
 around us that they made a halt here, probably for 
 consultation. And here you see by the bent twigs 
 that they have itruck off in this direction. If they
 
 124 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 were alarmed they had got over it, from the broad 
 trail they made again ; or this may be some trick of 
 the desateful beasts. As there should be a spring 
 near, from the trickling of yonder water," continued 
 the Scout, "we had better make a stop here for the 
 night;" and he proceeded to disencumber himself of 
 his accoutrements. 
 
 " But there is still daylight enough to follow their 
 track," said the young man, impatient of delay. 
 " Every moment is important : we have a broad trail 
 before us, why not follow it ? " 
 
 " Patience, patience, my boy," said the old man, 
 throwing down his hunting-pouch. " 'T is a hard les- 
 son, but you must 1'arn it. ' Make haste, make waste-/ 
 are words full of sound wisdom, simple as they read, 
 my young friend. I am as anxious to overtake the 
 varmints as you are, but there is more in the signs 
 about us than meets the eye, and I want broad day- 
 light to pry into them. We have travelled a smart 
 piece to-day, and a good night's rest will refresh us 
 for an early start in the morning." 
 
 So saying, the Scout set about those preparations 
 for camping out which a long acquaintance with a 
 forest life had rendered familiar to him. In a short 
 time his arrangements were completed; everything 
 was disposed to guard against a sudden attack ; and, 
 after partaking of a hearty meal of the humble fare 
 they had brought with them, they sought their leafy 
 couches, the evening breeze gently waving the tree- 
 tops and producing a lulling murmur among the 
 leaves, occasionally swaying the branches aside, and 
 letting in the rays of the rising moon on the silent 
 and apparently deserted spot.
 
 THE SCOUT. 125 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 THE sun was glistening on the tops of the tallest 
 trees ere the young man awoke from a deep slumber, 
 into which he had only fallen at a late hour. The 
 mission he was on, the anxiety he felt in the fate of 
 one so dear to his heart, had kept him restless and 
 uneasy. He hardly thought of his own situation, of 
 the dangers that surrounded him, although the occa- 
 sional cry of some wild animal, or the sudden crack- 
 ing of the dry limbs around him, would for a moment 
 recall him to a sense of his own peril. It was some- 
 time past midnight ere his perturbed mind was suffi- 
 ciently composed to induce sleep. Even when, from 
 sheer weariness, his senses were locked in slumber, 
 his teeming brain was busy with images connected 
 with the maiden's captivity, plainly manifested by his 
 murmured exclamations, frequent shiftings of position, 
 and sudden starts. 
 
 When he awoke, he sprang upon his feet and turned 
 to arouse his companion, but he found that he had got 
 the start of him. Another glance discovered to him 
 the Scout seated on the mossy roots of a tall oak, with 
 the provisions for the morning meal in waiting before 
 him. 
 
 " Young limbs require more rest than aged ones," 
 said the old man, with a smile, after saluting his com- 
 panion. "While you have been dreaming there, I 
 have been taking a look about us. One cannot pass 
 through the woods as he would on the beaten high- 
 way. I told you last night," he continued, as he ap- 
 plied himself to the coarse viands before him, " that 
 11*
 
 126 FOEEST AND SHORE. 
 
 we wanted daylight to read the signs hereabouts, and 
 the event has proved that I was right. If we had fol- 
 lowed on the route proposed by you last night, James, 
 we should have had a pesky tramp of it, and that is all, 
 for our pains. Cunning varmints are them red-skins, 
 but they are not foxy enough to cheat the old Scout 
 yet!" 
 
 " Surely, sir, that is their trail branching off to the 
 right, over the hillock yonder? " asked the young man 
 in a tone of surprise. 
 
 "Sartin true, there's no mistake about that, boy. 
 One with half an eye could follow a path marked as 
 that. But see here: just go beyond that clump of 
 bushes there by that cedar to the left, and bring me 
 what you find." 
 
 The young man obeyed him, and after a brief search 
 he returned, with a strip of calico, a mere shred, which 
 he found attached to a thorn-bush. 
 
 " There," continued the Scout, " the strip you hold 
 came from the poor girl's dress, either left by design 
 or accident. If the former, it proves that she is not 
 frightened out of her wits, at any rate ; if the latter, I 
 hold it as a sign that Providence is with us, and will 
 guide us aright, if we will only do our part by using 
 a proper discretion. I calkerlate now, that the sav- 
 ages began to suspect that they might be followed, and 
 a part of them were sent off this way, leaving a broad 
 trail for fools to follow, if they will, but not one so 
 well 1'arned in their deviltries as the old hunter," 
 added the Scout, with a low chuckle. 
 
 ' " By obsarving the place," he continued, " where 
 you found that piece of cloth, you will find, if you 
 look sharp, Mabel's foot-prints, on one spot in partic^
 
 THE iCOUT. 127 
 
 ular, where she ground her heel into the turf, the 
 brave girl, as if on purpose. Shoulder your pack, 
 my good fellow, and let us be off. I reckon as how 
 we shall be close on their heels by nightfall." 
 
 It took but a short time to get ready, and they im- 
 mediately started off on the new trail, the Scout lead- 
 ing the way with 'such a rapid pace that his compan- 
 ion, no inexperienced walker, found it difficult to keep 
 up with him. 
 
 The trail on which they now struck was that of 
 three persons only, as near as they could make out, 
 the great body of the party having probably gone off 
 in another direction to draw off the pursuit, should 
 one be made, or perhaps on some other predatory 
 expedition. Ere long the Scout found it necessary to 
 slacken his speed, and to examine more carefully to 
 ascertain the route of those they were pursuing. At 
 times the trail would be lost altogether, but the quick 
 eye of the old man, which seemed to take in every 
 object, however minute, at a glance, would soon dis- 
 cover it again. Great precaution was observed as 
 they proceeded, for they knew not how far distant 
 they might be from the foe. At times the young man 
 was directed to ascend some tall tree, which com- 
 manded a view of the surrounding country, in order 
 to detect any sign of the fugitives; at other times the 
 Scout would come to a stand, and place his ear to the 
 ground, for the same purpose. But, except the trail, 
 they had as yet discovered nothing. 
 
 It was now getting towards noon, and the two in 
 pursuit were moving steadily though briskly forward, 
 for of late the trail had grown at every step more and 
 mor fresh, giving assurance that the party thy
 
 128 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 eeking could not be a great distance in advance of 
 them, when the Scout made a sudden halt. 
 
 " Hist 1 " said he in a low whisper to his companion, 
 pointing at tho same time to a clump of thick bushes 
 that crowned a slight ascent a short distance in front 
 of them. " I don't like the looks of things yonder. 
 See to your arms, my lad; we may have a use for 
 them presently." 
 
 The young man hastily reprimed his piece and held 
 it ready for immediate action. 
 
 " Wait here," continued the Scout, " while I take a 
 peep about us. There may be mischief in the neigh- 
 borhood." So saying, he plunged into the underbrush 
 at his right and disappeared. 
 
 For some time the young man stood his ground, 
 waiting in anxious expectation, with his eyes fixed 
 steadfastly on the thicket. He could see nothing to 
 cause the alarm exhibited by the Scout Everything 
 at first appeared as usual, and he began to wonder at 
 the movements of his companion. Presently, how- 
 ever, he discovered a slight movement among the 
 branches in the centre of the clump, which under ordi- 
 nary circumstances would not have attracted his 
 notice. In a short time the bushes became more agi- 
 tated, accompanied by a snapping of the dry twigs. 
 A moment more, and the young man was startled by 
 the sight of a large catamount, which emerged from 
 the covert along the trunk of a mossy tree, which had 
 fallen into it, and stood crouched on the projecting butt 
 immediately before him, lashing its tail, and eyeing 
 him with an angry, flashing glance, in the very atti- 
 tude of pouncing upon him. 
 
 As quick as thought the young man brought hig
 
 THE SCOUT. 129 
 
 rifle to his shoulder, and was just on the point of 
 drawing the trigger, when a warning from the Scout 
 restrained him. 
 
 " Don't fire, youngster, don't fire. Get a tree be- 
 tween you, if possible, and leave him to me." 
 
 The sound of the Scout's voice seemed to divert 
 the attention of the animal, for he turned his head in 
 the direction whence it came, gnashing his fangs and 
 impatiently clawing the decayed trunk with his cat- 
 like paws. The young man seized the opportunity, 
 and made a movement with the intention of securing 
 the cover of a large tree a few feet from him. He 
 had scarcely taken the first step, when with the quick- 
 ness of lightning the formidable beast turned and 
 gathered himself for a spring, uttering at the same 
 time the peculiar cry which always precedes, or rather 
 accompanies, the fatal leap. The young man gave 
 himself up for lost; but at that instant the sharp 
 report of a rifle rang through the woods, and the pan- 
 ther, bounding high in the air, fell struggling within a 
 few feet of where he stood, spell-bound with fear. 
 
 " There 'a an end of that varmint ! " exclaimed the 
 Scout, bursting from a thick copse near by. " But 
 take care of yourself, my lad," he shouted, " for the 
 crittur is terrible in his agonies, and hardly safe when 
 the life is gone. 
 
 " I have made worse shots in my life than that," 
 continued he, as he pointed to a dark spot in the fore- 
 head of the writhing animal, whence the warm blood 
 was fast oozing. "He 's a wicked thing when his rage 
 is up, and bad as a red-skin, every inch of him. But 
 we have no time to waste over him. I was loath to fire, 
 for the report may reach the ears of those who need
 
 130 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 but the falling of a leaf to arouse their suspicions." 
 So saying, the Scout carefully reloaded his piece, and 
 hastened again on the pursuit. 
 
 Casting a glance on the expiring panther, whose 
 dying eye still gleamed ferociously on him as he 
 passed, young Mayberry followed his companion, 
 grateful for his late escape, yet fearful that the report 
 of the gun might betray their approach to the savages, 
 and thus jeopardize the life of the captive, or at any 
 rate put them on their guard, and so prevent a 
 surprise. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE same anxiety on account of the report of the 
 gun that troubled the young man's mind seemed also 
 to burden the thoughts of the Scout, for, after travel- 
 ling along some time in silence, he remarked, in a low 
 tone, 
 
 " These woods are master places for carrying sound. 
 1 Ve hearn, 'fore now, when I 've been out hunting, a 
 report go echoing through the forest, just as though 
 each tree had a tongue of its own, and so caught up 
 and repeated the sound to its neighbor, until it went 
 clean through the whole tract. But I hope there are 
 no such tell-tale trees in these parts, for if they should 
 bear that pesky shot to the red-skins we are in s'arch 
 of, it would be an evil report for us, I consate, though 
 we raised it ourself. 
 
 " Tread softly, my boy," continued the old man, 
 "and don't disturb the bushes more than you can
 
 THE SCOUT. 131 
 
 help. We must be careful of our trail, for there 's no 
 telling how many of the varmin there may be prowl- 
 ing around us." 
 
 Every step was now taken with the greatest cau- 
 tion. Particular care was observed to prevent the 
 least noise, even the snapping of a twig, and our 
 two friends pressed forward so softly and stealthily 
 that they scarcely disturbed the dry leaves in their 
 path. From the signs around them the hunter knew 
 that the Indians could not be far off. At one spot, 
 which they reached about two hours after their affair 
 with the panther, the marks were so fresh, the Scout 
 assured his companion that they could not have left it 
 but a short time before. The savages had evidently 
 set about preparing a hasty meal, and it was possible 
 the report of the gun here reached them, for there 
 were obvious marks of a hurried departure. 
 
 As the new-comers cast searching glances around 
 them, the Scout prying into the neighboring bushes 
 as if fearful of an ambuscade, the quick eye of the 
 young man caught sight of an object which sent the 
 blood with a warmer flow through his veins. The 
 place in which they found themselves was a small 
 area, nearly surrounded with lofty trees, whose over- 
 hanging branches cast a deep shade over it. On one 
 side a massive tree lay stretched along the ground, its 
 extremities concealed by the underbrush into which 
 it had fallen. In a slight crevice of this tree, which 
 had doubtless been occupied as the maiden's seat, 
 as if placed there to attract attention, the young man 
 detected a bead bracelet, which he at once recognized 
 as a gift of his own to Mabel. It was a token to him 
 that she anticipated a pursuit, and hit heart was
 
 132 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 thrilled with a secret pleasure, for it assured him that 
 she had confidence in him, and relied on his exertions 
 to rescue her from captivity. It showed also that she 
 was not disheartened, but still retained her spirits un- 
 broken. 
 
 As he eagerly directed the attention of his com- 
 panion to the discovery, the Scout's eye brightened, 
 and> complacent smile lighted up his features, as he 
 remarked, in a barely audible whisper, "Ay, the 
 gal has a quick wit and a courageous heart, though 
 she is a darter of mine. She is worth fighting for, 
 boy, and when the time comes, I hope your heart 
 won't fail you." 
 
 " I hope you don't doubt me, sir ! " said the youth, 
 reddening slightly as he spoke. 
 
 " Distrust you, youngster ? " replied the Scout, in a 
 tone of honest sincerity, " never you think of it. I 
 only thought I would give you a hint of what is be- 
 fore us. There may be blood spilt before we see the 
 end of this business. One or both of us may lay our 
 bones in the forest ; there 's no saying, for these red- 
 skins have a sure eye and seldom burn powder for 
 nothing. If either of us fall, I pray I may be the one, 
 lad, for in the course of natur' I can't last long, and 
 the old tree can be better spared than the young. 
 Howsomever, as long as I can raise my rusty old 
 friend here ha ! " said he, with a sudden start, "what 
 is that?" 
 
 A slight rustling of the dry leaves was heard a little 
 distance off, as if some one were making their way 
 cautiously through the thick underbrush which sprang 
 up in every direction. 
 
 " To cover, James ! " whispered the Scout. " To
 
 THE SCOUT. 133 
 
 cover, and lie close ! " and he crept softly behind the 
 huge pine against which he had been leaning. The 
 young man followed his example, darting behind a 
 dense thicket, where he could observe the Scout's mo- 
 tions, as well as reconnoitre the spot he had left. 
 
 He had barely secreted himself, when a tall savage 
 was seen to advance, with a snake-like motion, into a 
 little opening just beyond the small enclosure, we have 
 mentioned. He paused for a moment after emerging 
 from the bushes, and then, glancing furtively around, 
 he bent down and applied his ear to the ground. The 
 slightest sound, even the mere movement of a foot, 
 so keen is the sense of hearing in the Indian, might 
 have betrayed them. Scarcely drawing a full breath, 
 the concealed party watched with no little anxiety the 
 motions of the wary savage. 
 
 From where young Mayberry stood he had the In- 
 dian completely in his range and at his mercy, and he 
 turned his head inquiringly towards the Scout and 
 made a motion to that effect. The old man shook his 
 head negatively, and he turned again to observe the 
 further movements of the red man. In the mean time 
 the savage, as if satisfied with his scrutiny, raised 
 himself from his bent posture, and crept silently away 
 in the direction whence they had come. ' 
 
 For ten minutes or more the white men remained 
 perfectly motionless in their coverts, at the expiration 
 of which the Scout left his post, and, after throwing 
 careful glances around him and bending his ear to the 
 ground, beckoned the young man to follow him. 
 
 " I could have brought him down without fail," said 
 the latter, in a cautious whisper, as he joined his com- 
 panion. 
 
 12
 
 134 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 " Yes, and brought the whole pack upon us at the 
 same time, perhaps," added the old man, in the same 
 under-tone. " There ' no telling how many of the sar- 
 pents there are about here. The woods may be alive 
 with them. But I don't understand the meaning of 
 this fellow's lurking so slyly in this direction," he con- 
 tinued, with a doubtful shake of his head. 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested the younger, " he was sent 
 back to ascertain about the firing." 
 
 "I b'lieve you're right, James; that must be it. 
 And the cunning dog will return on our trail, and try 
 to sarcumvent us that way. But he 's run by the 
 game to a dead sartainty this time, and now let us 
 profit by it." 
 
 After again cautioning his companion to be silent 
 and wary, an admonition the latter felt to be entirely 
 useless, the two started briskly forward on the trail 
 they had been so long following, and which promised 
 to lead them ere long to the objects of their pursuit. 
 The day was fast drawing to a close as they struck 
 again into the woods, scarcely affording light sufficient 
 to discern the faint tracks by which their steps were 
 guided. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BY the margin of a. little stream, which flowed from 
 a gradual descent and wound its noiseless way around 
 the roots of old trees, now trickling unseen through 
 the green herbage, whose fibres it nourished in return 
 for the protection afforded, and now lapsing gently 
 under the fallen and decaying trunks which extended
 
 THB COUT. 135 
 
 across but did not obstruct its course, and at last steal- 
 ing its way through a broad open space, a green 
 little forest nook, fit spot for fairy gambols in the pale 
 moonlight, which now shed its mild radiance over the 
 scene, by the margin of this quiet watercourse, part 
 way up the slight ascent, was seated, or rather reclined, 
 a young maiden on a mossy knoll, just out of the shade 
 of a wide-spreading elm. Her dress was somewhat 
 rent and wayworn, and her countenance, as revealed 
 by the full harvest moon, betokened much exhaustion 
 and not a little anxiety, although there was something 
 in the expression of her features which spoke of a 
 spirit unbroken. Her face was singularly handsome, 
 and her form, notwithstanding the disarrangement of 
 her dress, betrayed much natural grace. 
 
 At the moment we have introduced her to the 
 reader, her glance was directed to the many little 
 openings in the surrounding forest, watching the 
 curious effects of the light and shade, the deep shad- 
 ows of the trees and the tall bushes falling sharp and 
 distinct on the turf, forming a grotesquely checkered 
 scene, as well as a picture of unrivalled beauty. 
 Agitated and burdened as was the heart of the maiden, 
 it was not insensible to the softening influence of the 
 scene. As her gaze lingered on the different points 
 of attraction, for the time she forgot the terrible scenes 
 she had but recently passed through and the horrors 
 of her present situation. Her captivity and the prob- 
 able fate that awaited her wholly passed from her 
 mind. 
 
 In this dreamy state of forgetfulness, her eye was 
 following down the meanderings of the rivulet, which 
 in the bright moonbeams, appeared like a gtream of
 
 136 FOREST AND SHOEE. 
 
 molten silver, until its course was lost in a dark clump 
 of bushes which bounded the small opening, when she 
 gave an involuntary start, while an exclamation of 
 delighted surprise arose to her lips ; ere it found utter- 
 ance, she had the presence of mind to restrain it. The 
 next moment the dark form of a savage rose stealthily 
 in the shade behind her. The deep, guttural monotone 
 made use of by the red man when surprised, " hugh ! " 
 was uttered in a subdued voice, giving evidence that 
 the movement of the maiden, slight as it was, had not 
 escaped his observation. 
 
 For three or four minutes the gaze of the savage 
 was rivetted on the spot to which her glanc'e had been 
 so lately directed, while his hand clutched the fatal 
 tomahawk, ready for instant action. The maiden held 
 her breath, while her heart beat almost audibly, half 
 in hope, half in fear. Some time elapsed, yet nothing 
 unusual met their gaze ; but presently a slight rustling 
 was heard among the bushes, and soon after a young 
 doe was seen to emerge hastily from the thicket, 
 gazing around in a startled manner. For a moment it 
 stood with its head half turned to its late covert; then, 
 slowly stalking towards the little, stream, it lapped 
 awhile the bright waters, and shortly after plunged 
 again into the bushes ; and the same deep solitude as 
 before reigned over the scene. As if his suspicions 
 were lulled to rest, the savage soon after sank quietly 
 back on his leafy couch, and ere long his heavy 
 breathing assured the maiden that his senses were 
 again locked in slumber. 
 
 Mabel (for the reader will recognize the Scout's 
 daughter in the young female we have been speaking 
 of) listened with an eager ear to the deep respirations
 
 TH1 SCOUT. 137 
 
 of the sleeper. In order to test the soundness of his 
 slumber, she moved her feet so as to produce a rust- 
 ling noise among the crisp leaves around her, and then 
 awaited in anxious expectation the result of the trial. 
 But the sleep of the Indian was too heavy to be thus 
 easily broken. Under ordinary circumstances, proba- 
 bly, even the slight noise she had made would have 
 aroused him at once ; but the night previous, which 
 was that succeeding the massacre, as well as that in 
 which the fatal deed was perpetrated, had been sleep- 
 less ones, and this, with the fatigue of a long tramp, 
 had induced a deeper slumber than usual. 
 
 Having satisfied herself that her captor was not 
 feigning, Mabel again turned her eyes toward the 
 thicket with a beating and anxious heart. She had 
 not gazed long, when a dark object was seen creeping 
 slowly and warily in the deep shadows of the bushes, 
 and presently a young man stepped cautiously into 
 the patch of moonlight in front. Though the thicket 
 was at some distance, the quick eye of the girl imme- 
 diately recognized the intruder. A warm blush suf- 
 fused her pale cheeks, and her bosom throbbed with 
 intense emotion, as her glance fell on the form of one 
 whose presence, it may well be supposed, was never 
 more welcome than at this trying moment. Yet, amid 
 the thrill of joy which the presence of her lover 
 inspired, there mingled no small degree of fear. She 
 supposed that he had come to her rescue alone ; and, 
 though she had no doubt he might easily overcome 
 the sleeping savage, what if the other, who had really 
 been sent back, as young Mayberry supposed, to ascer- 
 tain the cause of the shot, what if he should return ? 
 Every moment she expected to hear his footsteps, for 
 12*
 
 138 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 the hour had passed when he should have been there ; 
 and what could her lover do single-handed with two 
 such powerful foes ? 
 
 Forgetting her own situation in the danger thai 
 menaced one so dear to her, she almost regretted his 
 appearance. Not long, however, did she entertain 
 this feeling, for a moment after, to her great joy, she 
 beheld her father standing by his side. The gaze of 
 both was apparently fixed on her. She was soon sat- 
 isfied that she was seen by them, for, after a brief con- 
 sultation, her father either made a sign to that effect 
 or beckoned to her. What should prevent her start- 
 ing away to seek their protection? In the first im- 
 pulse of the moment, she vainly made the attempt. 
 Vainly, we say, for her crafty captors had taken the 
 precaution to guard against a flight by confining her 
 limbs, both arms and feet, and thus rendering her 
 entirely helpless. Answering the sign made by her 
 father by holding up her fettered arms, she then ex- 
 erted her strength to remove the thongs from her 
 ankles. But they resisted all her efforts ; and when, 
 from sheer exhaustion, she gave over, for the first time 
 sinc6 her captivity the poor girl wept. Finding that 
 her struggles were impotent, she cast a tearful glance 
 towards her friends, and again raised her imprisoned 
 arms, thus giving them to understand that she could 
 do nothing for herself. Shaking their heads affirma- 
 tively, as if they comprehended her meaning, the two 
 seemingly held another consultation, immediately after 
 which thjr fell back into the shade and were lost to 
 sight.
 
 THE SCOUT. 139 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IT was very evident, from the cautious movements 
 of her friends, that they were unaware of the number 
 of her captors. Had they known the true state of the 
 case, they would undoubtedly have taken bolder meas- 
 ures for her rescue, the advantages being altogether 
 on their side. They were pretty well convinced that 
 there were but two at most to deal with, although 
 they were not sure that others had not joined them. 
 Even to get the captive safely out of the clutches of 
 two only, they felt to be a hazardous game, well know- 
 ing that if their attempt were discovered the first blow 
 would fall on her head. Aware of this, their proceed- 
 ings were marked by the greatest possible secrecy. 
 
 Knowing that some plan had been matured for her 
 release, Mabel awaited the issue with trembling appre- 
 hension. Holding her breath, that she might catch 
 the first intimation of the approach of her deliverers, 
 she waited until her patience was sorely tested. Min- 
 ute after minute passed away, each one seeming an 
 age in her state of suspense, and still all was silent as 
 death. Once only she thought she heard a scarcely 
 perceptible rustle among the leaves at a distance ; and 
 her eyes were immediately turned upon the sleeping 
 savage, dreading lest the noise should break his slum- 
 bers. But he still slept on, breathing heavily, and' 
 occasionally muttering unintelligibly in his sleep. At 
 one time she thought all was lost, for the Indian sud- 
 denly half-raised himself, uttering at the same time a 
 slight exclamation as of surprise. The action and the 
 utterance were probably occasioned by the flitting of
 
 140 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 some wild thought through his brain, for he soon set- 
 tled away again in the same depth of unconsciousness 
 as ever. 
 
 Mabel now listened with renewed intensity for signs 
 indicating the approach of her friends, but ot a sound 
 could be heard. There was not so much as the falling 
 of a leaf to break the grave-like stillness. Dreading 
 either the awakening of the sleeper or the return of 
 the absent, her anxiety increased every moment. The 
 feeling of suspense, of uncertainty, grew so strong 
 that it almost amounted to torture, and she found it 
 difficult to sustain herself amid the conflicting emo- 
 tions that agitated her breast. Again and again she 
 bent her ear in the hope of catching an approaching 
 sound, and for the hundredth time her searching glance 
 was rivetted on different points whence she expected 
 the appearance of her deliverers ; but all in vain. 
 With a sickening emotion, and a sigh of disappoint- 
 ment wrung from the very depths of her heart, she 
 bent her head for a moment, half yielding to the 
 weight that oppressed her, when a slight touch on her 
 arm almost caused her to shriek out in alarm, so sud- 
 den and unexpected was the action. 
 
 " For your life be still ! " whispered her father in 
 her ear. 
 
 It required all the effort she could command to 
 obey him, so full and strong was the tide of feeling 
 that rushed through her heart. A moment hardly 
 transpired when she felt the thongs that bound her 
 wrists giving way and at last drop from them. Her 
 first impulse was to throw her liberated arms around 
 her parent's neck. 
 
 The Scout received and returned the embrace in
 
 THE SCOUT. 141 
 
 eilenee, then in a low whisper said : " Here, my child, 
 take the knife and loose your feet. Quick, Mabe, for 
 time is precious ! How many of the varmints are 
 they, gal ? " he added, as she bent over to sever the 
 cords. 
 
 Ere she could return an answer, a slight crashing 
 and a hasty step among the underbrush a little in front 
 of them struck her ear. 
 
 " God, father, he 's returned ! " exclaimed the 
 maiden half-aloud, forgetful in her alarm of everything 
 else. 
 
 The words had barely left her lips when a tall sav- 
 age bounded with a shrill whoop from the bushes a 
 few yards in advance of them, brandishing his toma- 
 hawk in the very act of launching it at the half-stoop- 
 ing girl. As quick as thought, the Scout sprang to 
 his feet and confronted him, interposing his own body 
 as a shield to his child. The action of the Scout frus- 
 trated the purpose of the Indian, and he poised his 
 weapon to strike down his opponent. His arm was 
 thrown back, and the glittering instrument was just 
 on the point of being sent on its fatal errand, when 
 the flash of a gun lit up the deep shadows of the for- 
 est, followed by a sharp report, and a rifle ball whis- 
 tled directly over the shoulder of the Scout. A dead, 
 crushing sound was heard, a smothered shriek, and 
 the tall savage bounded high in the air and fell head- 
 long among the underbrush. 
 
 "Bravely done, my boy!" shouted the old man 
 exultingly, as his glance rested for a moment on the 
 dead Indian; "shouldn't have been ashamed of that 
 shot myself. But there is other work for us yet How
 
 142 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 many of the red devils are there, Mabe?" said he, 
 turning quickly around. 
 
 The scene that met his gaze checked at once every 
 feeling of exultation. It was his daughter darting 
 down the declivity and across the opening, and the 
 lately sleeping Indian in full pursuit, with the long 
 hunting-knife of the Scout held threateningly toward 
 her. The first impulse of the Scout was to fly to her 
 rescue, but a moment's thought convinced him that 
 before he could reach her it would be too late to save 
 her. A second glance also revealed to him the young 
 man rushing to her assistance, though the distance 
 between the parties was so great, there was no hope 
 of his being able to reach the infuriated savage in 
 time to prevent the accomplishment of his fatal pur- 
 pose. Something, however, must be done, and that 
 too shortly, for the Indian was fast closing upon the 
 terrified maiden, who continued her flight directly 
 across the area. 
 
 Springing to the little hillock on which he and his 
 daughter had rested at the time they met, the Scout 
 caught up his rifle and aimed it at the savage. He 
 hesitated, however, for the foe was directly in range 
 with -his daughter, and he was fearful the same ball 
 might carry death to her as well as her pursuer. 
 
 By this time the Indian was within a few feet of his 
 victim. Already his arm was extended to seize her, 
 when the Scout hastily lowered his rifle, and shouted, 
 with a voice to which despair lent strength, " Double 
 on him, gal 1 Turn this way, for your life 1 " 
 
 As quick as a flash, the panting maid turned short 
 on her pursuer in the direction of her father. The
 
 THE SCOUT. 143 
 
 movement was so sudden that she gained considerably 
 on the baffled savage. 
 
 Once more the Scout raised his rifle with a deliberate 
 aim, and, taking advantage of the very moment when 
 the savage was on a slight rise, which brought his per- 
 son boldly out to view, while the maiden, being in a 
 small hollow, was out of his range, the trigger was 
 drawn. If ever the Scout prayed, it was at that fear- 
 ful moment. His child's existence hung on the stead- 
 iness of his nerve, yet he faltered not. One step only 
 had the Indian taken, when the bright flame leaped 
 from the muzzle, a ringing report followed, and when 
 the smoke cleared away, the long hunter's knife was 
 seen glittering in the moonbeams, flying through the 
 air, while the hand that so lately held it was beating 
 the earth in the paroxysms of death. In a moment 
 after the still flying maiden was clasped to the pant- 
 ing breast of young Mayberry, in whose arms she 
 rested unscathed, though faint and exhausted, and 
 scarcely aware of her safety. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "Is she hurt?" anxiously exclaimed the Scout, as 
 he rushed to the spot where his daughter stood sup- 
 ported by the young man. "Mabel, Mabel, speak to 
 me, child ! " 
 
 " No, dear father," was her faint reply, throwing 
 herself into his arms ; " I am safe, thank God ! But 
 where is he, the Indian? " and she glanced fearfully 
 around her.
 
 144 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 "Where he can shed no more innocent blood," 
 replied the old man with a stern solemnity. " There 
 lies the varmint, there, where, if a marciful Provi- 
 dence spares my life, many more of the accursed race 
 will lie before I 'm done with them ! But come, James, 
 we must be getting ready for a start. Pick up the 
 knife yonder, and see that your piece is well loaded; 
 the whooping demons may be upon us before we 
 know it. Sit you down, my darter, and rest yourself, 
 for we have a long and rough road before us, and you 
 will need all your strength." 
 
 While the young man obeyed the Scout's order, the 
 old man, after charging his rifle, stepped to the side 
 of the dead Indian and rolled the corpse into a deep 
 hollow, carefully covering it with the dead leaves, to 
 conceal it from sight should the savages be drawn to 
 the spot by the firing ; for he well knew, if they dis- 
 covered the bodies of the slain, they would pursue 
 them with an untiring vigilance and wreak on them a 
 bloody vengeance. 
 
 But a short time elapsed ere the party were on the 
 move. Slowly and silently they threaded the gloomy 
 forest, the Scout leading the way, stopping at short 
 intervals to listen if aught could be heard of thp 
 dreaded foe. But no sound broke the deep silence, 
 save the faint rustle occasioned by their passage 
 through the underbrush. Once only was it disturbed. 
 Far behind them, swelling faintly on the night air, was 
 heard what at first sounded like an Indian yell. 
 
 "0 God!" whispered the maiden, in a tremulous 
 tone, a cold shudder running through her frame ; " I 
 hear them. They will soon overtake us; they are 
 howling over the slain. ^
 
 THE SCOUT. 145 
 
 The Scout stopped short, motioning for silence, 
 while he stood in the attitude of one intently listen- 
 ing. A minute or two elapsed, when the same sound 
 was borne more loudly to their ears. 
 
 " There, father, do you not hear them?" said 'the 
 maiden, in a voice of increased alarm. 
 
 " Ay," replied the Scout, in a low tone, evidently 
 of relief, " I hear them, sure enough. They are howl- 
 ing over the dead ; but cheer up, Mabe, they are not 
 Indians. The wolves, gal, are feasting on the var- 
 mints. J T is a dismal sound in a lone forest, and I J ve 
 known the time when it has made me tremble as you 
 do at this moment. But we have nothing to fear from 
 them now ; the critturs are too busy over the dead to 
 meddle with the living." 
 
 Throughout the night the party kept on their way. 
 Their progress was very slow, for the maiden was 
 worn down with fatigue, although she bore herself 
 bravely, refusing to acknowledge her weariness, but 
 urging them on when they proposed a halt for the 
 purpose of rest, so anxious was she to reach the set- 
 tlements. Nor was the anxiety of her protectors 
 much less than her_own, for they knew not but their 
 steps were tracked, and each moment they expected 
 to be assailed by the treacherous and blood-thirsty 
 foe. 
 
 Morning dawned ere they ventured at last to come 
 to a halt, when exhausted nature gave way, and the 
 maiden fell into a deep slumber. The sun had got far 
 up in the heavens ere she was aroused, when, refreshed 
 by her repose, she started with renewed vigor on her 
 toilsome journey. 
 
 It will be needless to follow them on their wild and 
 13
 
 146 FOREST AND SHORE 
 
 wearisome way. After a most fatiguing march, ren- 
 dered doubly so by the precautions they deemed it 
 necessary to take, now diverging widely from the 
 direct course in order to mislead a pursuit; now 
 forcing their way over broken ledges and through 
 rocky and difficult places, where they would be least 
 likely to leave a trail ; practising a thousand arts 
 which the sagacity of the Scout prompted to baffle 
 their pursuers, in case they were followed, they 
 finally, at the close of the second day, to their great 
 satisfaction, reached the Scout's hut on the Causeway. 
 
 We will not attempt to portray the joy of the 
 maiden when she stood once more safely within her 
 father's humble dwelling. The dreadful scenes in 
 which she had been a partaker seemed more like a 
 dream than the reality, although often, as she thought 
 of the night of the bloody massacre, a cold shudder 
 evinced how indelibly was that shocking scene fixed 
 upon her memory. 
 
 We presume some of our readers would hardly be 
 satisfied unless we adverted more particularly to one 
 incident connected with two of the personages of our 
 humble history. _ We allude, of aourse, to Mabel and 
 her chivalrous lover, whose bravery was in due time 
 rewarded by the possession of her, who, when in 
 peril, aroused in him the bold resolve of rescuing her 
 or of perishing in the attempt. The hearty blessing 
 invoked on the young couple by the Scout after the 
 ceremony, and the honest sincerity with which he ad- 
 dressed the bridegroom, fully evinced his satisfaction 
 on the occasion. 
 
 "James, my boy," said he, grasping his hand, "I 
 told you you should have her, and I am more proud
 
 THE SCOUT. 147 
 
 to receive you as a son than if you were the king's 
 own, with all his grandeur and gold, for I know you 
 are worthy of the gal ; and may she make you as 
 good a wife as I am sartain you will be to her 
 husband." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IT was but a brief time ere the services of the 
 Scout were again called in requisition. Indeed, during 
 that cruel war he seldom remained idle. Wherever 
 was the point of danger, there was the Scout sure to 
 be found, battling the common foe. The butchery of 
 his sister was never forgotten, and whenever a savage 
 fell beneath his unerring rifle, his exclamation, " One 
 more drop atoned for," evinced a determination to 
 fulfil to the letter, if possible, the threat called forth 
 by a sight of his kindred's blood, "A life for a 
 drop 1 " 
 
 Shortly after the rescue of his daughter, he was 
 called upon by a messenger from a small settlement a 
 few miles distant from Falmouth, now the flourishing 
 town of Saccarappa. He was informed that a band 
 of savages had the night previous attacked and burnt 
 the house of a Mr. "Warren, who was severely wounded, 
 and that his two daughters, just verging into woman- 
 hood, were carried into captivity, for whose rescue 
 his assistance was invoked. The Scout needed no 
 urging, but immediately accompanied the messenger 
 to Saccarappa, whence, after gathering all the particu 
 lars of the attack and looking around him in search 
 of a trail, he started in pursuit of the captors. He
 
 148 FOREST AND SHOBE. 
 
 would allow no one to accompany him, saying that he 
 should undoubtedly fall in with some who had already 
 started ; for, as soon as the fact became known of the 
 captivity of the maidens, a hot pursuit was made by 
 such as could by any possibility leave their house- 
 holds. 
 
 Towards the close of the following afternoon two 
 young men were seated upon a little knoll amidst a 
 dense forest. They were fine, hardy-looking fellows, 
 with well knit joints and brawny muscles, evidently 
 inure'd to the toils and hardships of a new country. 
 They were armed with muskets, and each wore a 
 hunting-knife in his belt, their dress and equipments 
 showing that they were out on no common errand. 
 They had started with others* after the savages, but 
 their eagerness and activity had led them far in ad- 
 vance of their companions. 
 
 At the time we have introduced them to the reader 
 they had come to a halt, after a fatiguing and vain 
 search for the trail of the enemy. They had kindled 
 a fire for the purpose of cooking the evening meal, 
 and had been for a time resting on the small knoll, 
 consulting in regard to their future movements, when 
 a slight rustling in the woods attracted their attention 
 and caused them to spring to their feet in a hostile 
 attitude. 
 
 They had barely time to assume a defensive posi- 
 tion, when, from a clump of bushes near which they 
 had kindled the fire, and which was sending up thick 
 curls of smoke, ths tall" form of a man dressed in 
 the garb of a hunter suddenly emerged. Scarcely 
 glancing at the startled young men, he hastily strode
 
 THE SCOUT. 149 
 
 toward the burning pile, and in a moment the smoking 
 embers were trampled beneath his feet. 
 
 " What on 'arth possessed you ? are you stark, star- 
 ing mad, youngsters ? " exclaimed the intruder, as he 
 ground the last expiring ember beneath his heel. 
 
 "Why, Joe, what are you about? you have spoilt 
 our supper," said one of the party, stepping forward. 
 
 " And saved your scalp, mayhap, young man ! " 
 returned the hunter, whom our readers will recognize 
 as the Scout. 
 
 " I don't see," said the first speaker, not relishing 
 the idea of losing his evening meal, " how the fire 
 you have so unceremoniously extinguished was to 
 endanger us." 
 
 " That 'a all owing to your ignorance, Jim Smith. 
 When you 've lived in the woods as long as I have, 
 you will have Parnt something, boy, that you don't 
 find in the books." 
 
 " But what harm could the fire do? " asked Smith, in 
 a more conciliatory tone. 
 
 "The fire is harmless, youngster: 'tis the smoke 
 that might play the mischief." 
 
 " I cannot perceive how," rejoined the young man, 
 inquiringly. 
 
 " That 's 'cause you don't know. Why don't you 
 shout aloud? why don't you discharge your rifle in 
 the air? Tell me that. " 
 
 " That would be madness indeed, surrounded as we 
 are by the Indians." 
 
 "Do you think, boy, the red-skins hain't eyes as well 
 
 as ears ? Look up, youngster ; don't you think that 
 
 that smoke-wreath whiffling over the top of yonder 
 
 pine is as good a signal as the crack of a rifle ? I 
 
 13*
 
 150 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 saw it a mile off, and there are sharper eyes prying 
 about the woods than mine, I consate." 
 
 The truth at once flashed upon the minds of the 
 young men. They saw their folly, and the superior 
 wisdom of the new-comer/ 
 
 "You are right, Scout," remarked the other and 
 elder of the party ; " it was blind in us ; but it has 
 served us one good turn, in directing your steps 
 hither." 
 
 " I was on your trail, youngsters, and should have 
 found you out sooner or later. But this is no place 
 to waste our time in. There may be others directed 
 here whose company might not be quite so welcome 
 as mine. Shoulder your traps, my young friends, and 
 be off. Here, step lightly along this trunk until you 
 reach the ledge of rocks yonder; don't turn so much 
 as a leaf, if you can help it ; and mind and keep the 
 sun over your right shoulder as you go along." 
 
 "Are you not going with us, Joe?" remarked 
 Smith, as he prepared to obey the directions. 
 
 " Sartainly, sartainly ; what am I here for ? I shall 
 overtake you before night closes in; but I want to 
 leave a trail in another direction, to draw off the sar- 
 pents, if so be they should come here. Keep along 
 the rocks and ledges as much as you can, and mind 
 and keep your tongues still. ; T is a bad member, and 
 breeds a deal of mischief, in the woods as in the 
 world ! " 
 
 So saying, the Scout moved off in a contrary direc- 
 tion, leaving a well-defined trail behind him. 
 
 It was fortunate for the young men that they had 
 been overtaken by the Scout, for, as we have said, 
 their search in discovering the direct route of the
 
 THE SCOUT. 151 
 
 savages had been vain. As it happened, however, 
 they had not deviated far from the course the enemy 
 had taken. Before meeting with the Scout, they had 
 been consulting about giving up the pursuit and re- 
 turning home, but his presence gave them fresh ardor, 
 and they now avowed their determination to continue 
 on until they had rescued the captives or wreaked 
 their vengeance on the captors. 
 
 Following the directions given, they proceeded on 
 their way, passing silently and cautiously along, keep- 
 ing the sun on their right cheek until it had disap- 
 peared from sight, and the woods began to grow dim 
 in the coming shadows of night, when they came to a 
 halt, anxiously awaiting the re-appearance of their 
 sagacious leader. The wary movements of the Scout 
 had impressed them more thoroughly with the danger 
 that surrounded them, and rendered them doubly 
 watchful. Keeping their weapons in readiness for im- 
 mediate use, they scrutinized every thicket and rising 
 knoll, fearful that they might conceal a foe, while 
 every sound was listened to with breathless attention, 
 as giving warning of the approaching savage. 
 
 There was no lack of courage betrayed by either 
 of the young men ; they were naturally brave and res- 
 olute, and would have met an open foe without shrink- 
 ing. It was the sense of a hidden, unknown danger 
 impending, which aroused their apprehension. The 
 fast increasing darkness, the gathering gloom of the 
 forest, heightened by the low, melancholy moan of 
 the pines, with the occasional crashing of the fallen 
 branches, caused probably by the passage of some 
 denizen of the wilderness, frequently thrilled their 
 hearts with a vague sense of fear, and made them long
 
 152 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 for the presence of one whose sagacity and expe- 
 rience was to them an assurance of safety. 
 
 As the dusk of twilight deepened into the darkness 
 of night, and objects at a little distance one after 
 another disappeared from sight, they began to fear 
 that the Scout would be unable to find them in the 
 labyrinth of the forest. This conviction growing 
 every moment more strong, they thought it time to 
 make some disposition for passing the night in com- 
 fort and safety. As they were moving about fqr this 
 purpose, they were alarmed by the sudden appearance 
 of a man in their vicinity, whose noiseless approach, 
 coming ghost-like from the obscurity of the wilder- 
 ness, induced them to spring simultaneously to where 
 they had deposited their arms, in the full expectation 
 of having to grapple with a deadly enemy. The long 
 rifle and gaunt figure, which a second glance enabled 
 them to recognize, as quickly undeceived them, and 
 hearty was the welcome with which they greeted their 
 ally. 
 
 " We were afraid you had missed us," said one of 
 the young men, " and were about preparing a place 
 for rest." 
 
 " Whist ! whist ! speak low," said the Scout, in a 
 subdued voice. " 'Tis an hour when sound travels fast 
 and far, and there may be those within earshot, ha ! 
 look to your arms, youngsters ! " he exclaimed, in a 
 more energetic tone, without raising his voice, at the 
 same time kneeling behind the trunk of a fallen tree. 
 
 The cause of the alarm was a sudden rustling and 
 crackling of dry leaves in the distance, as by the 
 approach of some one. The young men followed the 
 example of their leader, crouching beside him, ready
 
 THE SCOUT. 153 
 
 for action. The noise grew louder and loudeT as the 
 disturber drew near, which apparently broke through 
 the bushes and underbrush violently, and with no 
 attempt at concealment. 
 
 " 'T is some pesky varmint," whispered the old man. 
 " The red-skins are too cunning to make such a rumpus 
 as this. I 've seen 'em at all times," he continued, 
 suffering his rifle to res't carelessly on the tree, as if 
 satisfied that no danger was to be apprehended ; " I Ve 
 been jvith 'em in peace and in war, when their blood 
 was up and when cool, and they 're always the same, 
 creeping along with the same desateful, sarpent-like 
 motion. They 're wary critturs, and dreadful loath to 
 leave a trail even for friends to follow. Hist ! there 
 it comes. 'Tis a she panther, about the wickedest 
 thing to be found in the woods, of the four-footed 
 kind." 
 
 As the Scout spoke, one of those formidable ani- 
 mals, a huge panther, with eyes glaring like balls of 
 fire, passed by an opening a short distance on their 
 right, on a half-trot, half-leap, crashing through the 
 obstacles in its path, as if they offered no impediment 
 to its speed. 
 
 " If 't wan't for the enemy I 'd stop the tarnal crit- 
 tur's frisking," said the Scout, gazing in the direction 
 it had taken, " for I owe 'em a grudge. They 've no 
 more marcy than a red-skin, and I shall carry the 
 marks of their claws to my grave, if so be I find 
 one." 
 
 " Have you any doubts in regard to that, Scout ? " 
 asked one of his companions. 
 
 " Sartainly I have, boy. Where the tree grows, 
 there it falls and rots ; and so it is with most people
 
 154 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 burrowed in towns; there they are rooted and die, 
 and the churchyard grows fat. But when a marciful 
 Providence sees fit to call me, there 's no saying where 
 I may be found. I Ve a strange liking for the woods, 
 and I should wish to rest in their solitude, with the 
 thick boughs waving their green arms over me, and 
 the leaves rustling and playing near. It would seem 
 more nat'ral like. I do not hate my kind, the Lord 
 above knows that; but I have always fancied being 
 alone, on the chase or trail, and when I die, if soSbe it 
 is his will, I would rather my dust should not mingle 
 with the churchyard folks'. But this is a subject to be 
 thought of in secret, and not babbled idly about. It 
 is time we should be thinking of sleep. My mind 
 misgives me that we have a long trail before us, and 
 we must be astir 'arly." 
 
 So saying, the three disposed of themselves for the 
 night, taking care effectually to guard against a sur- 
 prise, either from the prowling beast of the forest or 
 the lurking savage. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 BY the first glimmer of day the old Scout was on 
 the move. Without disturbing his still sleeping com- 
 panions, he glanced cautiously around him, shook the 
 old priming from his rifle and reprimed it, inspecting 
 carefully the lock and barrel, eyeing and fondling it as 
 if it were a thing to return hia affection, after which 
 he glided stealthily into the surrounding forest. 
 
 An hour, perhaps, passed away, during which th
 
 THE SCOUT. 155 
 
 young men had got astir, and were wondering at the 
 disappearance of their guide, when he returned, and, 
 in a cheerful tone, exclaimed, 
 
 " Wai, I 've got a track of the varmints ! Come, 
 boys, we 've no time to lose : we '11 eat as we go along. 
 There's a fine spring God's blessing in the wilder- 
 ness just out yonder, which will sarve to wash down 
 the dry bread and meat." And, leading the way, he 
 branched suddenly off from the course they had been 
 pursuing, until, after half an hour's rapid travelling, 
 they struck, as the Scout said, the trail, when they 
 again changed the direction of their route. 
 
 To the young men the course they were now pur- 
 suing was quite as blind as ever. A dense wilderness 
 surrounded them, and, though they followed their 
 leader with an undoubted confidence in his knowledge, 
 they saw nothing in the appearance of things which 
 afforded the least clue to the direction to be followed. 
 After a while, one of them remarked, inquiringly, that 
 he could detect no signs of a trail. 
 
 " Why, youngster," replied the Scout, " 't is as plain 
 as dame Rawson's face, and that I consate is the plain- 
 est thing in the settlement. Here, my boys," he con- 
 tinued, as he stopped in his rapid walk, " may be you 
 can Parn something that will be sarviceable to you 
 hereafter. Look about you now, look close and 
 sharp, and see if you cannot find out the trail." 
 
 The young men stepped forward and examined 
 carefully every inch of the place, scrutinizing closely 
 the bushes and fallen leaves, but all to no purpose ; 
 and they acknowledged that they saw nothing to de- 
 note the track of the savages. The Scout gave a low 
 chuckle, evidently pleased at their failure.
 
 156 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 " "Wai, wal, 't is unaccountable what ignorance there 
 is in the world. But man 's never to'o old to 1'arn, they 
 ay. Here you, Hugh Sands, step this way a little ; 
 now stoop down and obsarve these leaves. Don't you 
 see how this one is pressed down flat to the 'arth, and 
 that one is bent over and broken, and all along, just 
 the length of a man's foot, they don't look like these 
 out here, which lay nat'ral like, just as they fell from 
 the tree, one on top t'other, carelessly? Now run 
 your eye along about a step and you will diskiver the 
 same appearance. There you see the grass is slightly 
 bent forward, while the other stands up straight. 
 Then, ag'in, obsarve these bushes, this broken twig 
 and that turned leaf: ain't it clear enough that some- 
 thing has brushed by them ? These signs you can 
 barely dis'arn, but I can read them as easily as I can 
 your dad's grocery sign in the settlement, 'specially 
 now while the dew is on." 
 
 "And here is something plainer still," said Smith, 
 who had gone a little ahead, and who now returned, 
 holding in his hand a comb, dropped either accidentally 
 or designedly by one of the captives. 
 
 Their guide needed not this assurance that he was 
 on the right course, although the discovery seemed to 
 animate his companions, who now pressed forward 
 with renewed vigor. 
 
 It was at the close of the third day, and many a 
 weary mile had the three passed over, following like 
 hounds the tracks of the savages, that we again intro- 
 duce our party to the reader. They had halted on the 
 bank of a shallow river, the outlet of a large pond, 
 which spread out before them, fringed on either hand 
 as far as the eye could reach with a luxurious growth
 
 THE SCOUT. 157 
 
 of bush and tree, the foliage of which bent over and 
 coquetted with tne crystal waters, seeming, in their 
 placid repose, like a vast mirror framed with living 
 green. From the signs around them they were con- 
 vinced that they were in the close vicinity of the 
 enemy. 
 
 After a short consultation, the Scout went forward 
 to reconnoitre, leaving his companions in the dense 
 woods which skirted the stream. Creeping along the 
 edge of the forest, for he strongly suspected that the 
 foe were on the opposite bank, the old man proceeded 
 some way down the river, until the fast-fading twilight 
 gave way to the duskiness of night. Feeling secure 
 from observation, he then cautiously forded the stream, 
 and, plunging into the opposite woods, directed his 
 way, to the outlet of the pond. 
 
 In the mean time the* young men remained in their 
 covert, waiting impatiently to learn the result of the 
 Scout's movements. The thought that they were in 
 the immediate neighborhood of a* crafty and cruel foe, 
 and that they might be shortly engaged with them in 
 deadly conflict, was fraught with exciting interest. 
 Their anxiety was not wholly unmixed with fear. 
 They knew not the force of the .band they were seek- 
 ing, while their own weakness made their pursuit seem 
 to them like temerity. 
 
 What if the Scout should fall? With their total 
 ignorance of their course, and surrounded by an un- 
 sparing enemy, a sure death was in prospect. Still, 
 they were not disheartened, and their resolve to rescue 
 the captives at all hazards remained unshaken. 
 
 Two hours or more passed slowly by, and they sat 
 in silence and darkness, the thick foliage shutting out 
 14
 
 158 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 the light of the stars, and the dirge-like moan of the 
 pines sounding mournfully in their ears, all tending 
 to throw a deeper shade of gloom over their spirits. 
 For some time they had thus sat, each busy with his 
 own fancies, without a word being spoken between 
 them. At last, in the far distance, the faint cry of a 
 night-owl came from the opposite bank, causing them 
 to start to their feet in a listening attitude. After a 
 prolonged interval the same boding cry was repeated. 
 
 " That 's the Scout's signal," said Sands, in a low, 
 hurried whisper. " We must be on our guard. He 
 has found them." 
 
 " Pray Heaven they may not detect him," said Smith, 
 in a somewhat anxious tone. 
 
 " There is not much danger ; the old fellow knows 
 all their ways and is possessed of all their cunning. 
 He will be here soon, and then-comes the final tug." 
 
 According to previous directions, the young men 
 now crept noiselessly down to the river's brink, which 
 went brawling on its way, the white foam flashing out 
 occasionally as it broke over the rocky shallows, then 
 darting along a smoother current, until it was lost in 
 the gloom of the forest, into which the dark stream 
 glided like some huge serpent seeking a covert. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 As the young men stood side by side, gazing 
 thoughtfully on the rippling stream, a hand was laid 
 on the shoulder of each, and a low voice whispered in 
 their ears,
 
 THE SCOUT. 159 
 
 " Hush ! not a word. They are there. Follow me." 
 
 Turning, they followed the Scout, who crept softly 
 up the stream until they reached the outlet of the 
 pond, when, stealing round a jutting crag which effec- 
 tually concealed them from the opposite shore, they 
 halted, and, in a subdued tone, the Scout related his 
 discoveries. " I have been among the sarpents, and, had 
 it not been for the gals' safety, I would have crushed 
 one of the reptiles, for I had him at my marcy. It was 
 a sore temptation, I tell ye. There are but five of them ; 
 the rest have not arrived, or have gone off on some 
 other diviltry. I saw the gals, too, and they seemed 
 to be in pretty good case. Ah ! that Kate is a bright 
 one." 
 
 " Did you speak to her?" asked Sands, with a feel- 
 ing and tone of deep interest. 
 
 " Speak to her ! that would have been no easy mat- 
 ter, youngster, with two of the varmints within ear- 
 shot. No, no, Hunting Joe is not a gossiping old 
 woman ; he is too old to run his head into such a 
 trap." 
 
 " But you contrived to let her know that friends 
 were at hand," rejoined Smith. 
 
 " Speak low, boy ; the red-skins have quick ears, and 
 sound travels pesky far and fast in a still night like 
 this. t Deaf in the world and dumb in the woods/ is a 
 maxim 1 1'arnt 'arly in life. Yes, I let 'em know that 
 the old Scout was on their trail." 
 
 "How did you manage it?" asked Smith. 
 
 " Wai, if you must know, and as we have a little time 
 to spare, I '11 tell ye." He .then went on to state that, 
 after creeping through the woods, and finding out that 
 the Indians were there, and the position of the cap-
 
 160 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 tives, he stole round to a clump of bushes directly 
 behind a small knoll on which they were seated. 
 "When I got there," said he, "I was within a few 
 feet of them ; but 't was a dangerous job to attract 
 their attention, for I could see the dark reptiles coiled 
 round in the open space in front, ready for a spring. 
 The shaking of a limb or the snapping of a twig would 
 have aroused them. I had the comb you found with 
 me, and, by a slight throw, I tossed it into Kate's lap. 
 It struck the girl's hand, and I expected her surprise 
 would give the alarm ; but, except a slight start, she 
 showed not the least consarn. Bending down her 
 head, she whispered a word or two to her sister, and 
 then secretly made a sign, giving me to understand 
 that all was right. Ah, she is a quick-witted crittur, 
 that gal," added the Scout, in conclusion, "and I '11 
 save her, if I die for 't." 
 
 " Well, what plan have you fixed upon ? " asked one 
 of the young men, as he concluded his narration. 
 
 The old man remained silent for a while, as if re- 
 volving the matter in his mind. 
 
 " It is a resky business, but I don't see as we can 
 do better," he at last said, as if speaking to himself. 
 " If you were as well acquainted with the woods as 
 I am," he continued, addressing his companions, " we 
 might creep among the enemy and take them by sur- 
 prise, for they seem to be unsuspicious of an attack. 
 But there 's too much at stake, for, if they should be 
 alarmed, the gals would be tomahawked to a dead sar- 
 tainty. It is my opinion that they will stay where they 
 be to-night, and start 'arly in the morning up the 
 lake, as I detected three canoes hid among the bushes. 
 Now, what I think on is this, to get possession of their
 
 THE SCOUT. 161 
 
 canoes, destroy one, let you have the second to bring 
 off the young women in, and I will take the other, to 
 act as sarcumstances may turn up." 
 
 " When shaU we start ? " asked Sands. 
 
 " It 'a about time to be moving, I s'pose," said the 
 Scout. " The moon will be up in two or three hours, 
 and we must get them out of their clutches before 
 then." 
 
 So saying, he commenced stripping off his garments, 
 adding, " To save a long tramp, I must take to the 
 water. You will stay here till I come back. Don't 
 move about, and, if you must talk, speak in whispers, 
 for the slightest noise might betray us." 
 
 With this caution, having laid aside his garments, he 
 entered the water, and in a moment was lost to sight, 
 as he swam rapidly but noiselessly away, leaving 
 scarcely a ripple in his wake. 
 
 The distance to the opposite shore was perhaps an 
 eighth of a mile. With long, slow strokes the Scout 
 urged his way through the placid waters, his head laid 
 to the surface, at times floating motionless, while his 
 searching glance and quick ear were on the alert ; then 
 propelling himself along with renewed caution, until 
 he approached the opposite bank, which rose some- 
 what abruptly, covered with a dense growth of tall 
 bushes. Gliding into their deep shadows, he soon 
 found the objects of his search. 
 
 It required all the cunning and adroitness he was 
 master of, after he had reached his prizes, to launch 
 them in the water, fasten them together, and tow them 
 from the dangerous neighborhood. Having got them 
 afloat, he fastened them in a line, and hugging the deep 
 shadows cast by the overhanging foliage, he went
 
 162 FOREST AND 
 
 some distance up before he shot out into the boson} 
 of the lake. Dipping his paddle so as not to disturb 
 the quiet of the water, and crouching low in the 
 canoe, he finally succeeded in transferring his prizes 
 in safety to the spot where his young partisans were 
 anxiously awaiting the issue of the adventure. 
 
 " Privateersmen talk of cutting out craft from un- 
 der the guns of an enemy," said the Scout, in a jocose 
 tone, as he deliberately ran his knife through the frail 
 material of one of his prizes, which he had taken on 
 shore, gashing large holes in various parts of its bot- 
 tom : " can they boast of a better cutting out than 
 this?" and he gave the finishing stroke to his work 
 of destruction. 
 
 "Now, boys," he added, "see to your primings. 
 Shake out the old ones, for tlic dews may have damp- 
 ened the powder, and a flash in the pan may prove 
 your death." 
 
 Having made every necessary arrangement in re- 
 gard to their proceedings, the arms were deposited in 
 the canoes, ready for use at a moment's warning, and 
 they embarked, the Scout taking the lead. 
 
 " Follow me," said he, " and be careful of your pad- 
 dles when you cross the pond. For the present we 
 must drag ourselves along a piece under the shelter 
 of these bushes. Don't hurry ; move coolly and de- 
 liberately, and when you let go the branches, mind 
 and not let them jerk back, but slip gently out of your 
 hands." 
 
 With these whispered cautions the Scout forced his 
 canoe close in with the bushes, dragging it carefully 
 along, and followed by the young men, who were 
 admonished from time to time, by expressive signals
 
 THE SCOUT. 163 
 
 to be on their guard. For a long distance they pro- 
 ceeded in this manner, and so adroitly did the old 
 man make his way that scarcely the motion of a twig 
 or the rustling of a leaf betrayed his movements. 
 
 When he had at last reached what he considered a 
 safe distance, he struck out into the lake with his pad- 
 dle, and ere long, with his companions, reached the 
 shelter of the foliage of the opposite side. Abandon- 
 ing the paddles, they adopted the same method as at 
 first, and by the aid of the pendent branches an.d the 
 long grass, which in the occasional openings grew 
 luxuriantly to the water's edge, they forced their light 
 barks along. 
 
 At one of these openings, where the land sloped 
 gradually to the lake, and at a short distance from the 
 outlet, they stopped, and a brief consultation ensued. 
 
 " You will remain here," said the Scout to Smith, 
 " while your companion will go part of the way with 
 me to lead the gals to the place. When you get them 
 on board, don't be flustrated. Bid them sit still, for 
 these bark things are ticklish consarns; and when 
 you get all ready, drag yourselves along as you came, 
 until I come up with you. But, if I am long delayed, 
 hide yourselves under that clump of young alders 
 which I pointed out to you as we came along. The 
 trailing branches will shelter you completely from 
 sight. Have your thoughts about you, youngsters. 
 I like your actions, you 've behaved well thus far, 
 sartainly. Don't spoil all now at the tug of the game; 
 be cool, be cool ! " And with this repeated warning, 
 he stepped on shore, dragging his canOe into the 
 grass, and then moved stealthily towards the foe, fol- 
 lowed by Sands, who accompanied him a short dis-
 
 1C 4: FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 tance, to the edge of a slight opening, where he 
 beckoned him to stop, while he glided with a noise- 
 less step into the open space, and disappeared behind 
 a thick growth of bushes. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE Indians had halted in a small opening in the 
 forest, close by the outlet. In the full confidence that 
 all danger from pursuit was over, they had relaxed 
 from their usual watchfulness over their prisoners, 
 and, instead of keeping them by their sides, as they 
 had heretofore when they slept, they had allowed 
 them to sit apart ; taking the precaution, however, to 
 bind their ankles with thongs. In the early part of 
 the night the sisters, as if worn out with fatigue, had 
 feigned deep slumber. Indeed, the distance they had 
 travelled, and the almost constant watchfulness of the 
 preceding nights, rendered rest absolutely necessary 
 to their worn frames. But the intimation they had 
 received of friends lurking near aroused them. To 
 lull all suspicion, however, they thought it best to 
 counterfeit sleep; and so satisfied were their captors 
 of its reality, and that it would remain unbroken, and 
 so confident that they were entirely beyond the reach 
 of the whites, they yielded themselves unreservedly 
 to that repose which, from what they had lately under- 
 gone, nature imperiously demanded. 
 
 On a little mossy knoll, wholly unsheltered from 
 the heavy dews, the captives had thrown themselves, 
 their deep, regular breathing betokening that their
 
 THE SCOUT. 165 
 
 senses were locked in the deepest slumber, and that 
 they were totally oblivious to the scene around them ; 
 and yet there was not the fall of a leaf, the snapping 
 of a twig, the faint chirp of a half-aroused bird, the 
 low sighing of a passing breeze rustling in the tree- 
 tops, not one of the many sounds that disturb the 
 silence of night in a forest, that was not heard by 
 those apparently unconscious sleepers. 
 
 Since the early evening, when the Scout had ap- 
 prized them of the presence of a friend, their bosoms 
 had throbbed with contending emotions, hope and fear 
 alternately predominating. As the night wore away, 
 and no further signs of rescue appearing, their anxi- 
 ety increased. More than once was the head of 
 Catharine, the eldest, lifted from its mossy pillow, 
 while she cast furtive glances around, and eagerly lis- 
 tened to catch some sign of deliverance. Who they 
 were that had dogged them to this place she knew 
 not, but her heart told her that one at least of the 
 party was her cousin, Sands, while Anna, the younger, 
 as naturally believed that young Smith was among 
 them. 
 
 While they were thus waiting in anxious solicitude, 
 counting the moments by the beating of their own 
 hearts, and almost despairing of an attempt being 
 made that night, a faint sound in the bushes behind 
 them reached their ears, causing them simultaneously 
 to hold their breath as they listened eagerly for its 
 repetition. JL11, however, remained as still as before, 
 and they came to the conclusion that their ears de- 
 ceived them. 
 
 "I certainly thought I heard something, Anna,"
 
 1G6 FOREST AND SIIORE. 
 
 whispered the elder, placing her mouth close to her 
 sister's ear. 
 
 "So did I," added her companion, in a tremulous 
 tone. 
 
 " Listen again, dear Anna " 
 
 " Hist ! " came a low warning at the speaker's ear, 
 interrupting her. "Be silent as death; do not move; 
 you have friends at hand ! " 
 
 " Be calm, Anna," whispered Catharine in a joyful 
 tone to her startled sister ; " it is Hunting Joe ; I know 
 his voice. We are safe ! " 
 
 Even as she spoke the tall form of the Scout rose 
 in front of the bush behind them, just discernible in 
 the gloom of night. Making a sign of silence, he 
 .stooped down and cut the thongs that bound them, 
 and then whispered, " On your lives, gals, be wary ! 
 Raise yourselves hush ! hush ! " he hastily added, 
 " don't stir, nor breathe ! " , 
 
 The caution thus suddenly given was occasioned 
 by the movement of one of the savages, a rod, per- 
 haps, in front, who turned heavily on his leafy couch, 
 muttering rapidly the unintelligible jargon of his tribe. 
 For a moment the three remained breathlessly lis- 
 tening. 
 
 " The varmint is only dreaming," at length said the 
 Scout, in a tone of relief. " Now up and follow me." 
 
 The captives did as they were bid, moving with the 
 greatest caution, until they reached the narrow pas- 
 sage in the bushes which led from the opening, when 
 the Scout stopped, but motioned them forward. 
 
 " I must stay here," he whispered to them, as they 
 crept by him, " to guard your retreat ; you will find a 
 friend close at hand. Bi.d him be careful, and remem-
 
 THE SCOUT. 77? 
 
 bor that you arc treading among sleeping adders ; 
 if you arouse them, it is death ! " 
 
 The two maidens nodded assent, and, passing on, 
 soon cleared the clump of bushes, when a well-known 
 voice; recognized, though barely audible, greeted 
 Kate, and a well-known hand grasped hers, and guided 
 them along the- mazy wilderness to the canoe, in which 
 they hastily seated themselves. Hardly had the trem- 
 bling girls embarked in the frail vessel, and ere the 
 young men, who followed the counsel of the Scout by 
 acting coolly and deliberately, had got fairly arranged 
 for a start, they were alarmed by hearing, from the 
 direction whence they had come, the expressive excla 
 mation used by the red man when suddenly surprised, 
 followed by a shrill whoop which rang wildly through 
 the forest. Grasping the pendent branches, the young 
 men drew the canoe swiftly along, scarcely breathing 
 until they had left the dangerous spot far behind. 
 Their exertions were still further stimulated by soon 
 hearing the sharp crack of a rifle, followed by a yell 
 so wild and unearthly that the blood of the fugitives 
 chilled as it swelled on the ear. 
 
 " It was the Scout's rifle," said Sands, in a panting 
 voice; "one of the savages has bit the dust!" and 
 with an extra effort he sent the canoe with accelerated 
 speed through the water. 
 
 Not another word was uttered until they reached 
 the spot designated by the Scout, where they drew 
 the canoe carefully under the clustering foliage, which 
 bent over so as to completely conceal them from the 
 most prying observation. Here they felt compara- 
 tively safe, and in low whispers congratulated them- 
 selves on their escape.
 
 1G8 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 Their thoughts and anxieties were now centred on 
 the Scout, for they felt that their ultimate safety do- 
 pended on his skill. They had not been long in their 
 covert when they detected the sound of a faint ripple 
 in the water, and almost at the same moment a canoe 
 shot swiftly by their hiding-place. It contained but 
 one person, and as it passed, a low whisper reached 
 their ears, "Be still, for your lives 1" and man 
 and bark were lost in darkness. 
 
 But a minute or two intervened, when they were 
 again startled by the hurried dip of paddles, and pres- 
 ently another canoe, containing four savages, darted 
 by farther out in the lake, and shooting off at an angle 
 greatly favorable to the Scout if he continued to hug 
 the bank. With feelings of most intense anxiety the 
 fugitives awaited the issue of events. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AN hour perhaps passed by, although to the party 
 in waiting it appeared an age, during which they lis- 
 tened eagerly, dreading every moment they should 
 hear the savage yell of triumph. Motionless and 
 silent they sat, filled with that sickly apprehension 
 which springs from the consciousness of an impending 
 though unknown danger, more trying to the nerves 
 than a bold confronting of the evil. Everything con- 
 spired to heighten their gloom, silence and the dark- 
 ness of the tomb, doubts and fears, and racking sus- 
 pense. 
 
 Sitting thus in dejected reverie, a slight jar, from
 
 THE SCOUT ' 1G9 
 
 some object striking their frail bark, sent a thrill of 
 alarm through each breast. 
 
 Ere they recovered from the sudden shock, the 
 Scout, leaping lightly from his own canoe, stood 
 among them. 
 
 " Seize your paddles, boys," he whispered hur- 
 riedly; "the moon is up, and this is no place for us. 
 I Ve sarcumvented the varmints this time ; " and he 
 gave utterance to the peculiar chuckle with which he 
 was wont to express gratification. 
 
 Without further remark he forced the canoe from 
 its concealment, and, following down the banks, in a 
 short time arrived near the outlet, where he struck 
 out on the lake for the opposite shore. By this time 
 the moon had got above the trees and threw a pillar 
 of light along the lake's tranquil bosom. 
 
 " Now dip in your paddles, lads, for your lives," 
 said the. Scout, as he applied himself to the same task. 
 " Dip easy, and don't splash the water about. If we 
 can reach the opposite bank, we shall stand a smart 
 chance of getting out of their clutches. Keep up 
 your spirits, gals : a marciful Providence will deliver 
 you out of the hands of the spoilers ! I tried hard," 
 he continued, " to get to you before the moon was up, 
 but the reptiles dogged me so close ha ! they have 
 discovered us ! " 
 
 As he spoke, a loud whoop rang over the still waters 
 from up the lake, and in the distance, where the rays 
 of the moon glimmered on the surface, the canoe of 
 the savages was seen in hot pursuit. 
 
 "Don't be flustrated, youngsters," exclaimed the old 
 man, in a loud, encouraging tone. " Put in all you 
 know, a long sweep and a strong one, and we will dis- 
 15
 
 170 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 tance them yet I " and, exerting all his skill and 
 strength, the canoe literally leaped over the water. 
 
 But on and on came the pursuers, evidently gain- 
 ing fast upon them, and uttering yells of triumph as 
 the distance between them lessened. 
 
 " Ha ! " ejaculated the Scout, as his quick eye de- 
 tected their approach, " we must put a stop to this. 
 Don't lag, boys," he added, as he drew in his paddle. 
 " We '11 see if there's any vartue in this;" and, seizing 
 his long rifle, he turned carelessly in his seat, raised the 
 weapon to his shoulder, and drew the trigger. The 
 flame leaped forth, a wreath of smoke floated astern, 
 the surrounding banks gave back echoes of the loud 
 report, and high above them arose a frightful shriek 
 from the canoe in chase, which fully indicated the 
 fatality of the hunter's aim. 
 
 " Now we are on more equal tarms," was his cool 
 remark, as he exchanged his rifle, after carefully re- 
 loading it, for the paddle. 
 
 Burning to revenge their comrade's death, the Indi- 
 ans seemed endowed with additional strength, and 
 their light canoe flew over the lake with the swiftness 
 of a swallow. Had the distance to the shore been 
 greater, or had not the death of one of their party 
 thrown them into a momentary confusion, the fugi- 
 tives would inevitably have been overtaken, and have 
 encountered the fatal struggle in a situation in which 
 the foe would have had them at great advantage. 
 Fortunately, the lake at this place was narrow, and, 
 panting with exertion, the pursued reached the land 
 some rods in advance of the savages. 
 
 " Smith, look to the gals ! " shouted the Scout, leap- 
 ing to the shore, rifla in hand, followed by Sands.
 
 THE SCOUT. 171 
 
 u Get 'em out of harm's way. Sands and me will take, 
 care of these water-snakes ! " 
 
 Yelling with rage as they saw them land, the sav- 
 ages swept madly on, blind to everything, thinking of 
 nothing but to wreak vengeance, deep and deadly ven- 
 geance, on the pale-faces. The Scout and his young 
 companion were on the bank, which rose gradually 
 from the water's edge, the weapon of the latter resting 
 on the trunk of a fallen tree, behind which he kneeled. 
 
 " Mind your aim, youngster. Wait for the word. 
 Take the for'ard one ; you can bring him down easier. 
 Don't be skeared at their bellowing, 't is the crittur's 
 natur'." 
 
 Raising his rifle slowly, as if on an ordinary occa- 
 sion, the Scout gave the signal, and the reports of the 
 two pieces were almost simultaneous. When the smoke 
 cleared away, the Indian in the bow of the canoe was 
 seen standing with uplifted paddle, brandishing it with 
 wild gestures in the air like a war-club ; then, giving a 
 piercing howl, he sprang in the direction of the shore. 
 There was a heavy plash, a momentary struggle, a 
 groan, and the bright water closed over the sinking 
 savage. A second glance showed the form of another 
 in the stern of the canoe, the head lying over the 
 gunwale, motionless and ghastly. 
 
 " That finishes two of the varmints," exclaimed the 
 Scout, bringing the butt of his piece to the ground in 
 the act of reloading it ; " now for the other." 
 
 But, before the words were fairly out of his mouth, 
 a shot from behind a tree, a little distance to the left 
 and nearer the shore, where Smith had stationed him- 
 self, had finished the work of destruction, and the little, 
 light bark rocked violently for a while on the agitated
 
 172 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 waters, disturbed by the struggles of its surviving 
 occupant as he fell headlong into the lake. 
 
 For some time the party on shore stood gazing in 
 silence upon the place where this scene of death had 
 transpired, until the waters regained their placidity, 
 and the frail canoe floated in the quiet moonlight, a 
 lone and deserted thing, to be driven with its ghastly 
 freight whither the winds should list. Feeling the 
 insecurity of the present neighborhood, preparations 
 were made to leave it, and in a short time the party 
 were moving slowly and silently through the forest 
 toward their distant home. 
 
 We will not follow them on their fatiguing and 
 dangerous journey. Enough that the settlement was 
 at last safely reached, and the captives restored, like 
 those from the dead, to their friends, who welcomed 
 them and their deliverers with tears and thanks- 
 givings. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IN detailing the exploits of our hero, we do not aim 
 to present a connected story. We purpose only to 
 portray him in various situations in which his peculiar 
 characteristics will be best brought out, and merely to 
 draw attention for the time being to the characters 
 introduced in connection with him. Instead of a con- 
 tinuous story, our object is rather to offer a series of 
 sketches in which the Scout plays the prominent part. 
 With this explanation (which of right should have 
 been made at the outset), we proceed.
 
 THE SCOUT. 173 
 
 The scene to which we would now direct the atten- 
 tion of the reader is one that we delight to con- 
 template, a dense forest in the depth of summer. 
 Through the thick foliage of the overhanging branches 
 the sunbeams fall with a chastened and grateful light. 
 The birds have chanted their matin songs, and all is 
 hushed save the dreamy murmur of the pines, so like 
 the voice of the sea, and the slight rustling of the tree- 
 tops, amidst which a gentle breeze plays with the 
 rustling leaves. A little green opening spreads out 
 before us, a dimple in the wilderness, into which the 
 rich sunlight falls with brilliant effect, flashing upon a 
 thread of a stream, which winds itself quietly away 
 into the heart of the forest. 
 
 " Noiselessly around, 
 From perch to perch, the solitary bird 
 Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, 'midst its herbs, 
 Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots 
 Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale 
 Of all the good it does." 
 
 Seated on a small hillock covered with a velvet-like 
 moss, beside the stream, was the well-known form of 
 the Scout. At the time of his introduction to the 
 reader, he was making his morning meal of dried 
 bear's meat and coarse rye bread, washed down by the 
 crystal water that rippled by his side ; and, from the 
 zest with which he applied himself to his task, there 
 could be no doubt, though humble his fare, never a 
 pampered epicure ate his with better relish. 
 
 " A fresh bite of ven'son would n't go bad this 
 
 bracing morning," he muttered, in soliloquy, as he 
 
 vainly essayed to tear asunder a tough, sinewy morsel 
 
 he had in hand ; " but there are so many of these out- 
 
 15*
 
 174 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 lying reptyles abroad, it would be resky kindling a 
 fire, or I 'd have a steak. Wai, a good appetite is a 
 blessed thing, though 't is apt to be pesky oncomfort- 
 able when the pouch is empty. I 've seen the time, 
 many 's the day, when an unripe root or a green yarb 
 tasted sweeter than the juiciest cut of the tenderest 
 buck. Hi ! hi ! " he continued, with a peculiar chuckle, 
 " I shan't soon forget the tussle with the b'ar. 'T was 
 pesky hard telling which was the hungriest, and t was 
 a mere sarcumstance, the turn of a leaf, whether I 
 should eat him or him me! But beast natur' ain't 
 equal to human natur', and I won the fight, although 
 'twas tarnal poor picking I got from his bones. It 
 tasted right good, though. Ah, Brave ! " he exclaimed, 
 as a fine mastiff burst through a thicket a little in 
 front of the Scout, and stood in a bristling attitude, 
 facing the quarter whence he came, " Ah, pup, is there 
 any mischief brewing ? Do you smell a red-skin ? " 
 
 The mastiff gave a low growl, at the same time 
 showing by a curl of his upper lip a most formidable 
 set of teeth. The Scout sprang quickly to his feet, 
 loosened his hunting-knife, and, grasping his rifle, 
 stood in a listening attitude. The dog gazed awhile 
 wistfully in his master's -face, then gave a low whine, 
 as if he would warn him of approaching danger. 
 
 " I understand, I understand, pup," said the old man, 
 walking to the side of his shaggy companion and pat- 
 ting his broad breast. " The varmints are abroad. 
 Whist! whist!" and he bent his ear to the ground. 
 
 " This way, Brave," said the hunter, in a subdued 
 tone, as he rose from his stooping posture. " They 've 
 been working mischief in the settlements the past 
 night. We must contrive to get on their trail, for 't is
 
 THE SCOUT. 175 
 
 more than likely they have got some poor captive 
 who may need our sarvices. This way, pup." And, 
 turning to the left, he entered with a quick though 
 noiseless step into the depths of the forest, and man 
 and dog were in a moment lost to sight. ' 
 
 But a few minutes transpired after their disappear- 
 ance when stealthy steps were heard in the woods, 
 and presently a file of Indians passed with a quick 
 pace, through the foot of the little opening. At the 
 belts of the two foremost hung the trophies of their 
 night's work. Dangling from each was a bloody 
 scalp, the long, pliant locks of one proclaiming the 
 sex of the victim, and the short, abundant ringlets of 
 the other showing that it came fropa the head of quite 
 a young child. So cautious were the movements of 
 the band, none but a practised ear could have detected 
 the slight noise made as they glided past. 
 
 A quarter of an hour perhaps had elapsed after the 
 disappearance of the savages, when the Scout, followed 
 by his dog, emerged from the forest into the opening. 
 His quick eye soon detected the trail of the Indians. 
 Stooping down, he surveyed it with close attention, 
 following it along the opening with the most careful 
 scrutiny. 
 
 " There are five of the varmints," he muttered to 
 himself, as, satisfied with the examination, he at last 
 stood erect. " The odds are ag'in me ; but that 's noth- 
 ing ; I Ve sarcumvented a larger number. Come, 
 Brave." And, followed by the faithful mastiff, who 
 seemed to understand every motion of his master, he 
 crept with a cat-like .pace on the trail of the savages. 
 
 Leaving the Scout on the trail of the Indians, the 
 reader will accompany us to another scene. It is a
 
 176 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 harrowing one ; a scene, alas, too frequently recorded 
 in the early annals of New England. A settlement 
 on Casco Bay, not far remote from the ancient town 
 of Falmouth, is the spot to which we would direct his 
 attention. 
 
 North Yarmouth,.now rich in resources and a popu- 
 lar seat of learning, in 1746 consisted of but a cluster 
 of small houses. The first settlers of this place came 
 principally from Lynn, Mass. They had formed quite 
 a settlement here for the times, and had lived in undis- 
 turbed security until the period of our story, when 
 the war broke out, which wrought terror and alarm in 
 all our eastern settlements. 
 
 Willis, in his History of Portland, alluding to this 
 war, remarks of the Indians : " This subtle and vin- 
 dictive enemy being again let loose from all restraint, 
 started up from their swamps and morasses, harass- 
 ing the whole line of our settlements, and committing 
 depredations upon the undefended plantations. * * * 
 They hovered about the town all the summer, seizing 
 every opportunity to plunder property and take cap- 
 tives or destroy life. * * * The people here were 
 kept in constant agitation during the season by these 
 repeated depredations ; and the terror was more 
 lively, as it was caused by an enemy who could not 
 be confronted, and whose secret and sudden visita- 
 tions were marked by desolation and blood." 
 
 One night in midsummer the few inhabitants of 
 North Yarmouth were aroused from their slumbers 
 by the glare of a burning dwelling, which stood a 
 slight distance away from the settlement, near the 
 edge of the forest, and which was occupied by a 
 family named Greeley ; and, as they rushed trembling
 
 THE SCOUT. 177 
 
 to their doors, wild, frenzied shrieks rose piercingly 
 on the night air from the scene of conflagration. 
 While those agonizing cries were ringing in their 
 ears, a terrific war-whoop shook the air, and sent a- 
 thrill to the heart of every listener. That fearful 
 whoop, the exulting shout of demons, revealed all to 
 the trembling settlers. Well they knew that the dread- 
 ful deed was accomplished ; that vain would be their 
 attempts to succor. Still, there were brave hearts in 
 that hamlet, and with one impulse nearly every male 
 inhabitant rushed towards the burning building. 
 
 They were, indeed, too late ! By the light of the 
 blazing habitation the body of Mr. ~Greeley was found, 
 his skull cleft in twain by the fatal tomahawk, and his 
 scalp gone, and, in close vicinity, the bodies of his 
 wife and young daughter, hardly yet stiffened in 
 death, their gory, scalpless heads revealing the heart- 
 sickening, merciless barbarity of the red man. 
 
 The darkness of the night, the uncertainty of the 
 number of the foe, and the deep horror which had 
 seized on those who gazed shuddering on the harrow- 
 ing spectacle, debarred all pursuit. They knew it 
 would be^vain ; they knew that the swamps and the 
 tangled recesses of the forest afforded a complete 
 shelter to the foe, and they refrained; but, as those 
 hardy men stood grouped around the murdered vic- 
 tims, leaning on their guns, their deep breathing and 
 half-muttered exclamations told what thoughts of ven- 
 geance were stirring within them. A more mournful 
 task demanded their attention. Rude biers were con- 
 structed for the slain by the light of their late happy, 
 but now fast-consuming home, their funeral pyre,
 
 178 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 and slowly and silently their mangled corpses were 
 conveyed to a neighboring dwelling. 
 
 There was no more sleep in North Yarmouth that 
 night. Tremblingly the terrified wife and child clung 
 to the husband and father, as he detailed the awful 
 scene he had witnessed, and repeated his vows of ven- 
 geance, while the thought that the fate which had be- 
 fallen his neighbor might be wrought upon his own 
 household, shook even his stout heart with a secret 
 dread. 
 
 The morning sun of the 10th August, 1746, rose on a 
 solemn and gloomy scene, so late one of undisturbed 
 peace and comfort. Its light fell on cheeks blanched 
 with fear, lips white and trembling, eyes red and 
 heavy with watching and weeping, on moody brows 
 and troubled hearts, on the charred and still smoking 
 rafters of a recently happy home, and on the mangled 
 corpses of a peaceful and unoffending household. A 
 sad morning was that 10th of August in that remote 
 settlement. 
 
 Early in the forenoon, a messenger was despatched 
 to Falmouth with the mournful tidings, and a company 
 of men, commanded by a namesake and kindred of 
 the writer, somewhat of an Indian fighter in his day, 
 was immediately sent to the scene of action, to pro- 
 tect the inhabitants from further assault, and, if pos- 
 sible, to wreak vengeance on the blood-thirsty foe. 
 
 At that period every settlement had its " Block- 
 House," so called, a large building, composed of 
 huge logs, and barricaded like a garrison. Into these 
 in dangerous times the settlers would throng for 
 refuge ; and, frequently, within these crowded quar- 
 ters they were compelled to remain for years, never
 
 THE SCOUT. 179 
 
 venturing out unless with extreme caution, and always 
 taking care to go completely armed. Often, during a 
 protracted siege, were the inmates of these block- 
 houses nearly reduced to famine, and rarely did it 
 happen that they were not subjected to the most 
 pinching want. Little conception have we of the 
 trials and sufferings endured by the hardy pioneers 
 of our towns and villages. 
 
 Having assisted the settlers in burying the dead 
 and in removing their few effects to the block-house, 
 and after seeing the women and children safe within 
 its shelter, the company from Falmouth, reinforced by 
 nearly the whole settlement, scoured the neighboring 
 country in quest of the enemy. Their search was 
 ineffectual. The spoiler had come, executed his 
 bloody purpose, and vanished, like a demon of dark- 
 ness. But the avenger was on his track. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 WITH a slightly stooping gait, his long rifle at a 
 trail, and his keen eyes fixed intently on the path he 
 was pursuing, every displaced leaf, every depressed 
 blade of grass, every bent twig, which none but an 
 eye like his would have detected, served as a guide 
 to the old hunter, who followed on the track of the 
 savages with the unerring precision of the blood- 
 hound on the scent. Occasionally he paused in his 
 rapid walk, and, bending his ear to the ground, lis- 
 tened intently for a moment or two. During one of 
 the pauses, he patted the shaggy sides of the mastiff,
 
 
 ISO FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 which closely followed in his footsteps, and addressed 
 him in a low tone. 
 
 " They shall rue it, Brave ! they shall rue it ! ' Blood 
 for blood/ says the good book, though the varmints 
 are but heathens, and are ignorant of the Scripters ! 
 A woman and a child ah, Brave 1 there 's more marcy 
 in a brute than in them reptyles. They came in the 
 direction from Yarmouth, and those yaller ringlets, so 
 much like twisted gold, were torn from the head of 
 Ruth Greeley, poor thing ! or I 'm mistaken. But I '11 
 revenge her, I '11 revenge her, if I die for't I Come, 
 Brave," and the Scout resumed the trail with the 
 same untiring pace. 
 
 Throughout the day he faltered not in the pursuit, 
 making only a brief halt at noon by a spring-side, 
 where he partook of the frugal fare he bore with him, 
 which he shared with his faithful companion. As the 
 day began to decline and the trail became more indis- 
 tinct in the gathering darkness, the Scout stopped, 
 and addressed his dog. 
 
 " Here, Brave," said he, pointing ahead, " it is your 
 turn to take the lead ; a dog's nose is better than a 
 man r s eye at this hour." 
 
 At the voice of his master the dog wagged his tail, 
 as if assenting to the command, and, after snuffing 
 along the path, as if to secure the scent, he turned 
 his head, looking into the hunter's face, with an " I 'm 
 ready " expression about his eyes. The Scout nod- 
 ded his head, the dog turned his, and, with his nose 
 close to the ground, the sagacious anin 1 trotted 
 ahead, his master following unhesitatingly his\lead. 
 
 An hour or more the two went silently on their 
 path, by which time the woods had become so dark
 
 THE SCOUT. ' 181 
 
 that more caution was necessary in keeping the track. 
 Still the old man followed the dog with the utmost 
 confidence, even when the route became wholly "ob- 
 scured. Once only did the dog show any signs of 
 being at fault. Stopping suddenly in his path, and 
 diverging first to one and then the other side of the 
 course he had been following, he ran about for a few 
 moments, snuffing the air and uttering a low whine. 
 The Scout watched his movements with eager curi- 
 osity. 
 
 " Have you found it, Brave ? " he at length whis- 
 pered to the dog, who, having struck off at nearly a 
 right angle, after running a short distance in that 
 direction had returned on the trot to his master's 
 side. The dog joyfully wagged his tail, and stood in 
 an attitude evincing an eagerness to proceed. A 
 word from his master, and he started forward, fol- 
 lowed by the Scout, in a direction varying essentially 
 from the one they had been pursuing. 
 
 " There," muttered the old man to himself, after 
 they had got fairly started, " that 'ere pup knows more 
 than ary two men in the settlement. 'Squire Hawkes, 
 with all his law and laming, is a fool to him. They 
 say these critturs have no souls, and can't reason. 
 P'rhaps not, p'rhaps not; I can't say; but, to my think- 
 ing, when that dog dies, it won^t be the eend on him ! 
 And as to his reason, I ain't so clear. I 've argued 
 many a tough case with him here in the woods, and I 
 have 1'arnt to give in to him, for, somehow or other, 
 't'as always turned out that he was in the right, 
 though my reason was ag'in him at first. I 've my 
 notion of these .things," continued the Scout, shaking 
 Lis head, " I Ve my notion of these things, and 't will 
 16
 
 182 FOKEST AND SHORE. 
 
 be plaguy hard beating 'em out of me. Ha, Brave ! 
 what's in the wind?" he added, addressing the animal, 
 who had again stopped, crouching before him. 
 
 A suppressed growl from the mastiff followed this 
 inquiry. 
 
 "Do you smell the red-skins, pup?" said the Scout, 
 as he knelt beside the dog in a listening attitude. He 
 remained in this position some minutes, but appa- 
 rently without detecting the cause of the dog's alarm. 
 
 " The dog's nose beats eyes and ears this time," 
 said the old man, in a whisper, " but I '11 lay my life 
 on 't, the varmints are not far off. Go, Brave, and find 
 'em out ! " 
 
 The mastiff rose to his feet, and with a noiseless 
 tread kept on his way, leaving behind his master, who, 
 carefully putting aside the foliage of a cluinp of 
 bushes near by, crept into their cover. 
 
 For nearly an hour he remained in his concealment, 
 anxiously awaiting the return of the mastiff. He re- 
 posed unbounded confidence in this faithful creature, 
 whose sagacity was truly wonderful. The animal was 
 of a mixed breed, combining all the qualities which 
 rendered him invaluable to a man like the Scout. The 
 old man had reared and trained him from a pup, and 
 such a perfect sympathy, as it were, existed beween 
 the two, that neither of them seemed to find the least 
 difficult^ in making themselves mutually understood. 
 
 A light patter among the dry leaves at last an- 
 nounced the approach of the reconnoiterer, and pres- 
 ently he entered the covert, and rubbed himself fondly 
 against his master's limbs. 
 
 "Did you diskiver 'em, dog? " said the Scout, stoop- 
 ing down to caress the faithful animal. As he reached
 
 THE SCOUT. 183 
 
 out his hand for that purpose, it came in contact with 
 the soft, silken ringlets attached to the scalp of the 
 child, accidentally dropped by the Indian, perhaps, and 
 which the dog had brought back as a proof of the suc- 
 cess of his mission. Yielding it to his master, he 
 gave a low, angry growl, and turned toward the quar- 
 ter whence he had come. 
 
 " Ha ! what have we here ? " exclaimed the old man, 
 as he received the fearful trophy. " The child's scalp, 
 as I live ! Poor thing, poor thing ! " and a moisture 
 gathered in his eye as he smoothed the dishevelled 
 locks. " My little playmate Ruth, so lively and frol- 
 icsome, the pet of the settlement ! And that sweet 
 little cherub so cruelly butchered ! Why didn't the 
 'arth open and swallow the fiends?, Wai, wal, it's 
 all right, I s'pose. His wisdom and His mercy are not 
 to be questioned by us weak and short-sighted mor- 
 tals; but " 
 
 The Scout did not finish the sentence. The tone in 
 which that " but " was uttered, however, told the stern 
 purpose he had formed. Tightening his hunting-belt 
 and repriming his rifle, he made a signal to Brave, 
 who st.ood seemingly waiting his movements, and 
 Scout and dog glided cautiously through the labyr- 
 inths of the wilderness, now dimly lighted by the ris- 
 ing moon, whose rays scarcely penetrated the deep 
 foliage of the forest.
 
 184 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE scene was one of gloomy grandeur. It was 
 deep midnight. Heavy masses of clouds floated 
 athwart the heavens, through the rifts of which the 
 .rays of the moon occasionally fell in glimmering 
 patches on a lake's broad bosom, which spread out 
 like a vast mirror of steel in the uncertain light. Tall 
 trees the wide-spread oak, the straight and slender 
 beech and walnut, the lithe ash, and the plume-like fir 
 formed a dense array in the background, while the 
 borders of the lake were fringed with bushes and 
 thickets of alders. At one point, the bank ran up 
 slopingly to the forest's edge, which here receded for 
 some distance, the huge trunks standing like massy 
 columns in the great temple of nature. 
 
 Deep silence brooded over this little green plat, 
 silence and darkness, save when at times a light shiver 
 ran among the trees," as a breath of air broke their 
 repose, and an opening in the clouds illuminated the 
 place with the moon's transient light. At such times 
 might be seen, drawn up in a line on the grassy bank, 
 their prows just at the water's edge, three canoes, 
 ready to be launched at a moment's warning; and, clus- 
 tered here and there, in groups, the dim forms of 
 sleeping savages, to the number of ten or more. 
 
 It was the temporary encampment of a war party, 
 each member of which was apparently buried in pro- 
 found slumber. . A moment, however, showed that 
 there were sleepless eyes and listening ears in that 
 seemingly slumbering band, for one of the number 
 might have been seen half-raising himself, resting on
 
 THE SCOUT. 185 
 
 an elbow, in an attitude expressing keen and vigilant 
 watchfulness. For five minutes or more the attention 
 of the aroused savage seemed riveted in a particular 
 direction, as if his jealousy was awakened, his restless, 
 burning glances striving to penetrate the dim recesses 
 of the surrounding woods, and his ears keenly sensi- 
 tive to the faintest sound that might be afloat. After 
 a while, perfectly satisfied with his scrutiny, he let him- 
 self slowly down to his former recumbent position. 
 
 Keen as were the senses of the red man, confident 
 as he was of his power of detecting the first approach 
 of danger, there was one in his immediate neighbor- 
 hood whose skill and cunning in wood-craft were more 
 than a match for him. In an angle of the opening 
 was a thick clump of bushes, and towards this, prone 
 on the ground, the form of a man might have been 
 seen, at the very time the awakened savage was peer- 
 ing around with those snake-like eyes of his, worming 
 slowly along. Not the rustle of a leaf, not the crackle 
 of a twig, marked the wily movement, which was so 
 slow as to be almost imperceptible. 
 
 The covert was at last reached, and for nearly an 
 hour the figure remained as if void of life. It was 
 now that time of night when the senses are most 
 deeply locked in slumber, the hour generally chosen 
 by the savage for an attack. A dead silence reigned 
 over the scene, broken only by the heavy breathings 
 of the red men, all of whom, even to the sentinel, 
 were buried in profound slumber. Slowly and cau- 
 tiously the prostrate figure of the man in the bushes 
 rose upright, revealing the well-known form of the 
 Scout. 
 
 After peering around on the sleeping savages, the
 
 186 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 hunter gave a low, serpent-like hiss, and presently the 
 shaggy mastiff was seen treading noiselessly over the 
 dried leaves, just skirting the forest, to where his 
 master was secreted, the cover he had chosen being 
 directly opposite his entrance into the opening. Arriv- 
 ing at his master's side, the dog stood looking wist- 
 fully into his face. 
 
 Stooping down and patting the head of the faithful 
 animal, the old man held the child's scalp towards him 
 and whispered in his ear, " Go, Brave, and smell 'em 
 out ! 
 
 In obedience to the command, the sagacious crea- 
 ture started, picking his way slowly and carefully 
 along among the sleeping foes, snuffing the air as he 
 went, until at last he paused by the side of two of the 
 savages who were huddled a little apart from the 
 others, and, fortunately for the design of the Scout, in 
 close proximity to the forest's edge. 
 
 What that design was, the reader has already sur- 
 mised. It was to avenge the death of the mother and 
 child. He had been prowling around the encampment 
 for some hours, and had ascertained the number of the 
 enemy. Their superior force, and the great risk of 
 detection, would have deterred a less resolute man : 
 but the Scout knew not fear, and, once his mind re- 
 solved, no danger, however threatening, would turn 
 him aside. 
 
 " 'T is pesky risky business, I know," soliloquized 
 the old man, "but little Ruth shall be avenged, 
 that I 'm detarmined on ! " 
 
 . Leaving his rifle in the bushes, and unsheathing his 
 long knife, he prepared himself for the fearful and des- 
 perate task he had undertaken.
 
 THE SCOUT. 187 
 
 " I 'd rather meet 'em in a fair fight," was the tenor 
 of his thoughts as he left his covert and warily ad- 
 vanced to the spot where Brave stood motionless over 
 the unconscious sleepers, "I'd rather meet 'em in a 
 fair fight, with a tree atween us, when the quickest 
 eye and the surest aim does the job. This stabbing 
 'em in their sleep is ag'in my white natur', and too 
 much like the desateful red-skins. There 's a taint of 
 murder about it I don't like;" and for a moment he 
 paused and hesitated in his vengeful purpose. 
 
 Then came the thought of little Ruth, writhing 
 under the merciless scalping-knife ; then, too, came the 
 thought of his own sister, who fell beneath the mur- 
 derous tomahawk, and over whose mangled corpse he 
 had sworn that for every drop of blood shed of hers 
 a red man's life should be forfeited. Well had that 
 oath been kept; and should he relent now, with some 
 of the very tribe before him that committed that deed, 
 perhaps the very perpetrator of it, his hands fresh- 
 stained with innocent blood? The cruel foe were in 
 his power, and the very ground seemed to cry, " Blood 
 for blood 1 " 
 
 " They shall die ! " exclaimed the Scout, in an ex- 
 cited voice, completely thrown off his guard as these 
 recollections thronged upon him, and totally forgetful 
 of his perilous situation and the extreme caution 
 necessary. 
 
 He had nearly reached the side of the Indians when 
 these fatal words were uttered, and barely had they 
 escaped his lips, when he was made sensible of his 
 imprudence, for the savage nearest to him sprang half 
 way to his feet with an expressive " Ugh! " But ere 
 he had gx.1 his footing the old man leaped upon him,
 
 188 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 like a panther on its prey, and the next moment his 
 knife was buried deep in the heart of the savago. A 
 gurgling groan burst from the mortally-wounded foe, 
 as he fell heavily across his sleeping companion. 
 Quick as lightning, ere the one thus suddenly aroused 
 had a moment for thought or speech, the dog had him 
 by the throat, and only released his hold when the 
 formidable knife of the hunter, with one swoop, had 
 half severed the head from the body of the victim. 
 
 Ere the reeking blade was withdrawn from the gap- 
 ing wound, a wild whoop rang through the air, and a 
 dozen dusky forms leaped, as if by magic, from the 
 sward. 
 
 Aroused suddenly from a deep sleep, the bewildered 
 savages made a simultaneous rush towards the canoes, 
 two of which were hastily launched upon the lake, 
 filled with the startled and but half-awakened party. 
 Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, with 
 his gaunt form bent nearly to the earth, the old man, 
 followed by his dog, glided into the clump of bushes 
 where he had left his rifle. Grasping his trusty 
 weapon, he plunged into the neighboring forest with 
 rapid strides, burying himself each moment deeper 
 within its intricate mazes. He knew there was no 
 time to be lost, and that all his cunning would be 
 required to extricate him from the peril which sur- 
 rounded him. After the first alarm had subsided, he 
 was perfectly aware the foe would lose not a moment 
 in dogging his footsteps. 
 
 He was right, for, after the momentary confusion 
 was over, and perceiving no other demonstrations of 
 an attack, the canoes were paddled to the landing, the 
 savages leaped on shore, and immediately made prep-
 
 THE SCOUT. 189 
 
 arations for offensive operations. The discovery of 
 their fallen companions excited them to the highest 
 pitch of revenge, and called forth a fierce howl of 
 rage, which, reaching the ears of the Scout, added 
 wings to his flight. His first object was to put as 
 great a distance between himself and the foe as possi- 
 blej hoping to escape them by superior speed, not 
 doubting they would follow his track, urged on by ha- 
 tred and revenge. 
 
 With incredible rapidity he threaded his way 
 through the thick woods, every little while changing 
 the direction of his route in the hope of throwing his 
 pursuers off his trail. Occasionally he would cast an 
 upward glance through the opening foliage. To his 
 regret, he perceived the clouds which veiled the moon 
 were rolling toward the east, and ere long her light 
 would be entirely unobscured. In darkness he trusted 
 in a great measure for his safety, and, so long as 
 the moon remained eclipsed, he cherished the assur- 
 ance that his trail would remain undiscovered, and 
 even its light, he hoped, would not be sufficient to 
 reveal it. Give him the hour or two until daylight, 
 and he had no apprehensions for his safety. Worst 
 come to worst, we cannot say that the Scout would 
 have experienced much alarm, for he had often been 
 thrown into equally dangerous positions, in which his 
 cunning and skill had alone proved his salvation. As 
 to fear, that was a feeling which never troubled his 
 breast. 
 
 The hopes that his trail would not be discovered 
 were soon dissipated, however, for, faintly echoing 
 through the forest, a furious yell swelled upon the
 
 190 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 night air, which the old man well knew was one of 
 triumph. The foe were on his track. 
 
 " The varmints have sharp eyes, for sartain ! " he 
 muttered to himself, as presently a second and more dis- 
 tinct peal of triumph broke the stillness of the forest. 
 An angry growl from the mastiff followed. 
 
 " Do you hear 'em, Brave? the reptyles are arter us ! 
 But it will be pesky hard if we can't sarcumvent 'em 
 with this start and in the dark. Wai, 't ain't much use 
 to be hurried now, as I knows," he added, slacking his 
 pace; "they will want a nose like your'n, pup, to fol- 
 low us in all our twistings. There's a sense, now, 
 that dumb crittur's got, which God has gi'n to no mor- 
 tal, although I sometimes consate these 'tarnal red- 
 skins have it, they follow one up so in the night." 
 
 A whine from the dog interrupted the muttered 
 soliloquy of his master. The Scout stopped and 
 threw himself at length on the ground, with his ear 
 just raised from the earth. 
 
 " You 're right, pup ! " said the Scout, springing to 
 his feet and composedly patting his companion. " The 
 varmints are swift on the foot, and are nigher than I ? d 
 an idee of. Nothing 's left then but to play 'possum 
 with 'em ! " 
 
 He had just entered a more than usually heavy 
 growth of wood, huge trees, whose interlacing 
 branches formed a dense roof of leaves overhead. 
 After proceeding some distance, he retraced his steps 
 with the greatest care, and, selecting a low-limbed oak, 
 he placed his rifle in the branches, and, grasping a limb 
 within his reach, swung himself into the tree. With 
 the ease and agility of a youthful nut-gatherer he 
 passed from tree to tree, striking off to the left. He
 
 THE SCOUT. 191 
 
 worked his way along in this manner for a number 
 of rods, until he reached a broad, shallow stream. 
 Letting himself down from his airy perch into the 
 centre of this rivulet, he gave a low signal, which in 
 a few minutes brought the faithful Brave to his side. 
 The two then commenced following up the rocky 
 channel of the stream towards the lake for perhaps an 
 eighth of a mile, when the Scout again struck into the 
 woods in a direction which led to the very point from 
 which he had first started. 
 
 " I reckon 't will puzzle the varmints some to follow 
 my trail now," chuckled the old man to himself; 
 " though, for the matter of that, many 's the time I Ve 
 tracked their steps under water. But it wants broad 
 daylight to do that in, and a sharp eye to boot, which 
 every man hain't got. 'T is a gift of natur',as Parson 
 Smith on the Neck said the other day. A clever man 
 that Smith, and a right smart one, too, on'y he is too 
 oncommonly gifted in prayer, 'specially in a cold win- 
 ter's day. His sarmonts is very edifying, so I 've 
 hearn tell; and he handles a gun well, too, that I 
 know, a good shot, a good shot for a parson." 
 
 Muttering to himself in this manner, totally indif- 
 ferent to the dangers which surrounded him, the old 
 man continued his way towards the encampment of 
 the savages, assured that, wherever they might look 
 for him, they would not suspect his presence in that 
 neighborhood, which they had faithfully scoured on 
 the first alarm ; after which, his trail being discovered, 
 four of the runners had started off in pursuit.
 
 192 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE first faint streaks of light were " glimmering in 
 the dappled east ;" the lake, unruffled by the gentlest 
 zephyr, spread out its broad, glassy bosom, dotted 
 here and there with little green islets ; the bordering 
 trees and bushes hung motionless over the still waters 
 in which their foliage was perfectly reflected, tinging 
 the edges of the lake with a deep green, like colored 
 crystal, the whole forming as quiet and beautiful a 
 picture as ever delighted the eye of a lover of nature. 
 The woods were vocal with the matin song of birds, 
 their rich and varied warblings blending into one glo- 
 rious harmony, as if the feathered choir had, in the 
 language of Milton, 
 
 " Cleared up their choicest notes in bush and spray, 
 To gratulate the sweet return of morn." 
 
 Par off on the lake, just seen in the dawning light, 
 a solitary canoe glided slowly on its way. A short 
 time and it doubled a point of land and disappeared 
 from sight. Drawn up on the bank of the little open- 
 ing already described were the two remaining canoes, 
 and under a neighboring tree, stark and ghastly, 
 stretched out the body of one of the savages who had 
 fallen beneath the knife of the hunter. The canoe 
 that had just been lost to view bore the body of the 
 other victim, a chief of some note, on its way to the 
 distant tribe to which he belonged. 
 . From the belt of the corpse beneath the tree was 
 still suspended the woman's scalp, which had called 
 down upon the perpetrator of the foul deed the dire
 
 THE SCOUT. 193 
 
 vengeance of the Scout. The long dark hair lay in a 
 heavy mass upon his breast, as if, even in death, he 
 triumphed in this fearful trophy of his cruelty. 
 
 The plat was entirely deserted. Presently, however, 
 tfre tall form of the Scout might have been seen 
 emerging from the woods. Casting quick and search- 
 ing glances in every direction, he advanced with the 
 utmost caution towards his fallen foe, occasionally 
 pausing, listening intently, and eyeing suspiciously 
 every bush and tree, as if they concealed a lurking 
 enemy. Stepping as if his lightest footfall would 
 break the slumber of the dead, he reached at last the 
 side of the corpse. 
 
 " The marciless wretches shan't have this to exult 
 over," muttered the old man, as he disengaged the 
 scalp from the belt and carefully placed it in his pouch, 
 where the ringlets of mother and child mingled in 
 striking though mournful contrast. 
 
 He had turned to retrace his steps, when a sudden 
 thought seemed to occur to him. 
 
 " I 'II do it to madden the varmints," he remarked, 
 in an emphatic tone ; " 't will ruck them up awfully, 
 I calkerlate." 
 
 Unsheathing his knife and stooping over the head 
 of the corpse, with a dexterity that evinced a prac- 
 tised hand, he removed the scalp from the dead In- 
 dian's head, and then, having placed it in the place so 
 lately occupied by the scalp of the woman, he noise- 
 lessly left the spot. An angry growl from Brave 
 quickened his steps. In a moment he was again in 
 the woods and on his way to Yarmouth, skilfully and 
 cunningly endeavoring to conceal his trail no easy 
 matter from the prying eyes of the red-skins. 
 17
 
 194 FOBEST AND SHORE. 
 
 Ten minutea had barely elapsed, during which the 
 Scout was making the best of his way toward tLe set- 
 tlement, when behind him there arose a yell so wild 
 and terrific, a howl so demoniacal and unearthly, that 
 even the old hunter, to whose ears such sounds were 
 familiar, could not conceal a slight shudder as it went 
 echoing through the forest. 
 
 " Ha ! " he ejaculated, as he increased his speed, "the 
 reptyles have returned and diskivered the scalp, and it 
 has touched the raw. The sooner I get out of this 
 neighborhood, I consate, the better." 
 
 Throughout the day, hardly slackening his pace, he 
 continued to thread the tangled forest, until, about 
 nightfall, he approached the settlement of North Yar- 
 mouth. In the outskirts he fell in with a number of 
 the scouting party from Falmouth, who detailed to 
 him the atrocity that had been committed. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said the Scout; "I knew the reptyles 
 had been at their bloody work in the settlements. 
 Poor little Ruth ! " And the old man's voice became 
 choked with emotion. 
 
 " But have you not seen any signs of the Indians, 
 Wier ? " asked one of the party. 
 
 " I reckon I have, the varmints 1 " replied the Scout ; 
 and, opening his pouch, he handed the astonished 
 speaker the two scalps. 
 
 " Why, what are these ? Where did you get them ? " 
 were the eager exclamations of the party, as they 
 closed round him and gazed on the gory trophies. 
 
 " They are proofs," replied the old man, with deep 
 feeling, " that littfe Ruth and her mother are avenged! " 
 
 A few more questions and replies elicited the whole 
 ttory ; and, with a shout of triumph, the men eioorted
 
 THE SCOUT. 195 
 
 the Scout to the block-house, where his prowess was 
 the theme of many an admiring tongue. 
 
 To escape the compliments showered upon him, the 
 Scout modestly remarked, " I take no credit to my- 
 self; you may thank that 'ere dog for all this, for, if it 
 had n't been for Brave, I should never have trapped 
 the varmints." 
 
 It is unnecessary to add, that, ever after, the faithful 
 Brave was a petted favorite in the settlement. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE desolating war which so ravaged our early set- 
 tlements, and in which the Scout took such an active 
 part, was caused by the struggle between England 
 and France for the supremacy in North America. The 
 latter had enlisted in her cause, as we have already 
 mentioned, the aborigines of the country, over whom, 
 through the subtle agency of the Jesuits, she exer- 
 cised a powerful influence. This harassing state of 
 affairs continued until the conquest of Quebec, in 
 1759. The battle on the plains of Abraham, in Sep- 
 tember of that year, in which the rival commanders, 
 Wolfe and Montcalm, sealed their loyalty with their 
 lives, broke the power of the French in this country, 
 and their copper-colored allies consulted their safety 
 by submitting to the conquerors. 
 
 During the contest, while other settlements had 
 been frequently wasted, fiuxton, then known as Nar- 
 ragansett Township, No. 1, although a frontier town, 
 had rarnained unmolested for a number of years. Yet
 
 196 FOKEST AND SHORE. 
 
 the rumors of the devastating inroads on the neigh- 
 boring townships kept the inhabitants in constant 
 alarm. At the time the incidents took place which 
 we are about to record, the hamlet consisted of only 
 seven or eight houses. In one of these, which stood 
 a little apart from the rest on the skirts of the forest, 
 resided a family by the name of Woodman. The 
 parents were somewhat advanced in age, and of their 
 numerous children one only remained, a daughter, the 
 pet of their old age. 
 
 Annie Woodman was a bright, lively girl of six- 
 teen, whose neat, comely figure and winning counte- 
 nance had made an impression on more than one 
 youthful heart in the settlement. Though a pet, she 
 was not a spoiled one, for she relieved her mother of 
 a large share of the cares of the household. Frolic- 
 some as a kitten in her playful moods, and at all 
 times cheerful, she was the delight of her parents 
 and the favorite of all. And truly was Annie worthy 
 of this regard, for beneath her brilliant flow of spirits 
 there existed a character full of lofty energy and 
 replete with tenderness. Unharmed by the excessive 
 affection lavished upon her, she promised in the devel- 
 opment of her powers to combine all those graces of 
 mind and heart which form the perfect woman. 
 
 It is not our purpose, however, to give the entire 
 history of Annie at this time. We have given a 
 slight portrayal of her person and disposition merely 
 to awaken the interest of the reader in her behalf, 
 while we relate a single passage in her early life. 
 
 At the close of an autumnal day, shortly after the 
 events recorded in the previous chapters, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Woodman were seated by their open door, watch-
 
 THE SCOUT. 197 
 
 ing for the return of Annie, who had gone in the early 
 part of the afternoon on a visit to a friend, living 
 about an eighth of a mile distant. It was now some 
 time past the hour fixed for her return, and her pa. 
 rents sat wondering at her prolonged absence. As 
 the sun disappeared and the twilight deepened, their 
 wonder grew into anxiety, and their eyes were more 
 frequently bent upon the grassy road which opened 
 through a dense grove of pine in the distance, whence 
 they looked for her coming. 
 
 Still deeper grew the twilight, and still no Annie 
 came. Her unusually protracted absence at last ex- 
 cited the alarm of her parents. Could she have been 
 beset on her way by some wild beast of the forest? 
 This was the first thought suggested ; for, though a 
 general apprehension prevailed on account of the 
 savages, yet this township had been so uniformly ex- 
 empted from their attacks that no particular alarm 
 was felt in regard to them. Pilled with terror at the 
 idea suggested, the old man took his gun and has- 
 tened down the road, closely scrutinizing each side 
 of the path, dreading at each step that he might 
 detect something to confirm his fears, some frag- 
 ment of her dress, perhaps her mangled corpse. He 
 passed through the pine growth without discovering 
 any trace of his child, and, hurrying along with a 
 mind somewhat relieved, he at last reached the house 
 of his neighbor. The tidings he here received aug- 
 mented his fears a thousand-fold, and nearly pros- 
 trated him in despair. He learned that Annie had 
 started for home nearly two hours previous. Her 
 friend accompanied her part of the way, and parted 
 17*
 
 198 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 with her at the entrance of the pine grove, as the 
 woods were called. 
 
 As soon as her absence was made known an intense 
 excitement prevailed. An anxious but fruitless dis- 
 cussion took place as to the cause of her absence. 
 Was it not probable she had left the beaten path for 
 the more shady woods, and loitered by the way, and 
 might she not have reached home after her father 
 had left? There was a bare probability that this 
 might be the case ; still, so slender was it deemed, 
 that, while a man was despatched on horseback to 
 ascertain the fact, two others started off to arouse 
 the settlers. 
 
 The man despatched to Mr. Woodman's soon re- 
 turned, but he brought no tidings of the missing one ; 
 and in a short time six or seven of the inhabitants 
 had assembled, each with his gun, ready with his 
 service. By this time it had grown somewhat dark, 
 although the twilight rendered objects still visible at 
 quite a distance. 
 
 The agony of the father would hardly permit him 
 to wait for the brief consultation that took place, in 
 order to facilitate a plan of search. With a wild, hur- 
 ried step, he paced the opening in front of the house, 
 unable to suppress the moans of anguish that burst 
 from his lips. "My child! My dear Annie 1 lost! 
 lost ! " were his broken exclamations. " God, spare 
 me this crushing trial ! Leave me not childless in my 
 old age I " and, wringing his hands, he continued to 
 stride in front of the dwelling, his haggard face and 
 quivering lips proclaiming, more strongly than lan- 
 guage could express, the depth of his despair. 
 
 It was at length decided that the party should pro-
 
 THE SCOUT. 199 
 
 vide themselves with torches and make a circuit of 
 the forest, each man having his particular beat, which 
 he was carefully to explore. Certain signals were 
 agreed upon in case of any discovery, and a rallying 
 point assigned where all should meet when the search 
 was over. Mr. Woodman, whose advanced age ren- 
 dered him susceptible to fatigue, and who had become 
 completely exhausted by excitement, was induced to 
 return home, where indeed his presence was greatly 
 needed, to comfort and console his aged and well- 
 nigh distracted partner". 
 
 Just as the party were starting on their expedition, 
 a loud holloa from some one at a distance caused 
 them to look back. A tall figure, just discernible 
 afar off, was seen hastening towards them with rapid 
 strides. Presuming it to be one of the settlers 
 coming to assist them, they were about to resume 
 their way, leaving word for him to follow, when one 
 of the party, a young man by the name of Elden, 
 whose feelings seemed deeply enlisted in the affair, 
 exclaimed, with a joyful voice, 
 
 " Wait, wait ! it is the Scout ! " 
 
 At the name of the Scout the whole party imme- 
 diately came to a halt, and eagerly awaited the ap- 
 proach of one whose experience and sagacity were 
 so well known. He was soon in their midst, accom- 
 panied by his dog, a large, shaggy animal, of a mixed 
 breed; and his presence was hailed with the most 
 lively satisfaction. 
 
 On the arrival of the Scout, the bereaved father, 
 who had proceeded a few rods in advance, turned and 
 hastened towards him. Grasping his hands with affect- 
 ing earnestness, and gazing into his face with an ex-
 
 200 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 pression in which hope and despair were strangely 
 commingled, he exclaimed, " O, sir, save her ! Save 
 my child, Scout, if she is not torn by the wild beasts, 
 and the blessing of an old man rest upon you ! " 
 
 " The wild critturs have not harmed her, old man," 
 said the Scout, sensibly affected by the appeal of the 
 father ; " the gal still lives, and I will save her, if it is 
 in the power of mortal man so to do." 
 
 " Bless you ! May the Almighty bless you ! " was 
 the hurried reply of Mr. Woodman, a heavy weight 
 lifted from his heart, such faith had he in the words 
 of the old hunter. 
 
 The assurance given by the Scout that Annie lived, 
 although he had given no reason for the declaration, 
 infused new courage and ardor into the breasts of all. 
 Mr. Woodman left for home with a lighter heart, 
 although the uncertainty that still rested on the fate 
 of his darling child filled him with despondency. 
 
 "It was a lucky sarcumstance I happened along 
 this way just now," said the Scout, as the company 
 proceeded up the road. " I 've been out hunting in 
 these parts lately, and stepped in to Elder Tufts' on 
 my way to Falmouth, an hour since, to get a bite of 
 something and to mention a word or two that con- 
 sarns your safety around here, when I 1'arnt about 
 this affair of the gal; and, as I know her well, and her 
 sire, I thought I might be of some assistance, so I 
 hurried on to overtake you." 
 
 " But how do you know that Annie is alive, and 
 where is she ? " asked young Elden, in a voice whose 
 agitation betrayed his deep interest in the matter. 
 
 " Wai, youngster, I have two good reasons for con- 
 sating she is not dead. The elder's wife down yonder
 
 THE SCOUT. 201 
 
 told me no signs of the gal can be found In the road. 
 Now, the pesky beasts are not so Hungry at this season 
 as to eat up a lass like Annie Woodman, duds and all, 
 without leaving some fragments behind. So it is 
 pretty clear she is not devoured ; and, if not devoured, 
 where is she ? That 's the question, I s'pose, young- 
 ster, you wish to have answered. Wai, to tell the truth, 
 then, boy, I don't know ! I argue no wild beast car- 
 ried her off, for that is well-nigh unpossible, without 
 leaving marks, and " 
 
 " What, then, has become of her, Scout ? " asked two 
 or three of the company, simultaneously, and with some 
 degree of impatience. 
 
 " Become of her,'' rejoined the hunter, patting hia 
 dog on the head ; " that 's to be found out, I consate ; 
 hey, Brave? The savages are desprit cunning " 
 
 " The savages, Scout ! " exclaimed his companions ; 
 " we have not heard of their being in this neighbor- 
 hood." 
 
 " Likely as not," replied the imperturbable hunter ; 
 " they are not in the habit of blowing a trumpet to tell 
 you they are coming. But I Ve had my eyes on 'em 
 a week or more back, and part of my business in stop- 
 ping at the Elder's was to put you on your guard up 
 here ag'in the reptyles. They have been doing bloody 
 work in some of the settlements, and it is a marcy you 
 have 'scaped so long. But it is time to be looking 
 about us. Give me a torch, one of you," he continued ; 
 " but don't a soul of you leave the road. If there 's a 
 trail, too many steps would spile it for the sharpest 
 eyes." 
 
 Taking a torch, the Scout walked by the side of the 
 road, holding the blazing knot close to the grass aad
 
 202 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 shrubbery that skirted it. Every now and then he 
 would pause and send his keen, searching g-lances 
 along the sward and among the bushes, noticing every 
 pressure upon the grass and every displaced leaf or 
 twig. He had proceeded some distance in this manner, 
 when, stopping suddenly off against a clump of high 
 bushes, he surveyed them closely for a moment, then, 
 pushing his way through them, he was seen on the 
 other side, his form bent closely to the earth. In a 
 few minutes he returned to the roadside, with a pecu- 
 liar smile lurking on his countenance. 
 
 " Here, youngster, give me- another pine knot," ho 
 said, addressing young Elden. " This hunting for a 
 trail by torchlight is pesky trying to the eyes," he 
 remarked, in a quiet tone, after he had gone on a few 
 steps ; " but I Ve got scent of the varmints. They 
 came put yonder and seized the gal," he continued, 
 while the party gathered around him in anxious excite- 
 ment, " and we shall find a broader trail presently, 
 unless she obsarved them and started up the road a 
 piece before they overtook her. Aha ! " he exclaimed, 
 after he had proceeded a rod or two, " this is as plain 
 as a guide-board. Here, youngster," he added, ad- 
 dressing young Elden, thrusting his hand as he spoke 
 among the bushes, " here is something, a keepsake of 
 your mistress." And he handed the blushing youth a 
 bit of ribbon, which had got detached from Annie's 
 dress during the struggle she evidently made with her 
 captors. 
 
 The men all gathered around the Scout, who pointed 
 put the trail he had discovered, and a number of them 
 proposed starting immediately in pursuit of the 
 captive.
 
 THE SCOUT. 203 
 
 "What, follow that trail by torchlight? that's a 
 bright idee," said the Scout, in a slightly derisive tone. 
 " Had n't you better take a drum to beat on the way ? 
 An Injun ain't like an owl, to be blinded by light, nor 
 a partridge, to be stopped by noise. No, friends, the 
 best thing we can do is to go home and to bed. I will 
 meet you 'arly at Father Woodman's in the morning, 
 and see what is best to be done." 
 
 The majority of the company concurred in the de- 
 cision of the old hunter, but two of them insisted on 
 following up the pursuit that night, in spite of his 
 remonstrances ; and, supplying themselves with fresh 
 torches, they plunged into the woods. 
 
 " Wai, let them go," said the Scout, turning with the 
 rest to retrace their steps ; " a wilful man will have his 
 own way. They '11 Parn their mistake before long, and 
 trust to old Joe for the future. In ten minutes they '11 
 lose the trail, and all the harm that will come of it will 
 be a tiresome tramp, and p'rhaps the frightening of 
 the birds from their nests." 
 
 The old fellow's words proved true. In less than 
 the time specified they had lost the trail, and, after 
 wandering about an hour or more in the mazes of the 
 forest, found themselves in the road again, at no great 
 distance from the place whence they started. 
 
 " Consarn it all ! " said one of the individuals, as he 
 ascertained his whereabouts, " I believe the old man's 
 advice was correct, after all." 
 
 " Guess that p'int ain't worth an argument," briefly 
 rejoined his companion ; and, with these extorted com- 
 pliments to the superior knowledge of the Scout, the 
 party bent their steps homeward.
 
 204 FOREST AND -SHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 EARLY the next morning, at the first glimmer of 
 dawn, a number of the settlers met at the house of the 
 parents of the missing one. The countenances of the 
 aged pair too plainly told the distress of their minds. 
 No sleep had visited their eyes during the night, 
 whose long, weary watches had been passed in prayers, 
 supplications, and tears. The party had been assem- 
 bled some time, and yet the Scout did not make hia 
 appearance. His prolonged absence had just begun 
 to excite remark, when he entered the house, with 
 Brave at his heels. 
 
 " We began to fear you had left us and returned 
 to Falmouth," said the mother, in a voice weak and 
 tremulous with emotion. 
 
 " What, and Annie in the savages' hands? No, no, 
 ma'am ; Joe Wier don't leave this business until he 
 has restored the lost one safe and sound into your 
 arms." 
 
 "But will they not murder her, Scout? My poor 
 Annie, would to God I could die for thee ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Woodman, in tones of bitter anguish. 
 
 " Hush, wife, hush ! " said the husband, in a tone of 
 tender rebuke ; " she is in God's hands. His will be 
 done, Eliza ; he will order all things aright." 
 
 "Don't distress yourself, ma'am," chimed in the 
 Scout, with his rough consolation ; " they will not 
 harm her. Why should they destroy the gal ? They 
 are a fiend-like set, I know, when their blood is up, and 
 think no more of dashing a tomahawk into a man's 
 skull than I would of crushing a worm, and less, too,
 
 THE SCOUT. 205 
 
 for that matter, for I never do that intentionally. No, 
 Mrs. Woodman, their object is to take her to Canada 
 and sell her to some of them infernal toad-eaters, who 
 put them up to this diviltry. But it 's time to think 
 of startin'/' added the Scout, tightening his belt and 
 whistling his dog to his side. 
 
 The men now gathered around him, proffering their 
 services ; but he shook his head. 
 
 " No, no, friends ; too many cooks spile the broth. 
 I 've been out on the trail this morning and found 
 there were but three of the critturs ; and Brave and 
 I are a match for ary three red-skins that ever lived ; 
 hey, puss ? You had better stay at home, for there 
 may be more out-lying varmints about the settlement 
 to work mischief. Keep a good watch, for they are 
 desateful sarpents, and almost before you know it will 
 have your scalps dangling at their belts." 
 
 After three or four had vainly urged the Scout to 
 accept their services, particularly young Elden, who 
 would hardly consent to remain at home, Deacon 
 Hazleton, who had spent the night with the bereaved 
 parents, administering such consolation as was in his 
 power, of whom the ancient chronicle says that he 
 prided himself on having more spiritual discernment 
 than his minister, arose and said : 
 
 " Be it as the Scout says ; he surely knows what is 
 best, and may God grant that success attend him. 
 But, before he leaves, brethren, let us unite in asking 
 the blessing of Heaven on his perilous undertaking. 
 Peradventure the Lord will listen to our prayers, un- 
 worthy as they are, and make our friend the humble 
 instrument of restoring to us the damsel, even aa 
 18
 
 206 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 Abram of old brought back his brother Lot from his 
 captivity in the land of Hobah." 
 
 With this intimation, those present assumed devout 
 attitudes, the Scout reverently lifting his wolf-skin cap, 
 and leaning on his long rifle, at the butt of which, 
 with his head uplifted, his ears thrown back as if lis- 
 tening, and his eyes fixed on the face of his master, 
 crouched his faithful companion, Brave. 
 
 The good deacon wrestled long and fervently in 
 prayer. He first invoked blessings on the aged pa- 
 rents, beseeching that comfort might be vouchsafed to 
 them in this their hour of affliction ; that they might 
 be strengthened to bear up under the cross laid upon 
 them, and that, whatever might be the issue of this 
 trying dispensation, they might be enabled to say, 
 " Thy will be done ! " He then alluded to the captive, 
 and prayed that the maiden might be sustained in her 
 captivity ; that her life might be precious in the sight 
 of the Lord, and she be returned at length in safety, 
 a monument of God's abounding mercy. Particularly 
 did he invoke the blessings of Heaven on the Scout, 
 supplicating that his steps might be directed aright, 
 and his arms strengthened ; that the Lord would be 
 his shield and buckler, and compass his pathway by 
 da and by night, and make him the instrument in his 
 hands of working out the deliverance of the captive, 
 and thus bring joy again to the hearts of his aged 
 ser ^nts. Nor were the. captors forgotten. He prayed 
 tha' their hearts might be softened ; that the heathen 
 might be returned to repentance ; that the bow and 
 the spear might be broken, and they who wielded them 
 be brought to delight no more in shedding blood. 
 
 "It was a powerful, s'arching prayer," the Scout
 
 THE SCOUT. 207 
 
 was wont to say, " quite equal to any he had heard 
 from Elder Tufts, and almost a match for one of Par- 
 son Smith's, down to the old meetin'-'ouse in Falmouth, 
 who had a nat'ral gift that way, praying often two 
 hours on a stretch, without once breaking down. But 
 it was a complete waste of words," the Scout would 
 add, " to pray for the convarsion of the red-skins. I 
 would as soon think of convarting a she-catamount any 
 day." 
 
 Before the long petition was over, the Scout began 
 to show signs of impatience ; and, as soon as the sono- 
 rous " Amen " fell from the lips of the rapt deacon, he 
 took the hand of the weeping mother. " Be of good 
 cheer, ma'am," he said, in a voice full of tenderness ; 
 " there 'a a good God above us all, and he will not 
 suffer the child of so many prayers to perish. If BO 
 be," he added, in a sterner tone, " she does come to 
 harm, trust to the old Scout, the varmints shall rue it." 
 
 Thus saying, the old man shouldered his rifle, and, 
 whistling to his dog, left the house, and walked, with 
 long swinging strides, along the road, until he reached 
 the trail, when he plunged into the forest and was lost 
 to sight. 
 
 We will not follow him in all his movements. Suf- 
 fice it that, day after day, he continued the pursuit, 
 dogging the footsteps of the Indians with unerring 
 precision, until late in the afternoon of the fifth day, 
 when, by certain signs, he was made aware that he was 
 in the immediate neighborhood of those he sought. 
 From this moment his movements were guarded by 
 the strictest caution. Every sense seemed to be on 
 the alert, as he crept stealthily forward, now gliding 
 from tree to tree, and sending hig quick, observant 

 
 208 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 glances into the surrounding forest, anon bending his 
 ear to the earth, listening to catch the faintest sound, 
 his face the while expressive of the keenest excite- 
 ment, like that of the sportsman in the moment of 
 securing his prey. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " WHIST ! whist ! Down, Brave, down 1 Have you 
 lost your senses? don't you hear them? can't you 
 smell the varmints ? " 
 
 In obedience to these whispered commands, the dog 
 crouched lowly at his master's feet, wagging his tail, 
 and giving him an intelligent look, which said, as much 
 as look could say, " I understand you now : forgive 
 my inconsiderateness." 
 
 The Scout was creeping up a wooded ascent, and 
 had nearly attained the summit, when he addressed his 
 companion, who was a little in advance of him. The 
 southern and eastern aspect of the hill presented a 
 gradual though broken slope, well studded with trees, 
 but whose occasional openings permitted glances of 
 the surrounding country. On the northern and west- 
 ern side, a precipice fell a sheer descent of forty feet, 
 with scarce a shrub to relieve the nakedness of the 
 smooth rock. Trees and bushes grew to the cliff, 
 some of the former leaning far over, as if falling, men- 
 acing whoever chanced beneath with instant death. 
 But their tough, talon-like roots clung to the rocks 
 with a tenacity which defied the blasts of the tempests 
 to unloose them. At the base of the cliff, half-buried
 
 THE SCOUT. 209 
 
 among the shrubbery and half-hidden by the trees 
 whose branches swept its naked side, huge blocks of 
 stone, that had from time to time fallen from the hill- 
 side, might be seen strewed around. At the extreme 
 northern part of the hill, these blocks were heaped 
 upon each other in a manner to afford a difficult and 
 somewhat painful passage to the plain below. 
 
 Motioning his dog to remain behind, with a wary 
 movement, so guarded that not the crackling of a twig 
 betrayed his step, the Scout proceeded to the edge of 
 the precipice. When there he crept along the trunk 
 of a 'tree that inclined fearfully over the abyss, his 
 body partly concealed by the foliage of the trees, but 
 mostly by the bushes near by that threw their protect- 
 ing branches around him. From this position he had 
 an uninterrupted view of the scene below. 
 
 A momentary smile lighted up the old man's coun- 
 tenance, as his keen eye took in at a glance the objects 
 presented. On a spot of greensward, directly beneath 
 him, seated and lounging in easy attitudes, were three 
 natives of the forest, apparently enjoying the luxury 
 of rest, after a fatiguing tramp. The fragments of 
 food scattered on a block of granite, whose smooth 
 surface answered the good purpose of a table, indi- 
 cated that they had just finished their evening meal. 
 In a cavern-like recess, formed by the mass of fallen 
 rocks, on a couch of dried leaves and grass, reposed 
 a white girl, the long-sought Annie. Her countenance 
 bore the marks of intense grief, and every appearance 
 denoted extreme fatigue. She had fallen asleep, but 
 the short, quick sobs which frequently broke from her 
 lips too plainly evinced that hers was a restless slum- 
 ber. As they reached the ear of the Scout, his eye 
 18*
 
 210 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 glistened, and an expression of tenderness, immedi- 
 ately succeeded by one of fierce resolve, flitted over 
 his countenance. 
 
 While the Scout was revolving in'his mind a plan to 
 rescue the captive, his attention was directed to a 
 sudden movement among the savages. Starting from 
 their listless attitudes, they sprang to their feet, and, 
 eeizipg their bows, which reclined against a neighbor- 
 ing block, two of them, after gazing at a broad open- 
 ing in front of them for a moment, struck off to the 
 left with a quick and wary step. 
 
 For a time the Scout was at a loss to account for 
 this strange movement. The cause, however, was 
 shortly revealed to him. From the base of the cliff 
 the land spread out in a broad plain, covered here and 
 there with thick bushes and clumps of low-growth trees. 
 Casting his eye over the different openings, in one of 
 them, a long distance off, he saw a herd of deer, some 
 of them nibbling the grass, while others were sport- 
 ing around. The remaining Indian was gazing at the 
 same objects, the sight of which was too tempting to 
 permit him to forego the sport so dear to the hunts- 
 man. Throwing a hasty glance towards his sleeping 
 captive, he carefully selected an arrow from his 
 quiver, and, taking one of the two bows that remained, 
 he started in pursuit of the coveted prey. 
 
 The feelings of the Scout had become so deeply 
 enlisted in the issue of the sport, that Ee forgot for a 
 moment the object he had in view. His gaze was 
 wistfully directed towards the distant opening, watch- 
 ing the deer, and it was not until he saw the herd first 
 .ick up their ears in alarm, and then bound swiftly
 
 THE SCOUT. 211 
 
 away over a small knoll, that his thoughts reverted to 
 the business he had in hand. 
 
 Lifting himself carefully from the tree, and putting 
 aside the branches that intercepted a full view, he 
 threw rapid and searching glances in every direction. 
 Satisfied with his scrutiny, he left his perch, and with 
 a quick step hastened to the northern extremity of 
 the hill, where the fallen rocks permitted a perilous 
 descent. 
 
 Shielding himself as much as possible behind the 
 huge blocks, with the agility of an Alpine goat he 
 sprang from point to point, and in a short time accom- 
 plished the difficult passage. Loosening his formi- 
 dable hunting-knife in its sheath, in case he should 
 have occasion to use it, for he had left his rifle on the 
 hill, he crept among the rocks with the utmost caution 
 to the resting-place of the captive. To awaken with- 
 out startling her, and thus leading to an exclamation 
 of alarm which might prove fatal to his errand, he 
 felt to be a difficult task. He knew there was not an 
 instant to be lost, for the savages might return at any 
 moment, although he trusted that, led away by the 
 ardor of the chase, they might be absent some time. 
 
 Leaning forward, he touched the shoulder of the 
 sleeping girl. She started at once, and, in the first 
 confusion and alarm, not recognizing the intruder on 
 her slumbers, would have raised a cry of fear; but the 
 broad palm of the Scout was placed unceremoniously 
 on her mouth, thus sealing her lips, while he stooped 
 forward and whispered hurriedly in her ear, " Speak 
 not, for your life ! Be not frightened, look at me ! 
 It is the old Scout, come to save you." 
 
 The bewildered girl turned her terror-stricken face
 
 212 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 towards him, and seeing in truth it was one whom she 
 had frequently seen at her father's house, she clung 
 to his arm with a desperate grasp, murmuring, as he 
 lifted his hand, " Save me, Scout ! 0, save me 1 " 
 
 " That will I, poor gal, or die in the attempt ! " said 
 the Scout, deeply affected by her beseeching tones 
 and looks. "But, quick; follow me, for time was 
 never more precious. Say not a word, and tread 
 lightly, for the varmints have sharp ears as well as 
 eyes." 
 
 Leading the trembling maiden along the rocks, and 
 cautioning her not to tread on the grass, or, if possi- 
 ble, brush the bushes with her dress, lending his assist- 
 ance, when it was necessary, along the broken way, 
 the laborious ascent was at last safely accomplished. 
 On his first ascent of the southern slope, the Scout 
 had discovered by accident an opening in the hill-side, 
 near the base, a sort of natural cave, the entrance to 
 which was completely concealed by a cluster of 
 bushes. Hastening to this spot, he carefully put the 
 bushes aside, and bade Annie enter. The room was 
 rather limited, but the interior was dry, the floor and 
 sides of the cave being of a rocky formation. 
 
 " They are rather snug quarters, Miss, but all the 
 safer for that," said the Scout, in a low tone. " You 
 must remain here a spell, while I mislead the reptyles. 
 Do not move so much as a foot if you can help it, for 
 the sarpents will be creeping about in sarch of you. 
 But don't be skeered, gal; keep up a good heart; it 
 will be a miracle if they diskiver you ; nor don't be 
 oneasy at my absence, for I may have to take a long 
 tramp to sarcumvent the varmints. I will trick them 
 yet. Courage, gal, and trust in the Scout; he will
 
 THE SCOUT. 213 
 
 take you safe home again out of their clutches!" 
 With these encouraging admonitions, he replaced the 
 branches with the utmost care, and stole softly from 
 the place. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 TREMBLING with apprehension, yet buoyant with 
 hope, Annie awaited the issue of events. The deep- 
 ening twilight rendered her place of concealment 
 nearly dark. This she did not regret, for she felt that 
 the obscurity of the place gave a better assurance of 
 her safety. Literally obeying the warning of the 
 Scout, she did not dare to move a foot, and she sat 
 holding her breath, listening to catch the least floating 
 sound. 
 
 Her rescuer had not long left her when she thought 
 she heard a footstep creeping in the vicinity of her 
 hiding-place. A moment afterwards a slight rustling 
 among the bushes in front caused her blood to run 
 cold with terror, for she immediately ascribed the 
 noise to some prowling savage in search of her. The 
 very pulsations of her heart momentarily ceased, as 
 the movement of the branches showed that some one 
 was forcing an entrance into her retreat, and she 
 crouched in the back of the cave, as if she would 
 bury herself in the very heart of the naked rock. 
 
 But her terror was of short duration, for, just as 
 she was resigning herself to despair, by the aid of 
 the dim light she discovered the noble Brave, who 
 was well known to her. Wagging his tail with a dig- 
 nified air, after he had worked his way in, he laid
 
 214 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 his shaggy head in Annie's lap, as if to give her 
 assurance; he then placed himself at her feet, with 
 his face towards the opening, in a watchful attitude, 
 giving her to understand that he had constituted him- 
 self her guardian. And much rejoiced was the lonely 
 girl at his presence, for his company was a great 
 relief to her, and she breathed more freely as she pat- 
 ted his head, feeling that she had in him a defender. 
 
 The Scout, in the mean time, had gone back to the 
 Indian encampment, and seizing the bow and some 
 arrows he found there, for he had, for certain rea- 
 sons, left his rifle on the hill, he started off, leaving 
 a broad trail behind him. He had not long left the 
 place ere the savages returned, bringing with them a 
 noble buck, the fruit of their expedition. Some min- 
 utes elapsed before they noticed the absence of their 
 captive, when the whole party rushed to the spot 
 where they had left her asleep. A single glance re- 
 vealed to them the trail purposely left by the Scout, 
 and two of them started in pursuit. They had pro- 
 ceeded but a rod or two when an expressive " Ugh !" 
 from the third savage, caused them to look back. He 
 had been on his knees, closely scrutinizing the trail, 
 and, with animated gestures, he now beckoned his 
 companions towards him, pointing to the discovery 
 he had made. With countenances in which astonish- 
 ment and fear were equally blended, they bent their 
 gaze on the trail, particularly on the spots pointed 
 out by the one on his knees. An unpractised eye 
 would have detected nothing to attract his notice, not 
 even the trail itself; but the more acute perceptions 
 of the Indian revealed to him that the foot-prints
 
 THE SCOUT. 215 
 
 before him were larger and wider apart than their 
 captive could have made. 
 
 A hurried consultation immediately ensued, after 
 which they scattered around the spot, surveying in- 
 tently every inch of the limited space. Their inspec- 
 tion was of no avail, and they once more huddled 
 together in low and earnest debate. They were evi- 
 dently at fault. The only trail they could discover 
 was the one before them. That was made by a man, 
 this they were perfectly sure of. Which way, then, 
 had their captive fled ? They conversed for a while 
 with rapid tones, perplexed with the mystery of the 
 affair, until at last one, who appeared to be chief of 
 the party, seemed suddenly to fathom it. Pointing, 
 with expressive gestures, to the rocks which Were 
 piled along the northern ascent of the hill, he issued 
 a few commands, when his companions started again 
 on the trail, while he leaped along the mass of rocks, 
 like a panther in pursuit of its prey. 
 
 The Scout had, in the meanwhile, been making the 
 best of his way in a direction leading from the hill. 
 Chance led him to a spot where was a narrow slip of 
 bog, which terminated in a ridge, or ledge, that ran 
 off to the north for a long distance. Having reached 
 this ledge, he made a few steps upon it, so as to leave 
 his foot-marks ; then, carefully stepping backward, 
 placing his feet lightly in the tracks he had left, he 
 retraced his way across the bog, until he reached 
 more solid ground. Stepping back to a spot com- 
 pletely overshadowed with trees, whose branches 
 were interlaced, with the utmost caution he swung 
 himself into the nearest tree, and creeping along lat- 
 erally from limb to limb, with the agility of a squirrel,
 
 216 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 until he Lad attained some rods from the trail, he 
 dropped to the ground, and concealed himself behind 
 the trunk of an ancient oak. 
 
 He had not been long there before he discovered 
 the two savages gliding among the trees, dogging 
 his steps like slot-hounds. He saw them cross the 
 bog, hesitate a moment on the ledge, and then dart 
 along the ridge, as if secure of their track. 
 
 " There go two of the varmints/' said he, with a 
 low chuckle, " like blood-hounds on the scent, little 
 thinking I 've played them a 'possum trick ! I have 
 the other reptyle now at my marcy. 'T was well 1 
 found the bow, for the report of a gun would bring 
 the whole pack on me." So saying, he started in the 
 direction of the hill, and ere long was stealing warily 
 up its southern slope. 
 
 He was not there a moment too soon, for the other 
 savage, on attaining the summit, had been prowling 
 around in search of Annie. The deepened gloom of 
 the evening, rendered still more dense by the heavy 
 growth of trees that crowned the hill, prevented a 
 discovery of the trail which led to the cave. But in 
 searching around, the Indian accidentally approached 
 its neighborhood, and would probably have passed it 
 unnoticed, had not Brave, whose ear had caught his 
 step, and who stood in a bristling attitude at the foot 
 of Annie, given a low growl. The quick ear of the 
 savage immediately detected it, and grasping his 
 tomahawk, with a snake-like motion he was approach- 
 ing the mouth of the cave at the same moment, and 
 with the same wary movement, that the Scout was 
 approaching it in another direction. 
 
 From tree to tree, from bush to bush, the wily sav- 

 
 THE SCOUT. 217 
 
 age crept towards the cave, until he had reached its 
 entrance. Annie heard not his approach, nor could 
 the sharpest ear have detected it; but the noble 
 Brave, now silent as death, stood behind the leafy 
 enclosure, gathered for a spring, his bristling hair, 
 flaming eyes, and formidable row of teeth, together 
 with his attitude, warning her of the impending 
 danger. 
 
 The Scout, too, had approached near the scene of 
 action, with the fatal arrow drawn to its head, ready for 
 instant flight. As the unsuspecting Indian reached 
 forth his hand to remove the bushes that concealed 
 the entrance to the cave, the twang of the bow broke 
 the silence, and the well-directed shaft pierced the 
 side of the savage, at the same moment the dog, with 
 one bound, burst from his covert, and buried his fangs 
 in the throat of his victim. There was a momentary 
 struggle, and the athletic son of the forest lay a rigid 
 corpse. 
 
 " Well done, Brave I Nobly done, pup ! " exclaimed 
 the Scout encouragingly to the dog. " But leave the 
 varmint. Here, sir ! " he added more emphatically, as 
 the dog seemed reluctant to quit his hold, " leave him, 
 Brave ; he '11 work no more mischief, I consate." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 DUBINO the enactment of this scene of blood on 
 
 the outside, Annie remained pale and terror-stricken 
 
 inside the cave, every moment expecting to feel tho 
 
 rude grasp of , the savage. Her fears were soon 
 
 19
 
 218 FOKEST AND SHORE. 
 
 changed to the most intense joy, as the low call of the 
 Scout inet her ears. 
 
 " Gal, gal ! come forth ; 't is time we should get 
 clear of this place." 
 
 Gladly did Annie obey the invitation, and with trem- 
 bling steps make her way from her hiding-place. On 
 reaching the entrance, she started back, while a low 
 exclamation of horror escaped her lips, as the bleeding 
 form of the savage lay at her very feet. 
 
 " Don't be skeered, Miss ; the reptyle can't hurt you 
 now," said the Scout, in a subdued but still exultant 
 tone; then adding, as he noticed Annie's pale face, 
 " but you look sick, gal ; won't you be able to go along 
 a piece, for this is not a safe neighborhood just now ? 
 not but that Brave and I could manage the two -if 
 we were alone." 
 
 Annie hastened to assure him that it was but a mo- 
 mentary faintness that paled her cheek, and that she 
 felt perfectly able to travel, signifying her readiness 
 to start immediately. Indeed, the assurance of escape, 
 with the excitement of the occasion, endowed her 
 with new strength, and banished all sense of fatigue. 
 
 Night had now fallen, and, shaping his course by the 
 north star, the Scout led the way, followed by Annie, 
 Brave bringing up the rear. For an hour or more 
 they proceeded on their way in silence, with occa- 
 sional halts to afford Annie a little rest. At last they 
 made a final stop, and in a short time the Scout had 
 arranged a couch of dried leaves and fern, canopied 
 with branches of trees, for his wearied companion. 
 Annie was very glad to avail herself of this opportu- 
 nity for repose, for the fatigue she had undergone
 
 THE SCOUT. 219 
 
 since her captivity had taxed her strength to the 
 utmost. 
 
 " There, my child," said the Scout, as he completed 
 her rustic sleeping-place, "you can rest here as se- 
 curely as if you were in your own father's house. 
 Don't let a single fear keep you awake, for Brave and 
 I will protect you from harm." 
 
 Thanking her preserver for his services and kind 
 care, and commending herself to One mightier than 
 man for protection, she threw herself on her leafy bed, 
 and in a few minutes was buried in a deep sleep. 
 The noble Brave stretched himself at the feet of the 
 sleeping girl, while his master sat on a knoll, a little 
 apart, his back resting against a tree. 
 
 If, during the night, the Scout dozed at intervals, 
 the frequent inclination of his head in a listening pos- 
 ture showed that he was on the alert to detect the first 
 signs of approaching danger. At the earliest glimmer 
 of dawn he aroused himself, and, ordering Brave, in a 
 low voice, to remain at his post, he started off on the 
 route he had passed the evening previous. He had 
 two objects in view in revisiting the scenes of his 
 last night's exploit. He wished to ascertain if the 
 savages were still lurking in the neighborhood, or, 
 as he trusted, had become alarmed and retreated, as 
 was their wont on receiving a rebuff; besides, he said, 
 he wanted to secure a part of the buck killed by the 
 Indians, " for it was a pesky shame to leave such a 
 feast to the tarnal wolves." 
 
 On arriving at the foot of the precipice, he found a 
 trail leading around the hill to the spot where the 
 savage received his death. The body had been re- 
 moved, but he discovered it a little distance from the
 
 220 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 cave, covered with branches, and hedged around with 
 blocks of stone, evidently disposed to protect it from 
 beasts of prey. From this hasty and rudely-built sep- 
 ulchre he found a trail branching off in the direction 
 of Canada, which convinced the Scout that he had 
 no more to fear from the party. After scouring the 
 woods awhile to assure himself, he went back to where 
 the dead buck lay untouched, and, helping himself to 
 some choice bits, hastened to retrace his steps to the 
 camping-ground. 
 
 The sun was well up ere Annie awoke from her 
 slumbers, by which time the Scout had prepared a 
 rich repast of venison steaks, cooked as only an old 
 hunter like him can cook them, which proved a most 
 acceptable dish to the half-famished girl. Brave also 
 came in for his share of the spoils. 
 
 After a hearty meal, the party again took up their 
 line of march. Refreshed by her night's rest, and im- 
 patient to reach her home, Annie won largely on the 
 good graces of her companion by her spirited endur- 
 ance of fatigue. Indeed, freed from alarm, the novelty 
 of her situation gave a buoyancy to her spirits ; and, 
 in listening to the adventures of the Scout, in witness- 
 ing his skill as a sportsman, in wandering amid the 
 grand old woods, enjoying the beautiful scenery con- 
 stantly breaking upon the vision, as well as the excite- 
 ment of a forest life, all combined to relieve and 
 almost make her forget the weariness of the rugged 
 journey. 
 
 It was the evening of the eleventh day since Annie 
 was taken captive, and her aged parents sat in the 
 doorway, conversing of the absent one. No .tidings
 
 THE SCOUT. 221 
 
 had been received from the Scout, and, from his pro- 
 longed stay, it was feared that he, too, had fallen into 
 the hands of the red men, or a victim to their barbar- 
 ity. Day after day he had been anxiously looked for, 
 and, as disappointment succeeded disappointment, the 
 hopes of the parents were fast giving way to despair. 
 If their child was not dead, a long, hopeless captivity, 
 perhaps a fate worse than death, was reserved for her. 
 Indulging in such forebodings, the aged man sat bowed 
 in grief. So absorbed were they in their gloomy med- 
 itations, they did not observe the approach of two 
 persons, who emerged from the forest that skirted the 
 side of the house, one of whom sought, with light step, 
 the back entrance to the dwelling. A slight noise 
 made by the approach of the latter attracted their 
 attention ; and, as they started in surprise to their 
 feet, the Scout stood before them but aloae. 
 
 "0, God I he has returned, and alone! Annie- 
 our child where is she ? " was the hurried exclama- 
 tion of the mother, as, starting forward, she seized the 
 arm of the Scout. 
 
 "For the love of Heaven, tell us tell us, is she 
 living ? " gasped the father, in trembling accents, as 
 the Scout hesitated to reply, his silence confirming 
 their worst fears. 
 
 " Dead 1 dead ! " said the mother, dropping the 
 Scout's arm, and burying her face in her apron, while 
 her aged frame rocked in agony. 
 
 At that moment, a light hand was laid on her shoul- 
 der, and a well-known voice, half-choked with emotion, 
 said, "Mother! father! I am here; here, safe and 
 unharmed, thanks to that brave man ! " 
 
 A wild cry of joy burst from the lips of the aged 
 19*
 
 222 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 couple, followed by convulsive embraces, passionate 
 exclamations, and tears of joy. Taking advantage of 
 the excitement of the moment, the Scout stole away 
 unperceived ; and, when the bewildered parents turned 
 to thank the preserver and restorer of their child, he 
 was not to be seen. With rapid strides he was hasten- 
 ing up the road on his way to Falmouth, to escape the 
 gratitude of those he had benefited. 
 
 " The sight of the meeting of the poor gal and her 
 parents doubly repaid me for the little trouble I had 
 taken," was the simple response of the Scout whenever 
 this subject was alluded to. 
 
 The return of Annie spread joy throughout the 
 settlement. Public thanks were returned on the next 
 Sabbath ; and, at the evening meeting, Deacon Hazle- 
 ton made her return a subject of especial remark, 
 taking for his text the words, " For this my son was 
 dead, and is alive again ; he was lost, and is found ;" 
 which he made the ground-work of a very profitable 
 and acceptable exhortation, although, in so doing, 
 many thought he infringed upon the prerogative of 
 the minister, in fact, anticipated a discourse which 
 he was preparing for the next Sabbath. 
 
 It need not be added, that the Scout never visited 
 the settlement without receiving a hearty welcome 
 from all the inhabitants, more particularly from Annie 
 and ker parents, while the noble Brave was petted to 
 the top of his bent. 
 
 Here we leave the Scout. During all our Indian 
 troubles he was always foremost to redress the wrongs 
 of the whites. When peace ensued, he continued to 
 follow his wood-craft, not scrupling, we fear, when a 
 red man came within range of his rifle, to execute 
 upon him his long-cherished vengeance.
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I love to itaml on some high, beetling rock, 
 
 Or dusky brow of iavage promontory, 
 
 Watching the wayes, with all their white crests dancing, 
 
 Gome, like thick plum'd squadrons, to the shore, 
 
 Gallantly bounding. 
 
 Si* A. HUNT. 
 
 HE who has never stood upon our rough, rocky 
 coast of the North, and gazed upon the wild Atlantic 
 when the breath of the tempest has aroused it to fury, 
 has yet to behold one of the most awful and sublime 
 pictures in the great gallery of Nature. The moun- 
 tain and the waterfall, the forest and the wide-flowing 
 river, the green valley and the calm lake, awaken 
 emotions of beauty and grandeur ; but, if we would 
 learn aright the might and majesty of Him who 
 " taketh up the isles as a very little thing," and Baith 
 to the proudly vaulting wave, "thus far and no 
 farther," we must stand upon the border of the 
 ocean when the spirit of the storm is abroad, when 
 deep calleth unto deep, and the mad billows rush in 
 from the illimitable expanse, and break in thunder- 
 tones on the rocky battlements which oppose their 
 
 (223)
 
 224 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 fierce career. We have oftejn stood thus, over- 
 whelmed with awe, when the very earth beneath our 
 feet trembled, and the atmosphere was filled with 
 clouds of foam from the watery avalanches which 
 dashed in fury around us. And 1 how utterly weak 
 and impotent at such times has seemed the boasted 
 power and skill of man, when his noblest work, the 
 brave bark, has been tossed like a plaything amid the 
 "hell of waters." 
 
 The scene to which we would invite the attention 
 of the reader is a spot on our northern coast, a bar- 
 ren and desolate one to him who has an eye only for 
 the beautiful in nature; but to him who loves the bold 
 and rugged features which she presents, a scene of 
 exciting interest. For miles along the coast, stern 
 and jagged cliffs stand like giant knights, earth's 
 guardians, battling forever against the encroachments 
 of the sea. Here and there huge fragments of rock, 
 piled promiscuously along the shore, show where one 
 and another have yielded to repeated attacks of the 
 foe, still offering their scattered masses as a rampart 
 and shield against the onset of the wave. 
 
 Bordering the coast, all is sterile; no green thing 
 relieves the monotony of the scene. Occasional 
 inlets, -however, offer to view a clean sandy beach, or 
 white pebbly shore, up whose easy slopes the billows 
 glide with a graceful sweep and murmur, and linger 
 among the tinkling shells and glistening stones as if 
 loth to retire from the gentle caress, Earth and Ocean 
 embracing in amity. Passing a short distance in- 
 land, and the delighted eye would, perhaps, run up a 
 beautiful opening, luxuriant with vegetation and lined 
 with stately trees, crowned with the deepest verdure;
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 225 
 
 Eden-like spots, appearing a thousand times more 
 charming from the barrenness of the surrounding 
 scenery. 
 
 Into one of these picturesque openings would we 
 invite the reader, where, sheltered from the sea air by 
 a rising knoll, from which a cluster of maples and wal- 
 nuts have sprung with interlaced branches, stands a 
 log hut, rude, it is true, in its construction, but still 
 looking as if made on purpose for the spot on which 
 it is reared, nestling tKere as quietly and unobtru- 
 sively as if part and parcel of the scene. The mur- 
 mur of the waves as they kiss the shore, or the per- 
 petual roar of the sea breaking in foam against the 
 more distant headlands, come with a gentle and sooth- 
 ing tone to the ear. A few steps from the door give 
 you a fine glimpse of the sparkling waters on the 
 beach, while a neighboring bluff affords an unbroken 
 view of the ocean in all its vastness and glory. 
 
 This is the light-keeper's dwelling; and if ever 
 humble content, if ever unalloyed happiness, dwelt 
 under one roof, it surely finds a home there. The 
 family consisted at the time of our story of the gray- 
 haired keeper and his wife, together with three chil- 
 dren, who were nearly grown to man and womanhood. 
 A small enclosure some distance up the glen contains 
 three or four mounds of various lengths, showing that 
 one and another of the little household had loosed the 
 silver tie. On a distant headland, which juts boldly 
 into the sea, rises the white tower which nightly sends 
 forth its beacon-light to guide the ocean wanderer on 
 his course. For nearly half a century has the aged 
 keeper daily trimmed and nightly lighted the lamps 
 that send their star-like rays far over the waste of
 
 226 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 waters ; and never, when the wild tempest' is raging, 
 does he leave that stone tower without offering up an 
 earnest prayer for the mariner abroad in such a night, 
 and time and again will he hurry through the dark 
 etorm to his post, to see if the lights are in good 
 order, and that no duty has been neglected ; for well 
 knows that old man the value of these ocean guides. 
 
 The extreme beauty of this isolated spot, and the 
 etern grandeur of the surrounding scenery, render it 
 one of the most pleasant retreats during the summer 
 months that can be found. An additional attraction 
 is offered in the glorious sport here to be obtained ; for, 
 from the shelving cliff or low reef, the angler finds 
 abundant employment for his rod, and the aged part- 
 ner of the keeper stands ever ready to serve up in 
 a most acceptable manner the spoils yu are sure to 
 win. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A wreck complete she rolled 
 At mercy of the waves : whose mercies ar 
 Like human beings' during ciril war. 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 " WE cannot be too particular," said the old keeper, 
 as we stood one afternoon with him in the lantern of 
 the lighthouse, while he busied himself in his daily 
 task. He was then burnishing, for the tenth or 
 twelfth time, the reflectors, which were already of 
 dazzling brightness. 
 
 " Humble as is my duty, there is a responsibility 
 attending it only appreciated by those who can realize
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 227 
 
 the importance of a good light. There have been 
 keepers through whose neglect many a noble ship has 
 been wrecked, and many a valuable life lost. Well 
 do I know, too, by my own experience, young man, 
 the value of these beacons to the bewildered and 
 storm-driven mariner. 
 
 " Years agone," continued the keeper, as he care- 
 fully wiped a faint speck from one of the glass chim- 
 neys, " before the coast was dotted with lighthouses, a 
 merchant ship by stress of weather was driven out 
 of her course. For a week the captain had not been 
 able to get an observation, nearly the whole of which 
 we had been lying to under a mere rag of sail. Our 
 captain, who was an experienced navigator, judged 
 that he had plenty of sea-room, although sensible that 
 the ship had made a great lee-drift. From what hap- 
 pened, it was evident that we were in a strong cur- 
 rent, which set us all afloat in our reckonings. 
 
 " One night, soon after eight bells, the captain was 
 aroused with the startling intelligence of land under 
 our lee. The gale was then at its height, and a tre- 
 mendous sea running ; and sure enough, as we rose on 
 a wave, the dim outline of coast could be seen through 
 the dusk and mist of night. Where were we ? Alas, 
 no friendly light streamed its welcome beams over the 
 troubled waters, but all was darkness, uncertainty, and 
 dread. With characteristic coolness, the captain took 
 tttose measures which the fearful emergency demanded. 
 But skill could little avail us. All the sail the ship 
 could possibly bear was put upon her, in the hope of 
 being able to claw off the land ; but scarcely had she 
 begun to feel its influence when the harrowing cry, 
 'Breakers under our lee-bow!' sent a chill through
 
 228 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 every vein. The ship was immediately hove on the 
 other tack, and, as she came slowly up in the wind, 
 and was falling off, a loud report was heard aloft. 
 The foretopsail was blown clear from the bolt-ropes. 
 At the same moment, and while the ship shivered in 
 the wind, from a rift in the clouds a few sickly moon- 
 beams revealed a long line of breakers both ahead 
 and astern. But one course was left. The anchors 
 were let go and the masts cut by the board. 
 
 " With fearful anxiety did we watch the strain on 
 the cables, and we all breathed more freely as we 
 found, after a time, that the anchors held. Thus we 
 remained for a number of hours, until the first faint 
 light of morning revealed more fully the horrors of 
 our situation. But a few cables' length astern of us 
 the billows, seething and foaming, were driven mast- 
 head high, as they burst in thunder-tones on a long 
 line of craggy cliffs as far as the eye could reach. 
 Save this little cove, into which the huge waves rolled 
 with an earthquake roar, the eye rested upon nothing 
 but frowning rock, cliff piled beside cliff, throwing 
 back the ghastly foam, till sight became lost in the 
 distance. 
 
 " With a shudder," continued the old man, solemnly, 
 " which the bravest could not dispel, we turned from 
 this despairing view toward the only hope which re- 
 mained to us. The anchors held their ground bravely, 
 but the parting of a single link in either of the cables 
 we well knew would seal our destruction. With 
 what deep intensity, as the ship rose on the broad 
 billows, would we watch the long scope straightened 
 out like a whip-cord, the chains stretching far along 
 the surface, under the immense strain, while the ship,
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 229 
 
 like 'a frightened courser, would leap Tind plunge as if 
 striving to break away from the power that held her. 
 Had our cables been made of hemp instead of iron, 
 we might have rode out the gale in safety ; but with 
 the morning flood immense rollers hove in, burying 
 the ship from stem to stern. At last one of unusual 
 size came rushing on like an avalanche, and the cap- 
 tain had just" time to shout ' Hold on all ! ' when it 
 burst upon us. A sudden tremor shook the vessel as 
 she rose heavily from beneath her watery shroud, 
 then a piercing cry burst from every lip. The chains 
 had parted 1 Heavenly Father, may I never witness 
 another such a scene I 
 
 " Hope di'd not wholly leave us," added the keeper ; 
 " the- dying still cling to it. If we drifted on to the 
 rocks our fate we knew was inevitable, but if we 
 could run the ship into the cove and beach her, our 
 chances, desperate as they were in that heavy sea, 
 would be more favorable. When the tackle parted 
 the ship fell off into the trough of the sea, and was 
 driven with fearful rapidity towards the shore. !Por 
 a time we w6re cheered with the hope that we should 
 drift into the cove, as it laid dead to the leeward 
 of us. 
 
 " On and on we went, now struggling on the top 
 of a billow, and now wallowing in the deep trough, 
 each man holding his breath, awaiting in agonizing sus- 
 pense the final catastrophe. 
 
 "We were nearly at the mouth of the inlet, and 
 hope had almost ripened into assurance that we 
 should escape the breakers churning around us, when 
 a giant surge came heaving in, a perfect wall of 
 water, crested with a lurid foam. I wa.8 PBLtfw* <juar- 
 20
 
 230 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 ter-deck, clinging to a remnant of the mizzen-stay, as 
 this monster billow swept toward us. A moment be- 
 fore it reached us a sudden and fearful crash shook 
 the ill-fated vessel to the centre. She struck on a 
 sunken reef that makes out from the cliff yonder. 
 Simultaneously with the shock the wave met us, and, 
 scarcely knowing what I did, I sprang upon its very 
 top, as it rolled thundering by the wreck. That leap 
 saved me. 
 
 " Whirled about on the very edge of its curve, I was 
 borne into the cove, the waters hissing and roaring 
 about me, and yet, above ah 1 the noise of the elements, 
 there came distinctly to my ear the last agonizing 
 shrieks of my poor companions. Once only I remem- 
 ber of hearing them, and they were so piercing- that 
 even I shuddered, though death at the very moment 
 was staring me in the face. All after that was chaos. 
 There was a sound in my ears like ten thousand thun- 
 ders ; I felt myself darting forward with the rapidity 
 of lightning ; then came a strangling sensation, and I 
 knew no more until I found myself high up the 
 beach, clinging with death-like tenacity to the coils 
 of sea-weed washed in by the sea." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A beam of comfort, like the moon through clouds, 
 'Gilds the black horror, and directs my way. 
 
 DBYDEW. 
 
 " IT was ah 1 through God's mercy," continued the 
 aged 'narrator, "that I escaped. Truly may I say
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 231 
 
 with the Psalmist, ' He sent from above, he took me, 
 he drew me out of many waters.' " 
 
 " And were you the only one that reached the shore 
 alive ? " we asked, as he paused in his narrative. 
 
 " You see the cliff yonder, at the base of which a 
 low reef runs out, just visible on the top of the tide. 
 Half-way up or more, you perceive that it shelves in, 
 forming a narrow platform. Well, on that small shelf 
 one of the crew was thrown by that wave, but shock- 
 ingly maimed, poor fellow. He was nearly dead and 
 quite helpless when I discovered him, and it was only 
 after repeated attempts, and the most persevering 
 efforts, that I at last succeeded in rescuing him from 
 his perilous situation. All the rest of the ship's crew, 
 numbering fourteen souls, perished. 
 
 " You may imagine my situation, far away from my 
 fellow-men (for at that time the region about here 
 was entirely uninhabited, and my nearest neighbors, 
 as I discovered by chance some years afterward, be- 
 ing a few small fishing hamlets, scattered along the 
 coast, seventy or eighty miles distant) ; thus isolated, 
 as it were, with my unfortunate companion ; no shel- 
 ter, no food, no hope of relief from my kind. A dismal 
 fate seemed to. await me. . But man's extremity is 
 God's opportunity. Never, my young friend, in what- 
 ever situation you may be placed, in the darkest hour 
 of adversity, under the deepest misfortune, never dis- 
 trust his providential care. He that feedeth the 
 young ravens, and marketh the sparrow, that it fall not 
 unheeded to the ground, watcheth with especial care 
 over those who put their trust in Him ; thrice blessed 
 be his holy name ! 
 
 " My first care, after rendering my Buffering com-
 
 232 FOREST AND SHOKE. 
 
 panion as comfortable as circumstances would permit, 
 was to cast about for food. Fortunately, a fine spring 
 of water was discovered early, near which, on a bed 
 of leaves, I placed the sufferer. I then went to exam- 
 ine the wreck. With the turn of the tide the gale had 
 abated, and an off-shore wind was fast knocking down 
 the sea. To my great surprise (for I did not expect 
 that a fragment of the ship would be left), I found that, 
 though the forward part of the wreck was entirely 
 gone, from her main hatch aft she was wedged into a 
 chasm in the cliff, and there remained. This discovery 
 infused new hope into me, and I hastened back to my 
 companion with the cheering news. The beach, too, 
 was scattered with fragments of the wreck, and, among 
 other useful articles, a barrel of bread, slightly dam- 
 aged, was seized upon as a treasure. The dread of 
 starvation had now vanished, for, with bread and shell- 
 fish at our command, we had not much to fear on that 
 score. 
 
 " When the sea had become calm, which was not till 
 the second day, I formed a raft from the drift-wood, 
 and, after considerable difficulty, succeeded in boarding 
 the wreck, which at low tide was high out of the 
 water. My object was -to secure what the sea had 
 spared, and my search was well rewarded. The ^pol- 
 chest, some spare sails and rigging, the captain's and 
 mate's chests and bedding, were prizes I had not cal- 
 culated on. These were transported to the shore 
 during the day; and that night we slept under a com- 
 fortable tent. For a week or more, while the weather 
 was fair, I made repeated visits to the wreck, and in 
 the run of the vessel found abundance of 'provisions, 
 beef, pork, and vegetables. Among the latter was a
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 233 
 
 email quantity of beans and corn, which I preserved 
 with care, for seed, in case I should be compelled to 
 remain long in this place. 
 
 " My last trip liked to have proved fatal to me, for 
 the weather had changed and threatened a storm, and, 
 there being a pretty heavy swell heaving in, my raft 
 was thrown among the rocks and shattered. I suc- 
 ceeded, however, in reaching the shore, considerably 
 bruised. That night a furious gale set in, and in the 
 morning not a vestige of the wreck was seen. I felt 
 sad at its disappearance, I assure you, although I had 
 saved pretty much all that was valuable from it. 
 When that fragment of the ill-fated ship was gone, I 
 know not why it was, but I felt more than ever isolated. 
 It seemed as if the last link that bound me to my dis- 
 tant land was severed. 
 
 " My whole attention was now devoted to preparing 
 a suitable habitation, and in arranging matters for the 
 future. My wounded companion was getting along 
 better than we had reason to expect, although the 
 nature of his wounds was such as to render him a crip- 
 ple for life, if not entirely helpless. It was the spring 
 of the year, and, selecting a patch of ground easy of 
 cultivation, I broke it up as I best could, and sowed 
 it with beans and corn. Everything worked favorably; 
 and, while I was busied in rearing a more comfortable 
 habitation, and in cultivating the soil, the time passed 
 pleasantly away. I began to grow attached to the 
 spot ; and, as there existed no kindred ties to draw my 
 affections away (for, though young, I was a lone man 
 in the world), I grew to look upon the place as my 
 future home. 
 
 " Early misfortunes, perhaps a constitutional fond- 
 20*
 
 234 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 ness for retirement, rendered the world less alluring to 
 me than it generally is to those of my age, conse- 
 quently my isolated situation was not so irksome as it 
 otherwise might have been. It was different with my 
 companion ; his heart was knit to many friends, and to 
 a pleasant home, and he pined in his solitude with a 
 heartrsick yearning which rendered life anything but 
 a blessing to him. Poor Tom ! he found rest at last." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 All comfort go with thee ! 
 For none abides irith me : my joy is death. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam, 
 Were unto him companionship ; they spake 
 A mutual language, clearer than the tome 
 Of his land's tongue. 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 " BUT I am tedious in my details," remarked the old 
 man, as he cast a last look on the blazing lamps, which 
 he had lighted during the conversation, and prepared to 
 leave the lantern. " I had no idea, when I commenced 
 these reminiscences, of spinning out so long a story. 
 It is nard to stop an old man's tongue when it once 
 gets going." 
 
 We begged him to continue, assuring him of the 
 interest we felt in his narrative, an interest we trust 
 the reader shares with us. 
 
 " Well, then, we '11 continue the story as we walk 
 along -toward the house," added the keeper. And we 
 left the lighthouse together.
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 235 
 
 " This part of the coast," continued he, as we slowly 
 proceeded homeward, " was at that time rarely visited, 
 it being out of the track of ordinary trading-vessels. 
 Since then a large sea-port has risen up, as if by magic, 
 in its neighborhood ; but then it was entirely uninhab- 
 ited, save, as I said before, by a few scattered fisher- 
 men. For my wounded companion's sake, who was 
 pining for those who mourned his absence, I kept a 
 diligent lookout for any chance passing vessel, and on 
 the bluff yonder I hoisted a signal, to attract attention 
 should one approach when I was not on the watch. 
 But days grew into weeks, weeks into months, and 
 still no sail appeared, until poor Tom resigned himself 
 in despair to his fate. 
 
 " In the mean time, busied with the cultivation of 
 my little patch, which thrived wonderfully, and in 
 erecting a log hut, the time passed rapidly away with 
 me. My companion rendered but little assistance, and 
 it grieved me to notice that he daily grew more feeble. 
 I soon became sensible that he would ere long leave 
 me ; and, as the conviction was forced upon my mind, 
 the full sense of the loneliness of my situation stared 
 me in the face. For his sake, I could not regret his 
 departure, for life had nothing to tempt his stay. Here 
 physical suffering and mental anguish embittered his 
 existence ; but in the grave he looked for rest. He 
 had placed an anchor ahead, with plenty of scope to 
 ride out the storms of life and the dark billows of 
 death. He had a well-grounded faith that he should 
 be safely moored at last in that haven where tempest 
 and shipwreck are unknown. For my own sake, how- 
 ever, I grieved the fast approaching event. His very 
 helplessness had endeared him to me ; and, in nursing
 
 236 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 him and trying to alleviate his sufferings, in cheering 
 his despondency and sharing his hour of triumphant 
 joy, my mind found employment and relief. 
 
 " The hour came at last ; and, with a prayer and a 
 blessing on his lips in my behalf, poor Tom left me. 
 I felt a lone man then, and for hours I sat by the bed 
 of death, with my hand clasped in his stiffened grasp, 
 as he held it in the last struggle. God knows I have 
 passed many a sad hour, but none so sad as those. 
 Life seemed a dreary blank, a terrible void spread out 
 before me, and I would gladly have lain down beside 
 my friend in the embrace of death. 
 
 " It was a hard task for me to perform the duties to 
 the dead ; and, in digging his grave under his favorite 
 tree, and in shaping his rude coffin, I would often 
 pause in my work, filled with bitter repinings, and 
 sometimes fearfully tempted to make one grave 
 receive us both. 
 
 " The melancholy task was at last accomplished, the 
 green turf heaped upon the mound, and then the evil 
 spirit departed from me. With a chastened heart, I 
 bowed in humble resignation to His will with whom 
 are the issues of life and death. The concerns of life 
 again gradually engrossed my attention. I felt the 
 necessity of constant action, of keeping my mind em- 
 ployed on something besides vague thought, anything 
 to keep down that listless yearning for companionship 
 which is natural to all living beings. I sought the 
 acquaintance of Nature, and she did not repel me. I 
 made the rocks and the trees my companions, the birds 
 grew friendly to me, and their sweet minstrelsy touched 
 a chord in my breast in unison with their own pure 
 melody, and the wild flowers came to me with mes-
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 237 
 
 sages of love, and the golden corn in my garden whis- 
 pered to me of the goodness of Him whose care is 
 over all, and whose blessings never fail. A new sense 
 was given to me, new fountains in my heart were 
 opened, and instead of being a solitary man, I found 
 myself surrounded everywhere with a ' co-existence 
 and community.' 
 
 " Sometimes, for a change of scene, I would wander 
 away up the glen, or along the coast, and not return 
 until nightfall, when I was sure to be welcomed by a 
 robin, which I one day rescued from a bird of prey 
 and cherished until its wounds were healed. Ever 
 after that, the little thing courted my acquaintance, 
 eating crumbs fearlessly from my hands ; and, when- 
 ever I returned from my walks, it would fly toward 
 me, alighting on my shoulders, fluttering its little 
 wings, and chirping caressingly as I spoke to it and 
 stroked its plumage. Sometimes it brought its mate 
 with it, who was a little more shy ; and I was greatly 
 affected, one day, when, after missing my little warbler 
 for some time, it flew from a neighboring tree, and, 
 perching on my hand, commenced a peculiar cry, a 
 warbling call, which was immediately answered from 
 the tree, and presently two little robins, but a short 
 time fledged, lit on the turf a short distance from me. 
 The affectionate creature flew down to them, and 
 absolutely urged and coaxed them toward me, appear- 
 ing to me as if she had brought her offspring to thank 
 the protector of their parent. Truly, ' God tempers 
 the wind to the shorn lamb.' In my despondency, 
 after the death of poor Tom, I had murmured at the 
 loneliness of my lot, and He here had sent the birds 
 of the air to cheer my solitude. Not more welcome
 
 238 FOREST AND SHOEE. 
 
 were the ravens to Elijah in the wilderness than were 
 these little nestlings to me. I received them as mes- 
 sengers from heaven, and knelt in gratitude for the 
 gift. 
 
 " On one of my excursions, I discovered a little 
 sandy cove, and, on visiting it, to my great joy found, 
 high up the beach, and half-buried in the sand, a large 
 yawl boat, which, save a small hole stove in the bow, 
 was not materially injured. By great labor, in a 
 few days I repaired her, got her afloat, and with a 
 small sail succeeded in safely mooring her in ' Glen 
 Cove/ for that was the name by which I had chris- 
 tened the place of my residence. I immediately 
 fitted her with a suit of sails, made from the spare 
 canvas saved from the wreck, and frequently took trips 
 up and down the coast. The only result of these 
 voyages was a deeper conviction that the region was 
 wholly uninhabited. I found a number of other coves 
 of inviting aspect, but not one spot on which nature 
 had lavished so many beauties and advantages as the 
 one where a merciful Providence had cast me, and I 
 always returned to my pleasant home more satisfied 
 with my lot. 
 
 " I must confess to a bitter feeling of sadness when 
 the changing aspect of nature announced the approach 
 of the colder seasons. The fall of the leaf and the 
 departure of the birds stripped my desert home of its 
 principal attractions, and filled my mind with emotions 
 of melancholy and induced feelings of loneliness which 
 it is difficult adequately to portray. But in securing 
 my crop, which was very abundant, in arranging my 
 household, supplying little necessaries to increase my 
 comfort, and in adopting plans for the future, the
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 239 
 
 dreaded season wore away more agreeably than I had 
 dared to anticipate. The absence of my feathered 
 companion was a hard trial to bear, but I cheered my- 
 self with the hope that with the spring she would 
 return. 
 
 " I have already, I fear, fatigued you with my tri- 
 fling details; but I must confess to you it is a source 
 of pleasure to indulge in these reminiscences. I look 
 back upon those days, solitary as they were, as among 
 the happiest of my existence. My life was indeed 
 monotonous, but if the smooth current bore not on its 
 bosom the sparkle of worldly pleasures, neither was it 
 disturbed with the angry turmoil of worldly conten- 
 tion. Peace, like a white-winged angel, brooded over 
 the scene. My wants were few and simple, and 
 abundantly supplied ; and, though I yearned for one 
 to whom I might whisper, ' Solitude is sweet/ yet I 
 had every reason to thank God that my lines had 
 fallen in such pleasant places. 
 
 " A severe winter was followed by an early spring, 
 the snow rapidly disappeared, and you may imagine 
 the gush of joy "I experienced when, one morning, I 
 was greeted by the warbling of a bird. Hurrying to 
 the door with that nervous haste with which we go to 
 welcome an unexpected friend, conceive if you can 
 the thrill of happiness I felt, as from its perch on a 
 neighboring tree my little absent warbler flew to my 
 bosom, fluttering and chirping as if overjoyed at the 
 meeting. Can you wonder that the deepest fountains 
 of my heart were stirred, and that tears, warm tears, 
 gushed freely from my eyes, and that I sobbed in very 
 ecstasy of feeling? It was even so. My heart 
 swelled almost to bursting as I caressed the affection-
 
 240 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 ate little creature; and, if ever pnre and perfect happi- 
 ness dwelt on earth, it was my guest on that blessed 
 morning. The world wore a new aspect to me, the 
 sun looked brighter, the sky purer, and a universal 
 smile of cheerfulness appeared to rest on nature, 
 responding to the sense of joy that pervaded my 
 being. Solitary as was the life I there led, I doubt if 
 the wealth of the world would have tempted me on 
 that day from that spot. I was indeed a happy man. 
 You may not be able to enter into my feelings. You 
 must be placed as I was placed, surrounded by the 
 same circumstances, shut out from the world, with no 
 living thing near you, and then suddenly have a 
 guest, like an angel from heaven, come to you, with 
 demonstrations of love and confidence, and that guest 
 a tiny bird, the most innocent thing under heaven, 
 and who finds in man his most cruel foe, you must 
 experience all this to fully realize the strong tide of 
 emotions that flooded my heart. 
 
 "If time and your patience would permit, I could 
 detail a thousand little incidents connected with that 
 period of isolation: of my employments and enjoy- 
 ments, for, as you have seen, I was not without the 
 latter, of my improvements in husbandry, and the 
 many comforts which gradually clustered around and 
 in my home. But I will spare you these, and pass 
 over two years of my life, to incidents which gave a 
 new coloring to my existence."
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 241 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 O'er the lone waters, without sail or oar, 
 She drifted on at mercy of the waves. 
 
 Ou> PLAT. 
 
 A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigged, 
 Nor tackle, sail, nor mast 
 
 SIIAK3PEARE. 
 
 "You would scarcely have known 'Glen Cove, ; 
 after two years had elapsed, so altered was it. I had 
 enlarged ami finished my house, pretty much as you 
 see it now, my kitchen garden was extended and 
 highly cultivated, and I had a beautiful flower-garden, 
 into which I had transplanted all the variety of wild- 
 flowers I could find. This was a delightful task, and 
 threw a charm over many an hour devoted to it, which 
 otherwise would have passed in weariness. During 
 these two years, three times only I caught sight ot 
 passing sails ; but they were at such a distance they 
 only flitted along the horizon like passing clouds, and 
 were soon lost to view. 
 
 " One morning in early summer, I took my accus- 
 tomed walk to the bluff yonder, whence, as you are 
 aware, an extended and unbroken view of the coast 
 and sea may be had. I did not visit this spot with the 
 expectation of seeing a vessel, scarcely with the hope, 
 for I had grown eo attached to my new home and 
 quiet life that I hardly had the desire to change it. It 
 had been my daily practice, however, to saunter to 
 this lookout, and I had gone thither on the morning 
 in question and taken my favorite seat. It was a 
 beautiful morning ; there was no breeze, and the ocean 
 was as calm as a summer lake, except the long, smooth 
 21
 
 242 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 swell, which came in and broke with a soothing mur- 
 mur at the base of the cliff. 
 
 " I sat longer than usual this morning, gazing out 
 upon the placid deep, indulging in those reveries which 
 such a scene would naturally inspire. As I arose to 
 leave, I thought I detected a small object in the offing, 
 a little to the eastward, a dark speck merely, hardly 
 visible. Riveting my eyes upon it as it rose upon the 
 swell, it struck me as resembling a boat. It was evi- 
 dently drifting with the current, for I could not detect 
 the movement of an oar, or anything indicating life on 
 board. 
 
 " A boat adrift on the wide and solitary ocean is 
 always an object of interest, and the imagination im- 
 mediately invests it with a thousand romantic associa- 
 tions. Situated as I was, the sight of such an object 
 naturally excited an intense interest. Scarcely wait- 
 ing to take a second glance, I hastened to the cove, 
 and, having placed some water and provisions on 
 board my yawl, I shoved from the shore. The dis- 
 tance of the supposed boat from land was great, much 
 greater than I had anticipated ; but, with an eagerness 
 i can hardly account for, I plied the oars, and slowly 
 urged my way toward the object of my search. 
 
 " As I approached nearer to it, I saw plainly that it 
 was a boat, and I watched eagerly, as it rose on the 
 top of the swell, to see if any one was on board. But 
 it appeared to be completely deserted. It was a large 
 yawl. The painter hung dragging over the bows, and 
 & piece of what appeared to be a sail in the stern 
 sheets lay over the gunwale and flapped carelessly with 
 the motion of the sea. There was something in the 
 appearance of this apparently deserted boat, as I ap-
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 243 
 
 preached it, drifting thus solitary on the great deep, 
 that awakened reflections of a sad and melancholy 
 nature. What dark history was connected with this 
 little craft? How came it thus abroad upon the 
 waters ? Was it swept from the storm-drenched deck, 
 or was it launched from the foundered ship, the for- 
 lorn hope of the wretched crew ? If so, where were 
 those who embarked in it? Had they been rescued 
 from their perilous situation, or had they perished mis- 
 erably, their last husky cry being a prayer for ' water?' 
 Who can tell ? Such was the tenor of my thoughts, 
 as I slowly advanced towards the stranger. 
 
 " After nearly three hours' toilsome labor, my boat 
 grazed alongside the object of my search. Merciful 
 Heaven, what a spectacle was presented to my sight ! 
 My very blood ran chill, and for a moment I stood hor- 
 ror-struck as I gazed upon the scene before me. The 
 first object that attracted my attention was the form 
 of a man, bent nearly double, face downwards, over 
 the bow-thwart. His head did not quite touch the 
 bottom of the boat, and his long, matted hair hung 
 wildly over his fleshless face. The position of the 
 body, the fearful expression of the face, the blackened 
 and shrivelled tongue protruding between his thin and 
 parched lips, presented a horrid and sickening sight. 
 In the bottom of the boat was another, lying on his 
 back, his feet over the thwart, as if he had fallen back- 
 wards from his seat, his ghastly and despairing look 
 too plainly evincing the agony endured before death 
 came to his relief. God ! it was a terrible sight, 
 a terrible sight. As I stood gazing, in a sort of stu- 
 pefaction, upon the harrowing scene, a low moan
 
 244 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 caught my ear, and drew my attention to another 
 quarter. 
 
 "A piece of a sail was spread over the stern sheets, 
 which, with trembling hands, I hurriedly lifted. Un- 
 derneath the covering I discovered two persons : one 
 the mere skeleton of a man, so emaciated that it 
 seemed impossible the breath of life could linger in 
 him, and by his side a female form, her attenuated 
 hand clasped in that of the man, and her face buried 
 in his bosom. The glaring eyes of the former rolled 
 wildly in their sockets, as, with a feeble, husky voice, 
 he exclaimed, ' Water ! for the love of God, a drop of 
 water ! ' As he spoke, the female turned her head 
 toward me, with a low, heart-breaking moan, and fixed 
 on me such an imploring look that the tears blinded 
 my sight. 
 
 " Trembling with eagerness, I hastened to obey his 
 prayers. But I felt the necessity of extreme caution 
 in administering relief. As I presented the wooden 
 bowl, the man motioned me toward the female, but, in 
 a low tone, she said, ' My father first.' And her eyes 
 glistened at the prospect of relief. I did not dare to 
 let them drink, but first bathed their parched and 
 blackened lips with the cooling liquid, suffering but a 
 small quantity to be swallowed. At first, the man- 
 clutched feebly at the bowl, as if he would drink off 
 its contents at once ; but I checked him, and warned 
 him of the consequences of a too free use of water in 
 his present exhausted state. Frequently moistening 
 their lips, and cautiously administering to their wants, 
 I was rewarded by perceiving in both faint signs of 
 improvement. 
 
 "My thoughts were now directed towards home.
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 245 
 
 Fortunately, a light breeze had sprung up ; and, spread- 
 ing my sail, with the yawl in tow, I arrived late in the 
 afternoon in the cove. My first care was to get 
 the sufferers to the house. They were mere skin and 
 bone, and entirely helpless, but a child could have 
 lifted them. After preparing for them such suste- 
 nance, suitable to their condition, as my limited means 
 admitted, I left them, in the edge of the evening, com- 
 paratively comfortable, murmuring blessings on my 
 head. 
 
 " A melancholy task called me forth, the last sad 
 duties to the dead were to be performed. In a re- 
 tired spot I made a wide grave, and in it deposited 
 the bodies of the two unfortunate seamen. With sad- 
 dened and subdued feelings, I heaped the green turf 
 over them, and left them to their last sleep, thankful 
 that the mournful privilege of giving back ' dust unto 
 dust ' was granted me. On returning to the house, I 
 was glad to find the sufferers had fallen into a sound 
 slumber. The excitement produced by what I had 
 witnessed, and the anxiety I felt for my patients, ban- 
 ished all inclination for sleep, and I watched through 
 the night by their bedsides. Grateful was the prayer 
 I breathed over them, that I had been the instrument 
 in rescuing them from their dreadful situation, and 
 ardently did I beseech the Father of mercy to crown 
 with success the means used for their restoration to 
 health. The sleep of the father seemed to be deep 
 and undisturbed, but frequently through the night 
 would the young lady utter broken exclamations, in 
 all which a lively and affecting concern for her father 
 was manifest. Once she exclaimed, in piteous accents, 
 ' Water, water ! God, have mercy upon my pool 
 21*
 
 246 FOREST AND SUCRE. 
 
 - 
 
 father ! ' And in all the workings of her mind there 
 appeared to be a total forgotfulness of self; her whole 
 thought and care seeuied to centre in her parent, and 
 all her prayers wete invoked in his behalf. It was a 
 beautiful and touching display of filial love, and my 
 heart thus early -took a deep interest in one \yho un- 
 consciously betrayed so endearing a trait of character. 
 The tones of the human voice, though tremulous and 
 sorrowful, were to my unaccustomed ears sweet and 
 musical, and awoke in me all the instincts p-f humanity, 
 and restored anew that interest for my kind which 
 continued solitude had nearly banished from my heart. 
 
 " A night's rest greatly refreshed and improved my 
 new tenants, and, after three or four days' careful 
 nursing, the daughter was so far recovered as to 
 assist in tending on her father, whose improvement 
 was slow and doubtful. His health, I was informed, 
 had been for a number of years feeble, and the dread- 
 ful trial he had passe,d through had shattered it still 
 more, rendering the chances of his recovery ex- 
 tremely uncertain. From the lips of his daughter I 
 learned the sad story of their suffering* on the sea, 
 and their previous history was revealed to me after- 
 wards. 
 
 " Mr. Mor^pn, the father, was a retired merchant of 
 one of our .Northern States. The death of his wife, to 
 whom he ; was most ardently attached, and the subse- 
 quent Joss of the greater portion of his property 
 through his own unfortunate speculations and the vil- 
 lany o,f others, had preyed upon his spirits, and seri- 
 ously affected his health. His physician had advised 
 a short residence in Santa Croix, an island considered 
 peculiarly adapted in its climate 'for persons in ill
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 247 
 
 liealth. In accordance with this advice, he had vis- 
 ited the island, taking with him his only child, a 
 daughter, just entering on the bloom of womanhood. 
 After a protracted residence of two years or more, 
 finding that his disease continued to grow upon him, 
 lie concluded to return to his native land, that, in case 
 of his anticipated death, he might rest beside the 
 partner he so constantly mourned. 
 
 " Accordingly, he took passage in a freighting brig, 
 on board of which he also shipped the small remnant 
 of property misfortune had spared to him. The brig, 
 which was an old one, was heavily laden with sugars, 
 and encountered very boisterous weather on her pas- 
 sage, which caused her to leak badly. They had been 
 out about twenty dayjs, when one night a fresh leak 
 was discovered, and it was found that the hands at 
 the pumps, wearied by incessant toil day and night, 
 could not keep her free. The water gained fast upon 
 them, and in despair the crew left the pumps, and pro- 
 posed abandoning the brig. But little time was left 
 for consultation, for it was found that the water was 
 working in. so rapidly, the brig was liable every mo- 
 ment to go to the bottom. The long-boat and yawl 
 were prepared for the last emergency. There were 
 other passengers on board, and a division hastily took 
 place. The father and daughter, with five of the 
 crew, were assigned to the yawl ; the remainder took 
 to the long-boat, on board of which the bulk of the 
 provisions and water was stowed, a small quantity 
 only being retained in the yawl, as it*was deemed ex- 
 pedient to keep her as light as possible. 
 
 " The fated vessel began shortly to settle by the 
 head, and the boats were launched in the gray oi
 
 248 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 morning. They left not a moment too soon, for tliey 
 had rowed but a short distance off, when, with a lurch 
 and a plunge, the brig was buried beneath the billows. 
 The boats were then shaped toward the nearest land, 
 and slowly and toilsomely did the weary crew ply the 
 oars. Day followed day; no land, no vessel appeared. 
 Provisions grew short, and, to add to the horror of at 
 least one party, one dark and blustering night the 
 boats got parted from each other, and when the morn- 
 ing came, those in the yawl looked round in vain for 
 their companions. Now, for the first time, did the 
 full sense of their miserable situation stare them in 
 the face. With hardly bread and water sufficient for 
 one day's sustenance, with no knowledge of their 
 position, a fearful fate was before them. 
 
 "It is unnecessary that I should follow them through 
 the appalling scenes that ensued up to the time I dis- 
 covered them. In their delirium, brought on by want 
 of food and water, three of the crew plunged into the 
 sea at different times, two died on board, and the 
 father and daughter were left the only survivors. 
 The father ascribed his preservation to the fact of his 
 being in feeble health, so that he felt not that craving 
 for food which tortured his robust and hearty com- 
 panions. As for the daughter, she was sustained by 
 that mysterious power of endurance which God has 
 seen fit to bestow on woman, and which enables her 
 to bear up triumphantly amid scenes and in situations 
 where man, with all his boasted superiority of nerve 
 and strength, is crushed. So they two lingered, wit- 
 nessing one strong man after another fall before them, 
 until they alone of all that company remained. When 
 the last man fell from his seat in the agonies of death,
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 249 
 
 the daughter placed herself beside her father, and, 
 drawing a part of the sail, which her father from the 
 first had used as bed and covering, over their faces, 
 she had laid herself down to die. Hope had fled, 
 despair itself had fled, and both were fast sinking in 
 that deep lethargy which precedes death, the only 
 boon they now looked for, when my providential 
 presence awoke anew the love of life. 
 
 " Such, in brief, was the sad history of the two per- 
 sons thrown on my care. Need I say that its relation 
 excited- a deeper interest, if possible, in my breast 
 toward them ? My own history was given in return, 
 from the day of my first being thrown upon this spot 
 down to the hour I met them ; and, in mingling our 
 sympathies, in uniting our grateful aspirations to Him 
 who had so wonderfully preserved us, our hearts be- 
 came knitted together." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 With thee all toils are sweet ; each clime hath charms ; 
 Earth, sea alike, our world within our arms. 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 0, if good Heaven would be so much my friend 
 To let my fate upon my choice depend, 
 All my remains of life with you I 'd spend, 
 And think my stars had given a happy end. 
 
 fc OLDHAU. 
 
 " WHILE Mr. Morton continued with but very little 
 perceptible change in his favor, Emma (for that was 
 the name of the daughter) rapidly regained the bloom
 
 250 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 of health and beauty. With the most tender devoted- 
 ness would she attend upon her parent, hovering 
 ever by his bedside, anxious to anticipate nis slightest 
 want. 
 
 " At times, however, at his urgent request she 
 would walk abroad for exercise ; and together would 
 we ramble up the glen, searching out Its hidden beau- 
 ties, the little green nooks anql fairy-like spots with 
 which it abounds, returning loaded with wild flowers, 
 with which our dwelling was decorated like a floral 
 palace. At other times we would stroll by the sea- 
 shore, gathering the delicate and curious shells washed 
 up by the sea, or roam amid the caverns and cliffs, lis- 
 tening to the unceasing roar of the waters. And she 
 possessed a spirit tp enjoy those various aspects of 
 nature, and with an unaffected delight and unstudied 
 eloquence she gave expression to the emotions which 
 the changing scen'e awakened ; whether she was bend- 
 ing over tbe tiny wild floAver, half-hidden in its cushion 
 of mossy or stood upon the brink of the dizzy cliff, 
 gazing with a kindling eye upon the waters whirling 
 and seething with foam far below her. And as I ac- 
 ^companied her amidst places so familiar to my foot- 
 steps, and conversed with her in relation to the 
 grandeur and beauty that met us on every hand, I 
 wondered that never before had I felt such an inter- 
 est, never before* had discovered so many secret 
 attractions in objects so constantly presented to my 
 observation. / 
 
 . " In proces^ 'of time Mr. Morton so far regained feis 
 strength as to be able to leave the house and take 
 short excursions with us ; and it was with no small 
 degree of pleasure, mingled with pride, that I ob
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 251 
 
 served the undisguised delight he took in the pictu- 
 resque beauties of the glen, and the strong interest he 
 manifested in all that concerned the arrangements of 
 the place, and listened to the encomiums he passed 
 upon the taste displayed in its improvements. He 
 was a man of strong, enthusiastic ^emperament; a close 
 and critical observer; his mincl had evidently been 
 highly polished; and, above all, he possessed that pure 
 and lofty spirit of Christianity which sheds such a 
 beautiful halo around the character. He had been 
 chastened, severely chastened, by affliction ; he had 
 bowed beneath the rod, but not submissively. But 
 now a new and better light dawned upon him ; the veil 
 which had so long shrouded his vision was withdrawn; 
 he groped np more in shadows ; and, with the poet, he 
 was ready- to exclaim, ' Sweet are the uses of adver- 
 sity/ and to acknowledge that ' through danger safety 
 conies, through trouble rest.' 
 
 " With such companionship, need I say that a new 
 ^coloring was given to my life, that the cup of my hap- 
 piness was full to overflowing. Even so. I trembled 
 - at times lest it should be suddenly dashed from my 
 lips. I dreaded now every day that some vessel 
 ';'.' should draw nigh and rob me of those in whose soci- 
 ety centred all my happiness ; and . it was with a 
 shrinking feeling allied to fear that I daily approached 
 the cliff whence the broad ocean spread out before me, 
 apprehensive that some vessel might by chance be in 
 sight, with whom communication might be had. I 
 know not why these feelings oppressed me, for my 
 companions had never even hinted a desire of leav- 
 ing, but on the contrary had frequently and always 
 favorably alluded to the happy seclusion in which we
 
 252 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 lived. Still, I was uneasy, and dared not question 
 them particularly on the subject. 
 
 " One day I had visited the look-out in company 
 with Emma, and, as we stood gazing out upon the 
 ocean, our conversation turned upon our isolated sit- 
 uation, and I alluded to the possibility of some passing 
 sail approaching the coast, affording to herself and 
 father an opportunity of returning to the home from 
 which they had been so long separated. 
 
 u 0, what a weight was lifted from my heart, as in an 
 earnest tone my companion quickly replied, ' Home ? 
 We have no home, we want no home, but this ! ' 
 
 " ' And could you be content/ I asked, in a manner 
 which at once arrested her attention, ' to remain in 
 this solitude, away from the world, from your friends, 
 and forever debarred the allurements of society ? ' 
 
 " A blush overspread her face as she replied, ' The 
 world, why should I regret it? I had but few friends 
 of my age, and they have probably long ago forgotten 
 me. Where my father is, there is my home. He is 
 happy here, and why should not I be also ? ' 
 
 "'But would he not leave if an opportunity of- 
 fered?' I inquired, with an anxious earnestness I 
 could not conceal. 
 
 " ' Not if he could persuade you to permit him to 
 remain/ was her reply. ' This he told me yesterday, 
 as we were conversing upon this subject; and, my 
 dear friend, if you have been fearful, as I judge from 
 your late saddened tone, that we should be so ungrate- 
 ful as to desire to part from one to whom we are 
 indebted not only, under God, for life, but for all the 
 kindnesses which render life a blessing, dismiss such
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 253 
 
 thoughts from your breast, and set your heart at 
 rest.' 
 
 " And my heart was at rest. Nay, nay, not at rest, 
 fur it was agitated by a thousand blissful emotions. 
 The kind more than this, the affectionate tones in 
 which Emma conversed with me as we slowly walked 
 homeward, the air of confidence she assumed, the 
 warm terms in which she spoke of the attractions of 
 Glen Cove, and the glowing picture which she drew 
 of the happiness here to be found, away from the 
 glare of the world, the bitterness and strife which 
 there exist, with no distracting cares, no mocking 
 pleasures to win us away from those lofty and enno- 
 bling thoughts which a constant contemplation of the 
 grand and beautiful in nature tend to excite, all this 
 thrilled me with feelings as new as they were strange, 
 and awakened in my bosom sweet hopes which ere 
 this I had not dared to entertain." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 He says he loves my daughter. 
 I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon 
 Upon the water as he '11 stand, and read, 
 As 'twere, my daughter's eyes : and, to be plain, 
 I think there is not half a kiss to choose 
 Who loves another best. 
 
 SilAKSPEAEE'9 WINTER'S TAIJt 
 
 "You have doubtless, ere this," continued the 
 
 keeper with a warm smile, " detected the nature of the 
 
 emotions thus kindled in my breast. Yes, I loved 
 
 Emma with no common love. My whole being was 
 
 22
 
 254 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 wrapped up in her. Her presence was as necessary 
 to me as the light of heaven, nor was it denied me. 
 Even my little bird seemed instinctively to partake of 
 my feelings, for in a short time it became as familiar 
 to her, perching on her hand with the same freedom 
 with which it sought mine. 
 
 " Under her fostering care the very flowers seemed 
 to bloom w\th increased loveliness. Together had we 
 searched the glen, transplanting such rare plants and 
 flowers as attracted our notice, until my little domain 
 appeared like a fairy scene. With the suggestions and 
 assistance of Mr. Morton, aided by the good taste of 
 Emma, a thousand little improvements were made in 
 and about our dwelling, all tending to enhance the 
 comfort and beauty of the place. Destitute of many 
 of the conveniences of domestic life, we resorted to 
 numerous contrivances to supply the deficiency; and 
 never was a gold plate on a monarch's table more 
 valued than were the humble dishes of stone, wood, 
 and shell, which graced our board. Nor was that 
 board illy supplied. Our garden afforded us all neces- 
 sary vegetables, the sea yielded us fish, and the glen 
 abounded in wild fruits, so that we enjoyed not only 
 the necessaries but many of the luxuries of life. 
 
 " A few days after my conversation with Emma on 
 the cliif, Mr. Morton took occasion to allude to the 
 same subject. Possibly, he said, an opportunity might 
 offer to leave the place, but he had now nothing to 
 draw him back to society. His property was gone, 
 his relish for worldly intercourse had left him, and all 
 he desired in life, peace and contentment, here sur- 
 rounded him. He would not say he regretted being 
 a burden on me, for he felt assured that I did not con-
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 255 
 
 eider the presence of himself and daughter in that 
 light. In alluding to his daughter in connection with 
 the precarious state of his health, an opportunity was 
 offered, which I had long desired, of making him 
 acquainted with the state of my feelings in regard to 
 her. Frankly and fully I unfolded to him the secrets 
 of my heart, unreservedly informing him of the feel- 
 ings with which she had inspired me, and of the hopes 
 I had cherished. 
 
 " He heard me throughout without interrupting me, 
 and when I had concluded he said, with a smile, * All 
 this is no new thing to me, Robert ; months ago it was 
 revealed to me.' 
 
 " ' Revealed to you ! months ago ! ' was my aston- 
 ished reply. 
 
 " ' Yes, my dear young friend/ he answered. ' Even 
 before, I suspect, you yourself was fully aware of it, 
 I knew it. The heart too often betrays itself to others 
 ere it is aware of its own secrets. Actions have a 
 very forward tongue, and babble many things of which 
 the individual himself has hardly as yet dreamed. Yes, 
 I knew it all, for a father's sight is keen ; and/ added 
 he, taking my hand affectionately, ' I rejoiced in it all. 
 Need I say, Emma's heart is yours ; take her, and, with 
 mine, may the blessing of Heaven rest upon you 
 bothl' 
 
 " It is common with all story-tellers," continued the 
 aged keeper, as we reached the precincts of his hum- 
 ble dwelling, and seated ourselves by the doorway, 
 " to wind up Avitb a wedding or a funeral, and I sup- 
 pose you will not be contented if I deviate from the 
 prescribed method. I need not say that the ' blushing 
 consent ' of Emma was without difficulty obtained.
 
 256 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 Our preparations for the wedding were very few, and 
 were soon completed. But then came the question, 
 who will perform the marriage ceremony? We had 
 gone on making our arrangements, until, ^,11 of a sud- 
 den, this serious obstacle presented itsel/ on the very 
 threshold of Hymen's temple. Never shall I forget 
 the moment when Emma, who was intently engaged 
 on some little preliminary affair, looked up from her 
 work, with a perplexed air, and said, ' But how shall 
 we get married ? ' 
 
 " There was something in the tone in which this was 
 uttered, something so ludicrous, I suspect, in the ex- 
 pression of each of our countenances, as this wholly 
 unthought-of dilemma suddenly occurred to our minds, 
 that both of us burst involuntarily into a hearty 
 laugh, in which Mr. Morton, who at that moment came 
 in, as heartily joined. 
 
 " After we had sobered down a little, we began more 
 seriously to consider the unforeseen obstacle. What 
 should we do? was the question repeatedly asked; 
 and it was the very question we could not for the life 
 of us answer. We talked it over a long time, and 
 Emma and I began to grow a little sad on the sub- 
 ject " 
 
 " Nonsense, Robert ; you was the only sad one," said 
 the keeper's wife, as she took her seat beside her 
 husband, and looked up into his face with an affec- 
 tionate smile ; " what cause had I for sadness, pray ? " 
 
 "Well, well, wife," said the old man, kindly, "if you 
 were not sad, I was, and should have been still more 
 so, had not your father helped us out of the dilemma. 
 ' Where there is a will there 's a way,' said he ; ' and it 
 will go hard if we do not accomplish your wishes ;
 
 THE LIGHT-KEEPER. 257 
 
 even without the aid of a minister. Let me think,' 
 continued he: 'my justice commission holds good 
 until next year, if I am not mistaken ; and I can bind 
 you as legally together as all the ministers in Christen- 
 dom. So stand up, my children.' And, joining our 
 hands in his, he performed the necessary rites, invok- 
 ing at the same time a blessing on our heads, and 
 we were husband and wife ! It was a hurried wed- 
 ding, but it was a happy one, and -the blessing of 
 Heaven has rested upon it from that hour to this. 
 And now," continued the keeper, as he arose from his 
 seat and turned to enter the house, " after this long 
 Btory, let us see what the good woman has prepared 
 for supper. We have kept you waiting, wife, but we 
 have not been unmindful of you, for I have been giv- 
 ing our young friend a history of our lives, a his- 
 tory which, though shadowed in its commencement, 
 hath ever since beamed with the radiance of Heaven's 
 choicest blessings." 
 22*
 
 THE SETTLERS. 
 
 A TALE OF THE FOREST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE month of October, to us of the North, where 
 the scene of our story is laid, is one of the most de- 
 lightful in the year. Then Nature is robed in her 
 most magnificent garments. He who has never seen 
 a New England forest after the first frosts of autumn 
 have touched it, has yet to behold one of the most 
 gorgeous spectacles "the eye ever rested upon. Sud- 
 denly, as if by magic, the green woods undergo a won- 
 derful change. The different trees, with the enep- 
 tion of the hardy evergreens, with the manilMd 
 varieties of the same species, each assume a distil ot 
 livery, embracing every hue, from the rich scarlet an ^ 
 crimson of the oak and maple to the pale gold of tin 
 beech. Words are inadequate to describe the pomj 
 of the unrivalled display, nor is it in the power of the 
 pencil to portray it. No palette could produce such a 
 combination of colors, such delicate blending of tints, 
 such brilliant contrasts, and all commingling so hur- 
 moniously and producing such a perfect whole that 
 the eye is never wearied with gazing upon it. 
 
 (258)
 
 THE SETTLERS. '259 
 
 We know of but one other scene here at the North 
 that can approach it in rivalry : it is that presented 
 after one of those warm rains we frequently have in 
 the depth of winter, followed by a clear, cold night. 
 The next morning you look out, and a miracle of 
 beauty meets your eye. You see the trees everywhere 
 bending gracefully to the earth with their fruitage 
 of sparkling gems, like a bride weighed down by her 
 burden of jewelry ; flashing with dazzling splendor as 
 the sunbeams fall upon them, while every object, from 
 the tall spire to the minutest shnib and tiny blade of 
 grass, is encased in crystal armor. In a night, by the 
 touch of magic, as it were, the bleak and barren as- 
 pect of nature has been metamorphosed, and a scene 
 of inconceivable splendor is unfolded to your view. 
 
 There is yet one more spectacle, not so gorgeous, 
 perhaps, but " beautiful exceedingly," that glorifies our 
 winters. It is beheld when a warm, misty day is suc- 
 ceeded by a moderate cold. The congealed vapor 
 settles on every limb and twig, so that every object, 
 ah 1 its outlines distinctly marked, seems delicately em- 
 bossed with silver, rivalling the most cunning work- 
 manship. The woods at these times present a singu- 
 larly attractive appearance. Veiled in their snowy, 
 gossamer-like robes, they seem like huge foam-drifts, 
 or clouds of feathery spray, thrown up and transfixed 
 in the air. 
 
 A short time since we witnessed an exhibition of 
 rare splendor, surpassing anything that we had previ- 
 ously beheld. It combined both of the features just 
 described. A rain had fallen, and all the trees were 
 cased in ice, when there came on a fine snow, which, 
 lodging on the glittering and still dripping trees, soon
 
 2GO FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 became amalgamated with the icy co\ ering. When 
 the weather cleared off, and the: rays of the sun fell 
 upon the trees, the spectacle presented was otie of 
 which words utterly fail to convey an idea. Every 
 limb, to the minutest, flashed with dazzling brilliancy, 
 while each was surmounted with its fringe of snow, 
 clinging there like swan's down, and softening the 
 glare of the scene. A more splendid sight than that 
 presented by State street, with its double row of elms, 
 on the morning in question, never yet was witnessed 
 on earth. 
 
 " Infinite splendor ! wide investing all." 
 
 But to our story. 
 
 We would invite the reader to step back with us 
 about a century, say to the year 1755, and permit us 
 to introduce him into the wilds of the then province of 
 Maine. It is in this same beautiful month of October, 
 of which we have spoken. The delicious " Indian sum- 
 mer " had arrived, and the woods were flushed with the 
 hectic of the dying year. Through this portion of the 
 country there flowed a narrow, placid stream, running 
 in a very serpentine direction. At one point on this 
 stream, called Royal's river, a clearing had been made 
 and a settlement commenced. This primitive village 
 consisted of ten or a dozen log huts, scattered here 
 and there, from an eighth to a quarter of a mile apart, 
 and a small meeting-house, built of the same material. 
 On a rising ground, some distance from the river, 
 stood a block-house, as it was called. This house, or 
 fort, was built of heavy, rough-hewn timber, and sur- 
 rounded by a high palisade. These houses, our read- 
 ers are already aware, were used as places of refuge 

 
 THE SETTLERS. 2C1 
 
 by the early settlers, when fearing an attack by the 
 savages, in which the inhabitants of the threatened 
 settlements were frequently confined for years, or 
 only ventured out, well armed and in squads, to attend 
 to their husbandry, or to bring down a passing deei 
 or some other wild game. 
 
 The disadvantages under .which the early settlerg 
 labored were enough, one would suppose, to have dis- 
 couraged the hardiest and bravest of men. They had 
 not only to contend against the stubbornness of a 
 virgin soil, not remarkable for its richness, but they 
 had also to contend against merciless foes, ever lurk- 
 ing in ambush to wreak their vengeance on the 
 whites. In the first settlement of New Gloucester, 
 Me., prior to the subjugation of Canada by the English, 
 the inhabitants of this then isolated spot were in 
 continual peril; so much so, that, according to an 
 ancient chronicler, "they had not been able to clear 
 or raise anything, only as the men went altogether 
 armed to their work, within reach of the shot of the 
 large swivel guns of the fort, keeping good sentinels 
 of men and large dogs, and leaving the women to 
 keep the fort."* 
 
 It was previous to their being in the block-house, 
 however, that our story commences. Although there 
 came evil tidings, from time to time, from the neigh- 
 boring settlements, of the incursions of the savages, 
 the settlers of New Gloucester still remained in their 
 habitations, busily engaged in securing their crops, 
 and making preparations for the approaching cold 
 season. But as, day after day, fresh accounts were 
 
 * " An Account of New Gloucester," by Isaac Parsons.
 
 2G2 FOREST A.NL) SHORL. 
 
 received of the depredations committed by the In- 
 dians, many an anxious thought was directed to the 
 fort, and eager consultations held about resorting to 
 it. Already large quantities of provisions had been 
 transported thither, and most of the families had made 
 arrangements to take up their abode there at a mo- 
 ment's warning. 
 
 Some two miles from the settlement, but as the 
 bee flies a somewhat shorter distance, situated 
 about midway between Royal's river and the Little 
 Androscoggin, stood the solitary dwelling of a man 
 by the name of Millet. His family consisted of a 
 wife, a son, some twenty-two years of age, a daughter 
 about three years younger, and a niece, an orphan, 
 the child of a deceased sister, of about the same age. 
 At times, and at this particular time, he had a "hired 
 man " to assist him in harvesting. 
 
 It must be borne in mind, however, that, although 
 receiving the wages of a laborer, the servitude of 
 Henry Worthly was no detraction to him. It was 
 common in those days for the young men to let them- 
 selves out during harvest-time, when their services 
 were not required at home. Worthly was of nearly 
 the same age of George Millet, between whom a 
 strong friendship existed. They were co-laborers in 
 the field, and sharers of each other's bed. Worthly 
 was also a general favorite in the family, and a par- 
 ticular one, if certain signs were to be relied on, with 
 Ellen Millet. Not -that she too openly displayed her 
 partiality, she had too much true womanly delicacy 
 .to do that, but, as the poet says, 
 
 " There is a language by the virgin made, 
 Not read but felt, not uttered but betrayed ;
 
 THE SETTLER. 2G3 
 
 A mute communion, yet so wondrous sweet, 
 Eyes but impart what tongue can ne'er repeat." 
 
 Although reared in the wilderness, there was noth- 
 ing coarse or hoydenish about Ellen Millet. She was 
 a fine specimen of a country lass, full of life and 
 spirit, ready to assist in all household duties, and in 
 the haying season more dexterous with the rake than 
 most youngsters. She was of a medium stature, with 
 a finely moulded person, and a countenance blooming 
 with health and vivacity. As the expression of her 
 face betokened, she possessed a quick, active mind y 
 excitable, but not frivolous. Her temperament was 
 lively and hopeful, but her judgment was firm and dis- 
 criminating. Her education was limited, but not neg- 
 lected. She was one of those characters who grasp 
 knowledge intuitively, as it were. A select collection , 
 of books, though small, possessed by her father, aided 
 materially ir. the development of her intellectual 
 powers. 
 
 Young Worthly's character was somewhat akin to 
 Ellen's, and perhaps it was their mutual thirst for 
 knowledge, and their mutual studies to obtain it, that 
 biassed their hearts towards each other. He was a 
 well-knit, manly-looking fellow, possessed of that nat- 
 ural grace which lends ease to every motion, whether 
 in swinging an axe or a scythe, or in passing a cup 
 of tea. It did not require a very close observation 
 to detect a strong growing attachment between this 
 couple, so eminently fitted by character and position 
 for each other. 
 
 It was not long, however, before a circumstance 
 transpired which revealed to the full the deep interest 
 which Worthly felt for his fair companion. And that
 
 2G4 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 same thrilling incident, which we shall presently re- 
 late, threw a light on the secret workings of other 
 hearts. 
 
 Being cousins, there had always been, of course, an 
 opea show of affection between George Millet and 
 Annie Wilson, but no one dreamed at the time that 
 any stronger than a cousinly regard existed. 
 
 Annie Wilson was like and yet unlike Ellen. In 
 many characteristics there was a marked resemblance. 
 She evinced the same aptness for study, and exhib- 
 ited the same household virtues ; but her spirits were 
 not so exuberant as Ellen's. At times a shade of 
 melancholy would veil her usually lively features. 
 The loss of her parents had thrown a shadow over 
 her early life, and although she had found an affec- 
 tionate father and mother in her uncle and aunt, a 
 warm-hearted sister in Ellen, and something more 
 than a devoted brother in George, a feeling of lone- 
 liness would at times steal over her, not amounting to 
 unhappiness, but sufficient to slightly check a flow 
 of spirits naturally lively and excitable. In person 
 she was more delicately moulded than Ellen. Al- 
 though enjoying excellent health, it was not so robust 
 as her cousin's. She possessed no common share of 
 beauty, and it would be difficult to determine which 
 bore the palm, she or Ellen. There was a witchery 
 in the laughing eyes' and playful expression of Ellen's 
 features, which fully balanced the more quiet charms 
 of Annie. They were both lovely girls, and lovable 
 as lovely. 
 
 As for George, he was a happy-hearted fellow, with 
 a full share of his Bister's lively disposition. lie 
 was more impulsive than Worthly, and lacked, per-
 
 THE SETTLERS. 265 
 
 haps, a little of his firmness and decision of character. 
 He loved a merry joke, and it would have done one 
 good to hear his hearty, jovial laugh. The staidness 
 of his father, who was a deacon in the church (and a 
 deacon in those days was a very dignified body, to be 
 sure !) was frequently severely tested by the good- 
 natured pranks he was fond of playing. His fond 
 mother doted on him as the apple of her eye, and 
 was always ready with an excuse for him when his 
 frolicsome propensities carried him beyond the bounds 
 of propriety, and rendered him amenable to the good 
 deacon's rebukes. 
 
 Such were the characters, hastily portrayed, and 
 such the relation in which they stood to each other, 
 of the inmates of the small log hut we have men- 
 tioned. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE day was drawing to a close ; the horn had 
 been sounded, with a lively tra-la-la, by the rosy lips 
 of Ellen, calling the laborers from the distant field to 
 the evening meal. Right readily had the summons 
 been obeyed ; the cattle had been put up ; and now 
 around the table the family had gathered, and the 
 good deacon was about to ask a blessing on the plain 
 but substantial fare before him, when footsteps were 
 heard approaching the house. 
 
 There was a pause, and the eyes of all were turned 
 
 curiously towards the door. It opened, and a tall 
 
 figure dressed in hunting gear, with a formidable rifle 
 
 in his hands, entered the room, followed by a powerful 
 
 23
 
 266 FOBEST AND SHORE. 
 
 dog. A smile of recognition and silent welcome 
 greeted the new-comer, who paused as he noticed the 
 prayerful attitude of the family, and, raising his cap, 
 he bowed his head reverently as a signal for the dea- 
 con to proceed. 
 
 As he will perform an important part in the following 
 sketch, it may be well to describe him as he stood 
 there leaning on his long rifle. He was above the 
 middling height, with broad chest and shoulders, and 
 though spare in flesh, his well-developed muscles 
 denoted great strength and powers of endurance. 
 He was apparently about sixty years of age. His face 
 was bronzed by the sun and the weather, and some- 
 what scarred with age, but his eye had lost none of 
 the fire of youth. His features betrayed a remark- 
 able vivacity when he entered the room and returned 
 the mute salutation of the family. But, composed as 
 they were now, in every lineament could be read a 
 firm, unwavering resoluteness. Though there was 
 sternness, there was nothing like harshness or cold- 
 ness in his countenance. It was one of those faces 
 that indicate a bold, self-reliant man, full of shrewd- 
 ness, and accustomed to depend on his own resources 
 in whatever circumstances he might be placed. 
 
 His dress was of a half-savage, half-civilized fashion. 
 His cap was made of the skin of some wild animal, 
 and was evidently the work of his own hands. He 
 wore a short hunting-frock, girt around the waist by a 
 broad belt of undressed hide, suspended from which 
 was a sheath of the same material, containing a for- 
 midable hunting-knife, and a capacious pouch. His 
 lower limbs were cased in leggins of deer-skin, and
 
 THE SETTLERS. 267 
 
 his feet in moccasins, like those usually worn by the 
 Indians. 
 
 His appearance, as he stood there, his dog crouched 
 'at the butt of his rifle, was singular in the extreme. 
 There was not the movement of a limb or a muscle 
 until the deacon had finished his somewhat prolix 
 blessing. That over, with a quick, active motion he 
 deposited his weapon in the corner of the room, his 
 face lighted up as if by magic, and in a moment he 
 was shaking hands at one and the same moment with 
 Mr. and Mrs. Millet, while exclamations of " Welcome, 
 Scout!" "Glad to see you, Scout!" "Take a seat 
 at the table, Joe 1 " burst from the different members 
 of the family. 
 
 The personage thus introduced to the reader was 
 celebrated far and near, not only as a huntsman, but as 
 a leader of excursions sent out to punish the oft-re- 
 peated depredations of the savages. The greater 
 part of his life had been spent in the woods, and he 
 had acquired all the cunning and subtlety so charac- 
 teristic of the aborigines. His eye was as quick to 
 detect and to follow a trail as the sharpest among the 
 red men. His services were always ready when re- 
 quired to head a war party, to warn distant settle- 
 ments, or to watch the enemy, and a great portion of 
 his time was employed in following them up single- 
 handed. He evidently harbored a strong animosity 
 against the whole race, and a ferocious fire would 
 burn in his eye when speaking of them. He was not 
 naturally cruel in his disposition, although he has been 
 portrayed as such; but some early wrong he had 
 received from the hands of the Indians had implanted
 
 268 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 in his heart an implacable enmity toward the whole 
 race. 
 
 " Well, Scout, what news is there stirring ?" asked 
 the deacon, after having bountifully helped his unex- 
 pected guest ; " are the settlements all quiet ? " 
 
 " Just now, round here, deacon," replied the Scout. 
 " But the varmints have been at their bloody work 
 down to Falmouth. One Sweat was shot there while 
 riding on horseback, the other day, and I 1'arn that 
 Greeley, of Yarmouth, has been murdered by the 
 reptyles." 
 
 "Do you know the name of the tribe that commit- 
 ted the deed?" asked young Worthly. 
 
 " The Androscoggin, youngster, the most treach- 
 erous and blood-thirsty of them all. The out-lying 
 sarpents are spread all over the eastern sections. 
 They carried off a young gal down to Freeport not 
 long since, besides killing one Means, and his babe at 
 its mother's breast, wounding the woman with the 
 same ball that killed her child." 
 
 "-Are there any signs of them at the west of us? " 
 asked the deacon, without inquiring farther into the 
 particulars of the murders, for they were too com- 
 mon in those days to excite more than a passing 
 remark. 
 
 " Wai, now, that 's part of my business here. 
 There's a stir among the Ossipees, and I consate they 
 are bent on some mischief. I've been in their region, 
 and things don't look right, any how. There was a 
 mustering of the critturs on the Saco, and they were 
 all daubed up with their infernal war-paint." 
 
 "Did you dare to venture among them?" inquired 
 Annie.
 
 THE SETTLERS. 269 
 
 "Wai, I've been out hunting thereaways, and I 
 reckoned 't would be as well to keep my eyes open, 
 and look round to see what the varmints were about." 
 
 " Were you not afraid of being caught ? " asked 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! when you catch a weasel asleep, gal, you 
 may trap old Joe when he is on the trail ! I 've not 
 lived in the woods so long to be sarcumvented by a 
 pesky copper-skin, hey, Brave?" and he patted the 
 head of the dog, which stood by his chair receiving 
 a share pf his supper, giving utterance to a low 
 chuckle at the same time. 
 
 " But, see here, deacon," he added, rising from the 
 table, " I 've a word to say to you outside. Stay 
 where you are, Brave, and finish your supper." So 
 saying, he unceremoniously placed his plate on the 
 floor before the dog, then turned and left the room 
 with Mr. Millet. 
 
 After they had got outside, and a short distance 
 from the house, the Scout commenced, in a low tone: 
 " 'T was no use in skeering the women folks in there, 
 so I thought it best to call you out." 
 
 " How does any danger threaten us, Scout? " asked 
 Mr. Millet, with no small degree of anxiety. 
 
 " Wai, deacon, 't ain't no use in covering on it up, 
 but, the fact is, the Ossipees are on the path, and 
 likely 's not the skulking rascals will be along this way. 
 Nay, I 'm sure of it. I saw enough to convince me 
 that it was their intention to send war parties off in 
 different directions, and iu course some will come this 
 way. I 1'arnt as much as this, and then started off to 
 put the settlements on their guard. 1 warned them at 
 Ilollis and Buxton and Gorham, as I came along; and 
 23* 

 
 270 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 the sooner you get into the block-house the better, I 
 consate." 
 
 " We will do it this very night. I will go and make 
 preparations to leave immediately, while you, Scout, 
 can go forward and notify the neighbors of their 
 danger ; " and with evident alarm Mr. Millet was turn- 
 ing to go back to the house, when the hunter took 
 him by the arm. 
 
 " 'T ain't at all necessary, deacon, to be in a hurry. 
 Any time to-morrow will do. You are not in the 
 slightest danger to-night. I had a good day's start of 
 them, and I can out-travel ary red-skin in these parts, 
 I reckon. I will go and notify the other settlers, and 
 you go home and sleep to-night, and move in the 
 course of the day to-morrow." With this injunction, 
 the Scout turned and accompanied the deacon to the 
 house. 
 
 lie was pressed hard by the inmates to remain for 
 the night, as the evening by this time had quite shut 
 in; but, taking his rifle from the corner and calling to 
 his dog, he declined, saying that he had some business 
 down the road, which it would not do to leave until 
 morning. Bidding the family good-night, with long, 
 swinging strides he left the house, and was soon 
 buried in the gloom of the forest, on his way to the 
 settlement at New Gloucester, to which a rough road 
 led him. 
 
 After his departure, Mr. Millet revolved the matter 
 in his mind, whether he should reveal to his family 
 the unwelcome tidings he had received, that night, or 
 wait until the morning. And yet he wished to con- 
 sult with them, for he was strongly inclined to remove 
 to the block-house that night.
 
 THE SETTLERS. 271 
 
 The family noticed his unusual gravity and abstrac- 
 tion of manner as he slowly paced the room ; and, 
 after a while, his wife addressed him in a tone of some 
 apprehension. 
 
 " Husband, what is the matter? There is something 
 preying on your mind. I am fearful the Scout was 
 the bearer of bad news." 
 
 " It is too true, Abby," said Mr. Millet, taking his 
 wife's hand ; " I have received unwelcome tidings by 
 him." And he related to the eager listeners the infor- 
 mation given him by the Scout. " And now what had 
 we better do?" he added. "Shall we remain here 
 to-night, or " 
 
 " To the block-house, by all means to the block- 
 house, my dear husband," broke in the wife, who was 
 constitutionally timid. 
 
 " Yes, dear uncle," added Annie, with lips a little 
 pale, " let us go. Remember the poor family at Gor- 
 ham, whose delay of one night proved their destruc- 
 tion." 
 
 "What say you, George and Ellen?" asked the 
 deacon, wishing to hear each one's opinion. 
 
 " I hardly know which is most advisable," replied 
 the son. "Perhaps " 
 
 " What do you think of it, Henry ? " asked Ellen, 
 turning to Worthly as George hesitated, evincing by 
 her tone and manner that she should be governed by 
 his decision. 
 
 " As for myself," replied Worthly, " I have such full 
 confidence in the Scout that I should follow his advice 
 and remain. If the danger were imminent, he is not 
 the man to lull ue into false security. Besides, it is 
 now quite dark, and it would take us some time to get
 
 272 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 ourselves ready for a start. The road, too, is very 
 bad ; and, if there is danger abroad, we should be 
 more exposed to it on the way than here. My opinion 
 is that we had better remain. George and I will keep 
 watch through the night, and I will answer for it that 
 no harm shall befall us." 
 
 After some little discussion, it was finally decided 
 not to leave the house. The doors were strongly bar- 
 ricaded, fire-arms were placed ready for instant use, 
 and, after a fervent prayer from the deacon, all retired 
 save the two watchers; The night passed without 
 disturbance ; but the sleep of the inmates was broken 
 and restless. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WITH the first dawn of the day, the household were 
 astir and in active preparation for removal ; and, soon 
 after the sun was up, the little party were crossing the 
 rude, rustic bridge over Royal's river, bearing with 
 them their household treasures. The inhabitants of 
 the settlement were actively engaged in transporting 
 their goods' and furniture to the block-house. Al- 
 though the fort was of a sufficient size to admit them 
 all, it must be confessed the accommodations were 
 rather close. 
 
 Throughout the day there was a passing to and fro 
 of teams and persons conveying provisions, and all 
 were busily employed in this work and in disposing 
 of the articles they were obliged to leave behind 
 for want of room. Notwithstanding the apprehen-
 
 THE SETTLERS. 273 
 
 sions felt by all, the excitement of removing and ad- 
 justing the household utensils created not a little 
 animation, amidst which the light, merry laugh of Ellen, 
 and the jovial humor of George, tended not a little 
 to enliven the spirits of those who might otherwise 
 have given way to despondency. 
 
 " By jabers ! " said a son of the Green Isle, who was 
 employed by one of the settlers, after one of Ellen's 
 lively sallies, " she 's a broth of a girl, and thinks no 
 more of the bloody h'athens' tomahawks than I do of 
 facing a Connaught boy with his shillalah. She 's true 
 grit, anyhow." Pat was right. Ellen was not one 
 to borrow trouble or to give way to unnecessary 
 fears. 
 
 " It is time enough to turn pale and have your teetn 
 chatter, you silly puss, when the war-whoop is ringing 
 in your ears, and the scalping-knife is flashing before 
 your eyes." she said, laughingly, to her cousin, whose 
 nervous agitation was too apparent to be disguised. 
 It was not out of bravado that Ellen made light of 
 the matter. She did it for the purpose of cheering 
 her mother and Annie, both of whom needed something 
 to enliven their spirits. 
 
 By noon the work of removal was completed. The 
 cattle were driven inside the palisade, and a watch 
 detailed. 
 
 The block-house was some fifty feet square, consist- 
 ing of two stories, the second of which jutted a short 
 distance over the lower, and was pierced with a number 
 of narrow windows. A tower rose from the centre, 
 in which was a mounted swivel on a pivot. The stock- 
 ade that surrounded the house was so high that the 
 Indians could not climb over it, and the timber of
 
 *274 FOREST AND SHORE 
 
 which it was composed placed so close together that 
 they could not get through it. Care was taken that it 
 should not be of a size sufficient to afford a shelter to 
 the foe. It was impossible for a man to place himself 
 in any position without exposing some part of his 
 body. The cattle were protected by a pen of logs 
 well fitted together. 
 
 After the bustle consequent upon the change of 
 quarters had subsided, and the inmates found time to 
 reflect upon their situation, a spirit of gloom settled 
 upon the company. The uncertainty as to the dura- 
 tion of their imprisonment was the principal cause of 
 their depression. It might be months, nay, years, be- 
 fore it would be safe for them to leave the garrison. 
 In repeated instances, they well knew, the inhabitants 
 of other settlements had been kept close captives for 
 two and three years, not daring to venture out to till 
 the ground, and suffering the most pinching wants, to 
 such a degree, as the old chronicles inform us, that for 
 months they did not taste bread or meat. Such, in all 
 probability, would be their fate; and they brooded 
 despondingly on sufferings to be endured, on fields 
 running to waste, on habitations destroyed, and on 
 cattle shot down or driven off. The latter was of fre- 
 quent occurrence, as it was impossible to lay in prov- 
 ender sufficient to keep them any great length of time 
 inside the stockade. When, therefore, the fodder 
 failed, there was no other resource left but to drive 
 them out to seek their own food. 
 
 The result of an attack on the block-house they did 
 not much fear. It was so strongly fortified, that, with 
 due watchfulness, they felt it to be impregnable. 
 Sometimes these fortresses had been carried, when
 
 THE SETTLERS. 275 
 
 fire was resorted to as one of the dreadful agents of 
 destruction; but they apprehended no danger from 
 that source. As a general thing, the Indians would 
 lurk in ambush about a garrison, with a dogged per- 
 severance, for the purpose of starving out the inmates, 
 or of shooting or making prisoners of those who 
 should rashly venture out. It was impossible to des- 
 ignate whence the attack would be made. Every 
 clump of bushes might conceal a foe, every tree prove 
 a covert. In the very grass at your feet, snake-like 
 they might hide, springing up and attacking you una- 
 wai is. You only knew that you were surrounded- by 
 a merciless, unseen foe, - and how much more terri- 
 ble from being invisible ! and that you were liable 
 at any moment to be attacked, not in open, honorable 
 warfare, but secretly, treacherously, as the midnight 
 assassin strikes down his victim. 
 
 The afternoon wore away without any signs of the 
 enemy. Indeed, they had no fears of their appearance 
 during daylight, although it was not uncommon for a 
 man or woman to be shot down at the very threshold, 
 or a child to be snatched away from the door-steps. 
 Generally, however, the savages selected an hour or 
 two before daybreak for the time of attack, as they 
 deemed that then the slumber of their intended victims 
 would be the soundest. 
 
 Young Worthly and Millet assumed the duty of 
 watchmen the first night. Their station was in the 
 tower, which commanded a view of the whole settle- 
 ment, as well as a long reach of the river, which at 
 this point of view assumed the width and character 
 of a much more important stream than its general 
 features proved it to be. Before ascending to the
 
 276 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 lookout, all the inmates were assembled in the largest 
 room, where the evening devotions were performed, 
 conducted, in the absence of the minister, by Deacon 
 Millet. The services were closed by all uniting in a 
 hymn of praise, after which, at an early hour, they all 
 sought repose, and silence reigned throughout the 
 fort. 
 
 It was a lovely night. The moon was quite at her 
 full, and field and forest and river were bathed in a 
 flood of light. Every object was distinctly visible in 
 the clearing, and the distant river spread out like a 
 vein of burnished silver, save near its banks, where 
 the shrubbery obscured the rays of the moon, pro- 
 ducing an inky blackness. Every tree and bush threw 
 a deep shadow on the ground, and often would the 
 young men imagine that they could detect in those 
 black patches a crouching foe. A deep calm pre- 
 vailed, but occasionally a slight breath of air would 
 float by, just stirring the tree-tops. A profound 
 silence reigned, which was almost oppressive, save 
 once in a while there was borne to the ear that mys- 
 terious flutter or shiver which is often heard in the 
 woods in a still night, like the passing of a spirit, 
 and, at distant intervals, the melancholy hooting of 
 the night-owl coming faintly from the depths of the 
 forest. 
 
 It was getting near midnight, when the attention 
 of the watchers was aroused by what sounded like 
 the baying of a dog afar off. 
 
 " Do you hear that, Worthly?" asked George, in a 
 whisper, holding his breath, and listening for a repeti- 
 tion of the sound.
 
 THE SETTLERS. 277 
 
 " Yes," replied Henry, after a panse ; " it sounded 
 like the baying of a dog. But it cannot be that." 
 
 "Why not?" /,'; 
 
 * Because the Indians would not bring their dogs 
 with them on a night attack, or, if they did, they have 
 trained the animals so well they would ne^er betray 
 their presence in such a nosy manner." 
 
 What could it be, then ? " 
 
 " Probably the cry of a wolf, or some other night 
 animal. But, by Heavens ! there is something moving 
 under the bushes yonder I " and Henry pointed to a 
 small clump that stood in an open space, a few yards 
 distant from the skirts of the forest. 
 
 " The wind stirs the foliage," whispered George, 
 u causing the shadow to move. I have been deceived 
 a number of times by the same cause." 
 
 " No, I '11 stake my life that was not it. Look, 
 look, there it is again I See to the priming of your 
 gun." 
 
 The eyes of the young men were now fixed in- 
 tently on the clump of bushes, but for a while noth- 
 ing could be detected to confirm their suspicion. In 
 a short time, however, a figure was seen creeping 
 slowly across the patch of moonlight towards the 
 forest, and ere long was lost to sight in the deep 
 shadows. 
 
 " They have come I they are prowling around ns 1 " 
 said George, in an excited voice. " Had I not better 
 arouse the garrison?" 
 
 "Not yet; let us wait a while," rejoined Henry, 
 calmly. " The fellow is evidently reconnoitering ; he 
 was edging this way. Step back in the corner there, 
 24
 
 278 FOREST AND SHOEE. 
 
 out of the moonlight, or you may get a touch of the 
 rascal's cold lead." 
 
 A half hour or more passed by and nothing was 
 seen of the skulker. The most searching glances 
 were sent in every direction, while the young men 
 bent their ears to catch the slightest sound, but all 
 in vain. They scarcely drew a long breath, so com- 
 pletely was their attention absorbed. 
 
 "He must have gone in another direction," said 
 George, in a scarcely audible tone. 
 
 The words had barely left 'his lips, when a slight 
 noise was heard outside the palisade, in the rear of 
 the block-house, where the shadows rested, and pres- 
 ently a low hail was heard : " Holloa, there 1 " 
 
 No reply was made, and again the voice was heard: 
 " In the tower, there I are you asleep? " 
 
 The voice was immediately recognized, and a joy- 
 ful exclamation burst simultaneously from the young 
 men : " The Scout ! the Scout ! " 
 
 " Whist ! whist ! youngsters ; there may be more 
 ears in the neighborhood than mine. It's, terrible 
 risky to move the tongue in the night, 'specially when 
 near the water. But one of you come down to the 
 palisade a moment. Don't disturb the elders, for my 
 errand does not consarn them at present." 
 
 Henry immediately descended to the enclosure and 
 joined the Scout. 
 
 " You need n't unfasten the gate ; I can say what I 
 have got to say just as well here." 
 
 " But you will come in and spend the night here, 
 Scout?" 
 
 " No, youngster," said the hunter, " I must go 
 along a piece further, where I shall camp out. My
 
 THE SETTLEES. 279 
 
 old bones could not rest well on a softer couch than 
 pine boughs." 
 
 " How did you approach the block-house ? " asked 
 Henry, with some interest. " We kept vigilant watch 
 in all quarters, but did not see you." 
 
 " Wai, my lad, that is one of the tricks I have 1'arnt 
 of the cunning sarpents. They are snaky critturs, 
 them red-skins. -They 're a pesky sight worse than 
 rattlesnakes, for they do give warning before they 
 strike, but an Injun never does." 
 
 " All seems quiet to-night," sfid the young man. 
 " What brought you here ? is there anything astir ? " 
 
 " There 's no telling, the varmints are so desateful. 
 But I reckon they will not disturb you to-night. I 've 
 been scrummaging round here these two hours or 
 more, and have seen no signs of them. I was glad to 
 find the houses empty, and that you were all safe in 
 here. My object in calling was to caution you to be 
 on your guard." 
 
 " We shall endeavor to be so," said Worthly. 
 
 " Yes, youngster, you may be for a while, but peo- 
 ple grow venturesome after a time. Finding that 
 you have taken the alarm, the savages may hang 
 round here for weeks, watching an opportunity to 
 pounce upon you. I know the reptyles well, I 
 know all their diviltries, and I charge you, and mind 
 tell all the people, to be watchful, always watchful, 
 by day and by night. When you think yourself most 
 secure, destruction may be staring you right in the 
 face. Don't venture outside on any account. I shall 
 be along this way one of these days, and will tell you 
 how matters stsind. Good-night, youngster, and keep 
 in mind what I have said."
 
 280 FOREST AND SHOKE. 
 
 Thus saying, the old man dropped slowly to the 
 ground, and for a little while was seen worming him- 
 self along in the direction of the forest. In a few 
 minutes, however, not a sign could be discovered to 
 indicate a living thing in the neighborhood. Young 
 Worthly again ascended to his post, not a little re- 
 lieved from the anxiety that so lately disturbed him. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WOULD the reader like to take a midnight flitting 
 through the forest ? We feel greatly inclined to fol- 
 low in the footsteps of the Scout, it is such a glorious 
 night, and the moonbeams, falling on and through the 
 parti-colored leaves, present such fine effects. The 
 foliage is somewhat thinned out, so that the forest 
 paths are illuminated with that "dim religious light" 
 which so tends to impress the heart with chaste and 
 hallowed feelings. 
 
 Nowhere is the mind more affected with a so- 
 lemnity almost amounting to awe than in the depth of 
 a forest, particularly in that season when the leaves 
 begin to fall. At each step you take there rises a 
 muffled sound from the dry foliage displaced by your 
 feet, and all around you, as the light breeze soughs 
 through the tree-tops, withered leaves come flitting 
 through the air, gentle monitors, reminding you of 
 decay, and whispering in your ear with startling em- 
 phasis the prophetic declaration, " We all do fade as 
 the leaf." Men talk of being subdued and awed when 
 treading the aisles of lofty cathedrals ; but what are
 
 THE SETTLERS. 281 
 
 these puny works of man in comparison with the vast 
 forest sanctuaries, " God's first temples ? " Beauti- 
 fully has our own Bryant said : 
 
 ' The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned 
 To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, 
 And spread the roof above them ; ere he framed 
 The lofty vault, to gather and roll back 
 The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, 
 Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down 
 And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
 ' And supplication. For his simple heart 
 Might not resist the sacred influences 
 Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, 
 And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven 
 Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound 
 Of the invisible breath that swayed at once 
 All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed 
 His spirit with the thought of boundlessness and power 
 And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why 
 Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect 
 God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore 
 Only among the crowd, and under roofs 
 That our frail hands ha re raised ? ' ' 
 
 It is not the educated and the refined alone who 
 are subjected to the influences spoken of by the 
 poet ; the unlettered and unpolished share in them. 
 The rude hunters of the period of which we write 
 dwelling mostly apart from men, and in constant war- 
 fare with the wild beasts of the forest, or the as wild 
 savage w^re touched by them. There was some 
 thing in those dim twilight solitudes that solemnized 
 their hearts and moulded their spirits to worship. 
 Rude as they were, and habituated to the rough, soli- 
 tary life of the wilderness, they could not " resist the 
 sacred influences " of the place. 
 24*
 
 282 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 In the westerly part of New Gloucester, there is ; 
 pretty sheet of water bearing the singular coguome 1 
 of "Sabbath-day Pond." Tradition says that thr 
 pond derived its name from a number of hunters win 
 used to hunt for beaver on the streams in its neigh 
 borhood, and who agreed to meet at this pond to keej 
 the Sabbath. This was the destination of the Scout 
 and the main purpose of his journeying so late on tin 
 night in question was to meet his brother hunters tin 
 next morning at the chosen spot. We mention these 
 facts, not as having any particular connection with oui 
 story, but merely to give the reader a clearer insight 
 into the character of one who will be a prominen' 
 actor in it, and to show that, although belonging to < 
 semi-civilized class, leading a wild, unrestrained life 
 he, too, was touched with those reverential feelings- 
 which Nature in some of her aspects strongly inspires. 
 
 We said we felt greatly inclined to follow in the 
 footsteps of the Scout; but, leaving him to pursue his 
 solitary journey, we must return to the block-house 
 where the main interest of our story at present lies. 
 
 As the Scout surmised, the night passed without 
 disturbance. The following day being the Sabbath, a 
 marked stillness prevailed throughout the fort. Every 
 movement seemed regulated by the sanctity of the 
 day. There was a staidness of deportment and con- 
 versation among the inmates, from the oldest to the 
 youngest, that evinced the deep respect they cher- 
 ished for the holy time. The religious sentiment pre- 
 dominated among the early settlers, and marked them 
 as a "peculiar people." The historian tells us that 
 "the proprietors of the towns, when they had but theii
 
 THE SETTLERS. 283 
 
 fort and garrison, took care to ha~\ e the public wor- 
 ship of God maintained in it on the Sabbath." 
 
 Divine service was performed both in the forenoon 
 and afternoon, conducted in a very acceptable manner 
 by Deacon Millet. After the services were over, 
 Worthly and young Millet ascended the tower, where 
 they were soon joined by Ellen and Annie. It was in 
 the depth of the Indian summer, and was one of those 
 warm, delicious days peculiar to the season. There 
 was a slight haze in the atmosphere, not enough to 
 obscure the view, but just sufficient to soften down 
 and mellow the scene. It was like a delicate veil on 
 a beautiful woman, not concealing but enhancing her 
 charms. 
 
 The view spread out before the party was sur- 
 passingly grand and beautiful. On three sides of 
 them the forest stretched away for miles, gorgeously 
 colored, as if a thousand rainbows were entangled in 
 its meshes, while bounding their vision far in the dis- 
 tance the misty hills shot up their purple heights into 
 the golden air. It was such a scene as Bryant 
 painted : 
 
 " The mountains that enfold 
 In their wide sweep the colored landscape round 
 Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold, 
 That guard the enchanted ground." 
 
 In front of them, with here and there a tree inter- 
 spersed, was a clearing to the margin of the river, 
 which in graceful bends flowed now calmly in gleam- 
 ing splendor, and now in sparkling ripples as it broke 
 over some mimic fall; while all along its banks the 
 still water reflected the variegated hues of the treei
 
 284 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 and shrubbery that bent over it. It seemed like some 
 enchanted stream, whose bed was paved with gold 
 and encrusted with myriad gems, the brilliant colors 
 of which lent to the tide their varied dyes. Not a 
 breath of air was stirring, nor a sound heard to dis- 
 turb the holy tranquillity of the scene. 
 
 " Beautiful, gloriously beautiful 1 " exclaimed Ellen, 
 in a subdued tone, after gazing a while spell-bound 
 with the sight.. 
 
 " You look sad, Annie," said George, stepping to 
 the side of his cousin ; " how can you be sad with 
 such a scene before you ? " 
 
 " Not sad, George, but there is a strange feeling 
 that thrills me when I gaze upon such a splendid 
 scene as we now behold. I feel oppressed with vague 
 yearnings for I know not what j " and a faint smile illu- 
 mined her countenance. 
 
 "They are common to us all, Annie, I believe," 
 remarked Worthly. "Who has not been oppressed 
 with the gorgeousness of an autumnal sunset, and, as 
 the light slowly departed, felt almost a willingness 
 that his life should flow out with the fading light ? " 
 
 " The emotions we experience at that hour, Henry, 
 are vastly unlike those excited by the present scene," 
 said Ellen; "at least, it is so in my case. As the light 
 dies away over the distant hills, and the shades of 
 evening thicken gradually over the scene, I am filled 
 with an overpowering dreariness. The deepening 
 shadows seem to penetrate and veil my heart, shroud- 
 ing it in gloom. I feel as if standing before some 
 vast sepulchre, as if a visible eternity were spread 
 out before me. No wonder you smile, Henry, to hear 
 me talk thus."
 
 THE SETTLERS. 285 
 
 "And how does this scene affect you, Nell?" asked 
 her companion. 
 
 " It raises my thoughts to a brighter, purer, more 
 glorious world, of which it seems the type ; only in 
 that higher sphere there will be no change." 
 
 "I believe it is 'the very idea of the transitoriness 
 of the pomp that surrounds us," remarked Annie, 
 " that imbues me with melancholy. We sigh to think 
 that such a show of magnificence will in a few days 
 pass away like a dream." 
 
 " But only to be succeeded by other, though varied 
 displays. There is cheer in that thought, Annie," 
 added George. 
 
 "Let us have a hymn," said Ellen, suddenly. 
 " Think of one, Henry, appropriate to the time and 
 the scene around us." 
 
 The proposition was at once acceded to, and soon 
 the four voices in rich accord were blended in one of 
 those old German chorals, which seem to embody the 
 very soul of harmony. This was the opening stanza 
 of the hymn : 
 
 " Lord, our heavenly King, 
 
 Thy name is all divine; 
 Thy glories round the earth are spread, 
 And o'er the heavens they shine ! " 
 
 Their voices were musical and well balanced, and 
 the scene, the hour, and the words, that were so ap- 
 propriate to the occasion, seemed to inspire the sing- 
 ers. As the song arose on the stilly air, first one and 
 then another of the inmates of the block-house came 
 out into the enclosure, until at last all were gathered
 
 286 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 in front of the building, listening with rapt atten- 
 tion to the sublime strains. 
 
 " It is well, my dear children," said the deacon, in ? 
 tone of gratification, as the last note died away ; " it 
 is a most fitting song, and we trust an acceptable one 
 to our ' heavenly King.' Let us now all unite in my 
 favorite hymn." And, taking the lead from those ii3 
 the tower, the whole assembly joined in singing thai 
 grand composition, Luther's celebrated " Judgment 
 LTymn." As the tones swelled upon the air, the sur 
 dipped behind the distant, hills, and so closed the firs 
 Sabbath in the block-house. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MORE than a week passed away without bringin, 
 any signs of the Indians. Frequently those to whoif 
 confinement was irksome would venture outside tin 
 palisade, taking care to go well armed. Growin, 
 more and more bold as the enemy did not appear 
 they would linger around their fields and dwellings 
 some of them would resort to the river for the pui 
 pose of fishing, and others, more hazardous still, woul< 
 roam into the forest in search of game. 
 
 It may be supposed that, to the younger portio 
 of the Millet family, the restraint to which they wer 
 subjected was borne very patiently. They found re- 
 lief in each other's society, and the constant contac 
 into which they were thrown tended to mature thos 
 mutual sentiments of regard at which we have hinted 
 
 A fortnight had nearly elapsed since they had takei
 
 THE SETTLERS. 28 "4 
 
 refuge in the fort, when, one morning, Ellen proposed 
 to her brother that they should visit their home, from 
 which they had fled, for some article which she had 
 not brought away. George readily agreed to the pr9- 
 posal ; but Worthly, who at the moment entered the 
 room, strongly advised their not risking the venture. 
 
 " There is not the least danger, Henry," said young 
 Millet. " A number of the people have been out all 
 day, and some of them have scoured the woods. I 
 have my doubts, after all, if the Scout was not mis- 
 taken, and raised a needless alarm." 
 
 " No, no, George, he is not the man to do that," re- 
 plied Worthly, with much earnestness. " Depend upon 
 it, there is danger abroad. Remember his parting in- 
 junction. He knows, better than we do, the character 
 of the Indians, and the arts they employ to lull their 
 intended victims to a sense of security." 
 
 " There can be no danger, Henry," said Ellen, turn- 
 ing towards Worthly, " else why have you ventured 
 out for the last two days ? Even now you have jus* 
 come from the woods. What you have said was only 
 intended to frighten us." 
 
 " I went out on an errand for my father, and I hac 
 the means to defend me. I took a little circuit in the 
 woods to assure myself that the savages were not 
 lurking in the neighborhood." 
 
 "And you detected'no signs of them?" 
 
 "'Not the least." 
 
 " Then I may surely go in safety," rejoined Ellen 
 laughingly. " Ah, Henry, you are fond of teasing 
 one." And she gave him an arch smile. 
 
 " No, dear Ellen," replied Henry to her, aside, in f 
 tone which brought the warm blood to her cheeks-
 
 288 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 " not teasing ; but, when not only your life but my 
 happiness is at stake, can you blame me for undue 
 apprehensions? But go, if you will; I shall wait 
 anxiously for your return. Would that I could ac- 
 company you." 
 
 " Do not be troubled about us," said George, gayly. 
 " We shall be back in good season, to laugh at your 
 fears." And, shouldering his gun, he and Ellen left 
 the block-house and proceeded on their way. 
 
 Worthly was half tempted to follow them ; but his 
 father required his presence at the time, and he reluc- 
 tantly remained behind. Although satisfied by per- 
 sonal scrutiny that no imminent danger threatened 
 them, yet he felt ill at ease, and, after an hour had 
 elapsed, he frequently resorted to a port-hole in his 
 room, which commanded a view of the clearing, to 
 watch for their return. Nor was he the only anxious 
 watcher. Annie had not heard of the excursion until 
 the parties had been gone some time, and her appre- 
 hensions were tenfold greater than Henry's. Imme- 
 diately on being informed of the fact, she ascended 
 to the tower, and kept her eyes fixed on the small 
 opening in the woods, by the rustic bridge, whence 
 they would issue on their return. 
 
 " How could he be so rash ? " she murmured to her- 
 self, with pallid lips ; " and after all the warnings that 
 were given him ! " And, leaning her cheek on her 
 hand, with her eyes fixed in one direction, she gave 
 way to every fear which an active imagination could 
 conjure up. She imagined George a prisoner in the 
 hands of the savages, bound and scourged. She pic- 
 tured him, now lying bleeding and lifeless, a ghastly 
 corpse ; and now chained to the stake, amid the burn-
 
 THE SETTLERS. 289 
 
 ing pile, and surrounded by his infuriated captors. So 
 wholly absorbed were her feelings in him she had not 
 a thought for the fate of Ellen. George alone was the 
 object on which her thoughts were concentrated, and 
 for whom her sympathies were enlisted. 
 
 She sat there for some time, buried in a painful rev- 
 ery, when she was startled by two distant reports, 
 fired in rapid succession. This she knew had been 
 agreed upon when danger was near. As she rose 
 wildly to her feet, her fears were confirmed by seeing 
 a young man on horseback crossing the bridge at a 
 furious rate, and making signs, evidently of warning, 
 to others in the vicinity. Scarcely waiting to take a 
 second glance, with trembling limbs and tottering 
 steps Annie rushed from the tower, and in a few mo- 
 ments, with a face of ashy whiteness, stood in the 
 presence of Worthly. 
 
 " Ho is attacked ! he is attacked ! God, save 
 him 1 " she cried, in agonizing tones, wringing her hands 
 distractedly. 
 
 Henry did not stop to hear more, but, rushing into 
 an adjoining room where were two or three other 
 young men, he shouted, " My rifle, my rifle ! Follow 
 me, all of you ! Ellen Millet is taken by the Indians." 
 And, darting from the room, he was soon outside of 
 the defences, and far down the clearing, ere those 
 whom he had addressed had sufficiently recovered 
 from their surprise to obey him. 
 
 With a speed almost rivalling that of the deer, 
 Worthly pressed towards the bridge, while, far in the 
 rear, three or four others followed in hot pursuit, 
 vainly endeavoring to overtake him. With panther- 
 like springs he crossed the bridge and dashed along 
 25
 
 290 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 the road leading to Mr. Millet's house. His brain was 
 in a whirl, and it was some time before he checked his 
 speed and strove to collect his thoughts to form some 
 plan of action. Precipitation he knew might ruin all ; 
 and he felt the necessity of acting with coolness and 
 deliberation. Proceeding on the road with a less rapid 
 pace, he struggled to subdue the tumult within, for his 
 mind was excited almost to frenzy at the idea of Ellen's 
 eeizure. 
 
 As Annie's sole thoughts were centred on George 
 when she implored Henry to save him, so were the 
 thoughts of Worthly wholly concentrated on Ell'en. 
 It was her peril alone that filled his mind. He had 
 not stopped to question Annie's statement, but had 
 rushed forth on the first impulse, supposing Ellen was 
 in danger ; and now, as he drew near to the house, 
 observing the perfect quiet that reigned around him, 
 seeing nothing to indicate the presence of the foe, it 
 first occurred to him that Annie might have been mis- 
 taken. He had not heard the report of the guns, nor 
 had he observed the horseman ; and the query now 
 arose in his mind, how should Annie have been in- 
 formed of the attack ? 
 
 He had now arrived within sight of the house, the 
 door of which stood open, as if the party in whose 
 safety he was so much interested were inside. His 
 fears in a great degree subsided, as he saw no signs 
 of a struggle in the neighborhood ; and, as he drew 
 near, he listened, expecting to hear Ellen's well-known 
 voice, while he watched the open door, anticipating 
 Her appearance. He had not proceeded many steps, 
 however, before his worst fears were realized. A few 
 rod* from th% door, on the edge of the forest, he dis-
 
 THE SETTLERS. 291 
 
 covered the corpse of an Indian, his brain crushed in 
 by a bullet. Fluttering in one of his hands, held by 
 the strong death-clutch, was a portion of Ellen's dress. 
 The truth at once flashed on Henry's mind. The sav- 
 age had seized Ellen, and had met his death from 
 George's rifle. But where were they? 
 
 He wildly shouted their names. Again and again 
 he called upon them ; but no answer was returned. A 
 stillness as of death succeeded his cries, and brooded 
 over the spot. His brain reeled as the terrible truth 
 was forced upon him that they had been murdered. 
 He shuddered as he looked around him, fearing that 
 his glance might fall on Ellen's mangled remains. 
 Racked with almost insupportable agony, he stood by 
 the body of the dead savage, gazing distractedly 
 around him, when the young men who followed him 
 came panting to his side. 
 
 " God ! what shall be done, Stevens ? " he said, in 
 a hollow tone, addressing the foremost. " Look tell 
 them to look for her body." And he leaned for a 
 moment against a tree, completely prostrated in body 
 and mind. 
 
 He had not the slightest doubt of Ellen's fate, for, 
 maddened by the fall of one of their band, the sav- 
 ages would not hesitate to despatch her at once. He 
 was naturally of strong nerves ; but the certainty he 
 felt of soon being called to gaze upon the idol of his 
 heart, horribly despoiled by the cruel scalping-knife, 
 the fair temple of her brain shattered by the murder- 
 ous tomahawk, for the time entirely overcame him. 
 The weakness soon passed away ; but the pallor on his 
 cheeks too plainly told of the inward struggle. 
 
 A. few minutes had elapsed, when one of the party,
 
 292 FOREST AND SH03E. 
 
 who had gone a short distance further on toward the 
 Little Androscoggin, called the attention of the rest 
 to a discovery he had made. All of them rushed 
 eagerly to the spot. Among the underbrush, by the 
 side of a broad trail, evidently thrown there to attract 
 attention, was a ribbon, which Ellen was known to 
 have worn around her neck that day. 
 
 " She is not only alive," said Stevens, pointing to 
 the discovery, "but she has her wits about her, and 
 has contrived to give us a hint of the direction her 
 captors have taken." 
 
 " Let us follow on," said Henry, a burden rolling 
 from his mind as he seized the treasured token ; and 
 the party immediately pressed forward in pursuit. 
 
 They were not long in reaching the banks of the 
 Little Androscoggin, and a simultaneous exclamation 
 told of a new discovery. Far up the stream, close in 
 shore, as if to avoid observation, a canoe was seen, 
 urged rapidly forward by two savages. In the bows 
 sat a female, readily recognized as Ellen. Casting one 
 glance at the fugitives, Worthly started from the spot 
 and plunged into the forest at the left. 
 
 There was a long bend in tne river at this point, 
 which swept round so as to leave but a narrow pas- 
 sage of land between the two points of the stream. 
 Henry's movement was at once divined. 
 
 " He 's going to head them off," said young Stevens. 
 " I will follow him, and the rest of you had better be 
 looking round to see if you can discover anything 
 of George." 
 
 Leaving them to this employment, which we may 
 as well say was fruitless, we, too, will follow in 
 Henry's steps.
 
 THE SETTLERS. 293 
 
 Scarcely noticing the obstacles \vhich beset bis 
 patb, tbe young man pressed forward witb incredible 
 speed. Leaping over fallen trees, over broken rocks, 
 forcing bis way through thicket and bush, on he went. 
 But not a moment too soon. As he broke through 
 the last clump of bushes and stood on the margin of 
 the stream, the canoe was nearly abreast of him. 
 The moment he appeared, one of the Indians dropped 
 his paddle and sprang forward. As quick as thought 
 Worthly levelled his rifle, but, before he could sight it, 
 the Indian had seized Ellen, and, raising her up in 
 front of him, he shouted in the ear of the terrified 
 girl, " Speak ! Tell him, shoot 'em Indian, me kill 'em 
 squaw!" and he brandished the tomahawk menacingly 
 over her head. 
 
 " Do not fire, Henry; he threatens to kill me if you 
 do!" 
 
 An instant more, and the caution would have come 
 too late, for already was Henry's finger pressing hard 
 upon the trigger. But the consequences of such an 
 act suddenly flashed upon his mind, and he refrained. 
 Well he knew that it was no idle threat of the savage ; 
 that, at the flash of his rifle, the tomahawk would be 
 buried in the brain of Ellen; and with almost a shud- 
 der he lowered his weapon. The Indian, however, as 
 if distrusting his intentions, still stood with the tom- 
 ahawk raised ready to give the fatal blow. In the 
 meanwhile his companion still urged the frail bark on 
 its course. 
 
 " Ellen, dear Ellen ! " exclaimed Henry, in an agi- 
 tated voice, " must I leave you in their hands ? God 
 knows I would willingly sacrifice my life to save 
 
 25*
 
 i:iF-l FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 "I do not doubt it, Henry, and I am grateful for it. 
 But courage ! I do not think my life is in danger. 
 Comfort mother as well as you can, and let us hope 
 for the best." 
 
 The courage displayed by the heroic girl was not 
 without its effect on Worthly. The canoe was fast 
 receding from him, and, wishing to learn the fate of 
 George, he asked, "What of your brother, Ellen? " 
 
 " He was wounded, and has gone ahead of us in 
 another canoe. Good-by, Henry. Perhaps you can 
 find some way to release me. Keep up your spirits; 
 I shall try and not despond." 
 
 " Good-by, arid God bless you, dear Ellen ! I will 
 rescue you or die in the attempt." 
 
 Just beyond this bend, the river takes an abrupt 
 turn around quite a high bluff. Worthly stood watch- 
 ing the canoe as it approached this point with feelings 
 more readily imagined than described. The Indian 
 had lowered his weapon, but he still retained his posi- 
 tion back of Ellen. Just as the canoe passed around 
 the bluff and was lost to sight, Ellen raised her hand 
 and gave a parting signal; the next moment the little 
 bark was hidden from view. As she disappeared, 
 Henry turned with a bitter sigh to retrace his steps. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE agony of the good deacon and his wife, and of 
 Annie Wilson, we should vainly attempt to describe. 
 As one after another of the party who had gone out 
 in pursuit returned to the block-house, they were met
 
 THE SETTLERS. 295 
 
 by Mrs. Millet and Annie, who, striving to catch some 
 gleam of hope, wildly importuned each in regard to 
 the missing ones. When at last Worthly returned, 
 bringing certain tidings of their captivity, their cup 
 of anguish was filled to the brim. In the frenzy of 
 her grief, the mother rapidly paced the room, wringing 
 her hands and calling distractedly the names of her 
 children, while Annie sat by a table, pale and tearless, 
 a moan of distress from time to time breaking from 
 her lips. Occasionally she would press her hand to 
 her forehead, and look around bewilderingly, in a pit- 
 eous manner, as if inquiring the nature of the great 
 woe that had come upon her. Mr. Millet strove hard 
 to restrain his emotions, that he might minister com- 
 fort to his partner; but the struggle was a hard one, 
 and the strong man shook like a reed. 
 
 Henry, after announcing his information, had left 
 the room. In a short time he re-entered, accompanied 
 by two other young men, by the names of Stevens and 
 Eveleth, all completely armed and equipped for a 
 journey. 
 
 " God be praised ! " said Mrs. Millet, springing to 
 Henry's side. " You will save them, you will restore 
 them to us I " and she clung convulsively to his arm. 
 
 " We shall make the attempt, Mrs. Millet," replied 
 Henry, " but God only knows what will be the issue. 
 What men can do, we have resolved to accomplish, 
 even to the sacrifice of life, if necessary." 
 
 " Bless you ! bless you, young man ! A mother's 
 prayers will follow you." 
 
 " Deacon Millet," said Henry, after a moment's hesi- 
 tation, " the fate of your daughter is at this moment 
 uncertain, and I am about to peril my life in her bo-
 
 296 yOEEST AND SHORE. 
 
 half. The probabilities of my safe return are slight. 
 This, then, is no time for concealments. The life of 
 Ellen, sir, is as dear to me, more dear, if possible, than 
 it is to you. I do not ask you at this inauspicious 
 moment to sanction these sentiments so long enter- 
 tained; I only allude to them to afford you assurance 
 that nothing will be left undone to insure her safety." 
 
 " Restore her to us, young man," said the deacon, 
 pressing him cordially by the hand, "and Ellen is 
 yours." 
 
 With a kindling eye Henry turned and approached 
 the aged man, and, kneeling before him, said, " Father, 
 your blessing." 
 
 The old man placed his hands reverently on the 
 youth's head, and, in a voice trembling with emotion, 
 said, " May God Almighty bless you, my son, and pros- 
 per you in your perilous undertaking." 
 
 As young Millet arose from his knees, a bustle 
 was heard in the adjoining room, words of surprise 
 and welcome were uttered, the door opened, and the 
 tall form of the Scout entered. His presence was 
 hailed with exclamations of joy. 
 
 " Wai," he said, in his own rough way, when an op- 
 portunity was afforded him to speak, " there 's been 
 purty doings here, I 1'arn. Did n't I warn you about 
 the pesky varmints ? Did n't I ? But that 's neither 
 here nor there, now," he continued, after a slight 
 pause. " Let us hear the sarcumstances." 
 
 He was soon put in possession of all the facts, and 
 then Henry informed him of the expedition just set- 
 ting out. 
 
 " Let us consider first, let us consider a while," said 
 the old hunter, sedately. " The woods are swarming
 
 THE SETTLERS. 297 
 
 with the reptyles, and it won't be no child's play. We 
 must go to work with our eyes open." 
 
 " Then you will assist in rescuing them?" said Mrs. 
 Millet, hurriedly. 
 
 " Sartain, ma'am ! I 've a grudge agin the whole 
 race, and mean to pay it, too. Give yourself no con- 
 sarn about the young folks ; we '11 return 'em to you 
 all safe, I reckon. Come, boys, let us see what prepa- 
 rations you have made ; " and, bidding the rest good-by, 
 the party left the room. 
 
 On consultation, the Scout was opposed to having 
 any but Worthly with him ; but, when he heard that 
 George was wounded, he changed his mind. 
 
 " If the party are Ossipees, as I consate, and we 
 can tell by the dead Injun, I know where their 
 camping-ground is. Let us go down the road, and we 
 can talk the matter over as we go along." 
 
 So saying, the company left the block-house and 
 proceeded to the scene of attack. It was getting late 
 in the afternoon when they arrived at the Millet 
 house. The Scout immediately sought the corpse of 
 the savage. 
 
 " I consated so," said the old man, as he stooped 
 and removed a portion of its dress, thus exposing the 
 naked breast. " 'T is an Ossipee ; here is his totem ; " 
 and he pointed to the figure of a tortoise imprinted 
 on the skin. It was the custom of the Indians to 
 wear the badge of their tribes on their persons, a 
 " totem," as it was called, being the figure of a bird, 
 fish or reptile. 
 
 " Now, youngsters, I will give you my idees when 
 we reach the river. I 've a canoe hidden away there 
 somewhere among the bushes. Follow me, and b as
 
 298 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 still as possible ;" and the Scout took the lead through 
 the forest, with whose intricacies he appeared to be 
 perfectly familiar. Having arrived at the banks of 
 the stream, the Scout entered a thicket of evergreens, 
 and soon returned, bearing a birchen canoe. 
 
 " This, now, is my plan. You two," addressing 
 Henry's companions, " will take to the river as soon 
 as it gets darker, and go as far up as the upper falls, 
 and when you get there, draw your canoe close to the 
 left bank under the foliage, where it will be out of 
 sight. Mind, boys, what I say to you : keep a still 
 tongue in your heads. You Ve hearn tell of a whis- 
 per among the mountains bringing down an avalanche 
 on travellers' heads : I tell yer, a whisper on the river 
 in such a still night as this may bring down upon you 
 something worse than a heap of snow. Be careful, 
 too, of your paddles ; keep in the shadows as much as 
 possible ; and, above all, keep your eyes and ears open. 
 I will meet you at the falls. Can you remember 
 this ? " and the Scout gave a cry so resembling that 
 of a night-owl that the most practised ear would have 
 been deceived. " That will be a signal that I am in 
 the neighborhood. Can either of you reply to it?" 
 
 Young Eveleth made the effort, and succeeded so 
 well as to win the commendation of the Scout. 
 
 " Very well done ! You must answer my call. You 
 and I, youngster," he continued, addressing Henry, 
 " will take to the woods ; and, as the sun is about 
 down, the sooner we are off the better." 
 
 Cautioning the two young men not to start until 
 the shadows fell on the stream, and whistling his dog 
 to his side, the old man and Worthly entered the
 
 THE SETTLERS. 299 
 
 woods. Leaving the young men to pursue tlieir 
 course, we will follow the Scout and his companion. 
 
 After proceeding for some distance in silence, the 
 old man said, in a low voice: "It was a good shot that 
 the young man made, clean through the crittur's 
 skull, and yet it may prove a bad one for him. We 
 must get him out of their hands to-night, at all 
 events." 
 
 " Shall we not rescue both ? " asked Henry, with 
 much interest. 
 
 " That we '11 detarmine on as things appear, but we 
 must get the boy clear first." 
 
 " But why George, and not Ellen ? " 
 
 " Don't yer see," said the old man, emphatically, 
 " there 's blood been spilt, and life for life is their doc- 
 trine ; as though one of those hathens," he continued, 
 in a sort of parenthesis, " was worth as much fts a nat- 
 'ral-born Christian." 
 
 " I had no fears for his life," said Worthly. 
 
 " You told me the youngster was wounded, did 
 you not? Wai, now, is it reasonable to suppose that 
 the varmints would trouble themselves to carry him 
 off, unless it was to wreak their vengeance on him ? " 
 
 " But why did they not kill him on the spot ? " 
 
 " That would n't satisfy the bloody sarpents. You've 
 hearn tell of the stake, of pitch splinters, and such 
 like devilish tortures, I suppose? That's why they 
 didn't kill him on the spot, youngster." 
 
 " And will they not subject Ellen to the same fear- 
 ful treatment?" asked Henry, shuddering as the ter- 
 rible thought shot across his mind. 
 
 " There 's not much danger of that. The infarnal 
 scamps, though they delight in blood, love money bet-
 
 300 FOEEST AND SHORE. 
 
 ter. The worst they will do will be to carry her to 
 Canada and sell her to the French. They'll never 
 kill women as long as they can find a good market for 
 them. 
 
 " Cheer up, my boy," added the hunter, noticing, 
 after a pause, the dejection of his companion ; " there 's 
 no saying but we may get them both off. My idee is, 
 to make sure of the youngster, get him safely out of 
 their clutches into the canoe, and start him down the 
 river. If we do this without disturbing the venom- 
 ous snakes, we will attend to the gal's case. But 
 hist I Brave smells mischief. What is it, pup?" 
 whispered the Scout. 
 
 The dog, which was a little in advance of them, 
 suddenly stopped and gave a low growl. 
 
 "Is it a red-skin, pup?" said the Scout, approach- 
 ing the animal. 
 
 The dog lifted his nose in the air and snuffed 
 eagerly for a moment; then, as if satisfied, looked his 
 master in the face and wagged his tail, as much as 
 saying, " All right ! " and kept on his way again. 
 
 " Thar now, that 'ere dog," said the Scout, following 
 him unhesitatingly, " knows more than any human be- 
 ing in the settlements. He 's been my constant com- 
 panion this many a year, and I have 1'arnt his ways, 
 and he has mine, so that we perfectly understand each 
 other. I will tell you some day of a trick he played 
 upon the red-skins when they thought they had me in 
 their clutches ; it was a 'cute one. But it is getting 
 dusky, and I must not forget the caution I gave the 
 youngsters about a still tongue." 
 
 After this the Scout proceeded in silence, all the 
 way throwing quick and searching glances in every
 
 THE SETTLERS. 301 
 
 direction. For miles he travelled in this manner, 
 until darkness had completely fallen. By this time 
 they had again struck the banks of the stream, and, 
 leaving the woods, they moved close in their edge up 
 the river. 
 
 They were evidently approaching the neighborhood 
 of the Indian camping-ground, for every movement 
 of the old man betrayed the utmost watchfulness. 
 Time and again he turned and whispered in his com- 
 panion's ear, " Not a word, for your life ! Step lightly, 
 or the whole pack may be upon us ! " and similar cau- 
 tions. Occasionally he would stop short and bend his 
 ear to the ground, listening eagerly to catch the slight- 
 est sound. After proceeding in this manner for some 
 distance, the party halted beside a clump of high 
 bushes. Softly displacing them so as to afford an 
 entrance into the thicket, the old man bade Henry 
 enter. 
 
 " Some of the out-lying varmints may be skulking 
 in the neighborhood, but you will be safe here," said 
 the hunter, in suppressed tones. " I am going into 
 the reptyles' nest to see how things look. Be on 
 your guard, and do not stir a limb if you can help it. 
 If I had this dog's nose now, it would be worth a 
 dozen pair of eyes. Come, Brave, lead the way." 
 
 As if fully comprehending the nature of his errand, 
 the noble dog took the lead, stepping with a cat-like 
 tread, and followed in like manner by his master. A 
 moment, and their forms were not to be seen, and 
 Worthly could not detect so much as the crackling of 
 a twig to denote the presence of a living being. He 
 was alone and in darkness. 
 26
 
 302 FOKEST AND SHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE place selected by the Indians for their camping- 
 ground was in a bend of tLo river, forming a pretty 
 cove. The forest here receded a short distance from 
 the stream, leaving a clear, crescent-shaped spot, which 
 ran down slopingly to ihe water's edge. On this open- 
 ing some dozen lodges were scattered, in ik& usually 
 disordered manner of an Indian encampment. The 
 tents of the wandering tribes that annually visit our 
 neighborhood at the present day are made of canvas 
 or stout cotton cloth, and present quite a comfortable 
 appearance ; but those of which we are writing were 
 rudely constructed of such material as the forest af- 
 forded. Some of them were made of pine boughs 
 laid over rough poles or young saplings, but the outer 
 covering of the majority was of birch bark, broad 
 strips of which are obtained from the birch tree. 
 
 In one of these, on the night in question, sat, or 
 rather half-reclined, Ellen, on the skin of some wild 
 animal, which, with some regard to her sex, her cap- 
 tors had provided her. Her arms were confined 
 behind her back by withes, and her ankles bound by 
 strips of skin. Pinioned as she was, she could not 
 long retain a recumbent position with any degree of 
 comfort. A little hillock that rose in one corner of the 
 tent afforded her a leaning place. Situated thus, the 
 reader can better imagine than we can portray her 
 feelings. 
 
 She was a brave-hearted girl, and not one to give 
 way to trifling weakness ; still, she could not repress 
 th half-sigh, hull-moan, that from time to time arose
 
 THE SETTLERS. 303 
 
 from her lips. What added to the poignancy of her 
 distress, was the certainty of the terrible fate that 
 awaited her brother. Of her own life she had not 
 the least fear, so long as she retained her strength, 
 for she knew that the worst fate that awaited her 
 would be a long, tedious journey through the wilder- 
 ness, and it might be a few years of servitude among 
 the French Canadians, an escape from which was fre- 
 quently obtained by ransom or artifice. 
 
 We said that she had no fears for her life, if her 
 strength should hold out ; for she well knew that it 
 was a common practice with the savages, when a cap- 
 tive gave out on a journey by reason of weakness, or 
 detained them much by not being able to keep up with 
 them, to despatch him at once and take his scalp. In 
 those days the French paid the Indians a bounty for 
 an English scalp, as some States pay a bounty for the 
 ears of a wolf or a wild-cat. This horrible traffic was 
 not confined wholly to the French. Our mother State 
 at that time paid a stipulated price for Indian scalps ; 
 and it is well attosted that many Indians belonging to 
 friendly tribes were shot down by lawless rangers of 
 the woods, merely for the bounty paid for scalps. 
 Who could tell by the scalp whether it was taken from 
 the head of a friend or a foe ? 
 
 The great distress experienced by Ellen, we have 
 said, was on her brother's account. She knew that he 
 had killed one of the tribe; she had heard of their in- 
 exorable law ; and she had been a painful witness of 
 the manner of his reception at the encampment. She 
 had seen the savages dancing around him, brandishing 
 their tomahawks in fearful proximity to his person, 
 t'ieir eves glaring with almost demoniacal fury, \vhilo
 
 304 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 their wild howls of vengeance shook the air. More 
 dreadful than all, she had seen, in the early evening, 
 from the door of her lodge, a stake planted in the 
 centre of the encampment, and heaps of dry brush 
 brought from the forest and placed near it. This was 
 hardly needed to confirm her worst fears; still, a sight 
 of the terrible preparations struck a sickening chill to 
 her heart. How could this horrible fate be averted ? 
 She revolved in her mind all possible contingencies, 
 but not a ray of hope pierced the very blackness of 
 darkness which surrounded her. A cold despair set- 
 tled upon her heart. All her sympathies enlisted in 
 behalf of her brother, she forgot her own sufferings. 
 
 How would her heart have leaped for joy had she 
 known that even then there were friends near at hand, 
 brave and determined men, ready to risk life in res- 
 cuing them from bondage. Her thoughts, it is true, 
 often reverted to Worthly, and his promise to do all 
 in his power to rescue her, and she did not doubt that 
 he would make the attempt. But would he appear iu 
 time to save George from his impending fate? She 
 endeavored to obtain a gleam of hope from that 
 thought ; but, when she reconsidered the matter, the 
 improbability, nay, what she deemed the utter impossi- 
 bility, of his tracing their route in season, and bring- 
 ing a force sufficient to overmaster the savages, 
 convinced her at once that to entertain such a hope 
 would be sheer madness. 
 
 " No, no," she murmured to herself; " he will come 
 too late too late! and George must die! and O 
 God, such a death 1 " And a moan of anguish broke 
 from her lips. 
 
 In another lodge, nearer to the river, bound hand
 
 THE SETTLERS. 305 
 
 and foot, so as to be almost incapable of motion, 
 stretched on the cold sward, was George Millet. In 
 his encounter with the savages he had received a 
 severe wound, which would have been excessively 
 painful had not his mental agony rendered him insen- 
 sible to physical suffering. He knew he had but a 
 few hours to live, the coming morn would witness 
 his death. Young, buoyant with life and hope, death 
 in any shape would have been terrible to him ; but 
 from that which awaited him he shrunk appalled. 
 
 With a refinement of cruelty, his captors had pointed 
 out to him the stake to which he would be bound, and 
 had exhibited the splinters -with which they intended 
 to pierce his body and add to his torture. He did not 
 harbor the slightest hope of an escape from the fear- 
 ful doom ; and for hours he remained in a state of 
 agony, with the fated stake, the burning pile, and the 
 flaming splinters, continually in his mind. At times 
 prayers burst from his lips, wild and incoherent, the 
 ravings of despair, that death would come and save him- 
 froni the fiery trial. And then would come thoughts 
 of his home ; and for a while he would be with his 
 parents, or sitting with Annie in the tower, relating to 
 her, as a horrible dream^his present sufferings. 0, it^ 
 was terrible, terrible beyond description, when the 
 delightful vision passed away, and his mind recurred 
 to his real situation. Great drops of agony would 
 force themselves from his brow ; and, bound as he 
 was, he would writhe as one in mortal struggle. After 
 these momentary paroxysms, calmer feelings would 
 steal over him, and he would strive to nerve himself to 
 endure with unflinching courage the doom before him. 
 
 We have exhibited the captive in some of his dark- 
 26*
 
 300 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 est moments, when his spirits were bowed in the depth 
 of despair. It must not be inferred from this that he 
 was devoid of manliness, a spiritless coward. His 
 situation was peculiar: wounded, bound, exhausted, 
 in darkness and solitude, with the certainty of an ex- 
 cruciating death within a few hours pressing upon his 
 mind, no wonder he quailed. What man, under the 
 circumstances, would not have quailed? And yet, 
 when the hour of trial should arrive, George would 
 probably face his enemies without shrinking, and 
 laugh at their savage cruelties. We. all instinctively 
 shrink at the thought of being subjected to the surgi- 
 cal knife, but when brought to the test we submit to 
 the most painful operation unflinchingly. 
 
 It was in one of these calmer moods of mind, some- 
 where about midnight, his ear detected a slight move- 
 ment outside the lodge. He listened eagerly, but for 
 a while all was silent, and he concluded that his ear 
 must have deceived him. No, there was another 
 movement. This time it was no deception. What 
 could it be ? An animal prowling in the neighborhood, 
 or an enemy come to deal in secret the death-blow ? 
 He remembered now that a brother of the fallen In- 
 dian was with difficulty restrained from wreaking his 
 vengeance on him when he first landed ; he remem- 
 bered the fierce, revengeful look the savage gave him, 
 with a secret threatening gesture, as he was led reluc- 
 tantly away from the lodge into which George was 
 thrust. Was he coming at this hour to avenge his 
 brother's death? 
 
 George had besought death, but the idea of its near 
 approach, there in the darkness and solitude, startled 
 him. Whoever was seeking him, he was in their
 
 THE SETTLERS. 307 
 
 power, for lie was incapable of resistance, and would 
 prove an easy victim. With all his senses on the alert, 
 he again listened. The same movement continued, aa 
 if some one were trying to obtain entrance through 
 the boughs of which the lodge was composed. lie 
 heard the bushes carefully put aside, and then a sound 
 as of some one forcing a passage. George remained 
 perfectly still, holding his breath with suspense, every 
 moment expecting to receive the crushing blow of the 
 tomahawk or the sharp thrust of a knife. His position 
 was near the entrance of the tent, while the intruder 
 came from the rear. The young man could hear, al- 
 most feel, the slow approach of his mysterious visitor, 
 and a cold, clammy sweat burst from every pore. 
 Seconds seemed hours, minutes ages, in that fearful 
 crisis. The hand of the unknown touched his arm ; 
 and I what a revulsion of feeling did he experience, 
 how did his heart throb, and his whole frame thrill, as 
 his ear caught a just audible whisper: 
 
 " Boy, boy ! where on 'arth are you ? " 
 
 " Here. God be praised, God be praised ! " ex- 
 claimed George, every nerve quivering with intense 
 joy. 
 
 " On your life be silent. Would you bring the whole 
 pack on us ? " was whispered, in the same cautious 
 manner. Even as the well-known tones reached his 
 ears, George felt the fastenings that bound his feet 
 give way. " Hold out your arms," continued the un- 
 seen speaker, and immediately the withes, that had cut 
 deeply into his flesh, were severed, and he was free. 
 
 " Heaven bless you, Scout I" said George, fervently, 
 imitating the cautious tones of the old man. 
 
 " No thanks now, youngster. Follow me, and move
 
 308 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 warily: the scorpions are easily aroused." And, prone 
 on the ground, the old man twisted himself, with a 
 snake-like motion, out of the lodge and in the direction 
 of the river. 
 
 With stiffened limbs, every movement of which 
 caused intense pain, George followed close on the 
 heels of his leader, until they reached a clump of 
 bushes on the edge of the forest, in front of which, as 
 if standing sentinel, was the old man's dog. 
 
 " I must leave you here," said the Scout. 
 
 " To rescue Ellen, I trust, Scout," said George. 
 
 " We must get you off first, boy. If it was n't for 
 that pesky wound of yours we 'd do it at once. But 
 don't worry about the gal ; t' other youngster and I 
 will see about her. Brave will lead you to the spot 
 where I will meet you. Go, pup." Thus saying, the 
 Scout rose to his feet and glided silently into the 
 forest. 
 
 As the hunter disappeaTed, the noble dog commenced 
 moving slowly along, turning, from time to time, his 
 head, as if to ascertain that he was duly followed. 
 Finding that his wound would not permit of his walk- 
 ing, George crept along as he best could, dragging his 
 maimed limb painfully after him. llis progress was 
 necessarily slow, and his admiration was not a little 
 excited at the sagacity displayed by his canine com- 
 panion, who seemed to be aware of the difficulty his 
 follower labored under, and timed his pace to suit 
 George's. 
 
 The stars shone brightly, but not a ray of light pen- 
 etrated the covert in which Henry was secreted. 
 Worthly waited, with no little anxiety, the return of 
 his companion. He felt no fear, but there was a wild
 
 THE SETTLERS. 309 
 
 beating in his heart which he could not control. He 
 thought of Ellen in her loneliness and gloom. He 
 pictured her sitting bowed with grief in her .rude wig- 
 wam, and ho yearned to make his presence known to 
 her. He thought what a solace it would be to her 
 could she but know that friends were at hand, work- 
 ing for her deliverance. Buried in these reveries, an 
 hour or more passed away. 
 
 The distant cry of a night-owl broke his train of 
 thought. The ill-omened sound, so in keeping with, 
 the surrounding gloom, did not tend to dissipate the 
 depression which had settled upon his spirits. It was 
 not until he heard the cry repeated in another direc- 
 tion that he remembered that it was the signal agreed 
 upon between the Scout and those in the canoe. 
 When this occurred to him, the sound struck him as 
 anything but one of ill omen. Henry now impatiently 
 awaited the issue of events. Intently he listened to 
 catch the returning footsteps of the Scout. Minute 
 after minute passed slowly, but still no sound met his 
 ear. Half an hour perhaps rolled by, when a move- 
 ment among the bushes sent a sudden thrill to his 
 heart. 
 
 "Wai, youngster," said the Scout, thrusting his head 
 into the opening, " most tucfcered out ? I Ve seen the 
 gal's brother. He was most cruelly bound, and has 
 got an ugly wound in his thigh. But I cut his thongs, 
 and directed him how to proceed. The sly dog made 
 them think he was w r orse hurt than he is ; and so, fast- 
 ening him with their cursed withes, they thought they 
 had him safe enough, arid did not guard him so care- 
 fully as they otherwise would." 
 
 " And you will get him clear, then ? " asked Henry.
 
 310 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 " Speak softly, boy. You 've no idee bow sound 
 travels in the night. If nothing turns up, we shall get 
 him out of their clutches, and the gal too, I consate. 
 But come with me, and mind, you are treading among 
 sleeping adders, which the slightest noise may arouse." 
 
 Stepping out from his hiding-pkce, Worthly fol- 
 lowed in the lead of the hunter. Occasionally the old 
 fellow would give utterance to a low chuckle. At last 
 he said, in his usual cautious tone, " I declare, that pup 
 of mine knows more than ary human crittur." 
 
 " Where is he, Scout ? " asked Henry. 
 
 " Guiding the youngster down to the canoe." 
 
 '.'Guiding him?" asked Henry, in some astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Yes; and enough sight surer guide than I should 
 be. I 'd trust that dog's nose anywhere." 
 
 "How did you find where George was?" 
 
 " 'T was all that pup's doings. Says I, ' Brave/ says 
 I, ' lead me to the white boy. 7 At that he went snuffing 
 along, until the crittur stopped before one of the tents 
 and began wagging his tail. You need n't tell me 
 that such dogs ain't reasonable beings : I know bet- 
 ter." After this, the party proceeded in silence on 
 their way. 
 
 They were not long in reaching the river's bank, at 
 a spot just above the encampment. Soon after their 
 arrival, Brave made his appearance, followed by 
 George, who was heartily welcomed by the Scout and 
 Henry. Truly thankful was George when he reached 
 the stream, and many were the congratulations ex- 
 changed between the young men at the success which 
 had thus far attended them, while equally lively were 
 they in their gratitude to the Scout.
 
 THE SETTLERS. 311 
 
 " Save your thanks, save your thanks, youngsters," 
 said the " Wait till we get out of the var- 
 
 mints' clutches. Remain here a while, ana uo not 
 speak above your breath, while I go and find the 
 canoe." And the Scout went up the stream. 
 
 Just below one of the falls in the river, hidden be- 
 neath the overhanging branches, swung a canoe, in 
 which were seated young Eveleth and Stevens. 
 
 " They 're a long time coming," remarked the latter. 
 
 " We must not speak too loud, Stevens, although 
 the roar of the rapids serves to drown our voice 
 Hark! what is that?" 
 
 There was a disturbance of the limbs overhead, fol- 
 lowed by the low tones of the Sgout. " Drop your 
 canoe down to where the banks are sloping, lads. 
 Move cautiously, and keep snug in shore." 
 
 The directions were obeyed ; and in a few minutes, 
 with the assistance of Henry and the hunter, George 
 was placed in the canoe and arranged as comfortably 
 as the circumstances would permit. 
 
 " Now, youngsters," said the Scout, giving them a 
 parting word of caution, " all depends on yourselves. 
 Move warily. I see the mist is rising ; keep in that as 
 much as you can. The moon will be up soon, and 
 some of the varmints may be abroad. Keep your 
 eyes and ears open, and your mouths shut, and by 
 daybreak I trust you will be safe in the block-house." 
 
 " And tell your mother, George," said Henry, as the 
 canoe floated from the bank, " that Ellen will not be 
 long in following you, I trust." And, bidding the 
 voyagers a whispered good-night, the Scout and his 
 companion, followed by Brave, turned and plunged 
 into the forest.
 
 3 1 2 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE light b#rk shot rapidly and noiselessly down 
 the stream. The mist soon began to grow more dense, 
 into the thickest of which the canoe was guided. For 
 some time they continued their voyage without meet- 
 ing with anything to excite their alarm, and their 
 hearts were cheered in anticipation of the successful 
 issue of their expedition. The most profound silence 
 was observed by the party, and their paddles were 
 handled so carefully that only the light dripping of 
 water from the blades could be heard as they raised 
 them fro'm the stream. 
 
 It was not long before the moon arose, and, although 
 her light aided to guide them on their way, they would 
 very gladly have dispensed with it, for they felt that 
 they were more secure in the darkness. If the mist 
 had continued unbroken the entire length of the river, 
 they would not have regretted the presence of the 
 " queen of night," for the vapor hung low, shrouding 
 them completely from view ; but there were certain 
 portions of the stream, broad patches here and there, 
 on which the moonbeams fell unobstructed. In cross- 
 ing these they were completely exposed; still, by hug- 
 ging the shore, they could sometimes take advantage 
 of the deep shadows of the trees and shrubbery that 
 lined the banks, and so escape from observation. 
 
 They were crossing one of these openings, which 
 occurred at a bend of the river, where a point of land 
 run out, leaving the water so shallow that they were 
 forced to edge off into the channel, when the dip of 
 paddles was heard on the opposite side, and in a few
 
 THE SETTLERS. 313 
 
 moments a canoe, containing three -savages, bound up 
 stream, shot out of the mist into the open space. 
 
 " Down, both of you ! " whispered George ; " they 
 may pass without discovering us." 
 
 The young men crouched immediately into the bot- 
 tom of the canoe, which floated silently and apparently 
 deserted on the water. 
 
 For a time they hoped to escape without being per- 
 ceived, but presently a low, guttural " Ugh 1 " came 
 across the stream, and the direction of the strange 
 canoe was seen to change, her prow heading toward 
 them. For a minute or two the savages rested on 
 their paddles, as if scrutinizing the newly discovered 
 object, during which the young men could hear them 
 holding a murmured consultation, and see their signifi- 
 cant gestures. They were evidently at fault, and sus- 
 picious that the seemingly lone bark might not prove 
 a harmless prize. George watched their movements 
 with the most intense anxiety. For a while the two 
 canoes remained equi-distant, but presently it struck 
 him that the space between them was diminishing. 
 
 u By Heavens, they are stealing slowly upon us ! " 
 said George. "Up, boys, and strike out for your 
 lives ! " 
 
 The young men sprang to their feet and plied their 
 paddles with desperate energy. A loud whoop from 
 the savages rang over the water, followed by the 
 report of a gun, and a ball whistled directly over the 
 head of Eveleth. 
 
 " A miss is as good as a mile," said George, cheer- 
 
 ingly. ." Plunge into the mist as soon as possible ; we 
 
 have got a good start of them. This infernal wound 
 
 of mine/ 7 he continued, in an excited tone, " gives 
 
 27
 
 314 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 them the advantage over us, but we may succeed in 
 eluding them. Bend to it, with a will." 
 
 In a few minutes the canoe containing our young 
 party shot into the mist and was lost to sight. With 
 the rapidity of a swallow skimming the surface of the 
 stream, the pursuing bark dashed on, the wily savages 
 slightly changing its direction so as to intercept the 
 fugitives at a certain angle. The young men, how- 
 ever, were as crafty as their pursuers, for as soon as 
 they had got well into the mist, they, too, changed the 
 direction of their flight, and made a straight wake for 
 the opposite bank. Fortunately for the success of 
 this manoeuvre, the moon just then was obscured by a 
 passing cloud, and the vapor, being unusually dense, 
 served effectually to screen them from observation. 
 
 " There they go ! " said George, in a whisper, as the 
 quick strokes of paddles were heard crossing their 
 track astern. " Dip softly but strongly, and we may 
 give them the slip, after all. Would that I could aid 
 you. I can pull a trigger, though, if I cannot handle 
 a paddle ; " and he raised a weapon to a position for 
 instant use. 
 
 To enable the reader to understand the position of 
 the young men, we must explain a little. Just below 
 the point we have mentioned as making out into the 
 river, a quarter of a mile or so, there is a fall, or a 
 series of falls. Perhaps the term " rapids " would be 
 the most correct, as the fall of the stream is gradual, 
 the angle of descent being about twenty degrees. 
 Near the centre of the rapids there is a passage, both 
 difficult and dangerous, even to those acquainted with 
 its navigation. From the first dip the current runs 
 ome rods in glassy smoothness, until its bad becomes
 
 THE SETTLERS. 315 
 
 broken, when it rushes in boiling whirlpools, seething 
 and foaming over sharp rocks, darting rapidly through 
 narrow passages, whirling and tossing about in the 
 wildest tumult, and threatening instant destruction to 
 whatever should attempt the passage, especially so 
 frail a thing as a birchen canoe. Still, a dexterous 
 hand could carry one through in safety, and, fortu- 
 nately for our party, George was well acquainted with 
 the intricacies of the passage. 
 
 There is near the eastern bank of the river a com- 
 paratively smooth and easy channel, which offers no 
 serious impediment. In ascending the river, the rap- 
 ids are avoided by a narrow portage. 
 
 With this brief description, the reader will perceive 
 the position of our party. In doubling on their pur- 
 suers, they had crossed to the western bank of the 
 stream, where no channel existed, and from the nature 
 of the ground where no transit could be found to the 
 still water below the rapids. 
 
 For a while the young men remained stationary, lis- 
 tening eagerly to catch any sound indicating the pres- 
 ence of the foe, but all remained quiet. 
 
 " We had better have kept on," said Stevens, in a 
 low tone, " and run down the eastern passage." 
 
 " No," replied Eveleth, " we should have been over- 
 hauled before we reached it, or, if we had got into the 
 channel, they would have followed us." 
 
 " Well, I do not see that we are any better off, 
 cooped up in this bight." 
 
 " There is the central passage," rejoined Eveleth ; 
 " worst come to worst, George can take us through 
 that." 
 
 " It will be risky business, as the old Scout Bays,
 
 316 FOEEST AND SHOBE. 
 
 especially in the night," said George. " But we may 
 be forced to make the attempt, and, in anticipation of 
 such an event, you had better prop me up so that I 
 can guide the canoe." 
 
 This was done; and, after waiting some time with- 
 out hearing or seeing anything of the enemy, they 
 commenced slowly crossing the river, keeping just in 
 the edge of the rapids. They had got about in the 
 middle of the stream, when a slight passing breeze 
 dispersed the mist, and left them fully exposed to 
 view in a broad patch of moonlight. To their con- 
 sternation, there appeared, some few rods up the river, 
 the other canoe, evidently in search of them. Again 
 a defiant war-whoop broke upon the stillness of night, 
 as the party of savages dashed in pursuit. 
 
 "There is no help for it now, Eveleth, push for the 
 rapids ! " shouted George, seizing a paddle to guide 
 r-he boat. 
 
 They were soon in the quick current, where the 
 guiding paddle was only required. The savages 
 were evidently acquainted with the passage, for 
 they did not hesitate to follow in the track of the 
 fugitives. 
 
 "Are they following us?" asked George, whose 
 whole attention was devoted to the management of 
 the canoe, which began to be tossed upon the troubled 
 waters. 
 
 " Yes, yes, close in our wake 1 " was the simultane- 
 ous reply of his companions. 
 
 " This will never do," exclaimed George. " See to 
 your rifles, boys; we must give that helmsman a dose. 
 Wait a moment until they get into the most dangerous 
 navigation, and aim only at the one who steers. If
 
 THE SETTLERS. 317 
 
 yon can bring him down at the proper moment, wo 
 shall be saved." 
 
 The young men grasped their pieces ready for in- 
 stant action. The surges were breaking furiously 
 around and under the frail vessel, while the white 
 foam creamed over her sides in thick masses, threat- 
 ening to swamp her. At one moment she rushed 
 forward with the speed of a race-horse, the next she 
 was tossed amid the struggling billows like an egg- 
 shell. At times it seemed as if she would be dashed 
 on some point of craggy rock and swept to destruc- 
 tion, but almost as soon as the danger was seen it 
 was passed. It required a steady hand and a cool, 
 calculating head to guide a bark through that " hell 
 of waters ; " and fortunate for the fugitives was it 
 that young Millet was equal to the task. He knew 
 that it was a matter of life and death, and that all 
 depended on his skill. He forgot his wound; his 
 quick eye took in all things at once, and his ready 
 hand held the quivering vessel in subjection to his 
 will. 
 
 " Now, my good fellows," said George, in a calm, 
 determined tone, " we shall presently be a little more 
 quiet for a moment, and they are about entering upon 
 the most dangerous part of the rapids." 
 
 The young men sprang to their feet. 
 
 " Steady, steady, or you will capsize us. Brace 
 yourselves firmly, and don't waste your shot. Let 
 them have it I " 
 
 The young men had taken deliberate aim, and, at 
 
 the word, a flash and a report followed. Instantly 
 
 and shrilly above the roar of the rapids a death-cry 
 
 rang out upon the air. The shot of one of the young 
 
 27*
 
 318 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 men took effect in the breast of the helmsman, who, 
 throwing his arms wildly in the air, gave one fear- 
 fully agonizing cry, and toppled over into the raging 
 waters. 
 
 Left to her own guidance, the frail canoe was borne 
 through a narrow channel, and, before the other In- 
 dian, who sprang to execute the task, could obtain 
 the mastery of her, was dashed against a point of 
 jagged rocks, against and over which the mad waters 
 beat in clouds of foam. It was but an instant, and 
 the birchen vessel was crushed like a shell, torn in 
 shreds, and the two savages were hurled by the 
 force of the current against the sharp ledges, and 
 whirled helpless in the foaming eddies, their mangled 
 bodies catching now on some slippery projecting rock, 
 and now jammed tightly in some narrow crevice, 
 while the laughing billows leaped around them, as if 
 exulting over their prey. 
 
 With a triumphant shout the young men shot safely 
 on their way, and were soon gliding once more over 
 the smooth surface of the stream. Nothing further 
 transpired to interrupt their passage, and soon after 
 daybreak the canoe touched the landing-place. The 
 walk thence to the block-house was one of great diffi- 
 culty and pain to George, but, supported by his com- 
 panions, they reached the gates soon after sunrise. 
 We* need not dwell on the enthusiastic reception they 
 received, nor on the joy their presence inspired. 
 
 Annie did not meet George at his entrance. It was 
 not until he was alone in his mother's room that the 
 interview took place. Hastily entering and rushing 
 towards him, she flung herself on his bosom, weeping 
 convulsively.
 
 THE SETTLERS. 319 
 
 " Dear George ! " 
 
 " Dear Annie ! " 
 
 There was a world of meaning in the tone and 
 manner of utterance of that brief salutation, which 
 expressed more than we could crowd into a volume. 
 
 Leaving George in the care of his cousin, who, it 
 may be presumed, proved a tender and devoted nurse, 
 let us turn our attention to Ellen, and those who were 
 seeking her rescue. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " I NEVER knew the varmints to be so unguarded," 
 said the Scout, in a subdued tone, as he and Henry 
 left the bank of the river. " They thought the young- 
 ster was hurt worse than he proves to be, and they 
 reckoned they had him safe enough, I warrant you. 
 How it will ruck them when they find that their 
 intended victim has escaped their infarnal tortures ! " 
 and the old fellow chuckled as if he enjoyed the dis- 
 appointment that awaited the Indians. 
 
 " But what do you propose to do for Ellen ? " asked 
 Henry. 
 
 " Wai, I Ve been turning the matter over in my 
 mind. I see the moon is 'bout rising, and it will be 
 risky business. I 'm not sure but that it will be best 
 to take another night for it." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, do not think of that 1" hastily 
 replied Worthly, who shuddered at the idea that they 
 might wreak their vengeance on her when they had 
 ascertained the escape of George.
 
 320 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 "Whist, whist, youngster! not too loud! Your 
 feelings are nat'ral, young man," rejoined the Scout, 
 who conjectured the fears of his companion, " but I 
 know the nater of the red-skins better than you do. 
 They will not touch a hair of her head. Howsomever, 
 I will see what can be done. You wait here, and I 
 will go and look round a little. Come, Brave, let us 
 look for the gal ! " and, after a few directions to Henry, 
 he glided off in the direction of the encampment. 
 
 He had not been absent but a short time when he 
 returned, and, in somewhat hurried tones, said : " The 
 dogs are astir, and the pack will open on us directly. 
 Come this way, a little more into the woods ; we '11 
 watch the varmints ; " and he led off at a rapid pace 
 into the forest. 
 
 They had proceeded but a few steps when an infu- 
 riated yell burst upon the night air, as if a herd of 
 demons had broken loose. A low laugh burst from 
 the Scout, as yell after yell rang through the forest. 
 "That's just like them critturs," said he; "when 
 they 're riled, the only way they can spit out their 
 spite is to set up an infarnal howling, just like a pack 
 of painters or wolves." 
 
 Just then momentary gleams flashed through the 
 woods, as of torches borne hurriedly to and fro. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! they '11 find him, I consate ! It was a 
 lucky sarcurnstance we got him off as we did. If the 
 boys hain't been interrupted, he 's safe out of their 
 clutches by this time." 
 
 " But will not this discovery operate against us ? " 
 asked Henry, who saw in it a destruction of all hope 
 of rescuing Ellen, for the present at least. 
 
 " I 'm not sartain about that," replied the old man.
 
 THE SETTLERS. 321 
 
 " By what I obsarved, all the party were not in camp, 
 off working mischief somewhere else, I s'pose, the 
 infarnal hounds ! You '11 obsarve, by the clustering 
 of torches, they have diskivered something, probably 
 the trail to the river." 
 
 " Well," said Henry, as the old man paused and 
 gazed in the direction of the lights. 
 
 " Wai, it is reasonable to calculate, don't you see, 
 that some on 'em will start in pursuit, and much good 
 may it do 'em ! That, in course, will leave so many 
 the less to -contend with." 
 
 " But will not those who remain keep a stricter 
 watch ? " asked Henry. 
 
 " Undoubtedly, youngster, but we must throw wool 
 over their eyes. We must contrive some plan to 
 draw off their attention, and then seize upon the 
 moment to get the gal off. Let me <;onsider a mo- 
 ment;" and the old man mused a while, buried in 
 thought. 
 
 "Yes, that may do," he muttered to himself; " 'twill 
 be purty risky business, though ;" then, addressing his 
 companion, he continued : " My mind is this. There 's 
 a cluster of lodges near the river which are empty, 
 save one, which contains their stores and skins. Now 
 if we could set fire to one of these, the whole would 
 soon be in a blaze. Nat'rally they would all rush to 
 save their property ; then would be your chance to 
 rescue the gal. But, boy, it 's a bold trick, and there 's 
 some risk in it. If we did not succeed, the gal's 
 life might be jeopardized. The malignant devils might 
 brain her in their rage. Dare you attempt it, young- 
 ster?" 
 
 Henry was silent for some moments. The prob-
 
 322 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 ably fatal consequences attending a failure pressed 
 heavily upon his mind, and he knew not how to 
 decide. 
 
 " Dare you attempt it ? " again asked the Scout. 
 
 Fearful of assuming a responsibility pregnant with 
 the life or death of one so dear to him, the young 
 man replied : " I cannot decide ; I know not what to 
 say, Scout. I leave the whole matter to you. You 
 know what is best, what risks we shall run, and what 
 are our chances of success." 
 
 " Wai, then," rejoined the Scout, " if you leave it 
 to me, I decide to follow the plan I mentioned. I 
 acknowledge there is danger, but there can't be 
 many of the varmints left, and, worst come to worst, 
 we can fight it out with the reptyles. Should it 
 come to that, they will not show a fair stand-up 
 fight, but skulk. Then, you see, Brave and I can 
 keep them at bay, while you and the gal can escape." 
 
 " But there is your own risk, Scout," said Henry. 
 
 " That, young man, I don't count much on. I 've 
 lived through worse skrimmages than this is likely to 
 be. I consate that the ball that is to reach my life 
 is not moulded yet. But, if I do fall, what matters a 
 year or two off a lonely old man's life, who has got 
 not a kin in the world to mourn his death? But I 
 can't go before the good God calls me. There are so 
 many grains of sand put in each man's glass, young- 
 ster, and that sand must run out in its nat'ral course ; 
 you can't hurry the grains, you can^t check them. 
 Man has his allotted time, and all the bloody red-skins 
 on airth can't cheat him out of a single second. If I 
 am to fall, I am to fall. That 's the doctrine we preach,
 
 THE SETTLERS: 323 
 
 down to the Sabba'-day Pond meetings. So don't be 
 consarned about me, youngster." 
 
 While the old man was thus unfolding his creed, 
 they had been making a circuit of the woods, so as to 
 obtain a position in the rear of the encampment. Their 
 progress had been slow, and by the time they arrived 
 there the hubbub in camp had subsided, and quiet once 
 more reigned in the place. 
 
 " Now," said the Scout, " I will go and see if the 
 snakes have crawled into their holes. It 's my idee 
 that the young woman's lodge is the farthest one back, 
 near the edge of the forest. If so be it is, it will be 
 all the better. Brave will point it out to me. Come, 
 pup." And the old man and his dog moved off in the 
 direction of the encampment. 
 
 The young man, thus left alone in the forest, felt ill 
 at ease. It was natural, now that the crisis of his ad- 
 venture was approaching, that he should be somewhat 
 excited. The emotions that agitated him were various 
 and opposite in their characters. Hope struggled with 
 fear. The thought of speedily releasing Ellen from 
 her bondage thrilled him with joy. Then came appre- 
 hensions of the difficulties that surrounded him, of the 
 probably fatal consequences that would follow a failure 
 of their plans, shadowing his joy and filling his heart 
 with despondency. Dark forebodings stole over his 
 mind, and his excited imagination pictured the captive 
 a victim to his rashness ; and he half-regretted that 
 he had not postponed the attempt until a more favor- 
 able opportunity. But would a more favorable one 
 be presented? Would not the attempted rescue be 
 at all times fraught with danger? Revolving the 
 subject in his mind, Henry concluded that it was no
 
 324 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 time to falter now, and he nerved himself for the task 
 before him. In the course of hall' an hour he was re- 
 joined by the Scout. 
 
 " The reptyles have crept into their dens," said he ; 
 " but 't ain't likely they have gone to sleep. I 've 
 ascertained the lodge where your sweetheart is, but I 
 did n't venture to go near it. Come this way (tread 
 softly, for they have sharp ears !) and I will point it 
 out to you. The moon is getting up, which will be 
 of some sarvice, although for such a job as this dark- 
 ness would be best." 
 
 The moon, however, had not risen above the tree- 
 tops, and it afforded just light enough to allow them 
 to distinguish the situation of the lodges when they 
 had arrived at the edge of the forest. The Scout then 
 pointed out the wigwam which Ellen occupied, and 
 gave directions to Henry how to proceed. 
 
 " You will keep your station here, and Brave will 
 remain with you (do you hear, pup?) while I go 
 and fire the lodges. When the flames burst out and 
 the varmints rush towards them, then is your chance. 
 Keep in the rear of the lodge, in the shade, and cut 
 your way through and release the gal. Mind and have 
 your thoughts about you, youngster. Don't be rash, 
 don't be excited : one can't be too cool on such occa- 
 sions as this. A false move might ruin us all." 
 
 "But where will. you join me? "asked Henry, in 
 the same cautious tone employed by the Scout. 
 
 " That depends on sarcumstances. I may have to 
 show myself to draw off pursuit. At any rate, you 
 will plunge into the woods, keeping the moon over 
 your right shoulder, over your right shoulder, re- 
 member that, boy. If I lose your trail, Brave will
 
 THE SETTLERS. 325 
 
 bring us together, without doubt. Be wary and 
 collected, and, when the rush happens, make quick 
 work of it." Saying thus, the old man crept silently 
 off to the left in the skirts of the woods. 
 
 Henry stood by a little thicket somewhat in advance 
 of the heavy timber, and but a fe\y rods before him, 
 dimly discerned, rose the lodge in which Ellen was 
 confined. He had left his rifle leaning against a tree, 
 but he held in his hand a large hunting-knife, ready for 
 instant use. The moment was one of thrilling interest, 
 and, as he stood there, his gaze fixed on the cluster of 
 wigwams, scarcely perceptible, by the river's side, 
 waiting for the signal, every nerve seemed strung to 
 its utmost tension. There was no quivering of the 
 muscles, no trembling of the limbs. He was calm, al- 
 most preternaturally calm. 
 
 Beside him stood the faithful Brave. At times the 
 sagacious animal would seem to be gazing steadfastly 
 on the lodge ; then, raising his head toward Henry, he 
 would wag his tail, as if to assure him that he was 
 aware of all that was going on. At one time he gave 
 a just audible growl, and, with bristling hair, he- 
 crouched in a springing attitude. At that moment 
 Henry perceived the dusky form of a savage lurking 
 in the neighborhood of Ellen's lodge. He saw him 
 but for an instant, ere he disappeared behind one of 
 the tents. The dog crept slowly forward a few steps, 
 and, after snuffing the air a while, returned to the 
 young man's side, as if satisfied that no danger was 
 to be apprehended. It was very evident that the 
 savage had been prying around to see that all was 
 quiet, and, finding nothing to excite suspicion, had 
 retired. 
 
 28
 
 326 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 Some considerable time elapsed, and Henry waited 
 anxiously, wondering at the delay of the Scout. Like 
 all impatient waiters, when some important crisis is 
 impending, the moments dragged slowly by. At last 
 he thought he detected a small point of light, a mere 
 spark. He strained his eyes in the direction of the 
 lodges. It disappeared, then it shone out more dis- 
 tinctly, and presently he observed tiny tongues of 
 flame flickering out of the side of one of the central 
 lodges. In a few moments a slight explosion was 
 heard, and the birchen side of the lodge was rent 
 apart, while from the curling bark a vast volume of 
 flame spread out in every direction ; at the same in- 
 stant a rush of feet was heard, and a terrible yell rose 
 on the air. 
 
 With a beating heart, Worthly dashed forward at 
 the sound. It was but the work of a moment to cut 
 a passage through the frail material of which the 
 lodge was composed. As he forced his way through 
 the opening, a shriek of terror burst from the captive. 
 
 " Ellen, dear Ellen, be not alarmed. I have come to 
 save you. Quick follow me." 
 
 " Henry, Henry, can it be you ? " exclaimed the 
 trembling girl. " I cannot move ; I am bound." 
 
 Springing to her side, Worthly cut the thongs that 
 confined her feet and arms, and, raising her to her 
 feet, he bore her through the entrance he had made. 
 The whole air was now illuminated with the blazing 
 lodges, and the infuriated cries of the savages rang 
 through the encampment. Scarcely glancing at the 
 conflagration, Henry darted towards the forest. At 
 this moment an athletic young savage sprang from 
 behind a neighboring wigwam, brandishing the deadly
 
 THE SETTLERS. 327 
 
 tomahawk, directly in the path of the fugitives. 
 Henry did not perceive that he was pursued, and in 
 another moment the fatal weapon would have been 
 buried in his head. But there was a deliverer at 
 hand. 
 
 The first notice the young man had of the threat- 
 ened danger was a deep growl from Brave, and, has- 
 tily turning his head, he saw the powerful animal leap 
 panther-like from the ground and seize the Indian by 
 the throat; a second glance revealed to him the dog 
 and savage struggling furiously on the earth. His 
 tirst impulse was to go to the assistance of his faithful 
 ally, but a thought of the momentous interest he had 
 at stake restrained him, and without checking his 
 speed he kept on, and in a few moments reached the 
 forest and was in possession of his rifle. Without 
 pausing a moment, he hurried his companion into the 
 depths of the woods, stopping not until the light from 
 the burning camp was lost to sight. He then selected 
 a dense thicket, in the centre of which he found a 
 slight opening, into which he made his way with his 
 companion, and made a brief halt, to enable the 
 affrighted girl in some degree to recover herself. " I 
 can keep on still farther," said the panting girl. " Let 
 us not wait here ; they will pursue us." 
 
 " We will stop but a moment for you to recover 
 breath, Ellen. They will not follow us at present, I 
 think. Thank God, we have succeeded thus far so 
 well." 
 
 " Yes, yes, we indeed owe Him our thanks. But 
 0, Henry, what will become of poor George ? They 
 will surely murder him." 
 
 " He is safe out of their Wands by this tim, I trust.
 
 328 FOREST AND SHOKE. 
 
 my dear girl; " and in a hasty manner he informed her 
 of his rescue, and of the means they had taken to 
 effect her escape. 
 
 While they were thus conversing, they were 
 startled by a rustling among the bushes in which 
 they had sought refuge, as if some one were forcing 
 an entrance. Springing from the little mound on 
 which he had been sitting, the young man stood 
 with levelled rifle, prepared to receive the intruder. 
 A low, joyful bark caused him to lower it on the in- 
 stant. 
 
 "It is the noble Brave," said he; and the faithful ani- 
 mal broke into the enclosure, and, bounding to Ellen's 
 side, placed his head on her lap, seemingly testifying by 
 mute signs his joy at her escape. Henry and his com- 
 panion caressed the noble animal, to whose services 
 they probably owed their lives, rejoicing heartily at 
 his escape from the struggle with the savage. 
 
 In that struggle, however, the dog had not run 
 much risk. When he sprang upon the savage, he 
 seized him in his huge jaws directly by the throat, and 
 brought him at once to the ground. The Indian was 
 entirely powerless in his grasp, and in a short time 
 was completely throttled. Not until his victim had 
 ceased to struggle did the dog quit his hold, when, 
 being apparently satisfied that he was dead, he shook 
 himself, and running awhile to and fro until he caught 
 the scent of the fugitives, he bounded rapidly into the 
 forest on their track.
 
 THE SETTLERS. 329 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "HAD we not better continue on, Henry?" said 
 Ellen; " I feel quite rested. Every moment we remain 
 in the neighborhood is full of danger." 
 
 "I think we had," replied her companion, "and 
 Brave seems to be of the same opinion. See, he 
 stands ready to lead the way." 
 
 Cautiously the party made their way out of the 
 thicket. Ascertaining the position of the moon, 
 glimpses of which could now be caught through the 
 trees, Henry followed the direction of the Scout by 
 getting it over his right shoulder, and then with hia 
 companion moved rapidly forward. 
 
 They had not proceeded far when the report of a 
 gun came faintly echoing through the forest from 
 their rear, followed shortly after by a second. 
 
 " The Scout is engaged with them," said Henry. 
 " Pray Heaven no harm may befall him, for without 
 his aid I fear it will be difficult to "find our way." 
 
 When the reports were heard, Brave gave evident 
 signs of uneasiness, turning his head in the direction 
 whence they came, and whining repeatedly. 
 
 " The dog knows that his master is in danger," said 
 Ellen, " and evidently wishes to seek him." 
 
 " Yes, and I think he had better go," rejoined her 
 companion ; " he will be of more use to him than to 
 us. Go, Brave, and seek your master." 
 
 The dog jumped joyfully in the air, and then with 
 the speed of a deer dashed toward the Indian camp, 
 while Henry and his companion continued their toil- 
 some journey. 
 
 28*
 
 330 FOREST AND SHOKE. 
 
 As the young couple, doubtless, will have no objec- 
 tion to being left by themselves, we will leave them to 
 proceed on their way, and go back and see how it 
 fares with the Scout. 
 
 When he left Henry to fire the lodges, he crept 
 along the edge of the forest until he was near the 
 river. To accomplish his object required the utmost 
 wariness, for every step was encompassed with danger. 
 Leaving his gun in the woods, the old man crept 
 stealthily toward the cluster of lodges, which were 
 so close together that the bark of which they were 
 composed came in contact at the base. 
 
 Selecting the central lodge, he was not long in 
 effecting an entrance. He had brought with him a 
 quantity of dried brush and leaves, which he placed 
 against the sides of the tent, and then striking a fire 
 with a flint and steel, which he always carried with 
 him (for loco-foco matches were unknown luxuries in 
 those days), after some time he succeeded in kindling 
 a blaze, which soon seized upon the inflammable mate- 
 rial of which the wigwam was composed. Leaving a 
 package of powder in the centre of the lodge, he has- 
 tily took his departure, closing every aperture whence 
 the light could be seen. He then started for the 
 woods, but before he reached them the explosion took 
 place, and the yell of the savages burst upon his ears. 
 Startling from his stooping posture, he rushed to the 
 place where he had left his rifle. Once more under 
 cover, with the knowledge he possessed of forest life, 
 he had no apprehensions of pursuit. 
 
 Hovering in the skirts of the forost he saw the sav- 
 ages, four in number, after they had made an attempt 
 to secure their skins and stores, suddenly rush to the
 
 T1TE SETTLERS. 331 
 
 rear of the encampment, where they gathered in a 
 state of great excitement. One of them hastily en- 
 tered the lodge in which Ellen had been confined, and 
 as hastily emerged, gesticulating and speaking in a 
 most excited manner. Presently a wild outcry burst 
 from one of the number, who had gone toward the 
 forest, which drew the rest to his side. To the Scout's 
 surprise, he saw them stoop down and lift up what 
 appeared to be a dead body. Could it be that the cap- 
 tive or the young man had fallen ? this was the first 
 thought that darted into his mind. The mystery was 
 shortly solved, for the savages soon bore the corpse 
 into the centre of the camp, and placed it on a mat in 
 front of. one of the lodges. As they laid the body 
 down, the Scout saw by the glare of the burning wig- 
 wams the torn and ghastly throat. 
 
 "That is some of Brave's doings," the old man 
 chuckled to himself. " The varmint was on their 
 track, no doubt, and the dog seized upon him. That 
 pup is worth his weight in gold." 
 
 The attention of the Scout was soon attracted to 
 the movements of the savages. He saw them looking 
 around diligently as if in search of the trail of the 
 fugitives, and presently he knew by their actions that 
 they had discovered it. Two of the party were evi- 
 dently about to follow it up. This the old man deter- 
 mined to prevent, even at the risk of his own life. 
 
 Stepping out into the clearing, he levelled his piece 
 at the foremost Indian. Was he ever known to miss a 
 shot? The woods echoed with the report, and the 
 Indian fell headlong to the earth. During the confu- 
 sion that ensued, the old man deliberately reloaded his
 
 332 FOREST. AND SHORE. 
 
 rifle, and then started off in a direction contrary to 
 that taken by the fugitives. 
 
 With a yell of rage the savages rushed in pursuit, 
 one of whom discharged his gun at him, but without 
 effect, although the ball split a sapling close by his 
 side, 
 
 " A good shot," muttered the Scout to himself, " a 
 capital shot, if aimed at the sapling. But you can't 
 expect much from such a breed." 
 
 The old man led the chase some distance in the 
 woods, until, coming to a large fallen tree, he dropped 
 suddenly to the ground, and crept under its trunk, 
 where the branches grew the thickest. His pursuers 
 soon arrived at the spot, and two of them kept on, 
 while one of them sat down on the butt of the fallen 
 tree, evidently to rest himself. The Scout could hear 
 him breathing heavily, as if exhausted with the pur- 
 suit. 
 
 It was a critical moment with the old hunter. The 
 least movement on his part would betray his hiding- 
 place. In case he should be discovered, he deemed it 
 best to be prepared for the struggle ; he therefore 
 cautiously felt for his hunting-knife. In drawing it 
 from its sheath, he accidentally struck his arm against 
 a small dry limb, which broke with a slight noise. 
 This at once attracted the attention of the savage, 
 who sprang to his feet and threw suspicious glances 
 around him. 
 
 The Scout had no fears of coping with the savage 
 single-handed, and would have made the venture, did 
 he not know that the whoop of the Indian would re- 
 call his companions, thus making the odds too much 
 for him. He therefore kept quiet, and fortunately for
 
 THi: SETTLERS. 333 
 
 him, as the Indian was creeping warily towards him, 
 and was on the point of reaching out his hand to 
 remove some of the branches that sheltered him, a 
 partridge, or some other bird, broke from among the 
 limbs, seemingly frightened from its nest, and took 
 refuge in some underbrush in the vicinity. The sight 
 of the bird at once allayed the suspicion of the sav- 
 age, and after a short halt, to the Scout's great relief, 
 he started in the direction taken by the others. 
 Waiting until the sound of his retiring footsteps 
 was lost, the Scout crept softly from his covert, and 
 with a light step retraced his way to the encamp- 
 ment. Just before he reached the open space, he 
 heard a quick movement behind him, and he imme- 
 diately sprang behind a tree for a cover. He might 
 have succeeded in concealing himself from an enemy, 
 but he could not from the faithful Brave, who rushed 
 toward and leaped upon him with the most lively 
 manifestations of joy. 
 
 " Ha, pup ! you come in good time ! " said his mas- 
 ter, patting him heartily. " I Ve started the reptyles 
 on a wrong scent, Brave, and you must put me on the 
 right one. Come, old fellow ! " and the Scout fol- 
 lowed around the edge of the forest, until he arrived 
 in the vicinity of the lodge recently occupied by 
 Ellen. 
 
 The embers of the burnt lodges still emitted a lurid 
 light, and a heavy smoke still hung over the ground 
 and curled among the trees. Occasionally the cinders 
 would flame up r throwing a momentary light upon the 
 surrounding objects ; then die away, leaving the place 
 enveloped in a ten-fold gloom. A grim smile played
 
 334 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 over the old man's face as he gazed upon tLe scene 
 of desolation. 
 
 "The varmints have had their bonfire," he muttered 
 to himself, "but 't ain't such a one as they calkerlated 
 on, I reckon ! If 't wan't for the youngster and gal, 
 now, I 'd wait here jest to enjoy the rage of the sar- 
 pents who have gone down the river, when they come 
 back and find what 's been done." 
 
 The Scout was gratified, for, as he turned to leave 
 the spot, he heard the quick dip of paddles, and pres- 
 ently two canoes shot into the cove, from which some 
 seven or eight savages leaped to the land. They 
 were met on landing by two or three squaws. There 
 was a noisy jabbering and violent gesticulations on 
 both sides, followed by a howl of rage that made the 
 forest ring again. In their frenzy some of them leaped 
 around the ruined lodges like maniacs, twisting their 
 faces into the most diabolical contortions, gnashing 
 their teeth like famished wolves, and brandishing their 
 tomahawks fiercely in the air, as if in the presence of 
 their hated foe. 
 
 " Come, pup, let 's bo off! " said the hunter. " That, 
 now, is something worth hearing and seeing. To 
 call them critturs human beings! Why, a pack of 
 starved catermounts wouldn't cut up such awful 
 freaks ! " With these remarks, the old fellow followed 
 the dog, which had caught the scent of the fugitives, 
 into the woods. 
 
 Henry and Ellen had continued their way through 
 the mazes of the forest. At the first he was particu- 
 lar in following the direction given him in regard to 
 keeping the moon over his right shoulder. Had he 
 not paid attention to this he would probably have
 
 THE SETTLERS. 335 
 
 made but little progress. There is no place where 
 one can be so easily lost as in a forest; and in the 
 nighttime, without . something especial to guide you, 
 one cannot take ten paces without being completely 
 bewildered in regard to the proper direction to be 
 followed. 
 
 As our young couple journeyed on, their conversa- 
 tion was naturally directed to the exciting incidents 
 connected with the circumstances in which they were 
 placed. But gradually the topic was changed : Ellen 
 whispered of gratitude, which her companion re- 
 sponded to as any young man would in such a situa- 
 tion, until at length, insensibly, as it were, Henry 
 found himself breathing in the ear of the blushing 
 maiden that tale which, the poet tells us, 
 
 . . " Must be told by the moonlight alone ! " ,I?-H 
 
 It was a very pleasant mode of whiling away the 
 tedium of a night tramp, and from our heart we can- 
 not blame the young man, who, no doubt, was prompted 
 to it by a desire to make his companion forget the 
 dangers that surrounded them. And most admirably 
 did he succeed. We doubt whether, if a savage had 
 started up by their elbows, they would have given 
 him more than a careless glance, perhaps a reproving 
 one, for his intrusion. 
 
 They were wandering along in that happy reverie 
 in which it is said young lovers are apt to indulge 
 when taking a walk by moonlight, when Henry was 
 startled out of his elysian dream by feeling a heavy 
 hand laid on his left shoulder. 
 
 " Ha, youngster ! " and the voice of the Scout was
 
 336' FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 toued with good-humored irony, " is this your right 
 shoulder? The moon up yonder seems to be peeping 
 over it, at any rate ! Wai, wal, it is n't strange, when 
 one's head and heart get turned, that the body should 
 turn with them. It 's risky business, Miss, for young 
 folks to be roving abroad in the forest at night; 
 they're mighty apt to mistake their way. I was 
 young once myself;" and the old man chuckled over 
 his remarks. '* . : ; 
 
 " But the night is fast waning," he continued ; " we 
 have a long tramp yet before us, and had better hurry 
 on. It 's lucky the Injuns have n't their dogs with 
 them to follow up our trail. I make no doubt, as 
 soon as there is sufficient light, they will be upon it." 
 
 " We heard the report of guns, and were fearful 
 that something might have happened to you," said 
 Ellen. 
 
 "Yes, I had a bit of a skrimmage not much to 
 speak of. You will be glaol to hear that the party 
 which went down the river have returned without 
 bringing the boy ; so I consate he 's safe. They were 
 awfully riled when they found the lodges were de- 
 stroyed. I hope, Miss, you '11 be able to go along a 
 piece farther, for the varmints have got their blood 
 up, and will surely be on our heels." 
 
 Ellen assured him that she felt perfectly able to 
 keep on, and urged their doing so. Striking into an 
 Indian file, the Scout taking the lead and Henry 
 bringing up the rear, while Brave acted as a sort of 
 escort, they proceeded rapidly on their way. The 
 utmost caution was exercised by the Scout to pre- 
 vent, as much as possible, leaving any marks to indi- 
 cate the route they had taken. Every artifice was
 
 THE 8ETTLEKS. 337 
 
 resorted to in order to perplex those who might fol. 
 low them. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 AFTER the return of George, the whole interest of 
 the inmates of the block-house was concentrated on 
 Ellen and those who were seeking her rescue. The 
 fears of her parents were in some degree allayed, and 
 they hardly entertained a doubt but that her deliver- 
 ance would be effected. All eyes were now bent on 
 the bridge, in expectation of the appearance of the 
 party. Henry's message to Mrs. Millet, that Ellen 
 would not be long behind George, had greatly excited 
 the hopes of all, and she was confidently looked for 
 before breakfast, which had been put off to a late 
 hour on her account. 
 
 But hour after hour passed by, and still there were 
 no signs of her coming. Slowly the time crept on 
 until noon, and with every passing hour the anxiety 
 of the inmates increased. Doubts began to fill their 
 minds of the most painful nature. Had the attempted 
 rescue failed ? And if so, would not the savages, to 
 prevent any further trouble, as well as to avenge their 
 disappointment by reason of George's flight, murder 
 Ellen at once ? These were the questions they asked 
 of each other, with a fearful apprehension of the 
 worst. 
 
 A watch had been stationed in the tower to give 
 
 notice of the approach of the absent party ; and, as the 
 
 recently excited hopes were giving way to despair, it 
 
 was announced that a report of a gun was heard afar 
 
 29
 
 338 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 off in the woods. All assembled to listen, and again a 
 report was heard, followed by still others. A hasty 
 consultation was instantly held. The party were evi- 
 dently near at hand, but had been followed and were 
 now attacked by the Indians. 
 
 Six young men immediately volunteered their ser- 
 vices to hasten to their assistance, and, led off by 
 Eveleth, they started at a rapid pace in the direction 
 whence the reports came. As they crossed the bridge 
 and struck off through the woods, repeated shots told 
 them that the party were hotly engaged, and guided 
 their steps to the combat. They pressed on at great 
 speed, nerved with excitement, which was not a little 
 heightened by hearing a wild outcry that sounded to 
 their ears like the triumphant yell of the savages. 
 
 " Press on, press on ! " shouted Eveleth, as he dashed 
 ahead with renewed speed. " We may be too late to 
 save them. That shout spoke of some advantage on 
 the part of the Indians." 
 
 It was not long before they reached the scene of 
 action, and their arrival was not a moment too soon, 
 for they found the Scout and Henry engaged with some 
 eight or ten Indians in a desperate tree fight. The 
 fugitives had been forced to take a devious course 
 in order to blind pursuit. Fortunately they had 
 arrived nearly within gunshot sound of the fort be- 
 fore the Indians came up with them. Finding that 
 they could not escape them, they had slowly retreated, 
 keeping the enemy at bay, until they reached a heavy 
 growth of timber, where they came to a halt. Through 
 this dense wood, fortunately for them, there ran a 
 windrow of trees, caused by one of those tornadoes
 
 THE SETTLERS. 339 
 
 which often pass through a forest, like some huge 
 monster, treading down the tallest trees in its path. 
 
 This windrow served admirably as a barricade ; and, 
 stationing themselves behind this defence, they kept 
 the foe in check, trusting that the report of their guns 
 would be heard at the block-house, and bring a party 
 to their relief. Ellen, in the meanwhile, was concealed 
 in a deep grassy hollow, where, by crouching down, 
 she would be protected from any chance shot. Henry 
 urged her to proceed on alone, but she persisted in 
 remaining. 
 
 " I cannot leave you here in danger," she replied to 
 his remonstrances. " If you lose your life, I do not 
 wish mine to be saved." 
 
 As the supply of ammunition was getting low, the 
 party had to be sparing of its use, and only fired when 
 they were sure their shots would be effective. 
 
 The savages, who were on a slightly rising ground, 
 took advantage of the trees, skulking from one to 
 another, gradually drawing nearer to the fallen timber, 
 on which it was their evident intention to make a rush, 
 when they should succeed in drawing the fire of the 
 little party. 
 
 " We must resarve our shots," said the Scout, coolly 
 taking a piece of dried meat from his pouch and eating 
 it. " The varmints are mighty tricky. Here, now, ia 
 a trick of theirs when they want to waste the powder 
 of their foe." So saying, the old man raised his cap 
 a few inches above the logs by means of a stick. No 
 sooner was it up, than there was a discharge from the 
 Indians, and a ball went humming through it. " There, 
 you see, youngster, is so much powder burnt for noth- 
 ing," said the hunter, as he picked up his cap as com-
 
 40 FOREST AND SHOBE. 
 
 posedly as if he were safe in the fort ; " therefore don't 
 fire at the imps unless you are sure of them." 
 
 While he was speaking, the Indians raised a shout 
 of triumph at the result of the shot, and two or three 
 of them started forward from their covers. Worthly 
 caught the movement, and a shot from his rifle brought 
 the foremost savage to the ground. 
 
 " Well done, my boy 1 " exclaimed the Scout. " They 
 will I'arn a lesson from that, I consate, that a white 
 skin has cunning as well as a red one." 
 
 The late shout of triumph was exchanged for a yell 
 of rage, as the enemy saw one of their number bite 
 the dust, and became aware of the trick that had been 
 played upon them. It is a custom with the red men, 
 when one of their number falls, to proclaim their loss 
 by wild shouts of rage. With the white man it is 
 different. He will stand in stern silence and witness 
 battalion after battalion mowed down, as at Waterloo, 
 the only sounds that are heard being the groans and 
 cries of the wounded and dying. 
 
 After the yell that attended the fall of the Indian, 
 an ominous silence prevailed among the band. Not 
 a sound was heard nor a sign perceived to denote 
 their presence. 
 
 " I don't like this," said the old man, after waiting 
 some time. " Keep a sharp lookout, youngster ; I mis- 
 trust the varmints are planning some mischief." 
 
 At this moment a cry from Ellen startled them. 
 " Henry, Henry ! Scout 1 Heaven, they are creep- 
 ing over the trees there at the right ! " 
 
 It was too true. Three or four of the savages had 
 stolen away unperceived to the right, and were scaling 
 the fallen trees, thus out-fluukiug the little party.
 
 THE SETTLET13. 34-' 
 
 Their case now appeared desperate, and Henry looked 
 to the Scout, with an anxious, inquiring look. 
 
 There was a ferocious fire gleaming in the old man's 
 eyes, and the expression of his features evinced a 
 bold determination. " There 's no help for it, boy 1 " 
 he muttered, between his clenched teeth : " we must 
 take each of us to a tree, and sell our lives as dearly 
 as possible. I would n't mind it much if the gal was 
 out of harm's way. Lay low, Miss, so that the shot 
 shan't hit you. They shall have my life before a hair 
 of her head is touched." 
 
 " And mine, too, if a thousand were linked with it," 
 said Henry, firmly, who in this great extremity still 
 remained unshaken in his. courage. 
 
 At the bidding of the Scout, Ellen crouched trem- 
 blingly to the earth, while the old man and his com- 
 panion each took to a tree for a cover. They could 
 see the Indians gliding from one trunk to another 
 towards them, but they did not dare to venture a shot 
 until they were secure of their men, and the woods 
 here were so dense that the savages could approach 
 them more safely. 
 
 After a time the Scout discharged his piece at one 
 of the five, whose body was not wholly covered. A 
 cry of pain told that the shot had taken effect, although 
 not a fatal one. At almost the same moment, happen- 
 ing to cast his eye to the left, Henry detected a savage 
 creeping up to attack them in the rear. He immedi- 
 ately fired at him, and the Indian fell mortally wounded. 
 No sooner was the report heard than a rush was 
 made by the savages in front, with brandished toma- 
 hawks. There was no time to reload. 
 
 " Club your rifle, boy," shouted the old man ; " let 
 29*
 
 342 10REST AND SHORE. 
 
 us sell our lives dearly." And the two stood with 
 clubbed pieces, determined to defend themselves to 
 the last, while, close in the rear of the hunter, stood 
 Brave, with hair erect, and showing a formidable row 
 of teeth, ready to join the melee. 
 
 So absorbed had been both parties in the others' 
 movements, that they had not perceived the company 
 of young men, who were cautiously making their way 
 through the woods. The first notice that they had 
 of their presence was a ringing volley, which was 
 nearly simultaneous with the charge made by the sav- 
 ages, followed by a loud shout, as the young men 
 rushed into view of the astonished and delighted Scout 
 and his companion. 
 
 The volley was well directed, for three out of four 
 of the savages plunged forward and fell to the earth 
 in the struggle of death, the tomahawk of one of them 
 flying through the air and burying itself in the very 
 tree behind which Henry had taken refuge. 
 
 " To cover, youngsters, to cover ! " shouted the 
 Scout, reloading his rifle, while an exulting smile 
 played over his countenance. And, springing to the 
 barricade, his example was immediately followed by 
 the rest. 
 
 But the danger was passed. The few remaining 
 savages, seeing the fall of their companions, retreated 
 precipitately, leaving four of their band on the ground. 
 When this fact was ascertained, loud and hearty were 
 the congratulations that passed between the parties, 
 the rescuers and the rescued, in which Ellen, though 
 pallid and shaking with recent affright, joined as heart- 
 ily as the rest. The old hunter, meanwhile, busied 
 himself in securing the spoils, that ii, the arms and
 
 THE SETTLERS. 343 
 
 ammunition, not forgetting the scalps, of the fallen. 
 This accomplished, with joyful steps the company 
 started for the block-house. 
 
 As they drew near the bridge, three shots fired in 
 rapid succession gave notice to those in the fort of 
 the success of the expedition, to which the swivel in 
 the tower immediately sent back a booming response. 
 
 With what emotions of joy did Ellen recross that 
 rustic bridge and emerge into the clearing ! Half 
 way down the slope Annie came flying rather than 
 running, and with wild exclamations of joy threw 
 herself into the arms of her cousin. .Just outside 
 of the palisade stood Mr. and Mrs. Millet, ready to 
 receive their daughter, while gathered within clus- 
 tered the inmates, eager to welcome the rescued 
 one, but standing apart, out of respect to the feel- 
 ings of the parents, whose agitation was too great for 
 concealment. 
 
 As the party drew near, Henry, with a face glow- 
 ing with happiness, stepped out from the little group, 
 leading Ellen by the hand. In silence he conducted 
 her to her father, who stood with outstretched arms 
 to receive her. Folding her to his breast in a warm 
 embrace, he raised his hands devoutly, and said, in 
 tones almost too full for utterance : " Verily, God 
 hath heard me ; he hath attended to the voice of my 
 prayer. Blessed be God, which hath not turned 
 away my prayer, nor his mercy from me ! " 
 
 Choking back her tears, tears springing from a 
 heart surcharged with happiness, Ellen left her 
 father's arms to be received into her mother's pas- 
 sionate embrace. Not a few eyes, unused to tears, 
 grew moist over that tender meeting, a scene we
 
 344 FOBEST AND SHORE. 
 
 should vainly endeavor to portray, although it is one 
 we delight to linger over. 
 
 The reception given to the Scout and Henry you 
 may be sure was not wanting in warmth and hearti- 
 ness. Such grasping and shaking of hands, and such 
 noisy congratulations, are not witnessed every day. 
 
 The following morning, as the Scout was about 
 taking his leave (for he was not a man to remain long 
 inactive), Ellen went up to him, and, placing her hand 
 in his, renewedly thanked him for his services, and 
 added, "How shall I repay the great debt I owe 
 you, Scout?" 
 
 " That depends on sarcumstances, gal," said the old 
 hunter, fondling the plump little hand in his broad 
 palm as he would a young bird. " Have you squared 
 accounts with the youngster yonder?" 
 
 " He says he is satisfied," said Ellen, with a glow- 
 ing face, casting a bright glance towards Henry. 
 
 " Yes, I dare say the rogue has forestalled me," 
 rejoined the Scout. " Wai, then, I s'pose I must be 
 content with an invitation to the wedding, which, in 
 course, will come off one of these days. He is worthy 
 of you, Miss, and may God bless you both ! Come, 
 pup;" and, followed by the dog, he left the block- 
 house, and soon struck into the woods. 
 
 The main interest of our story is over. Disheart- 
 ened by their losses, the Indians did not make their 
 appearance again that winter. In the spring the men, 
 under protection of the guns of the fort, ventured 
 out to see to their farms. But it was not until the 
 year 1760 that they finally left the block-house, and 
 returned to their long-deserted homes. During this 
 time two of the men had been seized by the savages,
 
 THE SETTLERS. 345 
 
 and carried prisoners to Canada, and one was killed 
 and scalped in the lower part of the town, after which 
 the settlement received no further trouble from the 
 Indians. 
 
 We suppose we should not be pardoned if we omit- 
 ted to describe one pleasing incident which took place 
 the fall after the rescue of the captives. 
 
 One fine autumnal evening there was an unusual 
 stir in the block-house. All the elderly persons were 
 dressed in their go-to-meeting clothes, and all the 
 young folks decked out in their holiday attire. A 
 great event was to come off a double wedding to 
 take place. We are half tempted to describe the 
 young couples, as they stood up there, flushed with 
 the glory of youth and of anticipated bliss. But all 
 brides are " beautiful," and as for bridegrooms, who 
 cares a fig for them ? 
 
 Conspicuous among those who witnessed the cere- 
 mony was the tall form of the Scout, with his noble 
 dog by his side. When the rites were performed, the 
 old man took the hands of Henry and Ellen with a 
 hearty grasp : 
 
 " God bless you, young folks ! " said he, with no 
 little emotion. " You little dreamed of this, I con- 
 sate, one year ago this night, when you were tramp- 
 ing in the woods, with the iufarnal red-skins arter 
 you ! 
 
 Henry and Ellen glanced archly at each other, as 
 their thoughts reverted to the moonlight walk. 
 
 "Ha, youngsters," said the Scout, who surmised 
 their thoughts, " you 7 re thinking of the moon's get- 
 ting over the wrong shoulder! There was some- 
 thing warmer than moonshine on 't other shoulder, I
 
 346 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 consate ! Did n't I tell you that it was risky business 
 for young folks to be abroad in the woods by moon- 
 light? and you see here what has come of it." 
 
 We leave our principal personages with the cup 
 of happiness at their lips, trusting that we may 
 hereafter meet them again under not less agreeable 
 auspices.
 
 THE LIBERTY POLE. 
 
 A TALE OF MACEIAS. 
 
 O for the swords of former time ! 
 
 for the men who bore them ! * ; 
 When, armed for right, they stood sublime, 
 
 And tyrants crouched before them. MOORB. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ON an evening in the latter part of April, 1775, * 
 number of persons were collected in a small tavern in 
 the town of Machias. A day or two previous the 
 inhabitants had received the proclamation of the 
 Provincial Congress of Massachusetts, authorizing and 
 requiring preparations and efforts to be made inci- 
 dent to a state of hostility. The people of Machias 
 had, from the first, been strenuously opposed to the 
 usurpations of the British Government; and the sole 
 topic of conversation, whenever a few met together, 
 was this exciting subject. On the evening in ques* 
 tion, a much larger number than usual had assembled 
 to talk over the stirring news recently received from 
 Boston. 
 
 Conspicuous among the rest were two young men, 
 brothers, by the name of O'Brion, sons of Morrii 
 
 (847)
 
 848 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 O'Brion, who came to this country from Cork, in Ire- 
 land. Seated around the ample fireplace, enjoying 
 their pipes and cans, the all-engrossing topic of the 
 hour was canvassed by one and all. 
 
 At last the elder of the brothers, Jeremiah O'Brion, 
 spoke out : " Well, neighbors, what do you think of 
 this rumor that is flying about ? " 
 
 " What rumor do you allude to ? " asked a man by 
 the name of Foster, who sat near by, and who held 
 the dignified office of colonel in the militia. 
 
 "Why, that the first blow has been struck, Colonel, 
 and American blood spilt at Lexington and Concord." 
 
 " Where did you get that news ? " was the immedi- 
 ate inquiry of nearly all present. 
 
 " I know not how the news reached us, but such is 
 the report." 
 
 " And what followed ? " rejoined Colonel Foster, in 
 a tone of great earnestness. " Did our people submit 
 to the outrage? Were they so dastardly as not to 
 retaliate ? " 
 
 " You must mistake the spirit of the people of Lex- 
 ington and Concord, Colonel, if you think they pa- 
 tiently submitted to such an act of violence. Not 
 they ; many a red-coat bit the dust in consequence. 
 Men, bowed down by age, forgot the weight of years ; 
 and boys, scarcely able to hold a musket, rushed forth 
 to avenge the blood of their countrymen ; and all 
 along, so says the report, the road was strewed with 
 the dead bodies of the retreating enemy." 
 
 " God grant it may be true ! " was echoed from sev- 
 eral parts of the room. 
 
 "I- move," said O'Brion, when the agitation whi b
 
 THE LIBERTY POLE. 349 
 
 this news had excited had subsided, " that to-morrow 
 we raise a Liberty Pole in front of the town-house." 
 
 "Agreed! agreed!" was the animated response 
 from every quarter. 
 
 " And that a Committee of Safety be appointed," he 
 added, " who shall have a supervision of all the affairs 
 relating to the proclamation lately received from the 
 Provincial Congress." 
 
 " You will pardon me, gentlemen, for interfering, as 
 I am not an inhabitant of the place," remarked a gen- 
 tleman present, by the name of Jones, who belonged to 
 Boston, but who had a store in Machias,and exercised 
 in consequence considerable influence ; " while I cor- 
 dially approve the spirit manifested on the present 
 occasion, yet permit me to suggest if it would not be 
 more advisable to call a town-meeting, to act on the 
 propositions that have been made this evening. To 
 give weight to acts of this character, they should be 
 legally sanctioned ; and from what I know of the good 
 people of Machias, I doubt not they will unanimously 
 coincide with your views." 
 
 This seasonable proposition won the assent of all ; 
 for it is a noted fact, that the men of the Revolution 
 were a " law-and-order " loving people, and all the 
 acts which preceded that great movement were in con- 
 formity to a previously authorized " vote." 
 
 Accordingly, the next day a public meeting of the 
 inhabitants was called, at which it was voted to com- 
 ply fully with the requisitions of the proclamation of 
 the Provincial Congress. A Committee of Safety was 
 forthwith appointed ; and as a symbol of their resolu- 
 tions, it was carried by acclamation that a Liberty Pole 
 should bo immediately erected. 
 3Q
 
 350 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 On the adjournment of the meeting, the O'Brions 
 and a number of the more active spirits set about the 
 work. Selecting the tallest tree they could find, they 
 stripped it of its branches, leaving a tuft of verdure 
 at the top. In the mean time, a deep hole had been 
 dug, in which to plant it; and long before sunset, 
 amid the shouts of the assembled inhabitants and the 
 discharge of muskets, the lofty pole was set and 
 secured. This work accomplished, the people gath- 
 ered around it and solemnly pledged themselves to 
 resist the oppression of the mother country, and, if 
 occasion called, to sacrifice their property, and shed 
 their hearts' blood, in defence of the colony. After 
 this exciting scene, they gradually dispersed, firmly 
 but anxiously awaiting the course of events. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A FEW days after the occurrence of the events re- 
 lated in the last chapter, two merchant vessels, in 
 British employ, arrived from Boston, for the purpose 
 of obtaining pickets and plank, to be used by the 
 English in the defence of that city. By this arrival, 
 confirmation was received of the battle at Lexington, 
 and the people of Machias were made acquainted with 
 the actual state of affairs in that quarter, regarding 
 which there had existed a great degree of uncertainty 
 and anxiety. 
 
 The merchant vessels were convoyed by a British 
 armed schooner, named the " Margaritta," mounting 
 four four-pounders and sixteen swivels. Sh was
 
 THE LIBERTY POLE. 351 
 
 commanded by a spirited young Irishman, by the 
 name of Moore, who, notwithstanding his coming in 
 the character of an enemy, by his gallantry and gen- 
 tlemanly conduct won largely the esteem of the in- 
 habitants. 
 
 Immediately on his arrival, observing the Liberty 
 Pole, Captain Moore landed, and demanded of a group 
 who had collected around the landing-place, who had 
 erected it. 
 
 " That pole, sir," answered John O'Brion, " was 
 erected by the unanimous approval of the people of 
 Machias." 
 
 " Well, sir," rejoined the officer, " with or without 
 their approval, it is my duty to declare it must come 
 down." 
 
 " Must come down 1 " repeated O'Brion, with some 
 warmth. " Those words are very easily spoken, my 
 friend. You will find, I apprehend, that it is easier to 
 make than it will be to enforce a demand of this 
 kind." 
 
 " What ! am I to understand that resistance will be 
 made ? Will the people of Machias dare to disregard 
 an order, not originating with me, gentlemen, but with 
 the government whose officer I am ? " 
 
 "The people of Machias," replied O'Brion, "will 
 dare do anything in maintenance of their principles 
 and rights." 
 
 " It is useless to bandy words," rejoined the officer, 
 a little nettled at the determined spirit manifested 
 around him; "my orders are peremptory, and must 
 be obeyed. That Liberty Pole must be taken down in 
 one hour, or it will be my painful duty to fire on th 
 town."
 
 352 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 As the young officer turned to re-enter his boat, he 
 was accosted by Mr. Jones, the merchant we have 
 alluded to, who prevailed upon him to suspend his de- 
 termination until the people could assemble in town- 
 meeting, when perhaps the town would agree to re- 
 move the objectionable object. 
 
 During this conversation, the group around dis- 
 persed, with the understanding that the Committee of 
 Safety would meet that afternoon and consult about 
 this new and exciting state of things. 
 
 At an early hour in the afternoon the Committee 
 met. Being composed of such men as the O'Brions, 
 Foster, and like spirits, it may readily be imagined 
 what their opinions were in regard to taking down the 
 pole. Instead of discussing that question, they busied 
 themselves in forming plans to repel an attack, should 
 one be made. They advised that a town-meeting 
 should be called, to take the sense of the inhabitants 
 on the subject of removing the pole, feeling perfectly 
 sure that they would vote to keep it up. In the mean 
 time, they made Arrangements to send off next morn- 
 ing to Pleasant River Village, distant about twenty 
 miles, and to a few other villages, requesting the peo- 
 ple to come to Machias to help them defend the sym- 
 bol of liberty. 
 
 The next day, which was Saturday, the town-meet- 
 ing was held, and the subject laid before it. It needed 
 not much discussion. There was the demand and the 
 threat. "Let those," said the chairman, "who are 
 disposed to obey the one through fear of the other 
 Bay Ay." 
 
 A silence as of death prevailed throughout the hall
 
 THE LIBERTY POLE. 353 
 
 until the chairman interrupted it by submitting an- 
 other question. 
 
 " Those who are opposed to taking down the Lib- 
 erty Pole will please say No." 
 
 With the suddenness and almost with the force of 
 a thunder-clap, one loud " No I " seemed to spring sim- 
 ultaneously from every lip. 
 
 " The noes have it," quietly remarked the chairman, 
 whose voice had unconsciously mingled with his fel- 
 low citizens' when the vote was determined. 
 
 Captain Moore was somewhat exasperated on learn- 
 ing the vote of the town, and would have put his 
 threat into immediate execution, but for the interfer- 
 ence a second time of Mr. Jones. That gentleman 
 represented to him that the meeting was not fully 
 attended, and that the vote was not a fair expression 
 of the sentiments of the town. By urgent persuasion, 
 he succeeded in obtaining a respite until another 
 meeting was called, which was to be held on the fol- 
 lowing Monday. 
 
 " It will grieve me, Mr. Jones," said the officer, on 
 taking leave, "to resort to extreme measures; but you 
 may assure the people that, unless they vote to re- 
 move the pole, in one hour after their meeting breaki 
 up I will open on the town." 
 
 With this understanding, and with expressions of 
 mutual respect, they parted: the one to pace the quar- 
 ter-deck of his little craft, the other to report the 
 result of his errand. 
 30*
 
 354 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THAT same evening a party of five met at the house 
 of a Captain Lambert, consisting of the two O'Brions, 
 Colonel Foster, Mr. Wheaton, and the gentleman at 
 whose house they met. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," said the elder O'Brion, "Mr. 
 Jones informs me that unless the tree is taken down 
 on Monday, the town is to be fired upon." 
 
 " So we were threatened yesterday," rejoined Cap- 
 tain Lambert, significantly ; " and yet the tree stands." 
 
 "Yes," added Colonel Foster, "and will stand in 
 epite of the King's authority." 
 
 "Have you heard from the messengers sent to 
 Pleasant River and the other settlements ? " inquired 
 Wheaton of O'Brion. 
 
 " One of them returned this afternoon." 
 
 "And what word does he bring?" 
 
 " Every man who can possibly leave will be here 
 to-morrow or early Monday morning." 
 
 " I hope they will come well provided with ammuni- 
 tion," remarked Colonel Foster. 
 
 " I am afraid not," said O'Brion ; " the messenger 
 says there was a great scarcity of powder at Pleasant 
 River. However, they are coming, and those who 
 cannot obtain muskets will come armed with pitchforks 
 and scythes. They are all fired with the true spirit, 
 and swear the pole shall not be taken down." 
 
 " You said you had a proposition to make," remarked 
 Captain Lambert, addressing John O'Brion, who as yet 
 had kept silent. 
 
 " Mr. Jonoi informi me," gaid the person addressed,
 
 THE LIBERTY POLE. 355 
 
 " that it is the intention of Captain Moore to attend 
 religious worship on shore to-morrow. About that 
 time our friends from abroad will have arrived, and 
 my proposition is that a number of us carry concealed 
 arms to meeting, and, when services are over, seize 
 upon the captain, and after that capture his vessel." 
 
 " It will be a bold measure, an open act of rebel- 
 lion," remarked Mr. Wheaton. 
 
 " I am aware of that," continued O'Brion ; " but we 
 have the example of the Old Colony people to back us. 
 The King and Parliament may call it ' rebellion,' if they 
 please, but we who are engaged in it know but one 
 name for it, and that is Revolution." 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, what do you say to my project? " 
 said the same speaker, breaking the silence which fol- 
 lowed his bold declaration. 
 
 " I say ay to it, with all my heart," exclaimed Col. 
 Foster, in which assent all the rest joined. 
 
 " But who will be the one to seize the captain ? " 
 asked Lambert. 
 
 " I claim that privilege," said John O'Brion. " I will 
 have an eye on him, and place myself in his near 
 neighborhood. You, gentlemen, will stand ready to 
 aid me." 
 
 " We must make the people acquainted with our 
 design," said Lambert, " so that we may act in con- 
 cert." 
 
 " And I propose," said Mr. Wheaton, " as we compose 
 a majority of the Committee of Safety, that between 
 this and morning we ascertain what quantity of powder 
 and balls we may rely on." 
 
 " You need not trouble yourself about the balls," 
 said Jeremiah O'Brion. " All the women in the village
 
 356 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 have been busy the whole afternoon melting up lead 
 to cast them. My mother, &nov , zeal, melted 
 
 up an old pewter teapot for that purpose, in spite of 
 our remonstrances, for it was a sort of heirloom. The 
 women, if possible, are more crazy about keeping the 
 pole erect than are the men." 
 
 A long conversation followed these remarks, having 
 reference to their future proceedings, after which the 
 company separated for the night. 
 
 The next morning, before the usual hour for re- 
 ligious worship, here and there men could be seen 
 straying along singly and in pairs toward the church, 
 each bearing a musket, so carried as least to expose 
 it to view, for the church stood a short distance from 
 the river, and directly opposite the church the Marga- 
 ritta lay at anchor. As the men reached the church, 
 they immediately concealed their weapons in various 
 parts of the house, ready for use, and then disposed 
 of themselves in such a manner as not to excite sus- 
 picion. 
 
 At the appointed hour, Captain Moore came ashore 
 and entered the church. John O'Brion was on the 
 lookout for him, and entered the house soon after, 
 taking a seat directly behind him. There were no 
 pews in the church, the house being unfinished, but 
 temporary seats had been fitted up, without backs, for 
 present accommodation. The weather being some- 
 what sultry, the windows of the church were thrown 
 open, and from where the English captain sat, he com- 
 manded an extensive view of the river. 
 
 The services commenced. The prayers and the 
 singing were gone through with, and the sermon was 
 commenced, which, like a majority of the sermons of
 
 THE LIBERTY POLE. 357 
 
 those stirring times, resembled more a political har- 
 angue than a discourse on ethics, a mistake some- 
 times made by ministers in modern times, although in 
 those days it was expected, and chimed in with the 
 views of the people. 
 
 In the course of the sermon, happening to glance 
 his eyes through the window, Captain Moore was sur- 
 prised to see, at the distance of half or three-quarters 
 of a mile up the river, men crossing the river on logs, 
 with guns in their hands. These were the men the 
 people of Machias had sent for, coming to take part 
 in the affray. Realizing at once the peril of his situ- 
 ation, but without betraying alarm, or appearing to 
 notice the strange sight, the young captain again 
 turned his eyes upon the speaker, apparently deeply 
 engrossed in the sermon. 
 
 Little did he heed, however, the impassioned words 
 of the speaker. His mind was fully intent on escap- 
 ing the snare which he felt was set for him ; for, now 
 that his suspicions were aroused, he could see furtive 
 glances bent upon him in all directions. Near where 
 he sat was an open window, the height from which to 
 the ground was trifling. Taking advantage of a more 
 than commonly stormy sentence in the discourse, which 
 served to rivet the attention of the congregation, he 
 started from his seat, and, leaping across the interven- 
 ing benches, dashed through the window, and made 
 his way directly to his boat. 
 
 In a moment the whole church was in an uproar ; 
 but, in the crowding and confusion that ensued, instant 
 pursuit was prevented ; and by the time the men had 
 secured their guns and were ready to follow him, he 
 had succeeded in getting on board his boat and push-
 
 358 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 ing her off into the stream. A few minutes' rowing 
 carried him on board his vessel, when he immediately 
 commenced firing on the town, the men on shore 
 briskly returning the compliment. After a few dis- 
 charges, the vessel made sail down the river, followed 
 by the people, however, who kept up an incessant 
 fire of musketry, until she soon was beyond their 
 reach. Very little damage was done on either side in 
 this affray, but the excitement of the people was 
 aroused to the highest pitch. ' The church was wholly 
 deserted in the afternoon, and during the remainder 
 of the day men might be seen collected in groups, 
 earnestly discussing the affair, and proposing plans for 
 future action. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DURING the day and evening, straggling parties from 
 out of town continued to arrive in the village, some 
 with muskets, some armed with pitchforks, and some 
 with scythes fastened on poles, formidable weapons, 
 and used with much effect, as we are informed by a 
 Polish officer, during the Polish Revolution. On 
 Monday morning Machias was a scene of great excite- 
 ment. Men paraded the village with their various 
 weapons, while the women searched every nook and 
 corner for powder and lead. As a proof of the spirit 
 which animated the latter, an incident is related, which, 
 as the writer declares, is well " worthy of being re- 
 corded." 
 
 It seems that the men who came from Pleasant River
 
 THE LIBERTY POLE. 359 
 
 settlement were greatly in want of powder, having but 
 two or three charges each. The wife of one of the 
 party, having found a horn of powder after they were 
 gone, followed them twenty miles through the woods 
 (there being at that time no roads) to bring it to her 
 husband, and arrived with it the next day after the 
 party had reached Machias.* Early in the forenoon 
 it was decided to take possession of a lumber sloop in 
 the river, and go in pursuit of the schooner. About 
 sixty volunteers mustered on board, among whom 
 were six brothers by the name of O'Brion, Jere- 
 miah, Gideon, John, William, Dennis, and Joseph. The 
 father of this heroic family also insisted upon accom- 
 panying them, but he reluctantly yielded to the wishes 
 of his sons, and remained on shore. The sloop, which 
 was afterwards called the Liberty, started in pursuit, 
 and overtook the schooner, which was becalmed, about 
 two leagues distant from the head of Machias Bay. 
 
 When they came in sight of the Margaritta, the pur- 
 suing party were without any organized head. But 
 before coming up with the enemy, who was now about 
 three miles distant, Jeremiah O'Brion was unanimously 
 chosen captain. On taking command, his first exercise 
 of 'authority was to give permission to all who were 
 afraid to follow him at all lengths to go on shore. 
 Three men, who had blustered the most when on the 
 land, availed themselves of this offer, and, amid the 
 
 * We may as well here state that this fact, and indeed all the leading 
 incidents connected with our story, are borrowed from a paper commu- 
 nicated to the Maine Historical Society, being a narrative of the event* 
 of that period, taken down from the lipfl of John O'Brion, an actor in 
 the scenes, who, at the time of making the communication, twenty-five 
 years ago, resided in Brunswick, at the advanced age of eighty-one.
 
 360 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 ill-concealed contempt of the rest of the crew, took to 
 a boat alongside, and left the vessel. 
 
 "Now, my brave fellows," said Captain O'Brion, 
 " having got rid of those white-livered cowards, our 
 first business will be to get alongside of the schooner 
 yonder, and the first man who boards her shall be 
 entitled to the palm of honor." 
 
 By the aid of boats towing ahead and the use of 
 sweeps, the sloop was soon brought alongside of the 
 schooner, but, having no grappling irons, they almost 
 immediately separated, yet not before John O'Brion, 
 who stood in the bows of the sloop ready for a spring, 
 had leaped upon the schooner's deck. On looking 
 around, he found the sloop had drifted off some 
 twenty or thirty yards, leaving him standing alone on 
 the quarter-deck of the enemy. Before he had much 
 time to reflect on his situation, " seven of the English 
 discharged their guns at him, almost at the same mo- 
 ment," but not a ball touched him. They then charged 
 upon him with their bayonets, when, to save his life, 
 he jumped overboard, and swam towards the sloop, 
 and soon stood, to the wonder of himself as well as 
 his companions, unharmed on her deck. 
 
 "Brother John, you have won the palm!" said 
 Jeremiah, shaking him affectionately by the hand. 
 " But man the sweeps, my hearties, and lay us along- 
 side once more, and stand ready to fasten on to him 
 when you reach him." 
 
 Twenty men, armed with pitchforks, were now 
 selected to board the schooner, and when the vessels 
 were again brought in contact, amidst a fierce dis- 
 charge from the enemy, they rushed over the schoon- 
 er's side, followed by the rest of the crew. A sharp
 
 THE LIBERT POLE. 361 
 
 contest ensued. The English bravely stood their 
 ground, but they could not withstand the impetuous 
 onset of the Americans, and, after a spirited struggle, 
 they were forced to submit, having lost about ten 
 killed and the same number wounded. Among the 
 latter was Captain Moore, who in the early part of the 
 action was shot through with a brace of balls, from 
 the effects of which he died the next day, " much 
 lamented."* The loss of the Americans was four 
 killed, and eight or nine wounded. 
 
 When the sloop appeared in the river, with the 
 Margaritta as a prize, those on shore were perfectly 
 wild with excitement. Men, women and children 
 gathered on the banks, shouting and exhibiting every 
 demonstration of joy. The Liberty Pole was deco- 
 rated with evergreens, and throughout the day, and 
 long into the night, might be heard the sounds of rev- 
 elry and rejoicing. 
 
 As a mark of distinction for the bravery he had dis- 
 played, the Committee of Safety appointed John 
 O'Brion as bearer of despatches to the Provincial 
 Congress of Massachusetts, at Watertown, to report 
 what had been done, and to receive directions for the 
 future. The news was received with the most lively 
 interest, and the Congress expressed their approba- 
 tion of the conduct of the people of Machias in the 
 highest terms, and passed a vote of thanks to the indi- 
 viduals concerned in the battle, f 
 
 * Captain Moore is said to have been the first English naval officer 
 who fell in the American Revolution. 
 
 t Cooper, in his Naval History, speaking of thia action, 8ya : "Thui 
 affair was the Lexington of the seas ; for, like that celebrated conflict, it 
 was a rising of the people against a regular force ; was characterized by 
 
 31
 
 362 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IF the news of the capture of the Margaritta was 
 received with a lively interest at the head-quarters of 
 the Provincial Congress, not less lively, although of a 
 different nature, was the excitement caused on its 
 reception at Nova Scotia. Two schooners were im- 
 mediately fitted out at Halifax for the purpose of 
 retaking her. These vessels were called the Dili- 
 gence and Tapnaquish, the former mounting eight or 
 ten guns, with a crew of fifty men, the latter sixteen 
 swivels, with a crew of twenty men. 
 
 About a month had elapsed after taking their prize, 
 when the people of Machias were notified of these 
 vessels coming up the bay. Instead of being alarmed 
 at the news, preparations were immediately made to 
 give them battle. The armament was taken out of 
 the Margaritta and placed on board the Liberty, 
 which, with a full crew, under the command of Jere- 
 miah O'Brion, proceeded down the bay to meet the 
 enemy. As they entered the bay they met a coaster 
 coming in, which they took possession of, placing 
 thirty-five men on board, under the command of Colo- 
 nel Foster. 
 
 It was agreed that O'Brion should attack the Dili- 
 gence and Foster the Tapnaquish. In accordance 
 with this arrangement, they bore down upon the 
 enemy, and each at about the same time boarded. 
 Five minutes were not required to settle the matter. 
 
 * long chase, a bloody straggle, and a triumph. It was also the first 
 How struck on the water, after the war of the American Revolution had 
 tually commenced."
 
 THE LIBERTY POLE. 363 
 
 Both of the English vessels surrendered at the first 
 attempt at boarding them, without making the least 
 resistance. On his return with his prizes, Captain 
 O'Brion fell in with a boat containing his father and a 
 surgeon, whom the old man had brought off. Happily 
 there was no occasion for his services. 
 
 The news of this second capture created intense 
 feelings at Halifax, and, to wipe off the stigma of for- 
 mer defeats, and to punish the authors of them, in the 
 course of three weeks another expedition was fitted 
 out from that place, consisting of a frigate, a twenty- 
 gun ship, a brig of sixteen guns, and several schoon- 
 ers, containing about a thousand men. 
 
 The news of this formidable flotilla being on the 
 way caused not a little apprehension in Machias, and 
 some of the more timid advised that the place should 
 be abandoned. This proposition,' however, was imme- 
 diately scouted, and the O'Brions, with about one hun- 
 dred and fifty volunteers, determined to resist the ap- 
 proach of the enemy, overwhelming as they were in 
 numbers. 
 
 About three miles below the town, on the eastern 
 side of the river, at a place called Scott's Point, a 
 breastwork was hastily thrown up. They had no can- 
 non to defend it ; all they had to rely on were common 
 muskets. 
 
 Hearing that the fleet was coming up the bay, the 
 brave little band, under the command of Jeremiah 
 O'Brion and Colonel Foster, took up the line of march 
 for Scott's Point, resolved, if they could not check the 
 advance of the enemy, they would pour out the last 
 drop of their blood in the attempt. 
 
 All the inhabitants had gathered in the vicinity of
 
 364 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 the Liberty Pole to see them start. Mothers and 
 wives were there, with heavy foreboding hearts, but 
 there was no shrinking on their, part, no urging a 
 son or a husband to remain. On the contrary, strug 
 gling with the emotions that filled their breasts, they 
 exhorted them not to falter in their duty, and without 
 a sign of weakness bade them farewell. Such were 
 the women of the Revolution. 
 
 Soon after taking possession of the redoubt, a party 
 of observation was sent out, which shortly returned, 
 bringing intelligence that the squadron had anchored 
 in the bay, with the exception of the brig and a num- 
 ber of boats, filled with men, which were advancing 
 towards the town. It was not long before they came 
 in sight, and, when opposite the breastwork, a large 
 body of men, about five hundred, landed. 
 
 As this formidable number drew up on the banks, 
 their bright arms glistening in the sun, O'Brion and 
 Foster made their preparations. At this juncture 
 Captain O'Brion addressed his men: "You see, my 
 lads, what you have got to contend with. The odds 
 are greatly against us ; therefore, if there is one man 
 here who is sick of his bargain and wishes to leave, 
 in Heaven's name let him be off! " 
 
 Not a man moved from the ranks. 
 
 " You will find np skulkers this time," said a voice 
 from the centre. 
 
 The light laugh which passed through the ranks at 
 this remark was the best proof the captain could have 
 of the coolness of his men. It gave him confidence 
 in their stability. 
 
 "They are stirring," exclaimed Colonel Foster, 
 pointing towards the moving mass, coming up in a
 
 THE LIBERTY POLE. 366 
 
 compact body. "Be careful, men, and don't waste yom 
 powder," he added. " Be cool and steady, select youi 
 man, and do not fire until the word is given." 
 
 The Americans were drawn up in double rank, 
 O'Brion having charge of the front and Foster of the 
 rear division. The front rank were to deliver their 
 fire, and then fall back, giving place to the rear rank, 
 while the former reloaded, the second rank going 
 through the same manoeuvre. 
 
 The enemy pressed on at double quick time^ and 
 seeing the small number opposed to them, they burst 
 into a cheer of anticipated triumph, while they com- 
 menced an irregular firing. 
 
 "Steady, my lads, steady!" said O'Brion, as the 
 balls began to whistle around them. "Let them come 
 a little nearer, we cannot afford to throw away 
 powder." 
 
 The men stood firm as though hewn from the solid 
 rock, patiently waiting the word. At last, when the 
 English had arrived within one hundred feet of them, 
 -the command was given. A sheet of flame ran along 
 the breastwork, and, as the leaden shower fell among 
 the assailants, a terrible gap was made in their number. 
 
 Immediately as the report of the first volley rang in 
 the air, the stern voice of Colonel Foster was heard 
 above the din: "Rear rank, advance! Present! 
 Fire ! " and another death-dealing discharge poured 
 from the breastwork. 
 
 In spite of the efforts of their officers, the English 
 
 broke and retreated towards the bank of the river. 
 
 Here after a while they succeeded in forming them, 
 
 and again they advanced towards the handful of men. 
 
 31*
 
 366 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 But this time no triumphal cheer accompanied their 
 onset. 
 
 On this occasion the assailants rushed on at a 
 charge, with the evident intention of carrying the 
 breastwork at the point of the bayonet. Not a shot 
 was fired until they arrived within point-blank dis- 
 tance, when again the fiery storm was hurled upon 
 them, and again they broke, while another well- 
 directed volley threw them into perfect disorder. A 
 general rush for the boats immediately ensued; and, 
 while crowding into them, the Americans left their 
 cover and poured discharge after discharge into their 
 disordered ranks. 
 
 During the action, the British brig had caught 
 aground within musket-shot of the shore, and, when 
 the retreating foe had gained her decks, they were ex- 
 posed to and experienced severe loss from the Ameri- 
 cans,' who continued to throw their fire into her until 
 she floated and was removed down the river. 
 
 In this battle three Americans only were killed 
 and a small number wounded, while the killed and 
 wounded of the British amounted, as near as could 
 be ascertained, to one hundred. After this repulse 
 the English did not make a second attempt, but, has- 
 tening to get their wounded on board, they weighed 
 anchor and stood out of the bay on their return to 
 Halifax. 
 
 We will not attempt to describe the joy of 'the in- 
 habitants of Machias at the unexpected result of this 
 battle. They had made up their minds for the worst, 
 and they looked upon the little band that had gone 
 forth to cope with the adversary as a sort of forlorn 
 hope. When the tidings of the overwhelming defeat
 
 THE LIBERTT POLE. 367 
 
 of the enemy reached them, they could scarcely credit 
 the report ; but when the little band marched back to 
 the village, with apparently undiminished numbers, 
 their joy knew no bounds. 
 
 After this decided repulse, the people of Machias 
 rested in perfect security, feeling confident that an- 
 other attempt at invasion would not be made. But 
 they were mistaken. About six weeks after this, a 
 third expedition left Halifax, and landed a thousand 
 men at Passamaquoddy, with the intention of march- 
 ing through the woods and attacking Machias by 
 land. 
 
 On learning the fact, the people again mustered, and 
 preparations were again made to waylay and resist 
 the enemy. From the prowess they had already 
 exhibited, there is no doubt that they would for the 
 fourth time have come off victors. ..The British, how- 
 ever, on the second day of their march, meeting with 
 so many obstacles, became disheartened and retreated. 
 
 After this, the town remained unmolested. The 
 Liberty Pole, which first drew on them the ire of the 
 British, remained a long time standing, a cherished 
 memento of their unyielding firmness and heroic 
 bravery. 
 
 We cannot close our story without alluding to the 
 O'Brion family, whose noble patriotism should have 
 immortalized their names. 
 
 After the transactions we have recorded, the Lib- 
 erty and Diligence were commissioned by the State of 
 Massachusetts and sent out on a cruise. Jeremiah 
 O'Brion commanded the former, his brother William 
 being lieutenant. Captain Lambert commanded the 
 latter, with John O'Brion for first lieutenant. For
 
 368 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 two years they did good service on the northern 
 coast, affording protection to our navigation, after 
 which they were laid up. After this, John O'Brion, 
 with a number of others, built at Newburyport an 
 armed ship, letter of marque, called the Hannibal, 
 mounting twenty guns. On the completion of one 
 voyage, she was fitted out as a cruiser, manned with 
 one hundred and thirty men. Unfortunately, off New 
 York she fell in with two frigates, and after a chase 
 of forty-eight hours was taken. O'Brion was detained 
 in the famous guard-ship Jersey about six months, suf- 
 fering many privations, when he was taken to Mill 
 Prison, England, whence he escaped after a number of 
 months' confinement. 
 
 His brother, in the mean time, was not idle. He 
 had command of one or two armed vessels, and in 
 a number of successful combats did the State good 
 service, and proved himself worthy the name which he 
 bore.
 
 THE STORM AT SEA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE day was almost preternaturally calm. Tha 
 heavens were clear, not a film of a cloud could the 
 eye detect, and there was not motion enough in the 
 atmosphere to flutter the lightest leaf, or to impel the 
 volatile thistle-down, so sensitive to the faintest 
 breath ; yet a heavy ground-swell vexed the sea, and 
 the vaulting billows came rolling in from the great 
 deep, breaking with an unceasing roar on the coast, 
 and deluging its rocky ramparts in heavy masses of 
 foam, giving the whole line of shore the appearance 
 of being ridged with drifting snow. 
 
 The stillness that brooded in the atmosphere con- 
 trasted strangely with the turbulence of the ocean. 
 There was no apparent cause for this watery tumult. 
 There had been no recent storm to provoke it; on the 
 contrary, for an unusual length of time, the weather 
 had been remarkably pleasant. A novice on the sea- 
 shore would naturally ask, Why, tjien, this strife of the 
 waters, this oceanic riot? To one born on the brink 
 of the rough Atlantic, it is no strange sight, although 
 always an exciting one. Common as is the scene to 
 
 (369)
 
 370 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 118, familiar as are the tones of the lofty anthem of 
 the great deep, we can never behold the one or listen 
 to the other without experiencing a thrill akin to awe, 
 nay, of absolute awe, mingled with profound reverence, 
 when we reflect on the terrible power of the raging 
 sea, and the might and majesty of Him whose slightest 
 word " maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves 
 thereof are still." 
 
 The present agitation of the ocean was the effect 
 of some distant storm at sea. The heavy ground- 
 swell was what is called in nautical parlance an " old 
 sea," the undulations not being so rapid and violent, 
 nor the ocean wearing such an angry aspect, as during 
 a storm. The huge billows came heaving in from the 
 outer deep, formidable in size, it is true, but with a sort 
 of tired motion, as if in the storm-struggle they had 
 spent their fiercest energy. They did not, 
 
 "With all their white crests dancing, 
 Come like thick-plumed squadrons to the shore 
 Gallantly bounding," 
 
 but more like battalions from the field after a desper- 
 ate and exhausting fight, until just as they reached 
 the shore, when, gathering themselves as it were for 
 a final charge, they leaped forward, with a 'hoarse 
 shout, and dissolved in foam. 
 
 On a high, rugged cliff, that jutted boldly out from 
 the main land, against which the billows surged with 
 fearful violence, clothing, with each assault, its steep 
 front nearly to the summit with a mantle of spray, 
 stood two females, gazing intently into the offing. 
 The eldest might have been fifty years of age, although 
 exposure to wind and sun, superadded perhaps to toil
 
 THE STORM AT SEA. 371 
 
 and care, gave her the appearance of a more advanced 
 age. The younger had just entered the bloom of 
 womanhood. She was not what is called beautiful, 
 but she possessed one of those good countenances, 
 which is far more attractive than mere beauty. But 
 a cloud of sorrow now rested on that sweet face, 
 which seemed only made for smiles and sunny looks. 
 
 With their aprons twisted not ungracefully over the 
 backs of their necks and heads as a covering, the two 
 stood for some moments in silence, their eyes wander- 
 ing restlessly over the broad expanse of waters, as if 
 in search of an expected object. 
 
 The youngest first broke the silence. " There is no 
 sail in sight." And a desponding sigh followed the 
 sadly-uttered words. 
 
 " What is that? " exclaimed the elder. " Look yon- 
 der, Maggie (your eyes are better than mine), there, 
 just over Bulwark Rock, is not that a sail ? " 
 
 For a minute the glance of the young woman was 
 riveted in the direction pointed out, when she an- 
 swered, in the same tone in which she had first spoken : 
 " No, mother, it is but the combing of a wave over the 
 sunken ledge. God help me 1 I am afraid that we shall 
 never see him again." 
 
 "God help him, and restore him safely to our 
 arms," responded the mother, in a more hopeful tone. 
 " Cheer up, my daughter, and put your trust in One 
 who is mighty to save, and who will not willingly afflict 
 and grieve us." 
 
 " It is sinful, I know, mother ; but, when I think of 
 the many widowed hearts, the childless mothers, and 
 fatherless children, which the late dreadful storm has 
 made, I am almost led to doubt His goodness and
 
 372 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 mercy, and to ask, why did He permit this great af- 
 Jiction?" 
 
 " Hush, hush, my dear daughter, and do not give 
 way to such thoughts. Would you arraign your 
 Maker ? Shall a humble worm of the dust question 
 the wisdom of his decrees ? 0, my child, trust in the 
 Lord. Yea, Maggie," she repeated, in a solemnly em- 
 phatic tone, " though he slay thee, still trust in the 
 Lord, and all will be well with thee." And, with this 
 pious admonition, she turned, and with her companion 
 sought their humble dwelling. 
 
 Good cause had that young heart to be weighed 
 down. The heavy burden of fears that rested upon it 
 was well grounded, and the booming of the waves 
 might well sound to her ears as a funeral knell. She 
 had waited and watched, day after day, for the return 
 of her husband and the father of her babe, until her 
 heart grew sick with hope deferred. Tidings had re- 
 cently reached her of a terrific gale at the eastward, 
 arid of the wreck of a large fishing fleet. Eumor, it 
 is true, had magnified the extent of ruin wrought, but 
 it was ascertained that nearly a hundred sail had been 
 lost, and that in many instances not one of the crew 
 was saved. Ever/ day came fresh reports of the coast 
 being strewed with wrecks, and of the washing ashore 
 of dead bodies.* , 
 
 Among that fleet was the vessel in which was her 
 husband. Nothing had been heard from him since the 
 gale. In the list of vessels lost and of those that rode 
 out the storm in safety, the name of the " Curlew " 
 was not mentioned. She was reported among the 
 
 *This was written in 1851, and the gale referred to occurred in the 
 Bay of Chaleur
 
 THE STORM AT SEA. 373 
 
 missing. " Missing ! " what a terrible import had that 
 simple word to many an anxious heart ; how pregnant 
 with sickening hopes, with prostrating fears. The 
 dread certainty that the worst had befallen her hus- 
 band could not have filled the heart of the young wife 
 with intenser misery. The torture of suspense, the 
 conflict of hopes and fears, agonized her more than 
 would have the knowledge of her loss. In the latter 
 case she would have bowed in resignation to the tem- 
 pest of sorrow ; as it was, she stood up distractedly 
 amid the storm, struggling piteously against its vio- 
 lence. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THAT evening, as the mother bent in silent agony 
 over her sleeping babe, there came to her a vision of 
 the absent one. Her mind went back to the day of hia 
 departure. This is what she recalled : 
 
 It was a beautiful autumnal morning. The heavens 
 were unstained by a cloud ; the sea sparkled in the 
 bright sunlight ; the breeze was fair, and every auspice 
 favorable. The " Curlew," a fine new fishing-smack, 
 floated gracefully in the waters of the cove, everything 
 about her looking neat and trig as the youthful skipper 
 and owner, who bustled about, buoyant with life and 
 activity, making preparations for the voyage. 
 
 A fine specimen of manly beauty was the young 
 
 fisherman, Henry Stanwood. He was of middling 
 
 height, well proportioned, and his countenance bore 
 
 an expression of quick intelligence and an amiable 
 
 32
 
 374 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 disposition. How the young wife's heart beat' as she 
 watched the cheerful smile so rarely absent from his 
 face, and read in his beaming glance a depth of affec- 
 tion answering to her own, while his cheery, sonorous 
 voice, softened to love's cadence when addressing her, 
 thrilled her with a strange delight. 
 
 In the hurry of preparation, young Stanwood found 
 frequent opportunities to bestow all these on his wife, 
 who watched his work with a sadness which she vainly 
 endeavored to conceal. Why was it ? She had fre- 
 quently seen him depart before without experiencing 
 such depth of feeling. Was this unwonted reluctance 
 to part with him a foreboding of evil? No, this was 
 not its nature. The babe which she bore in her arms 
 had riveted her heart more closely to her husband, 
 had opened new and deeper fountains of affection. 
 This it was that saddened her. It was in part sympa- 
 thetic sadness. New ties, new chords of love, had 
 been thrown around the heart of her husband to bind 
 it more closely to his home. The little outstretched 
 arms of their first-born she knew were tugging be- 
 seechingly at his heart-strings ; and she shared with 
 him the double pain of separation. Her regrets were 
 as much for him as for herself. Does not the young 
 mother sympathize with and appreciate these feelings ? 
 
 The hours flew by ; the work of preparation was 
 finished ; the stores were on board ; everything was 
 stowed away, and the white sails, and the weather- 
 vane, the work of her own hands, were flapping and 
 fluttering in the breeze, beckoning the skipper on 
 board. 
 
 They all stood on the beach Mrs. Stanwood, the 
 widowed mother, the young wife, and husband, the
 
 THE STORM AT SEA. 375 
 
 latter folding to his heart the little nestling, as if he 
 would hide it there forever. It was one of those 
 moments when language fails to express the emotions 
 of the overcharged heart, whose only interpreters are 
 the heaving breast and the speaking countenance. 
 
 " Take good care of yourself while I am gone, dear 
 Margaret," at last said the young skipper, breaking the 
 silence; and, placing th babe in the bosom of its 
 mother, he folded the twain in a fond embrace. " Good- 
 bye, mother. I shall be back in a few weeks, and 
 then no more of these sad partings for this season, 
 for this will be my last cruise. Come, cheer up, 
 Maggie," he continued, with assumed gayety. "It 
 is better to part with a smile than a tear. Good-bye, 
 and God bless you ! " And, snatching a kiss from 
 mother and child in the same moment, he hurried on 
 board of the boat and soon gained the deck of the 
 vessel, which, in a short time, with a favoring breeze, 
 and under full press of sail, stood out to sea. A silent 
 wave of the hand was the parting token of the young 
 captain to those on shore, as an intervening cliff shut 
 the vessel from sight. 
 
 Long did the unhappy wife linger on that sad, and, 
 as she now felt, final parting. Slowly in thought she 
 went over the incidents of the day. She busied her- 
 self over the chest of her husband, arranging his 
 clothing, and seeing that nothing was lacking; she 
 stored therein a few articles without his knowledge 
 which she thought would be luxuries at sea. She 
 tasked herself in every way to insure his comfort. 
 Then came the hour of departure. She stood again 
 on the beach; she heard his parting words ; she felt 
 the pressure of his embrace, the impress of his warm
 
 376 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 kiss ; she saw him on board of the vessel, she caught 
 the last wave of his hand, and the vision vanished. 
 Then followed the dreary first evening, then the suc- 
 cession of weeks, then the tidings of storm and disas- 
 ter. She lived it all over again up to the present 
 hour, when hope had well-nigh perished, and despair 
 was brooding over her soul. Starting from this retro- 
 spect as from a dream, she pressed her hand to her 
 heart as if she would force down some feeling too 
 agonizing for endurance. 
 
 The sun had gone down, and she sat in the gloom 
 of twilight, listening to the roar of the breakers, which 
 sounded more loudly as the night deepened. It 
 seemed to mock her grief. Those merciless waves 
 which had engulfed the whole wealth of her affections, 
 which had made wreck of her entire freight of happi- 
 ness, now came, with their hoarse shout of triumph, 
 exulting in the ruin that they had wrought. Often 
 ere this had she listened, with heart all astir, to the 
 grand music of these same tramping billows, which 
 now crusned her with an overwhelming sense of deso- 
 lation. Ah, many a sad evening like this had the 
 mourning one passed ! 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE aged mother seemed to forget her own sorrow 
 in the endeavor to cheer and sustain the heart of her 
 son's wife. In conversing with her she always spoke 
 hopefully of his return. His vessel might have been 
 driven on some island remote* from the main land, and
 
 TI1E STORM AT SEA. 377 
 
 from which no tidings as yet had been received ; or 
 she might have been dismasted at sea, and thus pre- 
 vented from reaching the shore. But as day after day 
 passed by, bringing no news of the missing one, she, 
 too, began to betray the despondency which from the 
 first had burdened her soul, -but which she had stu- 
 diously concealed from her daughter. In her privacy 
 her heart was bowed down with grief, for Henry was 
 her sole remaining child, her youngest born, and the 
 only tie that bound her to earth. Yet, though her 
 sorrow was great, her anguish was not so keen as 
 Margaret's. 
 
 The elder Mrs. Stanwood had been disciplined by 
 trials. She had passed through the furnace of afflic- 
 tion, which, if it had not blunted her sensibilities, had 
 taught her resignation. It had given her a more 
 realizing sense of the uncertainty of life and the 
 transitoriness of human happiness. In a word, it had 
 loosened her hold on earth, and fastened her hopes 
 and aspirations on a higher and better state of exist- 
 ence. Therefore the cup now presented to her lipa 
 had lost some of its poignancy, because she had often 
 been compelled to drink from it ; but to the young 
 wife it was drugged to its very depths with the gall 
 of bitterness. 
 
 This was Margaret's first affliction ; for, though an 
 orphan, her parents had died when she was too young 
 to feel their loss. It may be from this very cause, the 
 early loss of her parents, that she experienced the 
 present intensity of grief. She had grown up from 
 childhood a stranger to those gentle affections which 
 the young heart craves. Her aunt, who adopted her, 
 was an austere woman, with a really kind heart, if on 
 32*
 
 378 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 could but find one's way to it, but whose forbidding 
 manner checked those effusions of childish love in 
 which the youthful heart delights to indulge. Thus 
 she grew up to womanhood amid chilling influences, 
 although her heart beat with kindly impulses; and 
 thus it came to pass, when one was presented to her 
 whom she might love, one who courted her love, 
 that she lavished all her hoarded affections upon him. 
 Never did wife bestow upon husband a richer dowry 
 of love than did Margaret Newton on Henry Stan- 
 wood, and never was that sacred deposit entrusted to 
 worthier keeping. Their very existences seemed 
 bound in each other, and hence the acuteness of that 
 sorrow which now wasted the heart of the young 
 wife. 
 
 I would not undertake to say how far the effects of 
 this grief might extend. To one of Margaret's pecu- 
 liar organization, with susceptibilities so alive to the 
 tender passion, the sudden shattering of an idolized 
 object of worship too often scathes, as with a light- 
 ning stroke, the devotee. Love thus suddenly checked 
 worketh like madness on the brain, and its subject 
 thenceforward is reduced to that most pitiful of all 
 states, a " wreck at random driven." 
 
 Margaret was fast verging towards this .deplorable 
 condition. On that dismal evening, when she sat 
 alone with ,her child in the gathering gloom, the sul- 
 len waves mocking her, in the paroxysms of her grief 
 her reason tottered. She was like one walking bewil- 
 dered on awful heights, along the dizzy brinks of 
 precipices, reckless of the fearful abysses that yawned 
 beneath her, nay, feeling an almost irresistible desire 
 to plunge into their terrible depths. What prevented
 
 THE STORM AT SEA. 379 
 
 her? What but that one tiny hand withheld her? 
 The outstretched arm of her nursling interposed to 
 save her, and its feeble cry caused an entire ^revul- 
 sion of feeling, restoring, in a measure, the equilib- 
 rium of her reeling brain. Like the ancient Voice, 
 whose " Peace, be still ! " rebuked the troubled sea, so 
 did that infantile plaint quell the raging billows of her 
 soul. She felt that, though clouds of wrath had gath- 
 ered about her, and the very blackness of darkness 
 brooded over her future, yet earth still had ties to 
 bind her to it, that life was not wholly valueless. 
 That feeble wail seemed to reproach her selfish sor- 
 row, seemed to plead for that existence of which 
 she had grown so weary. 
 
 " No, my poor fatherless one ! " she exclaimed, 
 pressing the little one with passionate fervor to her 
 breast, " I will not leave you as I was left 1 For your 
 sake I will struggle to sustain this weight of woe 1 
 God help me, it is a sore one to bear ! " 
 
 " And God will help you, my dear child ! " said the 
 aged mother, who had entered unperceived. " He is 
 a very present help in time of need. Once and again 
 have I said, and again do I say," she continued, in a 
 voice tremulous with emotion, " ' The Lord gave, and 
 the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be the name of 
 the Lord 1 ' " and, folding the disconsolate one in an 
 affectionate embrace, the tears of the mother mingled 
 with those of the daughter. 
 
 Magic potency of tears 1 whose sparkling flow sheds 
 a reflex light upon the darkened soul, and rids the 
 heart of that " perilous stuff," which saps the mind's 
 strength, and poisons the springs of life ! The mother 
 had often shed them in secret, but to Margaret they
 
 380 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 had been deDied. Her great grief had lain like a 
 stone on the fountain of tears, and her overburdened 
 heart ^was well-nigh shattered by the pressure ; but 
 now that the stone was rolled away, giving vent to 
 her pent feelings, she experienced a very perceptible 
 sense of relief; the fever of her brain was assuaged, 
 the blinding mists that enveloped her mind were dis- 
 solved, and reason again resumed its sway. She had 
 reached that fearful point wnen her whole mental 
 organization hung in the balance. A .straw would 
 have overturned it. That tiny hand of her babe, 
 nestling in the folds of her dress, touched the secret 
 spring of feeling. Nature asserted her rights. The 
 noble temple which had been racked as with the throes 
 of an earthquake again became stationary, as the lava- 
 flood gushed forth in a burning, impetuous torrent. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THENCEFORWARD the life of Margaret was marked 
 by a calm resignation. She had her seasons of de- 
 spondency, when she would gladly have laid down her 
 burden and sought rest in the grave ; but she strug- 
 gled to overcome these prostrating feelings, and nobly 
 sustained herself under her trials. The whole aspect 
 of the world, however, had become changed to her. 
 She took no pleasure in her former favorite haunts. 
 The shady grove, whither she was wont to resort, 
 seemed clothed now in deep, funereal gloom. Par- 
 ticularly at this season was it sad to her, when the 
 fallen and faded leaf reminded her so constantly of
 
 THE STORM AT SEA. 381 
 
 her own withered hopes. The heart untouched -by 
 sorrow cannot view these emblems of a dying year 
 without melancholy emotions ; how much greater in- 
 fluence, then, must this scene exert on one rendered 
 painfully sensitive by a recent affliction. From her 
 sea-shore rambles, too, she always returned with a 
 deeper cloud upon her brow. The gleesome music 
 of the waves now came to her ears with a mournful 
 cadence, and the glittering spray, which to the undim- 
 med eye presents forms Of exquisite grace and beauty, 
 to her tearful vision bore the likeness of cold and 
 ghastly shrouds. Although calmly resigned to her 
 fate, she could not shake off this morbid state of mind. 
 . Notwithstanding the sound and sight of the sea 
 awoke in Margaret the most gloomy associations, she 
 fel^ an irresistible impulse to be by the seaside ; and 
 often, on the calm moonlight evenings which then pre- 
 vailed, she would ramble away for hours, lingering 
 on the hard, sandy cove, listlessly watching the heavy 
 rollers as they came breaking in foam at her feet ; or 
 traversing the rocky coast, now standing on the brink 
 of some dark, gaping chasm, and now gazing on the 
 splintered rocks and black ledges, at one moment 
 deluged with spray, at the next left bare by the re- 
 ceding wave. More often she would seat herself on 
 some prominent cliff, and gaze earnestly into the 
 offing. Sometimes a solitary sail would slowly cross 
 the rays of the moon, which, reflected in the placid 
 waters, stretched like a path of light along the ocean; 
 or for a moment would suddenly appear in the little 
 sparkling patches that glimmered here and there, then 
 phantom-like vanish from sight. Ah ! what deep, in- 
 tense yearnings, what vague, momentary-thrilling
 
 382 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 hopes would those transient glimpses awaken in her 
 breast, followed by pangs of keenest anguish, as the 
 shadowy sail receded from her strained sight, to be 
 seen no more. 
 
 Depressing as was the effect of these lonely rambles 
 on her spirits, and well aware as Margaret was that 
 her indulgence in them only served to feed her grief, 
 yet there was something in the brooding stillness of 
 the night, something in the solitude of those cavern- 
 ous rocks, something in the profound tranquillity of 
 the infinitude of ocean, that won her steps abroad. 
 
 On one of these excursions, tempted by the splendor 
 of the night, she had remained out longer than usual. 
 The moon was at her full, and flooded the whole visi- 
 ble expanse of ocean with her beams. There was a 
 slight in-shore breeze, a faint fanning of the air, not 
 enough to create a ripple. Far off at sea the eye could 
 dimly descry a small vessel heading toward the shore, 
 but so light was the wind it appeared to be stationary. 
 
 For a long time, motionless as a statue, Margaret 
 had stood, her gaze fixed upon the vessel. So ab- 
 sorbed was she in thought, she did not notice the 
 approach of her mother, who, uneasy at her prolonged 
 absence, had come out in search of her ; nor was she 
 aware of her presence until her voice aroused her. 
 
 " Come, my child," said the aged matron, " the dew 
 is falling, and the sea air comes chillingly in; let us go 
 homeV' 
 
 " Look yonder, mother," said Margaret, pointing to 
 the distant sail ; " there are happy hearts on board 
 that vessel, anticipating the joys that await them, and 
 there are happy hearts on shore, eager to welcome 
 them to their embraces."
 
 . THE STORM AT SEA. 383 
 
 " Yes, yes, my daughter," said the mother, in an agi- 
 tated voice, divining the thoughts of her young com- 
 panion ; " let us pray that their joys may soon be 
 realized." 
 
 " God grant it. But, alas, mother, no such joy awaits 
 us, no such prayer will avail us. I have been think- 
 ing, mother, how often I have here awaited the return 
 of Henry, and how I have impatiently watched his 
 approaching sail, as I have been watching yonder ves- 
 sel, and how my heart has leaped as I heard his cheer- 
 ful voice swelling over the sea, as just now-a joyful 
 shout came on the air." 
 
 " O, my daughter," said the mother, tears nearly 
 choking her utterance, "you know not the wounds you 
 have opened. Often and often have I, too, waited for 
 Henry's father in this manner; often from this spot 
 given him the joyful welcome home. But there came 
 a time, Margaret, when I waited in vain. In storm 
 and in calm, at early morn and late at night, 1 watched 
 for him, but he came not ; and only when the sea shall 
 give up its dead shall we meet again ! " and, bowing 
 her head on the shoulder of her daughter, tne aged 
 mother gave free vent to her feelings. 
 
 " Mother, dear mother, do not weep ! " exclaimed 
 Margaret, in a broken voice, folding her arm around 
 the aged form of the matron, striving to act the com- 
 forter, although her own tears flowed freely. " I have 
 been too selfish ; I have thought only of my own 
 sorrow, and have leaned on you in my affliction, 
 when I should have sustained you. Do not weep, 
 mother." 
 
 " Lean on me still, my child," said Mrs. Stanwood, 
 lifting her head and somewhat recovering herself. " I
 
 384 FOREST AND SHORE. . 
 
 am but a poor bruised reed, but God in his infinite 
 mercy has upheld and will continue to sustain me. 
 Look to him, Margaret," she continued, in a voice 
 already rendered firm, "and all will be well. The 
 night of our sorrow will soon be over. Let us 
 rejoice with the Psalmist, where he says, ' Weeping 
 may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morn- 
 ing.' " 
 
 With these and other comforting words, the stricken 
 ones retraced their steps homeward. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Joy cometh in the morning " prophetic words ! 
 
 The chapter from the inspired volume had been 
 read ; the lowly prayer, the incense of humble hearts, 
 had ascended to the throne of God; the light had 
 vanished from the casement of the fisher's dwelling; 
 and the sister angel of Death, Sleep, had sealed the 
 eyes of the mourning ones. 
 
 Slowly over the gently-heaving sea came that soli- 
 tary vessel whose appearance had awakened such 
 painful emotions. Slowly but steadfastly she headed 
 for the little inlet, and, just as the early dawn flickered 
 in the east, she reached the haven, and noiselessly 
 dropped her anchor. In a short time her sails were 
 lowered and furled, and presently a boat left her side, 
 propelled by a single oarsman. 
 
 That safely-moored vessel was the " Curlew," and 
 that oarsman was the long-mourned Henry Stanwood. 
 In the terrible gale which had proved so disastrous
 
 THE STORM AT SEA, 385 
 
 to others be had been dismasted, and for many days 
 had been tossed about at the mercy of the waves. 
 Without the means of rigging a jury-mast, after the gale 
 had subsided, he had drifted hither and thither, until 
 at last he succeeded in reaching a small island remote 
 from the main land. Here, after much delay, and with 
 considerable difficulty, he succeeded in procuring new 
 masts, and, having spare tackle on board, he soon had 
 them rigged. This done, he started homeward, stop- 
 ping just long enough in a by-port to obtain cable 
 and anchors to replace those he had lost. A succes- 
 sion of calms retarded his voyage. His anxiety to 
 reach home may be imagined, when he learned from a 
 vessel which he fell in with that the " Curlew " had 
 long been given up as lost. He pictured to himself 
 the agony which Margaret must endure. Knowing 
 the depth of her affection, he too well knew what her 
 Bufferings must be. He greatly feared the effect of 
 her sudden grief, and tortured himself with a thousand 
 apprehensions. If impatient sighs could have filled 
 his sails and propelled his vessel, he would have made 
 a short passage. 
 
 But at last he drew near the wished-for spot, and, 
 catching a distant sight of the headland at the en- 
 trance of the cove, he could not repress a shout of 
 joy. That was the longest night of his life in which 
 he slowly crept toward the shore. When at last he 
 reached his anchorage, and had flung himself into the 
 yawl, impatient to reach the shore, he bethought him 
 that sudden joy was often as fatal as sudden grief, and 
 he felt the necessity of proceeding cautiously. 
 
 Walking hastily up to the house, he tapped gently 
 on the low window of the room in which he knew hie 
 33
 
 38t) FOEEST AND SHOBE. 
 
 mother slept. The summons was not answered, and, 
 i'earing he knew not what, he rapped again with more 
 force. With a beating heart he heard the movement 
 of one within, and he stepped aside in the shade of 
 the building. Presently the window opened, and his 
 mother's form bent over the sill. He could scarcely 
 refrain from springing to her embrace ; but, command- 
 ing himself, he spoke, in~a low, altered voice : " I have 
 ventured to arouse you thus early, Widow Stanwood, 
 believing the bearer of good news " 
 
 " Of good news ! " exclaimed the widow, interrupting 
 him. " Then it is of Henry. tell me, is he alive ? " 
 
 " Both alive and well." 
 
 " Where, sir, is he ? " she continued, in an agitated 
 voice. 
 
 "Here, dear mother, here in your arms!" said 
 Henry, no longer able to contain himself, springing as 
 he spoke into her embrace. 
 
 Pressing him convulsively to her breast, the aged 
 woman raised her eyes to heayen, and, in a tone of 
 solemn fervor, exclaimed: "Almighty God, I thank 
 thee 1 For this my son ivas dead, and is alive again ; he 
 was lost, and is found." 
 
 That meeting in the dim night-air, the mother sud- 
 denly aroused from her sleep to fold in her arms the 
 long-mourned son, that passionate embrace, that fer- 
 vent outpouring of thanks, 0, it was a scene over 
 which angels might shed tears of joy. 
 
 Henry was the first to break the silence. He could 
 utter but one word, which was pronounced in an in- 
 quiring tone, as if dreading the answer. " Mar- 
 garet ? " 
 
 " She is well, my dear son. But I fear this happi-
 
 THE STORM AT SEA. 387 
 
 ness will bo too much for her, for it has almost been 
 more than your aged mother can bear." And she 
 again strained her son to her bosom, while the warm 
 tears, fell on him like summer rain-drops. " But come 
 within the house, Henry. Come in the back entrance 
 and step lightly. I must prepare her for what is to 
 come." And, closing the window, with trembling 
 haste she lighted a lamp, arranged her dress, and ad- 
 mitted her son. 
 
 The sight of her beloved son once more safe within 
 his own home filled her heart with an oppressive sense 
 of joy. But, putting a restraint on her emotions, and 
 wiping away the tears that dimmed her sight, she took 
 the lamp and crept to her daughter's room. She 
 lifted the latch, and stood for a few moments gazing on 
 the scene before her. 
 
 The young wife was in a deep slumber. Her face 
 was partly turned one side, toward the babe who 
 rested on her arm. A large tear glistened on the 
 cheek of the sleeping one, but a radiant smile played 
 around her lips. 
 
 As the aged mother hesitated a moment, a voice 
 whispered in her ear, " One moment, mother, let me 
 look upon them but one moment." And the husband 
 and father bent over the wife and child, yearning to 
 clasp them in his arms. With no small effort he 
 checked the impulse ; but, softly touching the cheek 
 of his wife with his lips, he stepped back into the 
 entry. 
 
 Slight as was that touch, it awoke her, and starting 
 up she exclaimed, in a tone of surprise, "Why, mother, 
 what are you here for?" 
 
 " 1 came to see how you rested, my child," com-
 
 388 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 menced Mrs. Stanwood, in an assumedly grave tone ; 
 although she found it difficult to repress the emotions 
 that agitated her. 
 
 " mother," said Margaret, interrupting her, " I 
 have had such a pleasant dream ! I thought Henry 
 had come back, and we were all happy once again, 
 O, so happy ! But it was only a dream," she contin- 
 ued, sadly, after a brief pause, "a dream, to be fol- 
 lowed by tears on awaking." 
 
 "Do you remember, my daughter, what I repeated 
 to you last evening : Weeping may endure for a night, 
 but joy cometh in the morning " ? Then, stepping to 
 the window and lifting the curtain, " See here, Mar- 
 garet," she said, in an earnest tone, pointing to the 
 east, now glowing with the beams of day. "The 
 morning has come." 
 
 "I see it has, mother," rejoined the young wife, 
 turning her eyes in that direction ; " alas ! what is it 
 but the dawning of another day of sorrow? The 
 morning bringeth no joy to " 
 
 She stopped suddenly and gazed fixedly for a while, 
 as if some unexpected object had met her sight ; then, 
 springing up and pointing toward the cove, she ex- 
 claimed, in hurried, bewildered accents, " Look, mother, 
 look ! there, in the cove ! There are the masts of a 
 vessel; and, God, there is the vane I worked for 
 him ! Tell me, mother, tell me, I beseech you, am I 
 deceived?" And she clung wildly to the aged widow, 
 as if life or death was in her reply. " Is it not Henry's 
 vessel ? Is Henry safe ? Is he here ? " 
 
 il Be calm, my daughter," replied the mother, almost 
 as much agitated as the one she admonished. " Re-
 
 THE STORM AT SEA. 389 
 
 strain your feelings. That is Henry's vessel. He is 
 alive, and well, and here, blessed be God ! " 
 
 " Margaret ! " said a well-known voice behind her. 
 
 With a wild, almost frenzied cry of joy, the young 
 wife turned and threw herself into the arms that were 
 extended to receive her. 
 
 * * ***** 
 
 It is one of the most difficult things for a writer to 
 wind up the threads of his story in a compact manner. 
 But as ours is a simple tale, we have no such difficulty 
 to contend with. We cannot do better than to leave 
 the young wife, as we have left her, happy in the arms 
 of her husband. 
 
 33*
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE 
 
 A LEGEND OF FREEPORT 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN a beautiful location on Casco Bay, at a place 
 called Flying Point, in what is now known as the town 
 of Freeport, there stood in 1756 a neat and commodi- 
 ous log house, reared in the fashion which generally 
 prevailed among our early settlers, who consulted as 
 much their saf&ty from lurking foes as they did their 
 comfort. The scenery of the neighborhood, both sea- 
 ward and landward, was unusually attractive, render- 
 ing this spot one of the . most charming on the coast. 
 A number of acres had been reclaimed from the wil- 
 derness and made productive ; and for a series of years 
 this had been the happy residence of the owner, Thomas 
 Means, who had a young and interesting family grow- 
 ing up around him. 
 
 Thus far, amid the wild, savage wars that devastated 
 the early settlements, he had remained unmolested ; 
 yet, as the depredations of the merciless Indians be- 
 came more and more frequent, and every day brought 
 rumors of their nearer approach to this hitherto peace- 
 ful spot, his mind became troubled, and he began 
 
 (390)
 
 HIE CANADIAN' CAPTIVE. 39 < 
 
 anxiously to make preparations to remote his family 
 to a place of security. 
 
 At the distance of a mile or so from his dwelling 
 was one of those garrisons, or block-houses, which 
 were erected for places of refuge in those troublous 
 times, into which whole settlements would cluster for 
 safety, and oftentimes for years endure all those pri- 
 vations which attend confined quarters and limited 
 provisions. But little conception have we in these 
 later days of the * trials and sufferings of those who 
 first reared their homes in the wilderness of Maine. 
 If we, their posterity, can say, " the lines are fallen 
 unto us in pleasant places," not so could they, the 
 early pioneers, who sacrificed comfort, ease, and too 
 often life, in laying the foundation of our prosperity. 
 
 At the close of a day in the latter part of June, 1757, 
 just at dusk, the family of Means had gathered around 
 the supper-table. His household consisted of himself, 
 his wife Alice, and three children, two girls, Alice 
 and Jane, the one six and the other four years of age, 
 and one son, Robert, some sixteen months old. Be- 
 sides these were the sister of Mrs. Means, Mary Fin- 
 ney,* a beautiful, spirited maiden, in the bloom of early 
 womanhood, and a Mr. Martin, who was an employee 
 of Mr. Means. 
 
 " Well, Alice,." said Mr. Means, addressing his wife, 
 "have you got everything prepared for removal to- 
 morrow ? Martin and I have put everything to rights, 
 I believe, out o' doors." ^ 
 
 " I think all is ready, Thomas, -so that we can start 
 early in the morning." 
 
 * Her real name was Molly. We have taken the liberty to substitute 
 the inor euphonious one of Mary.
 
 392 FOREST AND SHORE, ' 
 
 " That is right, my dear. The sooner we are all safe 
 in. the block-house the better. Every moment we re- 
 main out I feel is like courting our destruction. I 
 regret/' he added, with unwonted seriousness, " that 
 we did not take neighbor Skolfield's advice, and remove 
 the first part of the week." 
 
 " Why, husband, have you seen any signs of the In- 
 dians, that you are so anxious?" asked Mrs. Means, 
 with much interest. 
 
 " Not in our immediate neighborhood. Alice, but the 
 settlements are swarming with them, and they may bo 
 upon us at any moment. If you and Mary and the 
 children were in safety I should feel more easy in my 
 mind;" and a gloomy shadow settled on the brow of 
 the speaker. 
 
 " I wish to Heaven I were a man ! " suddenly ex- 
 claimed Mary Finney. 
 
 " And if you were, my pretty Molly, what' then?" 
 asked the husband, Avith a faint attem'pt at a smile. 
 
 "What then!" said the spirited girl. "I would 
 scour the woods and shoot down every cowardly, 
 skulking red-skin I could find. I would join old 
 Miers, of Yarmouth, and hunt them down by night 
 and by day, the barbarous wretches." 
 
 " This would do if no one was dependent upon you, 
 Mary ; but a man cannot chase Indians and support a 
 family at the same time." 
 
 "To think we have got to leave this beautiful spot," 
 said Mrs. Means, after a moment's pause, "just as 
 everything is coming forward so finely." 
 
 " Yes, and be cooped up in that close, gloomy block- 
 house, afraid to move an inch outside," said Mary, in 
 a tone of .vexation. " It is too bad, Thomas. I would
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 393 
 
 not stir an inch. Remain here. I will practise with a 
 gun, and, if the Indians attack us, fight them off; " and 
 the determined tone and flashing eyes of the beauti- 
 ful girl evinced that she was in earnest. 
 
 " Ah, my brave sister, this talking about fighting the 
 Indians, and a real battle with them, are different 
 things. With their hideous forms and brandished tom- 
 ahawks before you, and their infernal war-whoop ring- 
 ing in your ears, bold as you now are, I imagine there 
 would be a quaking of your heart and a blanching of 
 your cheeks." 
 
 " There might be both, brother ; I do not say there 
 would not be ; but put me to the test, and see if I 
 flinch. What do you say, Alice ? " 
 
 Mrs. Means made no reply, but shook her head 
 doubtfully, while she smiled at the enthusiasm dis- 
 played by her sister. 
 
 Mr. Means answered: "I do not doubt your courage, 
 Mary, but I think it will be best not to put it to the 
 trial. The Indians seldom engage in a fair, stand-up 
 fight, but work mischief by stratagem and treachery. 
 So you will have everything ready for an early remo- 
 val in the morning. I shall be uneasy until you are 
 all in a place of safety. I would that we were in tho 
 garrison this night." 
 
 " Hist ! Thomas, what is that? " suddenly exclaimed 
 Mrs. Means ; and as the whole party held their breath 
 in a listening attitude, a slight rustling of leaves and 
 a crackling of bushes could be heard, as of some one 
 moving stealthily near the house. 
 
 The window of the supper-room was open, and, 
 being nearest to it, Mary sprang up and rushed tow- 
 ard it. Leaning over the sill and gazing around, she
 
 394 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 for a time saw no moving thing j but presently her 
 eye detected, in the deep shadow of" the trees which 
 skirted a little valley that ran in the rear of the house, 
 a dusky form, which was retreating slowly into the 
 woods. She watched it narrowly, and suspiciously, 
 until it was lost to sight. What could it be ? Was it 
 the dreaded red man? It was so dark she could not 
 recognize the form, and she felt her heart beat quicker 
 as the thought flashed upon her that the foe might be 
 lurking around the house. But presently a wolf, or 
 some other animal, burst from near the same place, 
 and, bounding across the clearing, plunged into the 
 valley. 
 
 " It was but a wolf or a deer," said Mary, returning 
 toward the table, from which the others had risen. " I 
 really believe our conversation about the Indians has 
 made us all nervous. But we do not care for the red- 
 skins, do we, Bobby?" and, taking the youngest child 
 in her arms, the light-hearted girl tossed him in the 
 air, chirruping to him the while, as if a thought of 
 danger had never troubled her. 
 
 The buoyant mirth of his frolicsome sister failed, 
 however, to remove the weight that pressed on the 
 heart of Mr. Means. He could not himself account 
 for the unusual despondency of his spirits. In vain 
 he strove to shake off the gloom which had gathered 
 around him. It clung to him in spite of his efforts. 
 He strove, also, to conceal the feelings which op- 
 pressed him, but his too evident uneasiness threw a 
 shadow upon the little circle. 
 
 At an early hour the family retired. The bedroom 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Means was on the lower floor, as was 
 also that of Mary Finney, with whom slept the two
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 395 
 
 little girls. Mr. Martin, the hired man, slept in the 
 chamber. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Do coming events cast their shadows before? Does 
 an unknown pending doom mysteriously affect the 
 heart, blanching it with vague fears, and filling our 
 whole being with a gloomy unquietness, with strange, 
 undefined terrors ? Is there such a thing as presenti- 
 ment ? Or are all those depressing forebodings which 
 oftentimes precede a calamity but instances of disor- 
 dered mental action, which by singular coincidences 
 happen on the eve of some misfortune ? Philosophy 
 holds to the latter, although facts and experience stub- 
 bornly support the former, proposition. 
 
 The gloom which enwrapped the spirit of Thomas 
 Means on that June evening was but the foreshadow- 
 ing of his awful fate. Evil influences, in which his 
 destiny was involved, were at work around him, un- 
 seen and unknown by those connected with him, but 
 fdt by himself. The nature of the danger that threat- 
 ened him, of the doom that hung over him, he could 
 not fathom ; but that some fearful calamity awaited 
 him, or those that were dear to him, he had not a 
 doubt. And yet he was far from being a superstitious 
 man. He strove to shake off the conviction, he ar- 
 rayed reason and common sense against it, but all to 
 no purpose. When he had retired for the night, it 
 was long before his disturbed feelings found repose in 
 sleep.
 
 396 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 The reader will remember the noise that attracted 
 the attention of those at the supper-table, and which 
 was supposed to be occasioned by the harmless tread 
 of some animal of the forest. It was a more danger- 
 ous animal than wolf or panther. The noise was 
 made by the retiring footsteps of one of a band of 
 savages that had been prowling in the vicinity of the 
 house during the afternoon, who had crept near to 
 the open window during supper-time, and heard the 
 conversation in regard to the intended removal to the 
 blQck-house the next morning. On learning this fact, 
 the Indians made preparations to attack the house 
 that night. 
 
 The early part of the night passed away quietly ; 
 midnight went by without disturbance; but about 
 three o'clock in the morning the foe by some means 
 forced an entrance into the house. They immedi- 
 ately proceeded to the bedroom of Mr. Means, seized 
 him, and dragged him from his bed out of the house. 
 Startled from a deep sleep by the noise, Mrs. Means 
 caught up her son, when a bright flash illumin *ed 
 for a moment the apartment, followed by a harp 
 report in front of the house. Rushing to the .oor to 
 learn the fate of her husband, another gun was dis- 
 charged, the ball from which passed directfy through 
 the body of the child she held, killing it ' dtantly, and 
 lodged in her breast.* 
 
 In the mean time, others of the t had entered 
 the house and seized upon Mary Forney and little 
 Alice, the younger sister, Jar , having succeeded 
 in escaping from their hand r by creeping into the 
 ash-hole. 
 
 * Tally true.
 
 TIIE CANADIAN CA1TIVE. 397 
 
 Perceiving that her husband was dead, Mrs. Means, 
 who, instead of sinking under the accumulating hor- 
 rors which surrounded her, seemed to be endowed 
 with supernatural strength and nerve, closed the front 
 door, and effectually barred it ; then, placing her dead 
 child on the bed, she loudly called over a number of 
 names, for the purpose of leading the Indians to sup- 
 pose there were other men in the house. She ako 
 aroused Martin, ordering him to fire from the back 
 window on the savages, which he did, severely wound- 
 ing one of them in the back. 
 
 The report of Martin's gun and the fall of one of 
 their number alarmed the Indians, and the one who 
 held Alice by the hand for a moment let go his hold. 
 Taking advantage of her freedom, quick as thought 
 the brave girl darted from his side, and, rushing up 
 the narrow valley we have mentioned, succeeded in 
 effectually hiding herself in the rushes. Too much 
 alarmed to spend long time in search of her, the In 
 dians immediately dragged the body of Mr. Means 
 some forty rods from the house, where they tore off 
 his scalp, and then hastily left the place, bearing with 
 them the wounded Indian and Mary, to whom they 
 gave, with unexpected kindness, a blanket, her only 
 previous covering being her night-clothes, part of 
 which had been despoiled in the rough handling to 
 which she had been subjected.* 
 
 * We have detailed the circumstances of this attack precisely as they 
 were related to us by a descendant of the murdered man. Parson 
 Smith, in his Journal, in a brief notice of this affair, places the time 
 one month earlier. Under date of May 13th, after mentioning the cap- 
 ture of a man in Brunswick by the Indians, he says, " They killed one 
 Mains and ****, at Flying Point, and carried away a young wuuian, but 
 
 34
 
 398 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 With the retreat of the Indians and the cessation 
 of danger, the strength of Alice Means forsook her. 
 She had seen her husband murdered in cold blood; 
 she had borne her dead child in her bosom unfalter- 
 ingly. In the short but terrible conflict she had not a 
 thought for herself, for the unspeakable woe that had 
 befallen her. Nay, in the early morning light she had 
 gone out, and, with the assistance of Martin, had borne 
 the gory corpse of her husband and placed it on the 
 bed by the side of the weltering body of her youngest 
 born. All this she had done with a heroic firmness 
 truly marvellous in one to whom such sights of hor- 
 ror were unknown. But when all was accomplished ; 
 when she stood by that gory bed, and heard the blood 
 of the two so dear to her heart plash, plash, slowly 
 upon the floor, her courage gave way, and her gentle 
 woman nature all returned. 
 
 Language is inadequate to portray the anguish that 
 rent her heart. So late a happy wife and mother, she 
 now stood there bereft of all by one cruel stroke, 
 widowed, and, for aught she knew, childless. What 
 wonder, as she gazed on the bleeding, mutilated forms 
 before her, that she should covet their deep, unbroken 
 repose ? At times she would stand pale and silent as 
 a statue, not a word or a tear betraying the agony of 
 her feelings ; and then, giving way to the paroxysms 
 of grief, she would frantically call upon her husband 
 and child not to leave her alone in her sorrow, and 
 
 they also left an Indian there, a man firing down through the chamber 
 floor, and killing him on the spot." Our account says nothing of kill- 
 ing one of the attacking party, but merely states that one was Wounded, 
 s we have related.
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 3SM) 
 
 on her God not to prolong a life that was a burden 
 to her. 
 
 In the midst of one of these paroxysms a tiny hand 
 nestled amid the folds of her dress, and at last clasped 
 her own. It was that of her little daughter Jane, 
 who had ventured from her hiding-place, and now 
 stood gazing awe-struck on the fearful scene before 
 her. Bewildered, and nearly heart-broken, the poor 
 woman seemed to be unaware of the presence of her 
 child. Presently there was a pattering of bare feet 
 over the floor, and in another moment, with haggard 
 face, and rent and soiled night-clothes, Alice stood by 
 her side. 
 
 " Mother ! mother I " said the trembling little one, 
 forcing herself on her notice, " we are here, little Jane 
 and Alice. Will you not kiss us, dear mother ? " 
 
 The sound of the child's voice reached the mother's 
 ear, and touched the mother's heart. Starting as if 
 from a trance, she strained the little ones to her throb- 
 bing bosom, while, in a broken voice, she exclaimed : 
 " Not all gone, not wholly forsaken 1 God, I thank 
 thee 1 " and the bereaved one bowed her head, while 
 plentiful tears relieved the pressure of heart and brain. 
 
 But why dwell on the sad scene ? 
 
 The bodies of the murdered ones were committed 
 to the earth, and the widow and her children removed 
 to the block-house, where she received all that sym- 
 pathy which her situation could not fail to call forth. 
 Here it was, some seven months after the scenes we 
 have related, Mrs. Means gave birth to* a son,* to 
 
 * From this child descended those bearing the name of Means in Free- 
 port and in Portland, to one of whom we are indebted for the facts of our 
 tory.
 
 400 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 whom was given the name of his ill-fated father. But 
 it is time we should see what has become of our 
 captive. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AFTER leaving the scene of their butchery, the In- 
 dians with their captive made their way to Samoset 
 Point, on the Kennebec. To relieve their wounded 
 companion, who was severely though not mortally 
 injured, they were obliged to travel slowly, which was 
 a great relief to the young captive, whose bare feet 
 and unprotected limbs suffered greatly on the journey. 
 
 On their arrival at the Point they were joined by 
 another band of savages, who had been on a ma- 
 rauding expedition to New Meadows, the scalps dang- 
 ling at their belts too plainly intimating that their 
 bloody work had been crowned with success. Here, 
 after a fiendish exultation over their trophies, in which 
 they manifested their joy in the most demoniacal man- 
 ner, whooping, shouting, and dancing around their 
 gory spoils, and brandishing their tomahawks around 
 the head of their captive, menacing her with a death 
 which she would willingly have accepted at their 
 hands, they finally held a consultation as to their 
 future course. The result of their wild and riotous 
 debate was, to take the nearest route to Canada. 
 Preparations were immediately made for the journey. 
 The wounded Indian was given in charge of Mary, 
 with directions to attend upon his wants, and with 
 the agreeable assurance that if he died her life would
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 401 
 
 be forfeited. Before starting, the captive was enabled 
 to secure a pair of moccasins and leggins, which she 
 found a great protection to her limbs. 
 
 On their journey, the party frequently halted for 
 the purpose of hunting, at which times Mary would be 
 left alone with her savage patient, whose wound, ren- 
 dered painful by exertion, often worked him into al- 
 most ungovernable fits of rage, during which he time 
 and again menaced her life. On one of these occasions 
 he seized Mary by the hair, and, brandishing a toma- 
 hawk, would no doubt have buried it in her skull 
 had not some of the party opportunely arrived and 
 wrenched the weapon from his hands. So resolved 
 did he appear to take her life, that Mary was kept in 
 a continual state of anxiety and excitement. Deter- 
 mined, however, to shield herself to the best of her 
 abilities, she had secreted a hunting-knife, which she 
 resolved to use in her own defence should the occasion 
 demand it. More than once, when left with the dis- 
 abled savage, was she tempted to make her escape ; but 
 when she reflected on her situation, in the depths of a 
 wilderness, without a guide, and with no means to 
 procure food, her path beset with prowling foes, the 
 hopelessness of succeeding deterred her from the rash 
 undertaking. 
 
 Fortunately, our captive was blessed with a hopeful 
 disposition, and possessed no mean share of energy; so, 
 bracing up her courage with the determination to make 
 the best of her situation, she plodded on her toilsome 
 way. It would be difficult to form anything like a 
 true conception of the trials and sufferings to which 
 she was daily and hourly subjected. Severe as they 
 were, she bore up under them bravely, displaying such 
 34*
 
 402 FOKEST AND SHORE. 
 
 an indomitable spirit that she won sensibly on the re- 
 gards of her captors, all save the wounded savage, to 
 whom she was anything but a tender nurse. Indeed, 
 we are not sure that she did not take a mischievous 
 delight in prolonging his sufferings. 
 
 We will not follow her through the route. Suffice 
 it that, after a fatiguing journey of six weeks, the 
 party arrived in the vicinity of Quebec, and right glad 
 was Mary, although wholly uncertain as to what her 
 future fate might be. 
 
 At the time of which we are writing, the Indians 
 always found ready purchasers for their captives in 
 the French, who bought them for servants. This will 
 account for their preserving the lives of so many, in 
 their ruthless attacks on the whites. Still, it was a 
 frequent occurrence, when their captives gave them 
 much trouble by their attempting to escape, or, worn 
 down by fatigue and suffering, they were unable to 
 keep up with them, for the savages to despatch them 
 at once, knowing well that their scalps would be a 
 source of profit to them. It is well authenticated that 
 the French encouraged the savages in their cruelty by 
 paying a bounty for the scalps taken, as our Legisla- 
 ture does for the heads of wild-cats. It seems incred- 
 ible that a professedly Christian nation should have 
 become a party to such an inhuman, such a horrible 
 traffic; but the fact cannot be gainsayed. The life- 
 blood of thousands has attested to the degrading 
 truth.* 
 
 * It may be -well to curb our indignation against the French, until we 
 learn if our own skirts arc not stained with gore. In Belknap's History 
 of New Hampshire, speaking of one of Lovewell's or Level's fights, the 
 author **ys of the eajs^jed in it, " The brave company, with the ten
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVB. 403 
 
 A. purchaser was soon found for our captive, and 
 Mary gladly left her savage companions to enter the 
 service of Monsieur Lemoine. Her life she felt would 
 now be secure, while the chances of regaining her 
 liberty were much in her favor. 
 
 This Lemoine, on the whole, did not prove a bad 
 character, although at the outset he displayed that of 
 the unfeeling task-master. At the first, he set her to 
 work in his fields, a species of labor common enough 
 to French women, but at which the high-spirited girl 
 at once rebelled. She soon evinced her determination 
 not to be subjected to the rough usages of a field- 
 servant, by uprooting his crops and destroying what- 
 ever came within her reach. Remonstrances had no 
 effect on her ; the more her master reproached her 
 heedlessness and sputtered over her carelessness, the 
 more perverse and reckless she grew; and, finding 
 that he had no control over her, and that she was 
 worse than useless at out-of-door work, he wisely con- 
 cluded to try her in doors. 
 
 He took her into his kitchen; and her excellent 
 domestic qualities became so soon apparent, that, in a 
 very short time, Madame Lemoine installed her as 
 mistress of the cooking department, the duties of 
 which she performed to the entire satisfaction of the 
 household, proving herself an invaluable servant, to 
 whom, in a brief period, the whole family became 
 much attached. 
 
 Matters moved along very smoothly for a while ; and, 
 had it not been that her thoughts constantly reverted 
 
 scalps stretched on hoops and elevated on poles, entered Dover in triumph, 
 and proceeded thence to Boston, where they received the bounty of OIM 
 hundred pounds each, out of the public treasury."
 
 404 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 to her former home, and to the dreadful uncertainty 
 of the fate of her sister's family, she might have lived 
 comparatively happy. When that uncertainty was 
 removed, and she had learned the result of that fearful 
 night-attack, she yearned to be with the widowed one, 
 whose bruised heart she felt she might strengthen if 
 she could not heal. 
 
 We have intimated that Mary possessed a good share 
 of beauty. She was, indeed, we are told, remarkable 
 for her personal charms. To a graceful, well-devel- 
 oped form were added features of uncommon love- 
 liness. But it was not merely a set of features nor a 
 faultless complexion that won admiration. There was 
 a glow of intelligence in those features, an expression 
 of sportive archness playing around the mouth and the 
 eye, such a depth of character shadowed forth in every 
 lineament, 
 
 " The mind, the music, breathing from her face," 
 
 that few could resist the bewitching spell of her 
 beauty. 
 
 These charms soon made an impression on the sus- 
 ceptible heart of a young Frenchman, who was in the 
 habit of visiting the house. So enamored did Mon- 
 sieur Bovais become of the beautiful English servant, 
 that he was not long in betraying his passion to Mary. 
 We believe there was a spice of coquetry not a 
 rare thing, we apprehend, in her sex in our hero- 
 ine's disposition. At all events, she did not dislike a 
 little admiration ; or, if she did not eacourage, she cer- 
 tainly did not discourage, the addresses of her admirer, 
 who was not a bad-looking fellow, take him all in all. 
 
 We know not how long a period elapsed after thia
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 405 
 
 conquest ere the old Frenchman, her master, began to 
 suspect how matters were going on, or what objection 
 he had to the flirtation, for such only, we are con- 
 vinced, did Mary consider it. But it appears his eyes 
 were at last opened, and a great pother he made about 
 the affair. He at once peremptorily forbade Mary hav- 
 ing anything to do with Bovais, prohibiting all inter- 
 course by word or look. Finding, however, that she 
 proved refractory, and showed a disposition to slight 
 his commands, he instituted a strict watch over her 
 conduct during the day, and when evening came he 
 carefully locked her within her chamber. 
 
 What would have been the result of these harsh 
 measures it would be difficult to say, knowing that 
 " Love laughs at locksmiths," and opposition to the 
 tender passion but serves to feed the flame, had not a 
 new character appeared on the stage, whose introduc- 
 tion to the reader we beg to reserve for another 
 chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER* IV. 
 
 IT chanced about this time that an English trans- 
 port ship, commanded by Captain William McLellan,* 
 of Falmouth, arrived at Quebec. Captain McLellan 
 had heard of the capture of Miss Finney before he 
 left home, and was determined, if possible, to rescue 
 her. Soon after his arrival, therefore, he commenced 
 making inquiries respecting her, but in a manner so 
 
 * Father of the late Captain William McLellan.
 
 406 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 guarded as not to excite suspicion of his real design. 
 To cloak his intentions, in his conversation he main- 
 tained a show of indifference rather than interest in 
 her fate, yet not the slightest hint that might serve to 
 give him a clue to her did he suffer to escape his no- 
 tice. For a long time his endeavors to ascertain her 
 place of abode were unsuccessful, and he began to 
 doubt of his success. But being young, energetic, 
 and of a sanguine temperament, he was not one to be 
 easily discouraged. 
 
 The first intimation he received respecting her was 
 one evening in a coffee-house, where he accidentally 
 overheard two or three Frenchmen bantering one of 
 their companions for worshipping at the shrine of a 
 certain English serving-maid, whose beauty was con- 
 fessed by all. In the course of the conversation, the 
 names of " Mary " and " Lemoine " were often men- 
 tioned. 
 
 " Ha ! " said the captain to himself, " steady as she 
 goes ; this must be the right course. I '11 sail on this 
 tack a while." 
 
 So, seating himself a little apart from the group, he 
 ordered some refreshments, and busied himself appar- 
 ently in discussing their merits, while not a word that 
 the party uttered escaped his attention. 
 
 When they had left, our young captain, in a careless 
 manner, inquired of the hotel-keeper if he knew of a 
 person by the name of Lemoine in Quebec. 
 
 "Monsieur Lemoine? O yes 1 I know him well." 
 
 " What is his occupation, Monsieur Dumont ? " 
 
 " An Indian trader, a dealer in pelts and fur." 
 
 " Is he a man of wealth ? " 
 
 " Oui, very rich. He owns lots of land in the vicin-
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 407 
 
 ity of Quebec. A very prosperous man. Would 
 Monsieur like an introduction to him?" asked the 
 lively Frenchman. 
 
 "0 no," said the captain, indifferently. "I had 
 heard of him as an enterprising merchant, which was 
 the occasion of my inquiry." 
 
 Finding the landlord disposed to be loquacious, the 
 captain thought he might venture a step or two 
 further. 
 
 " Is Monsieur Lemoine married?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes, he has quite a family." 
 
 "Does he keep an establishment?" 
 
 "Certainly, quite a large establishment," said the 
 garrulous host ; " but Monsieur Lemoine is one very 
 odd man." 
 
 " Where did you say he lived? " 
 
 " 0, close by, on the corner of street, not a 
 
 stone's throw distant." 
 
 "So far so good," thought our shrewd captain. 
 " We have got possession of the outworks ; now for 
 the citadel ! " 
 
 " So Monsieur Lemoine is an eccentric character, is 
 he ? " continued the captain. 
 
 " One very queer man indeed," rejoined Boniface. 
 
 " I judged as much from what the young men said 
 who left us a short time since." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" chuckled the good-humored host; 
 " Mons. Duran, Mons. Fonbanc, Mons. Bovais ! " 
 
 "Exactly; they joked one of the party about a 
 pretty serving-girl, a flame of his, I should judge." 
 
 "Oui, oui! Mons. Bovais. He is very much 
 what you call it? smitten with Mademoiselle." 
 
 " Is she very pretty ? "
 
 408 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 " Beautiful ! " was the laconic response. 
 
 "What did you say was her name?" asked the 
 crafty captain. 
 
 " Mary Mary Feeney : one beautiful girl ! " 
 
 Here, his services being required elsewhere, the 
 landlord moved off, rubbing his nands, as he repeated 
 to himself, " Oui, one beautiful, one very beautiful 
 girl!" 
 
 Our worthy captain, having gained all the informa- 
 tion he desired, soon after took his departure, well sat- 
 isfied. 
 
 The whereabouts of the object of his search ascer- 
 tained, the next purpose was to obtain an interview 
 with her. This he found would be rather a difficult 
 matter, for her master, he learned, kept a jealous watch 
 over her. Frequently during the day he would saun- 
 .ter in the neighborhood in which Lemoine lived, hop- 
 ing he might get sight of Mary, but for a long time he 
 was doomed to be disappointed. 
 
 At last, one morning, when his patience was well- 
 nigh exhausted, as he slowly walked by the door, it 
 opened, and a young woman appeared with a broom 
 in her hand. There was no time to lose, and stepping 
 hastily into the recess in which the door was placed, 
 the captain asked: "Does Monsieur Lemoine live 
 here?" 
 
 " He does, sir," said Mary, surprised at hearing her- 
 self addressed in her native tongue. 
 
 " Is there a girl by the name of Mary Finney living 
 with him ? " continued the captain. 
 
 " That is my name, sir ! " replied Mary, while a flush 
 of mingled joy and astonishment mantled her cheeks. 
 
 " Take this, then," returned the stranger, handing
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 409 
 
 her a note. " I will be passing here at the same hour 
 to-morrow morning, when you can give me your an- 
 "ewer." 
 
 Mary had barely time to conceal the note, and the 
 Btranger to leave the alcove, when the shrivelled face 
 of Monsieur Lemoine protruded through the half open 
 door, and his querulous voice was heard, ordering her 
 to hasten her task of sweeping the steps, and return 
 to the house. Not less impatient than her master to 
 get through with her work, she made the broom and 
 the dust fly, and hastened into the house, her heart in 
 a flutter of curiosity to learn the contents of the note 
 BO strangely and unexpectedly thrust into her hands. 
 Nerer in her experience did the hours seem so long, 
 until she found leisure and opportunity to retire to 
 her chamber, where she could read the mysterious 
 note undisturbed. The coveted opportunity came at 
 last, and with a beating heart Mary sought her room. 
 
 Having secured the door, to prevent intrusion, she 
 eagerly broke the seal of the note. The brilliant 
 glow of satisfaction that lighted up her countenance, 
 and the sudden glistening of her eyes as she ran over 
 its contents, plainly evinced the interest they had 
 excited, and that they were in the highest degree 
 agreeable to her. The note read as follows : 
 
 "Misa MARY FINNBY, Though personally a stranger to you, th 
 writer is a friend and a countryman of yours. He is in command of the 
 English ship Jane, and is bound for Falmouth, Maine, his native place, 
 for wkich port he expects to sail in the course of a week. Previous to 
 leaving home h had heard of your captivity, and his object in writing is, 
 to devise some plan for your release and restoration to your friends. H 
 is aware of the strict seclusion in which you are kept, and of the difficul- 
 ties which nurround you ; but if you could by possibility contrive a per- 
 
 35
 
 410 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 sonal interview so as to arrange matters, it would greatly facilitate th 
 purpose he has in view. 
 
 " Precisely at seven o'clock to-morrow morning, the writer will pass the 
 house for the purpose of receiving your answer. Should anything occur 
 to prevent your being at the door, he will again pass the house at five in 
 the afternoon. With respect, 
 
 " WILLIAM MCLELLAN." 
 
 A tide of tumultuous joy rushed through the heart 
 of Mary as she finished the perusal of the note. The 
 prospect of deliverance from her irksome captivity, 
 and restoration to friends and home, excited such in- 
 tense emotions that for a time the obstacles to be 
 overcome before her deliverance could be accom- 
 plished were wholly unthought of. 
 
 Leaning her head on her hand, in a delightful reverie 
 her thoughts wandered to her far-away home. She 
 was again amid familiar and cherished scenes, sur- 
 rounded by loved friends, urgent to welcome her back, 
 and eager to hear her story of sufferings, peril, and 
 escape. Then came thoughts of the one to whom she 
 was indebted for all this happiness. Although she had, 
 in fact, caught but a partial glimpse of his person, still 
 that passing glance prepossessed her in his favor, and 
 fancy endowed him with all those manly qualities and 
 graces so attractive to the female eye and heart. 
 Gratitude had already endeared him to her, and what 
 gratitude had commenced, a deeper and tenderer sen- 
 timent was perfecting. In truth, our captive was 
 building a very charming castle in her busy brain, 
 when the wheezing cough and shuffling feet of Mon- 
 Bieur Lemoine, as he passed her door, and, as was his 
 custom, turned the lock upon her, demolished at once 
 the airy fabric, and hastily recalled her roving thoughts 
 to the unpleasant reality of her situation.
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 411 
 
 An entirely new direction was now given to her 
 reflections. What should she write in reply to her 
 proposed deliverer ? How could she manage to grant 
 the desired interview ? The surveillance of her mas- 
 ter had of late grown so strict she felt it would be 
 extremely difficult, if not impossible, to elude it. She 
 could not meet the stranger in the evening without 
 the house, for Lemoine never permitted her to step 
 out of doors after nightfall. She might invent a thou- 
 sand excuses for going abroad, but she well knew 
 they would not be listened to for a minute. If he 
 came to the house in the daytime and inquired for 
 her, it would be at the risk of at once arousing the 
 suspicions of old Lemoine, without at all accomplish- 
 ing the object she had in view ; for she was convinced 
 she would not be permitted to see him alone, as, from 
 certain circumstances that had transpired, she had not 
 the least doubt that some of the domestics were 
 placed as spies on her conduct. 
 
 Mary now regretted the rather defiant spirit she 
 had of late been in the habit of exhibiting toward her 
 master, and that she had not won his confidence by a 
 more compliant disposition, a more ready acquiescence 
 in his wishes. But there was no help for it now. 
 " It is too late to repent of that," thought Mary, as 
 she sat perplexed in mind in regard to the proposed 
 meeting. A thousand plans arose in her mind, which 
 were no sooner suggested than discarded as impracti- 
 cable. After pondering over the subject she resolved 
 that she \vould clandestinely leave the house at the 
 appointed hour in the morning, running the risk ef her 
 short absence being detected. Then came the reflec- 
 tion, if her absence should be noticed, and the chances
 
 412 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 were as a hundred to one that it would, would not 
 the consequences be fatal to her final escape by cre- 
 ating new and insurmountable obstacles to it? 
 
 Half bewildered by the many projects that floated 
 through her brain, she passed her hand rapidly over 
 her forehead, as if to efface the frown of vexation that 
 was gathering there, when a new idea flashed upon 
 her mind. 
 
 " Why could I not have thought of that before ? " 
 she said, with a low, merry laugh, which evinced that 
 the difficulty had vanished. 
 
 On one side of Monsieur Lemoine's house was an 
 avenue open to the street and running back the .whole 
 length of the building and out-houses. Mary's cham- 
 ber was in the second story, and a window opened on 
 this place. The sleeping apartments of the family 
 were on the opposite side of the house, looking upon 
 the street. Those of the servants were in the third 
 story. The thought suggested to Mary was, to invite 
 the stranger to an interview beneath her window, 
 after the family had retired for the night. Acting 
 upon this, she immediately wrote him a note, in which 
 she sketched a plan of the house, pointing out the 
 window of her chamber. She also informed him of 
 their usual hour of retiring, and mentioned the time 
 when she would be at the window to receive him. 
 
 But little disposition for sleep had our captive that 
 night. Her busy thoughts kept her wakeful and rest- 
 less ; or, if she fell into a brief slumber, her imagina- 
 tion rioted in the wildest and strangest dreams, all 
 relating to her proposed flight. Every possible inci 
 dent that could attend her escape, and a thousand im 
 possible ones, mingled fantastically in her thoughts,
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 413 
 
 keeping her mind constantly on the stretch. Heartily 
 rejoiced was she when the lagging day at last ap- 
 peared, and she could leave a couch which had proved 
 anything but refreshing to her. 
 
 With feelings so intensely excited, Mary found her 
 usual routine of duties to be exceedingly irksome. 
 She exerted herself to restrain her emotions and to 
 assume her wonted air of indifference. As the ap- 
 pointed hour drew near when she was to return her 
 answer, she became nervously sensitive, imagining 
 that her movements were scrutinized more closely 
 than usual. Anxiously she counted the minutes and 
 consulted the clock, and, as the time approaches- 1, she 
 took the broom, as had been her custom, and com- 
 menced sweeping the entry. When the clock struck 
 seven she opened the door and descended the front 
 steps. Casting her eye down the street, she recog- 
 nized the person who had accosted her the morning 
 previous, coming towards her. At the same moment, 
 to her dismay, she heard the steps of Monsieur Le- 
 moine in the entry, making towards the half-closed 
 door. His appearance at the door and that of the 
 stranger in front of it she saw would be simultane- 
 ous, and that it would be impossible to deliver the 
 note into the stranger's hands, with her master's pry- 
 ing eyes fixed upon her, without detection. What 
 should she do ? Let a woman alone in an emergency. 
 With the ready wit of her sex, she dropped the note 
 on one of the lower steps at the very instant the old 
 man opened the door, at the same moment busily 
 resuming her employment, as if unconscious of ob- 
 servation. | 
 
 As she foresaw, the stranger was directly in front 
 35*
 
 414 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 of the door as Lemoine stood on the sill With a 
 dexterous sweep of the troom she managed to twirl 
 the note over the lower step and up the pavement 
 directly in front of the stranger, whose significant 
 glance as he passed assured her that he understood 
 the manoeuvre. The door, as we have said, being in 
 a recess, the old man could not see what followed ; but 
 Mary, stepping out in front to sweep the walk, had 
 the satisfaction of seeing the stranger secure the ob- 
 ject of so much anxiety. 
 
 " Come in, girl ! come in 1 " said old Lemoine, as 
 for a moment Mary paused in her work, her eyes un- 
 consciously following the stranger. " What are you 
 looking at? Eh, eh, hussy, was not that the same 
 young man who passed yestermorn while you were 
 sweeping?" 
 
 " I did not notice that it was," replied Mary, blush- 
 ing at her duplicity, and striving to avoid the jealous 
 gaze of her master by stepping into the somewhat 
 darkened entry. 
 
 " Did not notice him ? I thought he looked as if he 
 knew you," rejoined the old man as he closed the door 
 and shuffled after her. 
 
 " He is a perfect stranger to me, I assure you, sir," 
 said Mary, with such a tone of candor that her master 
 appeared satisfied that she spoke the truth. 
 
 With feelings of relief Mary now went about her 
 daily avocations, yet disturbed by many an anxious 
 thought in regard to the interview of the coming 
 night.
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 415 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE evening of what had been to Mary a long and 
 weary day at last arrived. Her household duties had 
 all been performed ; not entirely to her satisfaction, it 
 is true, for she had been in a perturbed state all the 
 day, and her heart was not in her work. She felt 
 somewhat fatigued, for she had accomplished much 
 more than the usual task allotted to her. Impatient 
 for the coming night, she had hurried her work as if 
 by that means she could hurry the hours ; passing 
 from this thing to that with such celerity that Mad- 
 ame Lemoine noticed it, and laughingly remarked that 
 she seemed to be seized with a new fit of industry. 
 Most heartily did Mary rejoice when the last duty of 
 the day was performed, and she was permitted to 
 retire for the night. 
 
 Seated in her chamber, she waited in suspense for 
 an hour or two, anxiously listening as one after 
 another of the household retired. At an earlier hour 
 than usual she was delighted to hear the footsteps of 
 her master in the passage-way that ran by her cham- 
 ber, and never was sound more welcome than the 
 click of the lock which notified her that she was a 
 prisoner for the night. She could not restrain a gay, 
 laughing exclamation : " Ha ! ha ! Monsieur Lemoine, 
 you will find your bird flown, one of these mornings, 
 in spite of your lock ! " 
 
 Having extinguished her light, she sat in silence 
 and darkness another hour or so, intently listening if 
 all was still in the house. She then took her place 
 at the window. Although the night was cloudless,
 
 416 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 owing to a peculiar state of the atmosphere the stars 
 shed but a feeble light. Conflicting emotions, hopes 
 and fears commingling, agitated her breast as she 
 leaned upon the sill and gazed on the darkened scene. 
 Not a sound disturbed the stillness of the hour, until 
 the tones of a neighboring bell, throbbing solemnly on 
 the midnight air, startled Mary from a reverie into 
 which she had fallen, and sent the blood coursing 
 through her veins. It was the hour appointed for the 
 meeting. With senses all alert, Mary leaned eagerly 
 over the sill, and presently her ear detected the sound 
 of distant footsteps. They came nearer and nearer, 
 but at last they suddenly ceased, and the same deep 
 silence reigned. 
 
 " It was some one else," murmured Mary, with a 
 sigh of disappointment. But the words had barely 
 escaped her lips, when her eye detected a dusky figure 
 stealthily moving down the avenue. It halted beneath 
 her window ; and, with a thrill, Mary heard her name 
 softly whispered. She replied. Then, in the same 
 cautious tone, a consultation followed, the result of 
 which was, that the ship would be ready for sea in 
 three days, and that on the second succeeding night 
 Captain McLellan would be on the spot provided with 
 means for her descent. This and other matters agreed 
 upon, the captain took his leave undiscovered, and 
 Mary sought her pillow, her thoughts filled with the 
 one all-absorbing subject, though in a more composed 
 frame of mind than she had been throughout the day. 
 Now that the affair was settled, and but one more 
 obstacle to be overcome ere she effected her escape, 
 she could look the difficulty more calmly in the face. 
 
 The idea of leaving clandestinely caused a momen-
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 417 
 
 tary feeling of regret, for a mutual attachment existed 
 between her and the members of the family, all of 
 whom treated her with kindness. Even old Lemoine, 
 whose jealous suspicions subjected her to frequent 
 annoyances and restrained her freedom of action, was 
 by no means a harsh and unkind master. It was but 
 the petty tyranny exercised by a foolish old man, who 
 feared that her pretty face might win admirers, and 
 in the end subject him to the loss of a valuable ser- 
 vant. It may be that Monsieur Lemoine was not him- 
 self wholly insensible to the tempting, blooming charms 
 of his servant-maid. There is no saying. Some of 
 these white-headed old fellows retain the fervor of 
 youth to a remarkable degree. Their hearts are like 
 the famous Geyser springs, boiling with internal heat 
 amid polar snows and ice. 
 
 The regret, as we have said, was but momentary ; 
 for on the one side was, it might be, a life-long, servi- 
 tude, an ignominious bondage, for the sphere into 
 which she had been forced was not congenial to her 
 feelings or her station in society ; on the other side, 
 freedom, restoration to friends and home, and all the 
 endearing associations that cluster around and within 
 the domestic circle. There was still another influence 
 in operation, hidden within the depths of her heart, 
 and as yet scarcely recognized. Mingling with and 
 coloring by its passionate hues all the joys which 
 awaited her deliverance from captivity, came this 
 secret feeling, an unbidden, almost as we have said 
 unrecognized, yet not an unwelcome, guest. Twice 
 only had she caught passing glances of the stranger 
 who had so disinterestedly volunteered in her behalf; 
 yet it was but natural she should cherish his image
 
 418 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 with no small degree of interest. Her sympathies 
 were of course deeply enlisted in his favor ; and, when 
 a woman's sympathies become thus rooted, they are 
 very apt rapidly to run to seed. 
 
 The intervening days were passed by Mary in no 
 enviable state of mind. The hours flew by swiftly, 
 however, for every moment she could steal away from 
 her household cares was devoted to preparation for 
 her flight. Her small stock of clothing was gathered 
 and got in readiness for her departure. A few hours, 
 indeed, would have been sufficient to have effected all 
 her little arrangements, for she could boast but a 
 scanty wardrobe, the whole of which might be con- 
 tained in a small bundle. Yet the arranging and re- 
 adjusting of the few articles served to employ her 
 mind, and to relieve the tedium of suspense to which 
 she would otherwise have been subjected. 
 
 At last all was completed, and the eventful night had 
 arrived. The last duty of the day was discharged with 
 a feeling of joyful relief as she thought that that was 
 the last time she would be subjected to the perform- 
 ance of an involuntary servitude. As the hour drew 
 near, her spirits recovered their wonted buoyancy ; 
 and when, after retiring to her chamber, she heard the 
 key turn as usual in the lock, she broke out into a 
 smothered laugh, and gayly muttered, " Ah, Monsieur 
 Bovais ! when the cage is found empty, you will have 
 the credit of this night's adventure; on your poor 
 head will be poured the wrath of Monsieur Lemoine." 
 Then, as if a thought had at that moment suggested 
 itself, she took a piece of paper, and, writing upon it, 
 " Ce gue femme veut, Dieu le veut. Bon jour, Mon- 
 sieur Lemoine 1 " affixed it to her unpressed pillow.
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 419 
 
 ITaving indulged in this malicious prank, she arranged 
 herself for flight, extinguished the light, and took her 
 place at the window to await the arrival of her de- 
 liverer. 
 
 It was a favorable night for their purpose. There 
 was no moon, but the stars gave light sufficient to aid 
 without betraying their movements. It would be dif- 
 ficult to analyze Mary's feelings as she stood there 
 counting the moments that brought nearer and nearer 
 the designated hour. Rapidly her thoughts ran over 
 all that had transpired since the night of her seizure. 
 The terrible death-scene of her brother-in-law, her pain- 
 ful journey through the wilderness, the perils and 
 sufferings which attended every step, her arrival at 
 Quebec, and her long servitude under Monsieur Le- 
 moine, all passed through her mind. Then came 
 thoughts of the home and the dear ones from whom 
 she had been so long separated, and of the surprise 
 her unexpected return would create, and of the joy 
 which would await her. Absorbed in these reflections, 
 time passed unheeded, until the midnight-bell pro- 
 claimed the hour in which her captivity was to end. 
 
 Barely had the sound died away, when, prompt to 
 the moment, the young captain stood beneath her 
 casement, and, after an exchange of salutations, whis- 
 pered, "Is the coast clear?" 
 
 " All clear," was Mary's brief response. 
 
 " Have you everything in readiness ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Good ! take this, then," said the captain, " and be 
 sure and secure it well." And, by the aid of a long 
 pole, a rope was placed within Mary's reach. A slip- 
 noose had been prepared in the end, which Mary threw
 
 420 FOKEST AND SHORE. 
 
 over the bed-post, previously placed in a suitable 
 position near the window. 
 
 " Wait a moment, Miss Finney, and let me see if all 
 is right," said the captain. And, seizing the rope, 
 with scarcely an effort, he mounted to the chamber 
 window. " It will answer to a charm," said he ; " al- 
 though I fear, Miss Finney, you will find it rather an 
 awkward mode of descent. However, I have spliced 
 in billets of wood ; at intervals, which will serve as 
 footholds, and aid your descent." 
 
 Instructing her how to proceed, and cautioning her 
 not to be in too much haste, the captain returned to 
 the ground. 
 
 " Now, Miss Finney, throw us your bundle," said the 
 captain. "Be sure and grasp the rope firmly," he 
 continued, " and plant your feet securely on the bits 
 of wood ; " adding, jocosely, for the purpose of encour- 
 aging her, "like most important undertakings, you 
 will find the first step to be the most difficult." 
 
 Our fair readers will appreciate the embarrassing 
 situation of poor Mary, and readily award to her their 
 meed of sympathy. She made many fruitless attempts 
 before she succeeded in obtaining egress from the 
 window ; but, when she fairly got the " hang of the 
 rope," she almost equalled the activity of the captain 
 in reaching terra-firma.* 
 
 " Bravo ! " said he, as he stood by to assist her as 
 she let go of the rope. " That feat would do credit 
 to Jack himself! Now take my arm, Miss Finney ; we 
 have some distance to walk. We must leave the rope," 
 said he, with a light laugh ; " it may come in play as a 
 
 * The flight of Miss Finney from the house was through a window, aa 
 we have described it, aided by a rope furnished by the captain.
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 421 
 
 halter, should old Lemoine feel in the hanging mood 
 when he discovers your absence." 
 
 With what feelings Mary took the proffered arm, 
 and proceeded through the darkened streets of Quebec 
 towards the river-side, we must leave the reader to 
 imagine. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AFTER a rapid walk our adventurers arrived at a 
 quay, where a boat with four oarsmen was in waiting, 
 the ship being in the stream, having dropped down 
 the river a little distance below the city in readiness 
 to trip her anchor early in the morning. Having seen 
 his companion safely on board, Captain McLellan 
 handed her a cloak. 
 
 " Take this, Miss Finney," said he, " and wrap your- 
 self close, for you will find the night air on the river 
 damp and chilly." Then, taking the tiller, he addressed 
 his men : " Now, my good fellows, give way with a 
 will. Dip your oars lightly, lads, and let not a word 
 be spoken." 
 
 Scarcely a sound was heard, save the ripple at the 
 bow, as the boat shot rapidly from the shore and pro- 
 ceeded down the river, the row-locks having been 
 muffled to prevent noise. Not a word was uttered by 
 either party as the boat glided on her way. The feel- 
 ings of Mary were too intense to permit her to enter 
 into conversation. The sense of freedom, of having 
 escaped from a hated bondage, of being in entire 
 afety, surrounded by friends, ready with stout arms 
 36
 
 422 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 and brave hearts to protect her from harm; the knowl- 
 edge that she was even then on her way towards her 
 long sighed-for home ; these, with the circumstances 
 which surrounded her, the obscurity of the night, the 
 swift though lulling motion of the boat, all served to 
 flood her heart with emotions too deep and vivid for 
 mere words. Tears swelled to her lids, but there was 
 no bitterness in those tears. The source whence they 
 sprung was one of unalloyed happiness, from those 
 deep fountains of joy which rarely in a life experience, 
 often never, are opened. 
 
 Appreciating her silence, her companion did not 
 obtrude his conversation, and it was not until the 
 order was given to unship the oars, and the boat 
 grazed the side of the ship, that Mary was aroused 
 from her reverie. When she stood on the deck, the 
 captain cordially congratulated her on her escape, and 
 welcomed her on board. Then, leading her to the 
 cabin, she was invited to partake of some refresh- 
 ments which were in readiness, after which he intro- 
 duced her to an airy, commodious state-room, which 
 he had furnished with every convenience that could 
 conduce to her comfort. 
 
 As he was on the point of bidding her good-night, 
 Mary extended her hand, and, with a voice tremulous 
 with emotion, said : " If I have been backward in 
 thanking you for your disinterested services in my 
 behalf, Captain McLellan, be assured, sir, it is not 
 from lack of grateful feelings ; but solely because I 
 could not find words to express my gratitude " 
 
 " Poh ! poh ! my dear Miss Finney," exclaimed the 
 captain, interrupting her ; " say not a word about grat 
 itude. There ii not a man who would not have
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 423 
 
 jumped at the chance of doing what I have done. 
 Rest assured that the satisfaction of restoring you to 
 your friends will more than repay me for the little 
 trouble I have incurred. Good-night, or rather good- 
 morning!" and, squeezing the plump little hand he held, 
 the gallant captain turned away with a glow on his 
 cheek, and a warmer glow in his heart. 
 
 At an early hour in tte morning Mary was awa- 
 kened by the tramping of feet over her head, and the 
 hearty " yo-heave-ho " of the men at the windlass. 
 For a while she was bewildered, and could not account 
 for the strangeness of her situation. A moment's re- 
 flection was sufficient for her to realize the change in 
 her condition. The thrilling emotions that agitated 
 her heart would not suffer her to remain quiescent; 
 and, leaving her comfortable berth, she hastily arrayed 
 herself preparatory to going on deck. 
 
 The sun had just risen as she ascended the compan- 
 ion-way. A slight breeze rippled the river, and under 
 a cloud of canvas the ship was gliding swiftly down 
 the St. Lawrence. Behind her lay Quebec, the scene 
 of her weary captivity, while before her the broad 
 river stretched far away, glistening in the early beams 
 of the sun. The scene was both strange and beauti- 
 ful to Mary. The white-winged ship moving in grace- 
 ful majesty, the passing shore clothed in the fresh 
 livery of early summer, the glittering expanse of 
 water in front, and the long wake, catching and re- 
 flecting the sun's rays, as if the ship's keel had turned 
 up a furrow of snowy pearls and blazing gems, on 
 these as they opened to her sight she gazed silent and 
 Bpell-bound, and was only roused from her abstraction 
 by the cheery voice of the captain.
 
 424 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 "Good-morning, Miss Finney. We have a fair 
 breeze aloft, and a promise of favorable weather. The 
 Jane bowls off as if conscious of having a fugitive on 
 board. I did not expect to see you stirring at so early 
 an hour. I trust you rested well ? " 
 
 Mary responded to the salutation, and tendered her 
 acknowledgments anew for the services he had ren- 
 dered. The captain bowed, and then, as if to divert 
 her mind from the subject, led her aft and directed her 
 attention to the various striking views as they succes- 
 sively presented themselves. 
 
 But it is not our purpose to detail all that transpired 
 during the voyage. Suffice it that, after a very favor- 
 able passage, the good ship Jane arrived safely at Fal- 
 mouth, now Portland. We .will not take it upon 
 ourselves to say that the captain or his passenger was 
 much rejoiced when the ship cast anchor in Falmouth 
 harbor. The truth is, those charms of person and 
 mind which our heroine so eminently possessed, and 
 which wer-e sufficiently potent to have won the admi- 
 ration of a landsman less impressible than our worthy 
 captain, proved at sea where such things are rare 
 luxuries indeed all-sufficient to secure his warmest 
 devotion. 
 
 Although lately in the condition of a captive serv- 
 ing-girl, Mary had been reared and educated in quite a 
 different sphere. Knowing this, the captain had from 
 the first treated her with the respect of an equal The 
 interest which her friendless and forlorn situation had 
 excited in the outset soon ripened into a tenderer and 
 deeper feeling, which Mary, whose heart was already 
 gratefully enlisted in his favor, was not slow to reci^ 
 rocate ; so that the thrill of pleasure which the pre.
 
 THE CANADIAN CAPTIVE. 425 
 
 sure of hands sent to each heart as the captain assisted 
 his charge over the ship's side into the boat, clearly 
 enough betokened that they vibrated in unison. 
 
 We might possibly add to the interest of our story 
 by describing the arrival of Mary at her home, and of 
 the joyful welcome she received from her family and 
 friends ; by portraying her feelings as she again took 
 her accustomed place in the endeared domestic circle, 
 and related to eager and untiring auditors the story 
 of her seizure, long captivity, and final release. But 
 all this, for want of space, we must leave to the imagi- 
 nation of the reader. 
 
 There is another point in her eventful life on which 
 we would willingly dwell, did we not apprehend that 
 we have already been too prolix in our details; and 
 that is, the occasional visits of her rescuer at Freeport, 
 which in a short time grew more and more frequent, 
 until, one fine day, he left the place, taking with him 
 our heroine, a happy, blushing bride. 
 
 That Mary proved an excellent housewife, who can 
 doubt, having " served an apprenticeship," as she often 
 laughingly remarked, " in a Frenchman's kitchen." 
 That she loved and was beloved by her lord, we have 
 abundant living evidences in their numerous descend- 
 ants, who serve to swell the list of our most worthy 
 and respected citizens. 
 
 A word in regard to the other characters introduced 
 into our story. Little Alice grew up to be a fine, noble- 
 hearted girl, and in process of time became the wife 
 of Mr. Clement Skolfield, . of Harpswell. Jane was 
 married to Mr. Joseph Anderson, of Freeport We 
 have already mentioned that the son born subsequent 
 to his father's death was the progenitor of those boar- 
 36*
 
 426 FOREST AND SHORE. 
 
 ing his name in Freeport and Portland. The widow, 
 we are informed, afterwards wedded Colonel George 
 Rogers, of Georgetown, who removed to Freeport 
 after his marriage. Though the wife of another, the 
 scenes of that fearful night were never effaced from 
 her memory. She bore to her grave the scar in her 
 breast occasioned by the bullet which caused the death 
 of the child in her arms. The wound in her heart that 
 grave alone healed. 
 
 THE BSD.
 
 A 000025818