i 
 
 *%AHVHi
 
 _y 
 
 BETROTHED OF WYOMING 
 
 AN HISTORICAL TALE. 
 
 and must I show 
 
 Sw-LX-t Wyoming ! the day when tliou wert doomed 
 Guiltless to mourn thy loveliest bowers laid low ! 
 When where of yesterday a garden bloom'd, 
 Death overspread his pall, and blackening ashes gloom'd. 
 
 CampbtU. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 KVtll BT THE 1'KINCIPAt BOOKSELLERS; A1S D IN NEW TOUt, 
 
 BOST03T, BALTIMOKE, AND WASIHSGTOX . 
 
 ' ,ij. 
 
 1830.
 
 Eastern District of Pennsylvania, to wit: 
 
 Jt BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the ninth day ot 
 4 September, in the fifty-fifth year of the Independence 
 . ,..Jt of the United States of America, A. D. 1830, Henry H. 
 Porter, of the said District, has deposited in this office the title 
 of a Book, the right whereof he claims as Proprietor, in the 
 words following, to wit : 
 
 The Betrothed of Wyoming. An Historical Tale. 
 
 and must I show 
 
 Sweet Wyoming! the day when thou wert doomed 
 Guiltless to mourn thy loveliest bowers laid low ! 
 When where of yesterday a garden bloomed, 
 Death overspread his pall, and blackening ashes gloomed. 
 
 Campbell, 
 
 In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, 
 intituled, " an act for the encouragement of learning, by securing 
 the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors" and pro 
 prietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned" 
 and also to the act, entitled, " an act supplementary to an act, 
 entitled, 'an act for the encouragement of learning, by securing 
 the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprir. 
 tors of such copies during the times therein mentioned,' and < \. 
 tending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving 
 and etching historical andother prints." 
 
 D. CALDWELL, 
 Clerk of the Eastern District nf Pennsy Ivania.
 
 2 
 
 /f 30 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 DURING the hot weather of July last, I re 
 moved from the oppressive atmosphere of Phi 
 ladelphia, to enjoy the pure air of the moun 
 tains in the upper part of Northampton county. 
 I took lodging in a small public house in a wild 
 glen adjoining Sullivan's creek, a few miles 
 from the village of Stroudsburg. Attached to 
 botanizing, which, indeed, was my chief reason 
 for selecting this wild district as the place of 
 my retreqj, I one day rambled so far amidst 
 the sylvan hills in the vicinity, that I became 
 bewildered, and knew not in what direction to 
 bend my way homewards. I wandered for 
 some hours, in much perplexity, among the in 
 terminable woods which, on all sides and from 
 every position, obstructed my view. At length, 
 in a small cleared patch of ground, I discovered 
 a log cabin, so rude and ruinous in its appear 
 ance, that I might have passed it without ob 
 servation, had I not perceived smoke issuing 
 from its chimney. This proof of human ha 
 bitation attracted me. I approached and entered,
 
 IV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 but found no one within. Persuaded, how 
 ever, from the appearance of the household 
 matters, that the owner would not be long ab 
 sent, I seated myself on a bench to await his 
 return. 
 
 I now leisurely surveyed the apartment, 
 which formed the whole house, and exhibited 
 nothing extraordinary. It will be sufficiently 
 described by saying, that its chief characteris 
 tic was unity. It contained no duplicate of any 
 one article. There was but one door, one 
 window, one hearth, one bed, one table, one 
 chair, one long bench, and one large chest 
 which, perhaps, concealed such of its remain 
 ing furniture as was invisible. On a shelf, in a 
 dark corner near the roof, my eye after some 
 minutes, caught an object it did not at first 
 perceive a large book. I took it down. It 
 was a family bible. In this there was nothing 
 remarkable. But in drawing it from its place, 
 which I did rather awkwardly, a bundle ot 
 papers fell upon the floor, which I found to be 
 the manuscript of the following history. 
 
 While, with feelings of surprise and curio 
 sity, I was occupied in turning the leaves of 
 this manuscript, I was startled by the approach 
 of footsteps. I turned round and beheld, en 
 tering the premises, a venerable figure, bent by 
 the weight of years, and white with the snOw
 
 INTRODUCTION V 
 
 of age. In the one hand was his staff, in 'the 
 other a bundle of new-caught fish, and by his 
 side was a large mastiff, who cast upon me a 
 surly look full of suspicion. I felt confused, 
 as if I had been detected in the commission of 
 some petty crime. The old man observed my 
 emotion. 
 
 "Be not alarmed," said he, "Rover injures 
 no one without my permission." 
 
 " I feel," I replied, "that I have been guilty 
 of intrusion, and impertinent curiosity." 
 
 "As for your intrusion," he observed in a 
 tone of good nature, " I give you a hearty wel 
 come to my cabin. As for the indulgence of 
 your curiosity, my own negligence alone is to 
 be blamed. I ought to have been more care 
 ful of th6 manuscripts. But it is so long since 
 any visiter has entered my hut, that careless ha 
 bits have latterly crept upon me, and I frequently 
 wander abroad without even closing my door." 
 
 "With respect to the manuscripts," said I, 
 "I have only discovered their main subject. 
 I know nothing of their particular topics or 
 sentiments. The mischief I have done cannot, 
 therefore, be great, especially as I am willing, 
 in respect even to their existence, to pledge 
 entire secrecy should you require it." 
 
 The old man smiled. " Secrecy in relation 
 to these papers, is immaterial," said he. "But 
 A2
 
 VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 sit down and partake of such refreshments as 
 my hut can furnish, for your ramble into this 
 solitude must have rendered refreshments need 
 ful to you." 
 
 I accepted his kindness. Our repast wa.? 
 simple and wholesome, such as sylvart nature 
 remote from society, can supply. I enjoyed it 
 with relish, for exercise had sharpened my ap 
 petite. When it was finished, my venerable 
 host reverted to the manuscripts. 
 
 "It has occurred to me," said he, "that, 
 since you have discovered these papers, it may 
 be more in your power to make a proper use 01 
 them, than it is in mine. They record events 
 which, at least in my estimation, are sufficient 
 ly important and interesting to claim a place 
 in the annals of the most momentous period 
 that can ever mark the history of our country 
 her struggle for independence. I will commit 
 them to your care, if you will engage to lay 
 them before the public, and pledge yourself 
 never to reveal what you know of the author 
 until informed of his death.' 7 
 
 I readily complied with the terms, and re 
 ceived possession of the papers. At my lodg 
 ing I perused them carefully, and felt con vine-, 
 ejl, that if any feeling of patriotism remained 
 among Americans, they could not but become 
 interested in a narrative which details, appa-
 
 INTRODUCTION. vi'l 
 
 irently in the language of truth, instances al 
 most unparalelled in history, of the sufferings 
 to which their forefathers were exposed, and 
 which they endured with the unwavering firm 
 ness of martyrs, that they might transmit to 
 their posterity the inestimable national bless 
 ings we now enjoy. 
 
 As some passages of the narrative appeared 
 to me rather obscure, before returning to the 
 city, I again visited the venerable recluse, in 
 order to obtain their elucidation, as well as 
 whatever further instruction respecting the 
 publication of the work, he might be desirous 
 to give. But how exceedingly was I shocked, 
 when, on entering his hut, I found him on his 
 bed in the agonies of death, with no attendant 
 but his faithful dog, who lay whining piteously 
 beside him! I caught his hand and spoke to 
 him in a soothing tone. He recognised me, 
 pressed my hand feebly, and still more feebly, 
 in a tone indeed scarcely audible, said, " Thank 
 Heaven! I die in the presence of a Christian!" 
 These were his last words in a few moments 
 he was a corpse. My landlord and three or 
 four of his neighbours, assisted me in paying 
 to him the last rites due to mortality. I shed 
 a tear over his grave; and should I live till 
 next summer, it is my intention again to visit 
 that neighbourhood, when I shall place over his
 
 Vlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 lowly bed, a small monument, that the wan 
 derer amidst those everlasting hills, who may 
 accidentally pass the place, may know that it 
 is holy ground. 
 
 The faithful Rover is now my affectionate 
 companion: I shall, at all times, treat him with 
 kindness, and carefully protect him from the 
 cruelty of our corporation dog-killers. The 
 death of his former master has released me 
 from my pledge of secrecy respecting the au 
 thor of the following sheets. I, therefore, 
 make the preceding statement with a clear 
 conscience. 
 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
 Philadelphia, Sept. 1, 1830. *
 
 THE 
 
 BETROTHED OF WYOMING. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Confess his frailty say he was ashamed 
 
 Of that fur which no man was ever blamed. 
 
 'Twas Heaven's own hand that had bestowed on him 
 
 The slight misfortune of a crooked limb : 
 
 Yet to his nund, to keep the balance even, 
 
 Each splendid gift and shining grace was given. 
 
 Burnsidt. 
 
 Pope was a good poet but a bad philosopher. 
 He says that " health, peace and competence," 
 are all that can be necessary for a reasonable 
 man's happiness. He is mistaken. There are 
 many other things necessary. I shall mention 
 but one the fulfilment of duty. 
 
 For some years before the breaking out of 
 the American Revolutionary War, the Rever 
 end Hezekiah Norwood possessed all these in 
 addition to some other ingredients, not neces 
 sary to mention, that tend to sweeten the cup 
 of human enjoyment He resided on the banks 
 of the Susquehanna, in one of the flourishing 
 settlements of Wyoming. Those settlements, at
 
 10 THE BETROTHED 
 
 that time, constituted within themselves, a kind 
 of independent commonwealth, having a gov 
 ernor, councils, and laws of their own making. 
 They formed the most western frontier of 
 white population, being separated from all other 
 abodes of civilization by an extensive and un 
 opened forest. Although the nearest neigh 
 bours to the Indians, whose hostility was then 
 the source of so many calamities to such of our 
 hardy forefathers as ventured, like them, to 
 become the pioneers of the woods, their peace 
 able and conciliating dispositions, together with 
 the prudent "policy of the public measures 
 adopted in their intercourse with the neigh 
 bouring tribes, gained them the confidence and 
 friendship of the savages, and more effectually 
 secured their safety and tranquillity than could 
 have been done by armed bands and fortifica 
 tions. They were a prudent people, however, 
 and did not altogether neglect the precaution 
 of erecting strong-holds; but in doing so, they 
 had the art not to excite the jealousy of their 
 fierce and revengeful neighbours. 
 
 The virtue, prosperity, and happiness of the 
 inhabitants of Wyoming, at that period, are 
 topics on which not only historians have de 
 lighted to dwell, but from which poets have 
 drawn inspiration as from the only example, in 
 modern times, of a society flourishing in prim-
 
 OF WYOMING. 11 
 
 eval innocence, and affording, in their unso 
 phisticated manners, upright morals, simple 
 habits, uniform hospitality, and patriarchal pol 
 ity, a pleasing image of the golden age! Sepa 
 rated, as before observed, from the 'corrupt 
 ing influences of artificial society, and, at the 
 same time, elevated by education, habit, and 
 feeling, far above the ignorance, coarseness, 
 and barbarity of savage life, they seemed to 
 have adopted the virtues of both, without the 
 vices of either. Such, at least, is the picture 
 which historians have given us of these interest 
 ing people. As for the poets,, their views of 
 their innocence and happiness may be ascer 
 tained from the following stanza of Campbell's 
 well known poem of " Gertrude of Wyoming." 
 
 " Delightful Wyoming ! beneath thy skies, 
 The happy shepherd swains had nought to do, 
 But feed their flocks on green declivities, 
 Or skim perchance thy lake with light canoe, 
 From morn till evening's sweeter pastime grew, 
 With timbrel, when beneath the forests brown, 
 The lovely maidens would the dance renew: 
 And aye those sunny mountains half way down 
 Would echo flageolet from some romantic town." 
 
 Mr. Norwood was the religious instructor of 
 a congregation whose members resided in one 
 of the most pleasant spots in this peaceful region. 
 The name of Wyoming was that of the whole 
 settlement, comprehending a considerable ex 
 tent of country on both sides of the Susque-
 
 12 THE BETROTHED 
 
 hanna; but, as it is one familiar to the public, 
 we shall, in this work, apply it also to the village 
 in which Mr. Norwood resided. This village 
 
 O 
 
 was situated on the western bank of the great 
 river, at the junction which it formed with H 
 small meandering stream, which, as the nam> 
 by which it is now known, is not very eupho- 
 nous, we shall call Sharon. On either side of 
 this stream, a gradually ascending ridge of for 
 est-covered hills arose about a mile apart, and 
 stretching from the river for about a mile and 
 :\ half, began to approach each other, until, at 
 the distance of nearly two miles, they were 
 separated only by the gap through which the 
 stream of Sharon flowed. It was on the north 
 ern bank of this stream, at the western extrem 
 ity of the village, that Mr. Norwood's mansion 
 raised its modest, but tasteful front, embower 
 ed amidst a grove of sycamores and poplars. 
 
 In the year 1776, at the time our history 
 commences, Mr. Norwood had been, for some 
 time, a widower. He was the father of only 
 one child, a daughter, named Agnes, now in 
 her eighteenth year. But such a daughter! 
 She was in reality, as she was often called, 
 the Rose of Sharon. Every eye admired her 
 beauty; her goodness was the theme of every 
 tongue. She was refined, intelligent, and affa 
 ble. Her father, by both precept and exam-
 
 OP WYOMING. 13 
 
 pie, had implanted in her mind a thorough 
 faith in Christian doctrines, and a strong rev 
 erence for Christian virtues. In her, his earthly 
 affections were centred ; and the most fervent 
 filial piety rewarded his parental love. As 
 perfect equality reigned among the inhabitants 
 of Wyoming, all the maidens of the village 
 were her companions; but there was one to 
 whom she was particularly attached, whose 
 mind, manners and principles harmonised en 
 tirely with her own, and produced a recipro 
 city of confidence which united them to each 
 other in the strictest bonds of friendship. This 
 friend of Agnes was named Mary Watson. 
 Her father and mother were both dead. But 
 their loss was supplied by the kindness of an 
 only brother, a young man who had been edu 
 cated for the medical profession, and practised 
 as the physician of the district. 
 
 This youth was possessed of a strong and 
 well-informed mind, but of feelings too sensi 
 tive for happiness. In his childhood he had 
 received an injury in one of his legs, which de 
 formed it, and produced an incurable lameness. 
 This deformity preyed more keenly on his 
 mind than his philosophy should have permit 
 ted. But what are the suggestions of philoso 
 phy to the feelings of an ardent heart? Have 
 they power to restrain the aspirations of ambi-
 
 14 THE BETROTHED 
 
 tion or the longings of love? If not, how can 
 they render deformity, which is so great a bar 
 to these emotions, a satisfactory incumbrance ? 
 Oh deformity! thou art an eternal source of 
 mortification to the soul that is touched with 
 any desire for eminence or happiness in this 
 world thou art a perpetually tormenting fiend 
 to thy sensitive victim. Let those who have 
 never experienced the tortures of thy agonizing 
 presence, talk of the virtue of enduring thee 
 with patience, and recommend philosophy as 
 an antidote to the ever-gnawing griefs which 
 thou inflictest. They speak of things they 
 know not, and of sensations they cannot feel. 
 What worldly blessings can render him happy 
 who is cursed by thee? In vain shall health 
 smile, wealth glitter, or friendship sooth, if 
 thou, the everlasting memento of degradation, 
 the inseparable companion of internal sorrow, 
 layest thy vexatious burthen on the crushed 
 and wearied spirit. Often and often did Edward 
 Watson exert the energies of a vigorous mind 
 in resisting the despondency which his mal- 
 conformation perpetually forced upon his feel 
 ings; and occasionally he seemed to gain the 
 victory. But it was only occasionally, and 
 for short periods. In his childhood he had borne 
 the scoff of his playmates, and endured the vex 
 ation of being unable to vie with them in the
 
 OF WYOMING. 15 
 
 fleetness or dexterity required for their pas 
 times. . His college years, indeed, were less 
 mortifying, as his competitions there did not 
 require bodily so much as mental exertions. 
 Yet even there his disfiguration was not with 
 out its annoyances. On any occasion of pub 
 lic display amidst the assembled youths of his 
 own age in parties or processions, he expe 
 rienced an humbling sense of inferiority; and in 
 the hours of relaxing exercise, he felt as if he 
 were an outcast from their companionship un 
 fit to mingle in their feats of strength or their 
 trials of agility. 
 
 These feelings rendered him averse from 
 mixing unnecessarily with society, or expos 
 ing himself to the view of a numerous popula 
 tion. After the death of his parents, he, there 
 fore, persuaded his sister to remove with htm 
 from the populous neighbourhood of their birth, 
 near Hartford in Connecticut, to the retired 
 and fertile settlement of Wyoming, among the 
 colonists of which he had many relations who 
 had written him pressing invitations to re 
 side amongst them. He accordingly sold his 
 little property near Hartford, and, with his 
 sister, joining a small party of his neighbours, 
 whose views were directed to the same desti 
 nation, proceeded to Wyoming. Here he was 
 soon engaged in the successful pursuit of his 
 profession, and might have felt happy amidst
 
 16 THE BETROTHED 
 
 a simple and benevolent people, by whom Fit 
 was respected and beloved, but for the influ 
 ence of the most pleasing and most irresistible 
 of passions. He loved; but he loved in silence 
 and despair; for when he reflected on his defor 
 mity, he imagined that he never could be 
 blessed with a return of affection, ardent and 
 faithful as his own. The object of his passion 
 was faultlessly beautiful in features as well as in 
 symmetry of person. And could he, blemished 
 as he was, and "curtailed of nature's fair pro 
 portion," expect to elicit passion in the breast 
 of one so lovely one whom many gallant and 
 brave and graceful youths, endowed with all 
 that could recommend them to a lady's eye, 
 loved with ardour and sued in vain. Could one 
 who was so perfect in the love-kindling graces 
 of the outward form as Agnes Norwood for it 
 was she for whom he pined cast her regard on 
 him who was unseemly even in his own 
 eyes? "It were vain to expect it," he des- 
 pondingly sighed; "I dare not hazard an at 
 tempt to win her. I now enjoy her friendship, 
 and her intimacy with my sister affords me 
 often the high blessing of her society. Shall 
 I forfeit this, and expose myself to scorn and 
 mockery, by an imprudent disclosure of my 
 passion? It would be vanity it would be 
 madness, it would be disappointment, humilia-
 
 OP WYOMING. 17 
 
 tionand despair. She would reject she would 
 avoid she would despise me." 
 
 Though his heart was thus torn with a secret 
 and hopeless passion, and preyed upon by 
 the melancholy reflections which had embit 
 tered his whole life, yet to the public eye 
 he appeared neither morose nor fretful. His 
 repinings were, confined to his own bosom. 
 His sister, indeed, had long known the extent 
 of his early and irremediable sorrows; and sus 
 picions of the additional unhappiness which he 
 now endured, had sprung up in her mind; and 
 her anxious, but silent observations, soon ripen 
 ed them into certainty. She loved her brother 
 with the tenderest affection. She sympathised 
 in his sufferings, and keenly felt all his woes. 
 But she never alluded to them. Her good 
 sense told her that they shrunk from observa 
 tion, and were of too delicate a texture to bear 
 the gentle touch of even a sister's kindness. 
 Her chief study was to render agreeable to him, 
 the enjoyments of home, and to sooth him with 
 those daily comforts which the female mana 
 ger of our household concerns alone can sup 
 ply. He was not unobservant of these atten 
 tions. He felt grateful for them. They endeared 
 his sister to him. They made him feel that 
 the world was not a desolation; that it contain 
 ed at least one being who loved him, and was
 
 18 THB BETROTHED 
 
 solicitous for his happiness. He thanked Hea 
 ven for the blessing, and felt that his existence 
 was not altogether in vain, while it contributed 
 to the support and satisfaction of one so affec 
 tionate and worthy of his regard. On her 
 account he pursued his calling with industry y 
 and assumed a cheerfulness in society little 
 accordant with the internal state, of his feelings. 
 Mary Watson was not a beauty in the pic 
 torial sense of the word. But she was far from 
 being disagreeable to look upon. Benevolence 
 and good nature ever shone from her counte 
 nance. Her features were sufficiently regular, 
 but they were marked by some traces of the 
 small pox; and her complexion, though indi 
 cating health, boasted but little of the delicate 
 intermixture of the rose and thelily which ani 
 mated the blooming countenance of her friend 
 Agnes Norwood,
 
 OP WYOMING. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Behold the pest of civil strife, 
 Destructive foe of human life, 
 He comes, with havoc in his train, 
 And rides on ruin o'er the plain ! 
 
 Sefton. 
 
 In the year 1776, the tempest of civil war 
 gathered fearfully over this continent, and 
 frowned with peculiar wrath on the region of 
 New England. The cause of American liberty 
 had aroused that section.of the country to arms, 
 even before the sister colonies had determined 
 on a union of strength to expel foreign dicta 
 tion and secure independence. But on a ques 
 tion so important, one involving so many con 
 flicting opinions, feelings, and interests as that 
 which then agitated the country, it could not 
 be expected that there would be unanimity of 
 sentiment and action. Many opposed, even 
 by force of arms, the cause of their country, 
 and the names of Whig and Tory became the 
 distinguishing appellations of parties that were 
 more fiercely arrayed against each other, than 
 the factions so called had ever been in Great 
 Britain. The tories of New England had ex 
 erted themselves very early in the struggle. 
 But they constituted, although a bold, a very 
 small minority in that patriotic section, and
 
 50 THE BETROTHED 
 
 were soon subdued. Among the most trouble 
 some and dangerous of the bands into which 
 they formed themselves, was one commanded 
 by an enterprising and daring youth of Con 
 necticut, named Butler. His father had held a 
 lucrative and honourable office under the Brit 
 ish government, and had been one of the first 
 to assemble all who were attached to the old 
 regime, and raise the standard of Toryism. 
 His excessive zeal rendered him imprudent, 
 and in a rash attack upon a party of the patriots 
 he was taken prisoner, tried for treason, and 
 executed. His son, John, already mentioned, 
 assumed the command of his party, and vowed 
 revenge upon the Whigs for the destruction of 
 his father. He was well qualified to be the 
 leader of a desperate gang. Intrepid and fear 
 less, but wily and sagacious, he was equally 
 capable of contriving stratagems and of per 
 forming exploits. Unscrupulous, unprincipled, 
 and fruitful in expedients, with wonderful ce 
 lerity he could retrieve the most disastrous 
 mischances; and often when his enemies sup 
 posed that his power of doing mischief was 
 annihilated, he would suddenly come upon 
 them with renewed force and fury, and make 
 them feel that his arm was as strong, and his 
 heart as relentless as ever. His personal qual 
 ities, as well as those of his mind, fitted him
 
 OP WFOMIffG. 21 
 
 well to be a leader of desperate men engaged 
 in a marauding warfare against the recognised 
 authorities of the land. At once agile and 
 athletic, and of vigorous health, he was capable 
 of enduring any fatigue, and sustaining every 
 privation to which the adventurous and dan 
 gerous courses he pursued so frequently expos 
 ed him. He had also an air of dignity and 
 loftiness in his appearance, which contributed 
 much to secure him the complete ascendency- 
 he possessed over his followers. 
 
 Many and terrible were the slaughters, the 
 burnings, and the desolations committed by 
 Butler and his guerilla band on the fairest por 
 tions of Connecticut. His name soon became 
 so terrible, that rewards were offered for his 
 apprehension, and the militia of the country- 
 made every effort to effect his destruction. He 
 was at length taken, carried to New Haven, 
 and condemned to the same fate his father had 
 borne, a fate which he had so cruelly avenged, 
 and so amply deserved. But he died not. 
 Love saved him. Oh! what is so faithful! 
 what is so energetic! what is so precious to 
 man as woman's love! Isabella Austin loved 
 the traitor, although she approved not the trea 
 son, for her father's family were Whigs. f Shc 
 deceived his gaoler she procured admission to 
 the convict; and the same stratagem which
 
 22 THE BETEOTHED 
 
 afterwards saved the life of the celebrated L* 
 Vallette, now saved that of John Butler. 
 
 Uriah Austin, the father of his deliverer, 
 and his family, with some other families in 
 the neighbourhood, were then preparing to fly 
 from the war-scourged plains of New England, 
 in search of repose and safety in the valley, of 
 Wyoming. By the entreaties of his daughter, 
 and influenced by his own feelings of compas 
 sion, Mr. Austin was prevailed upon to grant 
 shelter and protection to the fugitive whose 
 principles and conduct he reprobated, but who 
 now threw his life into his hands and assumed 
 the mask of penitence, professing his desire to 
 accompany his protectors to the country of 
 Wyoming, where some of his relatives were 
 already settled, and where he solemnly pledged 
 himself to lead a life of peace. The good 
 hearted Mr. Austin consented, and even pro 
 mised, in the event of his continued amend 
 ment for a length of time sufficient to prove its 
 sincerity, to consent to his union with his 
 daughter. 
 
 It was early in the month of May, 1776, on 
 a day beautiful and serene as the unclouded sun 
 in spring ever illuminated, that a company of 
 travellers, with their wives and children, num 
 bering altogether about fifty persons, were seen 
 pursuing their way slowly along the right bank
 
 OP WYOMING- 23 
 
 of the Susquehanna in the direction of the Vil 
 lage of Wyoming. They were accompanied 
 by a numerous drove of cattle, and about a dozen 
 teams, to which were attached large wagons 
 laden with all the requisites of household com 
 fort. Interspersed among these, at irregular 
 distances, a number of smaller vehicles, chiefly 
 gigs and dearborns, bore along the females and 
 the children, the aged and the infirm of the 
 party. In advance of these, two active young 
 men, armed, as if for the chace, with rifles and 
 hunting knives, pursued their way on foot at 
 a much brisker rate than the rest of the compa 
 ny. These, aided by a couple of pointers, 
 were on the look-out for game, as the wild 
 deer and the wild pigeons were then abundant 
 in the woods. Of the latter they had made 
 considerable prey, when, considering that they 
 were now some miles separated from their 
 friends, they sat down on a bank that over 
 looked the river, at a turning of the road, to 
 await their approach. 
 
 The impressive stillness of undisturbed na 
 ture was around them. The river lay in a 
 smooth and glittering sheet, like an immense 
 mirror, beneath them, while a sombre forest 
 stretched far beyond it, whose tall tops seem 
 ed to touch the heavens at the verge of the 
 horizon. Behind them at a very short dis-
 
 24 THE BETROTHED 
 
 tance, an oak-bearing mountain, one of those- 
 that separated the surrounding country into so 
 many fruitful and pleasant valleys, raised its 
 lofty summit to the skies, as if it would penetrate 
 the secrets of the elements above. 
 
 " How solemn is the deep tranquillity of the 
 magnificent scene now before us!" said Henry 
 Austin to his companion, John Butler, the 
 fugitive from justice, with whom the reader is 
 already acquainted. Henry was the only son 
 of Uriah Austin who had afforded Butler his 
 protection, and the only brother of Isabella, who 
 had saved the life of that offender. He was at 
 this time little more than twenty years of age; 
 warm, open, and generous in his disposition, 
 and so zealous in the cause for which his coun 
 try was then struggling, that he panted to en 
 rol himself amongst her defenders ; and but 
 for the commands of his father, whom he never 
 yet had ventured to disobey, he would, ere 
 this, have arrayed himself in their ranks. 
 
 Although Butler, in his heart, disliked the 
 patriotism of this brave youth, he was aware 
 of the imprudence of, at this time, expressing 
 his feelings; and, with profound dissimulation, 
 he continued to affect penitence for his former 
 conduct. In reply to Henry's remark, he said, 
 "this tranquillity forms a striking but pleasing 
 contrast to the scenes of tumult, strife, and
 
 OF WYOMING, 25 
 
 blood, in which I was so lately engaged; but 
 vhich, thanks to -your generous-hearted sister, 
 1 now, from my very soul, abhor." 
 
 " What is past cannot be recalled," replied 
 Henry. " It is useless to grieve for it. When 
 penitence is sincere, it ought to procure the 
 forgiveness of error. But let us not allude to 
 the past when its memory is unpleasant. Let 
 it sink into forgetfulness; and let the future 
 engage our attention. Our country is, at this 
 moment, engaged in a tremendous struggle 
 against a powerful foe. Oh! that I could fly 
 to her assistance." 
 
 " Your enthusiasm is natural to your youth," 
 said Butler, with an internal sneer. "But, my 
 dear Henry, you cannot be every where; and 
 you are now where your duty requires you, 
 comforting your parents in their old age, and 
 assisting them to find a place of safety from the 
 terrors of the times." 
 
 "I should, indeed," replied Henry, u be 
 unwilling to desert my friends in their present 
 circumstances. But the very repose of this 
 mighty solitude that surrounds us, recalls to 
 my mind, by the force of contrast, the agita 
 tions, the dangers and the sufferings that now 
 shake our native land to its centre, and over 
 whelm thousands of her sons and daughters in 
 irretrievable ruin. When I think of this, I 
 c
 
 26 THE BETROTHED 
 
 cannot but sigh, that I am prevented from has 
 tening to her aid; and, if she. conquers, to share 
 in her glory, or if she falls, to partake of her 
 calamities." 
 
 "Your patriotism is sublime!" said Butler, 
 with an irony of tone which Henry's inexpe 
 rience of hypocrisy prevented him from obser 
 ving. " The profound silence of the present 
 scene is, indeed, strongly distinguished from 
 the sounding of the trumpet, the echoing of 
 the bugle, or the roaring of the cannon, and all 
 the other clamours of brazen-throated war, which 
 now roll their alarums along our sea-board, 
 from Boston to Savannah. But should we not 
 bless Providence, that those we love best are 
 so far removed from those clamours, and that 
 we are present to defend them from whatever 
 dangers may assail them? for even here dan 
 ger may come. Yes, Henry, tranquil as things 
 now are amidst this remote solitude, your mar 
 tial ardour may yet be needed even here. The 
 savage prowler, whose amity is so uncertain,- 
 is in the vicinity." 
 
 At this moment their attention was drawn 
 to a tall man of rather elderly appearance, 
 clothed in a wild mixture of savage and civil 
 ized apparel, hurrying down the mountain be 
 hind them. He soon approached, and address 
 ed them with hasty utterance 
 
 -.
 
 OP WYOMING. 27 
 
 " White men Christians if ye have any 
 of the compassionate feelings which Christians 
 are said to possess, haste with me to rescue 
 from the cruelty of the savages, two young 
 females of your own ^nation, who have fallen 
 into their hands!" 
 
 "Lead on," cried Henry, " we will fol 
 low;" and Butler echoed the reply. The hill 
 was soon ascended; and about twenty minutes' 
 rapid race along its summit, brought them to a 
 steep and dangerous declivity, down a narrow 
 and scarcely, traceable path of which their 
 aged conductor plunged with unhesitating alac 
 rity, and they as fearlessly followed. At 
 length, on coming to a tall and precipitous rock, 
 the base of which reached to the bottom of the 
 hill, their guide halted. 
 
 "Let us now proceed more cautiously," 
 said he. Then in a stooping posture, so as to 
 be concealed by the brushwood, he preceded 
 them slowly and in silence for a short distance. 
 The brushwood then terminated, and afforded 
 them a clear view into a small glade in the 
 valley beneath them. 
 
 "My part is now done. What remains is 
 yours," said the old man, and he disappeared. 
 
 Our adventurers beheld two white females 
 seated on a log; and three savages, two of 
 whom were employed at a large fire, appar-
 
 28 THE BETROTHED 
 
 ently preparing food, while the third- seem 
 ed to act as sentinel over the females. . A 
 short consultation soon determined the mea 
 sures they should adopt. They cautiously de 
 scended a little lower among the brushwood. 
 till they approached near enough to take a sure 
 aim, when, both firing at the same moment. 
 two of the Indians fell dead. The third seized 
 a musket; but the assailants being sheltered by 
 a large tree, were secure from his fire, until 
 they had time to re-load. But before that had 
 taken place, another Indian, who had been 
 straggling a short distance from the group, ap 
 peared upon the scene, armed also with a mus 
 ket. Instead of firing, however, the two sava 
 ges hastened from the glade to take shelter 
 behind the adjoining trees, which they reached 
 in safety. 
 
 Austin and Butler were now, for a space, 
 perplexed how to proceed. But the latter, beine. 
 experienced in every mode, of bush-fighting, 
 soon determined on his measures. Instructing 
 his companion to remain stationary, with his 
 rifle displayed so as to deceive the Indians, he 
 cautiously approached them in a circuitous 
 direction, concealed by the woods, until he 
 gained a sure aim at one of them, whom he shot 
 through the heart. The other, with a loud 
 yell, darted from his statjon, exposing himself,
 
 OF WYOMING. 29 
 
 in his flight, to the view of Austin, who fired, 
 but missed him. The savage, now that both 
 his antagonists had discharged their pieces, 
 rushed, with desparation, towards Austin, who, 
 in a few moments, found himself in contact 
 with his furious enemy, whom, with one blow 
 of his rifle, he felled to the earth. On account 
 of the tree which protected him, the Indian 
 had found no opportunity of firing at him un 
 til he received the blow which disabled him . 
 from firing with effect. The gun was dis 
 charged in the scuffle, but its contents lodged 
 harmlessly in the side of the hill. In an in 
 stant, however, the savage was again on his 
 feet. He was a powerful and active man, and 
 Austin would have had a dangerous and diffi 
 cult struggle to undergo, had not his antagonist 
 perceived the approach of Butler. One leap 
 carried him almost to the bottom of the hill, 
 where he plunged amidst the thickest of the 
 woods, and disappeared. 
 
 The attention of the victors was now direct 
 ed to the females, who had fled, with terror, 
 into the woods, at the commencement of the 
 combat. But the extreme thickness of the 
 undergrowth rendered it impossible for them 
 to proceed far. They, however, secreted them 
 selves, and anxiously awaited the issue of the 
 c 2 
 

 
 30 THE BETROTHED 
 
 contest. Finding that their deliverers were 
 victorious, they re-appeared to express their 
 gratitude and throw themselves on their pro 
 tection. 
 
 But who can imagine the sensations of Henry 
 Austin, when he beheld so lovely a being as 
 Agnes Norwood, kneeling to return thanks to 
 Heaven for her deliverance, in effecting which 
 he had the happiness of being so instrumental. 
 Her amiable companion, Mary Watson, who 
 knelt beside her; his own companion and col 
 league in the victory, Butler; the slain Indians; 
 the whole scene of woods and mountains, earth 
 and the heavens, that surrounded him, all all 
 were forgotten, or rather extinguished in the 
 absorbing sensation of that enrapturing gaze 
 with which he beheld her. And she, when 
 her grateful outpourings to Heaven were finish 
 ed, and rising to salute- him, for the first time 
 noticed his ardent gaze, and surveyed his gener 
 ous countenance she, too, felt as if there was 
 none but him in the world. From that mo 
 ment, indeed, they became all the world to 
 each other. On that spot, and in that moment, 
 love exerted his supremacy over two youthful 
 hearts as pure, as fervent, and as faithful as 
 ever beat in human bosoms. It is true, they 
 were entire strangers; they knew nothing of
 
 OF WYOMING. 31 
 
 each otherj and yet they felt as if they, for the 
 first time, beheld beauty -and perfection, of 
 whose existence they had been long aware, 
 but which had never before been presented to 
 them in a vision so full -of truth, blessedness, 
 and love. 

 
 THE BETROTHED 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Fierce prowler, to thy woods away, 
 AVhy should the virtuous be thy prey " 
 Why doth thine eye licentious rove 
 ' On maiden's charms for maiden's love; 
 Or is it vengeance fires thy heart, 
 To act the unmanly ruffian's part? 
 
 Sefton. 
 
 The outrage upon Miss Norwood and her 
 friend, of which we have been speaking, wa? 
 the first that had been committed by the In 
 dians, on any of the inhabitants of Wyoming, 
 for many years. It was, therefore, totally un 
 expected, and threw the whole district into the 
 utmost consternation. It was caused by the 
 intestine commotion which then agitated the 
 ' whole continent. It was one of the remote 
 heavings of that might commotion which ef 
 fected such a change in the destinies of man 
 the American Revolution. A crisis was then 
 taking place in the fortunes of the western 
 world, and such a one as was not to be accom 
 plished without a violence, which shook the 
 fabric of society, and was felt at the most ex 
 treme verge of civilization. 
 
 The outrage we are now considering, was 
 excited by some fugitive tories from New 
 England, who had taken refuge among the sa 
 vages. Its origin was, in truth, closely con-
 
 OF WYOMING. 33 
 
 nected with the affairs of Butler, although, ig 
 norant of the circumstance, he was so instru 
 mental in defeating and avenging it. His pro 
 secutors, the Whigs of New Haven, had many 
 relations among the settlers of Wyoming. In 
 revenge, therefore, for the condemnation pass 
 ed upon him, which it was not doubted would 
 be executed, as well as in resentment of the 
 patriotic principles which predominated in 
 the settlement, some of his gang, after its dis 
 persion in Connecticut, fled to the country of 
 the Mohawk Indians, and exerted every arti 
 fice to inflame them against the settlers. The 
 Mohawks were ready enough to hearken to 
 these instigations, not only on account of their 
 desire for plunder, but also of some claim? 
 which they had to a portion of the lands oc 
 cupied by the settlement. 
 
 Their chiefs, however, would not rashly en 
 gage in such a war. The neigbouring whites, 
 with whom they had long lived on peaceable 
 terms, had given them no recent cause of offence. 
 Besides, in the quarrel between the government 
 of Britain and the colonies, they believed that 
 their wisest course would be to remain neutral. 
 Old resentment against the colonies, however, 
 operated in their minds. They had not for 
 gotten the usurpation of their lands, and the ex 
 terminating wars so frequently waged against
 
 THE BETROTHED 
 
 their race. While, therefore, they refused as 
 a nation to commit any act of hostility, they 
 permitted it to be understood that they would 
 not too strictly scrutinize the conduct of any 
 individuals of their tribe whjo might join the 
 tories in their depredations on the whigs, or 
 undertake of themselves, any enterprise against 
 the frontier settlements. In consequence of 
 this tacit permission, many of the more adven 
 turous Indians began in small parties to harass 
 the colonists for the purposes of plunder or re 
 venge. The seizure of Agnes Norwood and 
 her companion, Mary Watson, the issue of 
 which has been narrated, was the first of a se 
 ries of outrages which the inhabitants of Wy 
 oming were destined to endure from the spi 
 rit of hostility thus awakened in the minds of 
 the savages. The suggestion of one Silas 
 Bateman, a zealous partizan of Butler, was the 
 immediate cause of this outrage. He applied 
 himself to a half-breed Indian of a daring and 
 ferocious character, who possessed great influ 
 ence among the Mohawks; This man's name, 
 which has since become infamous ,in history, 
 was Brandt He had, for some time past, har 
 boured much animosity against the people of 
 Wyoming, and particularly against Dr. Wat 
 son, of whose character the reader is already 
 apprised. This arose from the following inci 
 dent,
 
 OP WYOMING. 35 
 
 About two years before the present adven 
 ture, Brandt had accompanied a trading party 
 of his tribe to Wyoming. While there, in a 
 fit of intoxication, he quarrelled with one of 
 the inhabitants, whom he wounded with a 
 knife, so dangerously, that recovery was not 
 expected. Brandt was arrested, and the evi 
 dence of Dj. Watson, who had witnessed- the 
 affray, was decisive against him. He was con 
 victed; but as the person whom he wounded, 
 had not died, he was only sentenced to some 
 months imprisonment, a punishment to which 
 the leaders of his tri.be gave their consent, ac 
 knowledging it to be just. Brandt, however, 
 considered himself disgraced, and resented it 
 exceedingly. Before half the term of his sen 
 tence had transpired, he broke from prison 
 and escaped; his bosom glowing with revenge 
 against the whole of the population of Wyom 
 ing, but particularly against Dr. Watson, whom 
 he looked upon as the principal author of his 
 disgrace. 
 
 He was, therefore, a willing listener to the 
 suggestions of Bateman, and a ready instru 
 ment in his hands, to execute any enterprise 
 of violence against the objects of his resent 
 ment. Accordingly, as soon as he understood 
 that the chiefs of his tribe would be willing to 
 overlook whatever outrage he might commit
 
 36 THE BETROTHED 
 
 upon the whites, he, in conjunction with three 
 of his boldest and most zealous confederates, 
 undertook the enterprise which, as we have 
 seen, terminated so disastrously for his party, 
 he himself being the only one that escaped. 
 His chief object was the destruction of Dr. 
 Watson. But in this he was disappointed, the 
 intended victim happening to be frpm home at 
 the time of the attack. The doctor's house be 
 ing situated in the outskirts of the village, was 
 easily assailed; and the attack was made at a 
 late hour in the ev-ening, when the assailants 
 supposed there was little danger of alarming 
 the inhabitants before the completion of their 
 design. Unhappily lor Agnes Norwood, she 
 happened to be on a visit to her friend at the 
 time the marauders entered the house. The 
 only other inmates were a male and a female 
 servant. The former in attempting to resist 
 the entrance of the savages, was killed; the 
 latter escaped by a back door, and hastened to 
 alarm the village. The savages perceived this, 
 and knowing there was no time to plunder or 
 destroy any of the property, they seized the 
 terrified Agnes and Mary, stiffled their, cries 
 by gagging them, and carried them off. The 
 direction of their flight was not known to any 
 of the villagers, and although an active pursuit 
 was soon commenced, it was in vain. But Pro-
 
 OP WYOMING. 57 
 
 violence sent deliverance to the captives from 
 another quarter. An old jnan, of singular ha 
 bits, and mysterious conduct, usually known 
 by the name of the " Hermit of the Woods," 
 made his haunts in a secluded and rugged val 
 ley some miles distant. Here, the day follow 
 ing the outrage, he discovered the savages, 
 with their captives, encamped for the purpose 
 of rest and refreshment. Having, from the 
 arrangements they were making, satisfied him 
 self that they intended remaining there for the 
 night, he set off with the design of apprising 
 the people of Wyoming, when, on his way, 
 he met with Austin and Butler, as before 
 stated. 
 
 On the return of Agnes and Mary under 
 the protection of their deliverers, to their dis 
 consolate friends, the joy of the inhabitants of 
 Wyoming may be easier imagined than ex 
 pressed. The sincerest gratitude towards their 
 deliverers pervaded every bosom. Austin and 
 Butler became favourites throughout the whole 
 settlement. The toryism and late misconduct 
 of the latter, though they were universally 
 known, were universally forgiven. His con 
 version from error was considered sincere; 
 and, whatever had been his guilt, it was am 
 ply atoned for by the important service he had 
 now rendered. As for Austin, there was no 
 
 D
 
 THE BETROTHED 
 
 drawback upon the esteem in which he was 
 held. The arrival of his friends was hailed a? 
 a valuable acquisition, which, in truth, it was, 
 to the strength and resources of the colony. 
 
 It may be imagined that among those who 
 felt most gratitude for the services, and esteem 
 for the virtues, of Henry Austin, was to be 
 found the father of Agnes Norwood. The fer 
 vour with which he strained his hand to his 
 heart when, with tears of joy, he thanked him 
 for the preservation of his daughter, imparted 
 to Henry's feelings a thrill of delight that would 
 have amply repaid, a thousand-fold the degree 
 of danger he encountered in the performance of 
 that happy achievement. Butler, too, received 
 from Mr. Norwood the thanks which he de 
 served. But his experienced eye perceived 
 the superior fervour with which the reverend 
 gentleman, perhaps unconsciously, addressed 
 his companion. He also observed the looks 
 which spoke a feeling much warmer than the 
 warmest gratitude, that brightened the counte 
 nance of the lovely Agnes, whenever she would 
 rest her eyes on the happy Henry. The fiend 
 of jealousy, from that moment, seized upon the 
 depraved spirit of Butler. He began to hate 
 Henry; and forgetful of the obligation he owed 
 his sister Isabella, and the impassioned vows 
 he had often pledged to her, he began even to
 
 OP WYOMING. 39 
 
 dislike her. A- new and fiercer flame, inspir 
 ed by the superior charms of Agnes, had arisen 
 in his breast. But he was an adept in deception, 
 and had the art to conceal the change in his 
 feelings, and even to conduct himself in such 
 a manner as to gain upon the esteem of those he 
 hated. He had several very influential relations 
 in the colony; one of whom, a cousin, named 
 Zebulon Butler, with whom he chiefly resided, 
 was so popular, that he was, shortly after this 
 period, elected commander of the small army 
 which the inhabitants raised for their protec 
 tion from any future aggression of the Indians. 
 This circumstance had, for a time, some influ 
 ence in counteracting the effects of Butler's jea 
 lousy of Henry, and his increasing hatred of 
 the Austins. He hoped that he might yet, by 
 adopting a popular course of conduct, raise 
 himself to an equal influence with his cousin; 
 and acquire such a degree of authority in the 
 colony as would enable him to accomplish his 
 views of matrimony, .with the fascinating Agnes, 
 in despite of the present favour enjoyed by his 
 rival. 
 
 Henry, in the mean time, did not dream of 
 the alteration that had taken place in the feel 
 ings and designs of Butler. He conceived that 
 gratitude and love had bound him firmly to his 
 sister, and to the interests of all her friends. 

 
 40 THE BETROTHED 
 
 His professions of attachment to the popular 
 cause seemed to be unquestionably sincere, and 
 as it was a cause in which Henry was an en 
 thusiast, he could not but esteem him the more 
 for that attachment. Henry, therefore, treated 
 Butler as an assured friend, who had shared 
 with him the glory of a noble and fortunate ex 
 ploit, and was likely soon to become nearly 
 connected with him by a union with his only 
 sister. 
 
 Every man must have experienced that there 
 are some characters in this world, whom we 
 may believe that we have every reason to 
 esteem and think trust- worthy, and yet, although 
 we cannot tell why, we feel unable to open to 
 them all our minds, or bestow upon them our 
 unreserved regard. There is an indefinite some 
 thing about them which renders us backward in 
 yielding them our confidence; and, in despite 
 of ourselves, limits even the extent of our good 
 wishes for them. Henry possessed this feeling 
 in respect to Butler, even at the period of their 
 closest intimacy. He was sorry for it. He 
 blamed himself for a repugnance he could not 
 help. He ascribed it to prejudice against his 
 former course of life. Often did he combat 
 with it as an unworthy feeling: but in vain. 
 With all his efforts, he never could become the 
 unreserved friend and thorough admirer ,ojf
 
 OF WYOMING. 41 
 
 Butler. Frequently did he feel sorry for his 
 sister's infatuation in loving this man; and, 
 although her happiness seemed to depend on a 
 union with him, he often felt as if he could 
 wish some event to take place which would 
 frustrate its accomplishment. 
 
 But there was one man in the village to 
 whom he delighted to open his heart; one whose 
 integrity of soul, (although he was to him,, as 
 yet, but a comparative stranger,) he felt as if he 
 would be committing an actof dishonour to doubt 
 one who, although reserved and unobtrusive, 
 had acquired his esteem so entirely, that he per- 
 severingly sought his friendship until he gained 
 it. This person was Dr. Watson. On his princi 
 ples he had reliance, and in his confidence he 
 felt safe. Many were the pleasant and instruc 
 tive hours these sincere friends passed together 
 in the shade of the tall oaks that skirted the 
 broad rolling Susquehanna. The attachment 
 that existed between Henry and Miss Norwood, 
 was well known to Dr. Watson. There were, 
 indeed, but few people in the village who did 
 not surmise it. Love affairs are mighty matters 
 in small villages; and usually furnish the most 
 frequent and interesting topics of gossip which 
 the uniform tranquillity of rustic seclusion can 
 supply. Henry had not been many weeks a 
 resident at Wyoming before the good natured 
 D 2
 
 42 THE BETROTHED 
 
 villagers had set him down as the destined hus 
 band of Agnes Norwood. In the estimation 
 of all prophetic spirits, it was so suitable, it 
 was so likely, it was so just the thing, that it 
 could not but take place. ^There was only one 
 individual in the settlement that dissented from 
 this arrangement of the good villagers, or felt 
 hostile to its accomplishment. This individual 
 was John Butler. His conviction of their mu 
 tual attachment gnawed at his heart; and every 
 allusion to it, by the gossips of the place, stung 
 him like a scorpion. He, however, was a con 
 summate master of duplicity, and preserved a 
 strict silence on the subject, affecting to occupy 
 his mind with more important concerns. But 
 he had internally vowed that their union never 
 should take place, during his life, without being 
 cemented by blood. 
 
 How different were the feelings of Dr. Wat 
 son! He loved Agnes as passionately, but he 
 loved her more purely, and with a heart so 
 entirely and exclusively devoted to her wel 
 fare, that he ardently wished for her union 
 with the man she preferred, especially since he 
 knew that man to be so eminently qualified to 
 render her happy. Such was the contrast be 
 tween the characters of Henry's rivals the 
 contrast between virtue and vice!
 
 OP WYOMING. 43 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Oppression's iron reign is o'er, 
 
 Our bond's are burst, we're slaves no more. 
 
 Let the triumphant clarion swell 
 
 The glorious news abroad to tell ; 
 
 And let our heartfelt jubilee 
 
 Declare our native land is free. 
 
 Sefton. 
 
 It was a beautiful evening about the middle 
 of July, 1776 Shall I describe it? Nothing 
 would be easier nothing more agreeable. All 
 its features are, at this moment, glowing 
 as vividly in my mind's vision, as ever the 
 charms of the fairest landscape shone in the 
 corporeal eye of a poetical admirer of the glo 
 ries of nature. But summer evenings, under 
 every variety of appearance, have been des 
 cribed so often and so well, that there is nothing 
 left for me to say; and to repeat epithets which, 
 however appropriate and just, have, at this age 
 of literature, become trite and familiar, would 
 be worse than supererogation it would be a 
 useless expenditure of my own time, as well as 
 that of my readers. 
 
 On the evening to which I refer, Henry 
 Austin and Dr. Watson were enjoying the 
 cooling breeze in a favourite retreat among lin 
 den trees, on the bank of the stream of Sharon. 
 The great drama of the times in which all
 
 THE BETROTHED 
 
 the daring spirits of the land were engaged, was 
 the subject of their conversation. 
 
 "I cannot understand," said Henry, "how 
 any American, who has the feelings of a man, 
 can take part with a government that would 
 bind his country in the fetters of arbitrary 
 power; for to lay on imposts at will, is to exer 
 cise such power. Slaves alone can be made 
 the objects of unlimited exaction the bearers 
 of involuntary burthens. The conduct of our 
 tories is, to me, quite inexplicable." 
 
 "The opinions of men," observed his com 
 panion, "even on subjects apparently the least 
 liable to controversy, are so various, that mere 
 difference of sentiment on this great question, 
 does not surprise me. I can imagine and be 
 lieve that even good and intelligent men may 
 feel a conviction that the mother country 
 has just claims to the prerogative she has at 
 tempted to exercise. But that any number of 
 men should be so zealous for such sentiments, 
 as to enforce them by the destruction of their 
 nearest friends, affords, indeed, a theme for 
 astonishment, and implies motives of action 
 which I cannot comprehend. The destructive 
 hostility of men towards each other, for mere 
 difference of opinion, which our country at 
 present too fatally experiences, appears to me 
 the height of criminal infatuation, inexplicable
 
 OF WYOMING. 45 
 
 on any principle of rational sense or natural 
 feeling." 
 
 "If those who have resisted the encroach- 
 ments of British authority," said Henry, " had, 
 in the first instance, denounced all who would 
 not join in that resistance, self-defence would 
 have justified the tories in acting as they have 
 done. But no such denouncement took place. 
 All men were invited to repel the unjust ag 
 gression of Britain, but none were forced to do 
 so and I am aware of no instance of violence 
 exerted by the patriots against any whose dis 
 sentient opinions did not carry them into overt 
 acts of devastation or bloodshed." 
 
 "The moderation and forbearance of the 
 friends of liberty, amidst the most galling pro 
 vocations," answered the Doctor, "are, in truth, 
 worthy of admiration, and augur favourably of 
 their final success. Contrasted with the fero 
 city of the opposite faction, what praise does it; 
 not deserve? But, oh, my friend, if there had 
 been any means of avoiding the unhappy strug 
 gle, without sacrificing the most invaluable 
 rights, how much suffering and sorrow would 
 have been avoided; and what cause would hu 
 manity have had to rejoice! The details you 
 have given me of scenes you have yourself 
 witnessed, and the accounts which we almost 
 daily receive of the events passing in our cities
 
 46 THE BETROTHED 
 
 and populous districts, are truly heart-rending. 
 Would to Heaven that rulers could appreciate 
 the evil effects of, at any time, driving a gal 
 lant people into the resistance of wrongs?" 
 
 " The calamities that overspread the country, 
 and will continue to do so while the contest 
 lasts," said Henry, "are indeed to be deplor 
 ed. But if they are the price at which the 
 liberty of the country is to be purchased, surely 
 no patriotic heart will grudge the payment. 
 The object for which we have chosen to en 
 counter the evils of war is glorious. If we 
 attain it, generations yet unborn will enjoy its 
 benefits, and honour our names, and bless our 
 memories, for the sacrifices we shall make. 
 This is the consummation to which our patriots 
 look forward, as the glorious recompense of 
 their toils, their dangers, and their sufferings." 
 
 "If," said the Doctor, "the great measure 
 of proclaiming our country independent, now 
 in agitation by Congress, were once adopted, I 
 should then less grudge the sacrifices and the 
 miseries that the generous and the brave of the 
 land are destined to undergo. The contest 
 would then have a definite aim to which every 
 eye would be directed. There would be a fixed 
 point, an established and ascertained object, 
 round which every noble heart would rally, 
 and to defend which every valiant arm would
 
 .'jy. OF WYOMING. 47 
 
 be raised. But, at present, the unsettled and 
 undetermined, nay often discordant views of 
 our best patriots, distract their councils, dis 
 concert their measures, and expose their cause 
 and their country to many misfortunes and 
 much distress, from which they might other 
 wise be exempted." 
 
 "There is reason to hope," replied Henry, 
 " that affairs will not remain long in this unset 
 tled condition. Our congress consists of a body 
 of men of as firm, fearless, and patriotic minds, 
 as ever were assembled; and it is confidently 
 believed, that the members are well aware that 
 the salvation of the country depends on the 
 adoption of this great measure. For myself, I 
 have full reliance on their wisdom and integ 
 rity, and have not the slightest apprehension 
 that they will shrink from their duty." 
 
 At that moment the Hermit of the Woods 
 the old man who had conducted Henry and 
 Butler to the rescue of Miss Norwood and her 
 friend stood before them. 
 
 "Rejoice Americans!" said he "You are 
 now a nation. The yoke of the foreigner 
 is broken. The mighty voice has gone forth 
 which every land shall hear with delight, and 
 every tyrant with dismay, that you are FREE 
 AND INDEPENDENT. Arouse all your energies 
 to maintain the glorious privilege, ye men of
 
 4S THE BETROTHED 
 
 the new-born nation, for to do so your lives, 
 your fortunes, and your sacred honour, are 
 pledged in the sight of Heaven and of the 
 world!" 
 
 "Whence is thy intelligence, Rodolph?" 
 asked Dr. Watson. 
 
 "Thou dost not doubt its accuracy? my 
 son," inquired the Hermit. 
 
 "No, I have never heard aught but truth 
 from thy lips," replied the Doctor. "But, to 
 us, thy news is so important and interesting, 
 that to know all its particulars will be grateful 
 to our hearts." 
 
 "Yesterday," said Rodolph "by express 
 from Philadelphia, the tidings reached Allen- 
 town. The blessed Declaration was read in 
 an assembly of the people. I heard the banks 
 of the Lehigh resound with the acclamations of 
 the multitude; and I hastened hither with the 
 joyful intelligence. Here is, in print, a copy 
 of the sacred instrument of your freedom. 
 Make it known to your people. Let them 
 raise the voice of thanksgiving to Heaven; and 
 dedicate, for ever, to jubilee and joy, the birth 
 day of their nation!" 
 
 So saying, he handed to Dr. Watson a print 
 ed copy of the Declaration of Independence, 
 and hastily disappeared. 
 
 The delight with which the patriotic people
 
 OF WYOMING. 49 
 
 of Wyoming received this important intelli 
 gence, was expressed by long and fervent ac 
 clamations, the discharge of fire arms, the pa 
 rading of their little military band, the blazing 
 of bonfires, and other demonstrations of public 
 rejoicing usual in remote villages. The clay 
 following the arrival of the news, Mr. Nor 
 wood invited the people to assemble in his 
 church, where, after reading to them the great 
 charter of their freedom, he addressed them as 
 follows: 
 
 ''My fellow citizens: You have just heard the 
 most important public manifesto that ever was 
 issued. It is the mighty instrument of fran- 
 chisemeht, which delivers one half the world 
 from the thraldom in which it was held by the 
 other for not the present generation alone, 
 hut the innumerable unborn millions who will 
 yet fill this immense hemisphere, are destined 
 to enjoy its incalculable benefits. From the 
 date of this glorious charter, has commenced a 
 change not for us only, but for the human race, 
 which will elevate the humble and the lowly of 
 every clime from the contempt and degrada 
 tion in which they have been held by the pow 
 erful and the proud. The sentiments of libera 
 lity promulgated in this document, will go forth 
 like axioms, and form the political faith that 
 shall regulate the movements of the mightiest 
 E
 
 50 THE BETROTHED 
 
 V 
 
 nations. " All men are born equal," is a truth 
 be/ore the prevalence of which the pretensions 
 of kings and nobles to exclusive privileges and 
 immunities in the social system, will disperse 
 as the shadow flies before the beams of the 
 sun. The right of the people to self-govern 
 ment, and their capacity to exercise it pro 
 perly and to their own advantage, will become 
 recognised as an article of belief which it will 
 be thought absurdity to controvert. In short, man 
 kind shall so deeply venerate this declaration, 
 that it will become the text-book of freedom, 
 the manual of patriotism to all generations. 
 
 " What are its effects on yourselves, since ye 
 have heard the elevating spirit of its senti 
 ments, its bold announcement of your emanci 
 pation? Are you not exalted in your own es 
 timation? Do you not feel as if chains had 
 fallen from your limbs? Do you not, inspired 
 with the dignity of freemen, almost imagine 
 that you breathe the air more freely, and 
 move with greater elasticity? The humility 
 and timidity of serfs have departed from your 
 spirits. But yesterday you felt as if your pa 
 triotism were treason to-day you feel that it 
 is allegiance allegiance to the country of your 
 birth, to the government of your choice, and 
 not to an oppressor in a distant quarter of the
 
 OP WYOMING. 51 
 
 globe, with whom you can have no common 
 interest, and who, for you, can have no fellow 
 feeling. 
 
 " Of the soil on which ye tread, ye are now 
 the paramount lords. Before the date of this 
 instrument you held it but in subjection to a 
 stranger whose counsellors have latterly as 
 sumed the right to exact from you the fruits 
 of your industry without your consent. Your 
 resistance to this injustice was called treason. 
 But traitors you cannot now be, for, thanks to 
 this document, you are no longer su'-'-'N to the 
 foe. You are citizens, free and independent lords 
 of a soil that owns no foreign master. You are, 
 it is true, weak in comparison to your foe. So is 
 the eagle in comparison to the lion, yet it has a 
 spirit equally daring, and in the independence 
 of its nature, acknowledges subjection to no 
 earthly lord. ! my countrymen, may the King 
 of kings, who is now your only sovereign, 
 render you worthy of your new-born rights, 
 and enable you to struggle successfully with 
 the terrible storms you shall have to encoun 
 ter, in defending them. Shrink not in the 
 hour of peril, ye who are now the fathers of a 
 nation! The morning of your existence is tem 
 pestuous and dark; but it will usher in a day 
 of glorious tranquillity, when the fruits of 
 your labours shall diffuse joy over a grateful
 
 52 THE BETKOTHEI 
 
 land, and the blessings of millions shall crown, 
 your memories with immortality." 
 
 This address made a deep impression on its 
 auditors the true patriots became more zealous, 
 the wavering became firm, and many who had 
 hitherto been opposed to the cause of liberty 
 from the dread of committing treason, now 
 conceiving themselves freed from their allegi 
 ance to royalty, unhesitatingly declared their 
 adhesion to the patriotic side. Still, how 
 ever, there were numbers whose attachment to 
 the an^^.cmW of things, rendered them 
 hostile to the great measure now adopted. 
 Many of these had favoured the resistance to 
 British usurpation, but had never desired a se 
 paration from British connexion or release 
 from British authority. The hardened and re 
 solved tories were strengthened by the acces 
 sion of such ; and the bold and irretraceable 
 step which the whigs had now taken, aroused 
 their animosity to an implacable degree, and 
 they became more zealous and active than ever 
 in the warfare which they waged against the 
 friends of liberty. The whole heart and soul 
 of John Butler were secretly with these. Their 
 leaders knew it, and placed entire confidence 
 tn him. With all their machinations and de 
 signs he was made acquainted; and frequently, 
 by his advice and management, he contributed tc
 
 OP WYOMING. 53 
 
 the success of their enterprises. He, however, 
 in public preserved an appearance of attachment 
 to the popular cause. This he did with the 
 double view of serving his own party the more 
 effectually by treachery to the other, and of 
 availing himself of any favourable occurrence 
 that might take place to aggrandize himself by 
 means of the whigs, in which, had he succeed 
 ed, it is doubtful whether his principles might 
 not have accommodated themselves to his in 
 terest. Be this as it may, he, for some months, 
 conducted himself so much to the satisfaction 
 of the people of Wyoming, that their most vi 
 gilant patriots found no cause to make him an 
 object of either disapprobation or suspicion. 
 
 B 2
 
 54 THE BETROTHED 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Since we must part, before this holy siini.- . 
 And in the presence of the Power Divine, 
 Our heart's sincerity our lips shall prove, 
 And swear unchanging faithfulness in love. 
 We'll join our fate* in one for ever now, 
 Bound and betrothal by an eternal vow ! 
 
 Uarley. 
 
 The promulgation of the Declaration of In 
 dependence, although a bold, was an extremely 
 prudent and well-timed measure. Without ite 
 encouraging tendencies, the numerous disasters 
 which befell the American arms during the 
 subsequent five or six months, must have occa 
 sioned the most resolute friends of the popular 
 cause to give it up in despair. After the loss 
 of the great battle of Long Island, a series of 
 defeats reduced the combatants for freedom to 
 the mere skeleton of an ill-supplied and" much- 
 suffering army, harassed and pursued from 
 place to place, by a victorious, numerous, and 
 well-appointed foe. 
 
 This was that period of desponding pros 
 pects which is emphatically said to have tried 
 men's souls. The most sanguine began to 
 despond, and in thebosoms of the timid, hope 
 was extinguished. The noblest cause for which 
 a people ever fought, depended entirely on the
 
 OF WYOMING. 55 
 
 firmness and management of one man, aided 
 by only the remnant of an army of harassed, 
 wearied and worn-out fugitives, so ill-appointed 
 that they had not clothing sufficient to defend 
 them from the severity of an inclement winter. 
 But that man was WASHINGTON, and those fu 
 gitives were THE HEROES OP SEVENTY-SIX, 
 who soon became the conquerors of Trenton 
 and Princeton, and snatched, by their hardy 
 valour, the cause of their country the cause 
 of man from the brink of ruin. Even after 
 these brilliant achievements had shed their 
 cheering influence over the cause, the horizon 
 became again darkened by the disasters of 
 Brandy wine and Germantown, and the coun 
 try's necessities called aloud to her sons for 
 sympathy and succour. 
 
 By none was the call more keenly felt than 
 by Henry Austin; and his ardour at length re 
 ceived the sanction of his father. This ardour 
 was participated by many of the patriotic 
 youth of the settlement; and he was enabled 
 to collect a generous band of about fifty volun 
 teers, who enrolled themselves beneath his 
 command for the purpose of joining the army 
 under Washington. As the day of his depar 
 ture drew near, his patriotism had to contend 
 with the force of a powerful passion which 
 swayed his bosom as strongly as ever it swayed
 
 THE BETROTHED 
 
 the bosom of man. This passion was love 
 love for Agnes Norwood, whose image had 
 become, from the first moment he beheld her, 
 entwined with his very existence. Day and 
 night was she the subject of his meditations. 
 Her charms were the delicious food of his 
 imagination; and he felt as if he could live no 
 where, with satisfaction, but in her presence. 
 And she had long since acknowledged a mu 
 tual love. Many and sweet were the hours of 
 romantic fervour they had passed together since 
 that acknowledgment took place. Their at 
 tachment was sanctioned by their parents. Hen 
 ry appeared to Mr. Norwood just such a hus 
 band as he could wish for his daughter, and 
 Mr. Austin rejoiced in the happy fortune 
 which had gained for his son the affections of a 
 female so fair and so worthy as Agnes Nor 
 wood. For one reason in particular, he re 
 joiced in the circumstance. He hoped that her 
 charms would have sufficient influence to retain 
 him at home, and check his patriotic eagerness 
 to embark in the dangers of war. And, in 
 deed, these charms had been sufficient for this 
 purpose, until Henry heard of the depth of his 
 cointry's misfortunes, and the encreasing 
 gloom which, after the battle of German- 
 town, overshadowed her cause. His sense of 
 duty then came in aid of his patriotism, and
 
 OF WYOMING. 57 
 
 he resolved to make a mighty effort to break 
 the fascinations of love and the enjoyments of 
 home, in order to serve a cause in the success 
 of which he felt so strongly interested. Yet 
 so powerful was his passion, that after he had 
 procured his father's consent to join the army, 
 and had even organized his band of followers. 
 his heart almost failed him, and he became ir 
 resolute in his determination to leave, even but 
 for a season, the dear object of his soul's desire. 
 .While under the influence of this feeling he 
 visited her. He found her in her father's par 
 lour. 
 
 "I come, my Agnes," said he, "to state 
 that your fascinations have conquered. Love 
 has prevailed. Patriotism, duty, desire of 
 glory all, all have yielded to my dread of 
 separating from thee. I have decided to re 
 main with thee. I feel I have done wrong: 
 but, ! for charms like thine, who would not 
 relinquish every thing? If my feelings were 
 known, the severest would forgive my error. " 
 
 "Henry," said she, "what do I hear! 
 Wilt thou refuse thy arm to thy country in her 
 distress? But, perhaps, thou art right: we 
 may be happy here, although liberty should 
 be driven from the land!" 
 
 "What! Agnes," he exclaimed, as if her 
 tone, rather than her words, had caused a for-
 
 58 THE BETROTHED 
 
 gotten feeling to startle his mind, "what say- 
 est thou? Could we be happy as slaves?" 
 
 "Yes; with love like ours, even in slavery 
 we might be happy! But, Henry, self-abase 
 ment, such a mind as thine could not endure." 
 
 "Self-abasement! Agnes? What abasement 
 is there in preferring thy love to all things? In 
 preferring thy society to that of soldiers; thy 
 beauteous presence in this .valley, to the cla 
 mours of a camp?" 
 
 "It is preferring the indulgence of selfish 
 wishes, to the performance of duty. Henry, 
 canst thou not see how that would produce 
 self-abasement?" 
 
 "True, Agnes! I see it." 
 
 " Couldst thou endure the torments of such 
 a degraded feeling?" 
 
 "No, Agnes! I fear not easily. But thy 
 smiles would be my recompense, my relief, 
 my unfailing comfort." 
 
 "But could I smile if thou wert unhappy? 
 Or could I comfort thee, if thou hadst lost thy 
 own esteem?" 
 
 "Ah! I feel thy words, my beloved! Thou 
 art the angel of my protection. My own es 
 teem!- I shall not lose it. I will do my duty. 
 Assist me, Agnes! strengthen me with thy 
 counsel. Enable me to leave thee for a time,
 
 OF WYOMING. 59 
 
 that I may fly to the post of duty, and be wor 
 thy of thy love." 
 
 "When thou shalt do so, Henry, I will es 
 teem thee nay, if possible, I will love thee 
 more than now!" 
 
 He caught her hands rapturously. " Thanks 
 to thee, my only love!" he said, "thou hast 
 saved me from my weakness. Thou shalt es 
 teem, as well as love me. My country needs 
 me. I will do my duty!" 
 
 "'Although ouf separation, Henry, should 
 break my heart, I would not be the means of 
 detaining thee from thy duty. Thy departure 
 to the busy world where thou mayest forget 
 me, or to scenes of danger where thou mayest 
 be slain 0! Henry, such thoughts distract 
 me. Yet yet, thou must go thy country 
 calls, and what is my happiness, or even thine, 
 that we should indulge it at her expense?" 
 
 "Agnes, I could worship thee for such sen 
 timents. I will leave thee for my country's 
 sake. Heaven will protect thee in my absence 
 in recompense of thy virtue. And I too shall 
 win favour from above for the severe sacrifice 
 I now make in obedience to the calls of duty. 
 But forget thee, didst thou say? No, not for a 
 moment, Agnes, shall thy image be absent 
 from my recollection thy loveliness from my
 
 60 THE BETROTHED 
 
 heart. But, my beloved, can \ve not unite be 
 fore my departure? Methinks, I could go 
 with less sorrow and reluctance, could I call 
 thee my own?" 
 
 "Henry, dost thou allude to marriage? 
 We are both young too young, perhaps. But 
 let our fathers decide. Return here at six thij- 
 evening. 1 will reflect on the subject. I will 
 consult my father. Do thou consult thine." 
 
 Henry's father did not approve of his son's 
 marriage under present circumstances. " I 
 confess," he said, "that Miss Norwood is in 
 all respects worthy of you. Your having 
 placed your affections on her affords me great 
 satisfaction. But you are now going on a toil 
 some 'and dangerous pursuit. I should wish 
 you to go single and untrammelled with do 
 mestic cares, so that your new profession may 
 receive your whole devotion, by which means 
 you will be more likely to command success. 
 But should disaster happen to you; should you 
 be wounded or slain, (casualties which, I trust, 
 Heaven will avert,) it will be enough that I and 
 my family be made miserable. Why expose 
 another family to the same hazard of sorrow, 
 by needlessly connecting yourself with it in 
 marriage? Should you marry, you do not pro 
 pose remaining at home to enjoy your wife's 
 society. You would make her your wife to
 
 OF WYOMING. 61 
 
 abandon her after the ceremony, and expose 
 aer to the risk of becoming an early widow. 
 Is this love, or is it selfishness? But you say, 
 you wish only to secure her fidelity? Has she 
 not owned her attachment, and promised con 
 stancy in return for your's? And do you doubt 
 her truth? You cannot. It would be a feeling 
 unworthy of the lover of Miss Norwood." 
 
 Henry was struck with his father's observa 
 tions. He felt that it would be sweet to call 
 Agnes his own. But it would be unjust to 
 expose her as his wife to the distress of any 
 accident that might befall him in the war. 
 True, she loved him, and were he unfortunate 
 ly to fall, even though unmarried to him, she 
 would grieve with a sincere and deep sorrow. 
 But would not that sorrow sooner end in the 
 maid than in the wife? At all events, he- 
 would not at the present, urge the marriage, 
 since his father disapproved of it, unless Mr. 
 Norwood's opinion should be more favourable 
 towards it, which he did not venture to expect. 
 
 Henry judged rightly of Mr. Norwood's 
 opinion. That gentleman, anxiously alive for 
 his daughter's welfare, thought that her mar 
 riage with so young a man on the eve of his 
 departure from the settlement, and on a hazard 
 ous pursuit, would be extremely imprudent. 
 
 ; 'Let a few years roll on," said he to Ag- 
 F
 
 62 THE BETROTHED 
 
 nes. " This tempestuous period will pass by, 
 and happier times may bless the land with 
 peace and freedom and prosperity. Henry 
 and you, my daughter, will be still young 
 enough to engage in the cares of the marriage 
 state, and I shall then be happy in joining your 
 hands and giving you my blessing." 
 
 To her father's opinion Agnes bowed im 
 plicitly. In all that concerned herself, his 
 opinion was her creed, his will was her law. 
 When Henry according to appointment visited 
 her that evening, she stated to him the objec 
 tions made by her father to their marriage 
 under present circumstances. He saw them in 
 their full force, and he admitted them, and for 
 bore to press his suit for immediate happiness; 
 although, when he beheld her loveliness in all 
 its blooming graces before him, he internally 
 deplored the untoward circumstances that with 
 held him, for a time, from the possession of 
 such charms. 
 
 That evening, towards twilight, the lovers 
 walked out together along the banks of the 
 Sharon. It was the eve of Henry's departure. 
 His company of volunteers were assembled in 
 the village, in readiness to march the next 
 morning. Had his marriage, therefore, taken 
 place, short, indeed, must have been his stay 
 with his bride. This consideration, in some
 
 OF WYOMING. 63 
 
 measure, reconciled him to the disappoint 
 ment 
 
 "Oh Agnes," said he, "I was certainly too 
 inconsiderate in the wishes I expressed, for if 
 thou wert made my own, I feel that I could not 
 leave thee, and my duty should be neglected." 
 
 " Indeed," she replied, "I am persuaded 
 
 that tile postponement of our iiuptlo.10, 10 bulll 
 
 prudent and proper. If Providence shall hear 
 my constant prayers, and restore thee to thy 
 friends in more propitious times, our union 
 will then have the sanction of our parents, and 
 the joy of that hour will not be blighted by the 
 grief of separation." 
 
 They had now reached the entrance of the 
 village church. They observed the door partly 
 open. They concluded-that it had been left so 
 by the negligence of some person employed in 
 making repairs inside. They entered the holy 
 place. All was still and silent as the interior 
 of the graves that surrounded it. Who has 
 ever visited a temple of the Divinity, built with 
 hands, when devoid of worshippers, without 
 being impressed with a sensation of the awful 
 solemnity that pervades the sacred edifice. It 
 is a feeling as if we were in the immediate pre 
 sence of the Supreme of all things, surrounded 
 by his ministering angels for we imagine, or,
 
 64 THE BETROTHED 
 
 at least have sensations akin to the imagination, 
 that such a place can never be unoccupied; and 
 since human worshippers are absent, their 
 place must be filled and their functions per 
 formed, by invisible intelligences of a higher 
 and more holy order. 
 
 The lovers felt, that if they were not sur- 
 
 juurn-l-eti l>y eitcK int-elligc-ncco, tVlOV WCTC altO- 
 
 gether without witnesses of their fervent ex 
 pressions of mutual fondness and never-ending 
 constancy. 
 
 " Oh! my beloved," said Henry, " it is not 
 any fickleness of thy mind I dread; for I be 
 lieve that, thou art all truth and sincerity. But 
 events may occur in my absence severely .to 
 try thy faith. Forgive me, therefore, if I wish 
 ;t secured by some solemn vow. Become my be 
 trothed plight thyself to me within this solemn 
 shrine of God, and before that holy place from 
 whence thy father's lips have so often pour 
 ed forth pious instruction, and promulgated 
 the obligations of our holy faith. In the name 
 of love, and for the sake of my peace of mind 
 when I shall be afar, off, let me entreat thee, to 
 kneel with me in this sacred temple, where it 
 may be long before we again meet, and, in the 
 awful presence of HIM to whom the place is 
 consecrated, let us pledge to each other un 
 wavering faith, and eternal love let us swear
 
 OP WYOMING. 65 
 
 that in wedlock neither of us shall ever pledge 
 our vows to any other." 
 
 They knelt, they caught each other's right 
 hands, and before God and his angels, they 
 swore the oath of betrothment, and sealed it 
 with a fervent kiss. That moment a voice 
 suddenly but sweetly said, " Heaven has re 
 gistered that vow. Oh! ye BETROTHED! let it 
 never be broken!" 
 
 The lovers started to their feet in confusion; 
 but conscious of no sin, they felt no alarm. 
 They looked round, and beheld standing be 
 hind them the " Hermit of the Woods." 
 
 "Pardon my intrusion," said he, "it was 
 not intentional. The door was open. 'I en 
 tered. I approached too near before I per 
 ceived you, to withdraw without disturbing 
 you. I, therefore, remained silent till your 
 vows were passed, when I thought it better to 
 discover myself than run the hazard of being 
 discovered by you. I have long known your 
 loves. I have now witnessed your betroth 
 ment but fear nothing. I am your friend. 
 and your secret is safe." 
 
 " Good Rodolph," said Henry, "we know 
 you are our friend we have effectually expe 
 rienced your friendship. What you have seen 
 and heard, you were sent by Heaven to wit 
 ness. We, therefore, murmur not at your 
 F 2
 
 66 THE BETROTHED 
 
 presence. But in this holy place and sanctified 
 moment, we crave thy blessing." 
 
 " May the great Being who rules above, and 
 who is worshipped here, bless you, my chil 
 dren. May he watch over you when far 
 asunder, and in other days bring you together, 
 that you may redeem the vows you have pledged 
 this evening, and under happy auspices, fulfil 
 your Betrothment!" He said and departed.
 
 
 
 I 
 
 OF WYOMING. 67 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid. 
 
 Some banished lover, or some captive maid ; 
 
 They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspire*. 
 
 Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires. 
 
 The virgin's wish without her fears impart, 
 
 Excuse the blush and pour forth all the heart, 
 
 Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, 
 
 And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole. . 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Whoever has witnessed the departure from 
 a small village, upon a distant enterprise of 
 importance and danger, of a band of soldiers 
 endeared to the inhabitants by long residence 
 and ties of affinity, must have been moved by 
 the many spontaneous effusions of sincere af 
 fection; the tears, the embraces, the tender ex 
 hortations, the blessings, and the heart- warm 
 prayers for the protection of Heaven, which 
 are fervently reciprocated by friends, relatives 
 and lovers, now parting, many of them to meet 
 no more. This is the revealing hour of attach 
 ment. Emotions of love which were hitherto con 
 cealed, now break forth, and show themselves 
 freely, though, perhaps timidly, before the face 
 of day. A degree of license is permitted to the 
 public outpourings of the heart on such occa 
 sions, which on others would be considered un 
 seemly or indecorous. It is not the parting em- 
 
 1
 
 THE BETROTHED 
 
 braces and sorrows of parents and children, or 
 sisters and brothers, that are now alone tolerated 
 by the sympathizing feelings of the public; the 
 bursting forth of the grief of young and bash 
 ful lovers is viewed as neither misplaced nor 
 unbecoming. The hearts of all are softened, 
 and enter fully into the pathetic spirit of the 
 scene; and partake so much of its tenderness 
 as. to comprehend and value the kindly influ 
 ence from which it flows. 
 
 Such a scene, in all its variety of feelings, 
 and intensity of emotions, was, much to his 
 chagrin, witnessed by John Butler, the royalist, 
 on the day that Henry Austin and his brave 
 band of patriotic volunteers^ departed from 
 Wyoming to join the encampment at Valley 
 Forge. Yet Butler rejoiced at the departure 
 of these men. It removed to a distance many 
 of his enemies, and diminished the strength of 
 the whig interest in the settlement. He was 
 only chagrined to see how much they were 
 beloved; and if a wish of his could have anni 
 hilated these patriotic soldiers and those who 
 lavished on them their parting caresses, that 
 wish would have gone forth with the joyous 
 energy of malignant triumph. He still wore 
 the cloak of patriotism; but the time had come 
 when he gave up the intention of wearing it 
 much longer. He had tried popularity for many 

 
 OF WYOMING. CD 
 
 months, but it had gained him no confidence; 
 it had procured him no public trust, no official 
 emolument. He now saw reasons for permit 
 ting the current of his affections to revert into 
 their former channel. It reverted, however, 
 secretly. It did not yet suit his views to 
 change his outward professions or his observa 
 ble conduct. Hypocrisy was, for some time 
 yet, his surest game, and he played it admira 
 bly. The leaders of the people were deceived. 
 It was, therefore, easy to dupe the people 
 themselves. But he deceived them no longer 
 for office. That object he saw was hopeless. 
 He deceived them for his own safety and their 
 ruin. 
 
 At this period, many families fled from the 
 populous districts that were the seats of the 
 war, to seek repose and safety in more remote 
 settlements. The settlement of Wyoming of 
 fered abundant attractions to these. Accord 
 ingly, both whigs and tories flocked there in 
 considerable numbers. But of these new 
 comers, the tories were by far the most nu 
 merous. Their continuance in the war-haunt 
 ed districts where their opponents had obtained 
 all authority, was neither pleasant nor safe. It 
 is true, the authorities, as well as the majority 
 of the people of Wyoming, opposed them in 
 politics, and disliked their turbulence, But they
 
 70 THE BETROTHED 
 
 were a people generous and hospitable, and 
 many of them connected with the fugitives, or 
 as they were more courteously termed, the re 
 fugees, by the ties of relationship. The latter, 
 therefore, by the most solemn pledges of peace 
 able intentions, gained the good will, and se 
 cured the protection of the deceived and kind- 
 hearted inhabitants of the district, who believ 
 ed that they had admitted among them men 
 who sincerely regretted their past errors, and 
 were resolved by their future conduct, to atone 
 for them. A few were sincere, and remained 
 faithful to their pledge; but fear alone induced 
 the majority to feign a repentance which they 
 did not feel. Their feelings and opinions were 
 not changed. But the deceived people could 
 not see the heart. They believed the profes 
 sions which they heard, and gave credit for 
 the decorum they beheld. That which was 
 produced by expediency, they mistook for 
 the result of conviction. The traitors were 
 forgiven, received as friends, and treated with 
 affection by the virtuous and unsuspecting peo 
 ple of Wyoming, whom they waited only for 
 a fitting opportunity to destroy. 
 
 Many even of the latter character would, no 
 doubt, have remained tranquil, and perhaps 
 gradually abandoned their unpatriotic and dan 
 gerous sentiments, but for the machinations of
 
 OF WYOMING. 71 
 
 Butler, who, .like the evil genius of the place, 
 would permit neither tranquillity, confidence, 
 nor amity to remain long therein. War and 
 destruction were the elements in which he de 
 lighted to move. To enjoy the revelry of 
 bloodshed, he scrupled not to sacrifice both the 
 obligations of kindred and the ties of gratitude. 
 He had in his advances to popularity, among 
 the whigs, met with repulses sufficient to con 
 vince him of the fruitlessness of pursuing ag 
 grandizement in that direction. The encreas- 
 ing numbers of the refugee tories that now 
 sought safety in the settlement, and looked up 
 to him as their head, induced him secretly to 
 abandon all desire of connexion with the 
 whigs, and to throw himself entirely into the 
 arms of the party to which, from feeling and 
 habit, he had long been attached. 
 
 Since the departure of Henry Austin, he had 
 made several overtures to Miss Norwood. She 
 had been long acquainted with his passion for 
 her. Master of duplicity as he was, he had 
 not even been able entirely to prevent Henry 
 from suspecting it. But Henry had never 
 breathed his suspicion to Agnes, nor she hers 
 to him. He felt too confident of the firmness 
 with which he was rooted in her affection, to 
 fear being supplanted by Butler or any other 
 rival; and he had the delicacy not to hurt her
 
 72 THE BETROTHED 
 
 ieelings by alluding to the possibility of such 
 an occurrence. Butler's engagement with his 
 sister he had long wished to see dissolved; for 
 he now knew enough of the man to be assured 
 that he was not calculated to make her happy. 
 His surmise that his affections were transferred 
 to Agnes, led him to hope that the intended 
 union of such a man with so near and dear a 
 relative as his sister, never would take place. 
 Yet he grieved for the affliction which the dis 
 appointment would bring upon Isabella. She 
 had unfortunately fixed her affections upon an 
 unworthy object, and was, therefore, doomed 
 to the misery of a sorrowing heart, whether 
 she became united to him or not. In the one 
 case, however, the sorrow might be transitory 
 the hand of time and the force of reflection 
 would at least weaken, if they did not entirely 
 obliterate its impression. In the other, there- 
 could be no hope of this. An indissoluble 
 bond would unite her destiny to that of a 
 villain, and permanent wretchedness could not 
 but ensue. On his sister's account, therefore, 
 the change in the affections of Butler afforded 
 Henry satisfaction sufficient to atone for any 
 uneasiness he might feel on account of Agnes 
 being the object of the new flame of the de 
 ceitful royalist. In the fidelity of Agnes to 
 himself he had full confidence. The rivalship
 
 OF WYOMING. 73 
 
 of Butler he therefore treated with contempt; 
 and he left Wyoming without giving him to 
 understand, by any indication whatever, that he 
 suspected its existence. When at a distance, 
 however, from the object of his love, he soon, 
 began to have unpleasant feelings on the sub 
 ject. He recollected that in his absence, But 
 ler might have the boldness to make an express 
 declaration of his passion; and although it was 
 impossible that Agnes could be induced to en 
 courage his pretensions, she might be subjected 
 to his importunities, and even but it was an 
 idea he wished not to entertain in the event 
 of disturbance in the settlement, to his vio 
 lence. In his correspondence with her for 
 he found frequent opportunities of forwarding 
 letters to his friends he never alluded to his 
 fear on this subject, lest he might give her un 
 necessary uneasiness. But to Dr. Watson he 
 poured them forth without reserve. 
 
 " There is one great cause of uneasiness un 
 der which I suffer," said he, in a letter to the 
 Doctor, written in the spring of 1778, " that I 
 have as yet communicated to no one. For 
 some months before I left Wyoming, I was 
 haunted with a suspicion that Butler loved 
 Agnes. It is needless to detail the circum 
 stances that gave birth to that suspicion. I 
 shall only say that they were numerous and. 
 a
 
 74 THE BETROTHED 
 
 forcible. You are aware of his engagements 
 with my sister. Because I had a bad opinion 
 of the man, any thing that inspired a hope that 
 those engagements would not be fulfilled, af 
 forded .me pleasure. His passion for Agnes 
 did not much alarm me, while I was in her 
 vicinity. I knew that she would be faithful 
 to me, and I feared not his rivalship. Neither 
 did I then fear that she would be subjected to 
 any inconveniences from his importunities, or 
 danger from his violence. The one she would 
 repel, and the other he dared not attempt. 
 The circumstances of the parties and the af 
 fairs of the settlement sanctioned this conclu 
 sion. She was under the protection of her 
 father, of her lover, of her friends, of the 
 whole population of the village, by whom she 
 was beloved while he a refugee without 
 power, without influence, without character, 
 could not without ruin to himself, attempt any 
 thing against her peace. 
 
 " But, my friend, I am now separated from 
 her by an extensive and almost pathless wil 
 derness. I know not what may be the pos 
 ture of public affairs at Wyoming. The sa 
 vages are your neighbours, and they are far 
 from being friendly to our cause; and tories 
 are numerous even in the midst of your popu 
 lation. I cannot forget that Butler was a tory ;
 
 OF WYOMING. 75 
 
 nay, I have good grounds for believing he is 
 still one in his heart. Should any interruption 
 of your tranquillity take place, I tremble to 
 think of what may be his conduct. He hates 
 my sister. Might he not avail himself of some 
 Indian irruption to destroy her to destroy 
 perhaps my aged parent? And then his pas 
 sion for Agnes might he not employ the 
 marauders to bear her off to some distant con 
 cealment, where she would be completely in 
 his power? 
 
 " It is the possibility of evils like these that 
 cause my uneasiness. Will you say that my 
 apprehensions are fanciful? Heaven grant that 
 they may be so! But incidents have come 'to 
 my knowledge, that impart to them a greater 
 strength than they could ever derive from 
 mere fancy. Has Butler been absent of late, 
 for any length of time, from your village? If 
 he has, there is treachery on foot; and my fears 
 are not without foundation. Let all his move 
 ments be watched with the closest vigilance, 
 and you may possibly detect and frustrate his 
 designs. Hear the reasons for my alarm, and 
 the cautions I give you. I suspect he has been, 
 within these few weeks, in Philadelphia, ar 
 ranging with General Howe the plan of some 
 military movement, doubtless on the frontiers. 
 One of my corps, who is now a prisoner in the
 
 76 THE BETROTHED 
 
 city, has found means to inform me, that he is 
 persuaded he saw this restless and deceitful 
 man, in a disguised habit, at General Howe's 
 quarters. What should he be doing there, if 
 he is, as he professes, our friend? And why 
 disguised, unless engaged in some treacherous 
 design, which he fears may be discovered by 
 some of our friends in the city. But he may, 
 I admit, be wrongfully accused. My inform 
 ant may have been mistaken in his identity. 
 You will, on the spot, be best able to judge. I 
 would not have him accused if he is innocent. 
 It would be impolitic, as well as unjust. It 
 would excite his revenge and arm his adherents 
 against us. He is now, perhaps, at least neu 
 tral; and it is better to keep him so than arouse 
 against our cause one so capable of doing mis 
 chief. 
 
 " I do not know whether it would be proper 
 to acquaint Agnes with my fears. It would 
 alarm her, perhaps needlessly. Your discre 
 tion will decide this point. Alas! my friend, 
 if I were to describe the full extent of my 
 gloomy forebodings, you would imagine that I 
 had lost all moral courage, and become totally 
 unfit for the duties of a soldier. Yet it is not 
 so. The contrariety of my feelings is, indeed, 
 strange, but not unaccountable. I feel that I 
 am not a coward, and yet I am a prey to in-
 
 
 OF WYOMING. 77 
 
 tense fears of a certain description. I could 
 with alacrity go out, at any moment, to meet 
 the enemy in battle array. It is not for my 
 self I fear. It is for one dearer than myself. 
 Oh, if you have ever felt the power of an ab 
 sorbing love like mine, you will be able to un 
 derstand my feelings; to account for my in 
 consistency perhaps you will call it my weak 
 ness. Yet be assured that this passion, potent 
 as it is, is still kept in subserviency to my duty. 
 My duty requires me to be here to act 
 against the enemies of my country; but my 
 affections are in Wyoming, wound round the 
 form of the loveliest and sweetest of earthly 
 beings. But I become rhapsodical, forgetting 
 that you may not be lover enough to relish my 
 flights of romantic passion. I will conclude 
 by imploring you to watch over the s$fety of 
 my BETROTHED, and to be alive to th&kinfor- 
 mation I have given you in relation to Butler." 
 
 The following letter Henry forwarded at the 
 same time with the foregoing, to Agnes: 
 
 "My dearest love You can scarcely imagine 
 the gratification which an opportunity of wri 
 ting to you affords me. The most rapturous 
 moments of my existence have been spent in 
 pouring forth in your presence, the language 
 of love that told the emotions of my heart; 
 and in listening to the sweet tone of approval 
 G 2
 
 78 THE BETROTHED 
 
 with which you answered me. We are new 
 far asunder more than a hundred miles of an 
 almost impenetrable forest separate us. Yet 
 do I pant as strongly as ever for that sweet 
 communion of souls, that interchange of de 
 voted affections once so ardently expressed by 
 every look and every tone which then render 
 ed us so happy. Yes, in such moments my 
 bliss was great, and but for the sake of my suf 
 fering country, I never should have withdrawn 
 from the endeared scenes where I enjoyed it. 
 Reflecting upon them, and meditating on 
 your perfections, are substitutes for those happy 
 moments which I often enjoy. But writing to 
 you is still a more rapturous employment. An 
 opportunity for it occurs more rarely than for 
 meditation, and it approaches in its nature 
 more nearly to conversation. It imparts the 
 pleasing feeling that the sentiments I commit to 
 the paper shall be conveyed to you; that you 
 will ponder on them; that they will be cherish 
 ed by you, and that you will derive from them 
 a gratification similar to what I experienced in 
 writing them. Such are the enjoyments of-letter- 
 writing to separated lovers. Oh ! my Betroth 
 ed! for my sake indulge in it frequently, that I 
 may frequently behold the words which your 
 own hand wrote, the sentiments which your 
 own heart conceived, and the assurances which
 
 OF WYOMING. 79 
 
 shall speak the unwavering fidelity of thy af 
 fection. Do not mistake me. I doubt not thy 
 affection, my Agnes. I would as soon doubt 
 the existence of the sun on which I daily ga/e. 
 Yet I would beg from you frequent assurances 
 of thy love, because of the delight they afford 
 me. Oh! with what luxury could I dwell on 
 the dear lines that should contain those assu 
 rances. Save hearing thy lips pronounce them, 
 earth could afford no enjoyment so sweet. 
 
 "Let then thy letters convey to me that which 
 thou knowest will be my best solace for thy 
 absence the assurance of thy welfare, and the 
 whole fervour of thy love. Without reserve 
 Oh! Agnes! without reserve, surely, thou 
 wilt express all the ardour of thy affection, all 
 the devotedness of thy heart all thy fondness, 
 and all thy wishes for me. I am, my love, 
 covetous of every thought that passes through 
 thy mind. I would not have the slightest 
 emotion of thy soul unknown to me; nor 
 would I conceal from thee the least sensation 
 of mine. Would to Heaven that separated 
 lovers had some more perfect and expeditious 
 means of interchanging sentiments and feelings, 
 than by letters. Then should we,even at this dis 
 tance, be made happy by the intermingling of 
 thoughts and sensations. I should then less regret 
 the necessity which keeps us asunder; and endure
 
 SO THE BETROTHED 
 
 wiiii more patience, the absence from thee to 
 which I am doomed. 
 
 " Yes, Agnes, attached as I am to the right 
 eous cause in which I am embarked, I acknow 
 ledge I suffer much from my impatient desires 
 again to be with thee to hearken to the tones 
 of thy sweet voice to gaze upon thy beauty 
 thy unrivalled beauty! Agnes, at this mo 
 ment, thy picture is placed before me thy 
 bright eyes so full of fondness thy sweet 
 lips surrounded with smiles the innumerable, 
 nameless, and matchless charms of thy Avholc 
 countenance! 'Ah!' I may well exclaim, 
 < among the daughters of men who is like unto 
 thee, my beloved!' No wonder my fancy is 
 inflamed, andmy heart enraptured, when I me 
 ditate on thee. And art thou to be my own ! 
 Hast thou sworn it, my betrothed? Shall I 
 yet be the master of such boundless happiness 
 such intoxicating charms? My soul is kin 
 dled with the idea. My imagination flies to 
 the haunts of Wyoming. I embrace thee I 
 am happy thou art my all the world, and all 
 its interests, ties and connexions are forgotten. 
 What are they to me when thou art mine! 
 This is the potency of love which I delight to 
 obey! Oh! Agnes! that such a reverie might 
 last for ever! that no wordly interruption 
 should remind me that my joys are but visionary
 
 OF WYOMING. 81 
 
 that no trumpet's sound, nor sentinel's gun, 
 should disperse the dear illusion, and tell me 
 that I am in the midst of a camp, enchained 
 there by a soldier's and a patriot's duty, whilst 
 thou art far distant amidst sylvan wilds on the 
 frontiers of civilization! 
 
 " But I will have fortitude I will endure 
 our separation on account of my country, until 
 she shall no longer need my service. Thou 
 wilt love me the more for the sacrifice. Oh! 
 write to me that thou wilt. It will strengthen 
 my resolution; and from the exhortations of 
 love I shall draw inducements to patriotism, 
 and acquire a spirit of perseverance in duty, 
 which will in the end afford me matter of self- 
 satisfaction and joy."
 
 THE BETROTHED 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 I know that there are angry spirits 
 And turbulent mutterers of stifled treason, 
 Who lurk in narrow places, and walk out 
 Muffled to whisper curses to the night ; 
 Disbanded soldiers, discontended ruffians, 
 And desperate libertines who brawl in taverns. 
 
 Byron, 
 
 Several weeks after writing the Foregoing let 
 ters, Henry received the following from Dr. 
 Watson. 
 
 " Your information concerning Butler was 
 well-timed. It aroused our vigilance and led 
 to the detection of his villany. A deep and 
 nefarious conspiracy was formed against our 
 settlement, in which hundreds of our tory 
 neighbours were implicated. Many of them, 
 among whom is Butler, have fled, and some 
 are in prison. The latter, it is believed, for 
 better security, will be sent to Reading. The 
 bearer of this, carries despatches from our 
 council to your General, detailing our present 
 perilous condition, and requesting succour, 
 which, I trust, we shall receive in time for 
 our protection. 
 
 "On receiving your letter, my first impulse 
 was to lay it before our council. But as 
 you had expressed yourself doubtfully in rela-
 
 OF WYOMING. 83 
 
 tion to the guilt of Butler, and seemed desirous 
 that I should watch rather than accuse him, I 
 resolved to do so, for I felt unwilling to involve 
 into a trouble a man who might eventually be 
 innocent. There is an individual in our settle 
 ment in whom I have long placed a greater de 
 gree of confidence than is known to any one be 
 sides ourselves. I have entrusted him with se 
 crets which I never entrusted to another, and 
 have, in consequence, derived from him consola 
 tion none else could afford. This man is of wan 
 dering habits; but wise, intelligent and venera 
 ble. He is respected by all the people through 
 out the settlements. Even the Indians, whom 
 he often visits, and with whose language he is 
 familiar, esteem him much, and on affairs of 
 intricacy consult him often. You will by 
 this time have perceived that I mean Rodolph, 
 the Hermit of the Woods. 
 
 " Rodolph had himself observed some move 
 ments among the tories, and especially among 
 the New England refugees, over whom Butler 
 possesses great influence. Many of them had 
 lately visited the Mohawk Indians, a tribe 
 with which Rodolph is well acquainted. They, 
 in consequence, as he supposes, have held pub 
 lic councils, and seem to be preparing for some 
 enterprise. But the circumstance most con 
 vincing of Butler being connected with these
 
 84 THE BETROTHED 
 
 movements, is his having been absent for near 
 ly four weeks, about the time when you state 
 that he was suspected to be in Philadelphia. 
 We concluded, therefore, that your friend was 
 under no mistake respecting him; and we look 
 ed upon him not only as connected with the 
 treason which you suspected, but as the arch- 
 traitor and chief contriver of the whole. 
 
 " Still we kept our suspicions from the public 
 ear. No one had as yet done any thing to 
 warrant his arrest; and by remaining in a state 
 of apparent security and indifference, we might 
 tempt the conspirators into some indiscretion 
 which would enable us to discover and baffle 
 their designs. 
 
 " Rodolph's political sentiments are not very 
 generally known. Until the agitations of the 
 times began to embroil the affairs of this dis- 
 strict, he, perhaps, felt but little interest in 
 them; and, although he wandered much among 
 the valleys, he was never very communicative 
 with the inhabitants. His manners are re 
 served, mild, and meditative, and obnoxious to 
 no party. The whiggish inclination of his 
 opinions, therefore, is known to only a few 
 of his select friends. The tories know no 
 thing of them. On perusing your letter, he 
 availed himself of this circumstance to deceive 
 them for the public good. He resolves to act
 
 OF WYOMING. 85 
 
 the dangerous part of a spy on their conduct, 
 for which purpose he feigned an approbation 
 of their sentiments, and a preference for their 
 cause. 
 
 "By this means he became acquainted with 
 the intrigues that were now actively going for 
 ward among the refugees, and soon discovered 
 that the principal mover was Butler. I nou- 
 determined to put our rulers on their guard. 
 I had no longer any cause for hesitation. He 
 whom I should accuse, I could prove to be 
 guilty. Still there was an obstacle in the way. 
 The near kinsman of the traitor, you know, is 
 at the head of our local government. He is 
 a worthy man, and one in whom the whigs 
 justly repose confidence. He had been hos 
 pitable and kind to his deceitful relative, and 
 had taken him under his protection, in the con 
 viction of his conversion to the cause of the 
 country being sincere. To inform such a man 
 that his cousin and protogee was a traitor, 
 would, to say the least of it, be to inflict a 
 pang of no ordinary kind upon his feelings. 
 And would not the governor's friendship for 
 the accused naturally cause him to hesitate giv 
 ing credence to the accusation? I feared not 
 the latter. I had confidence in the governor's 
 patriotism and integrity, and I had proofs suf 
 ficient to produce conviction on his mind. As 
 
 H
 
 86 THE BETROTHED 
 
 for giving him pain, that was too trifling a con 
 sideration not to fade away before the impor 
 tance of the revelations I was to make. I 
 therefore hastened to him. I made the revela 
 tions. He was astonished^ for the professions 
 of his kinsman had completely deceived him. 
 He was grieved; for he had cherished an affec 
 tion for the traitor, and was also on terms of 
 intimacy with many others involved in the 
 treason. 
 
 "Rodolph had discovered that an assemblage 
 of the tories was to take place in a few days in 
 an obscure valley, called the Hemlock Glade, 
 some miles to the westward of our village. 
 Several of the leading whigs were immediately 
 summoned to the governor's house. The par 
 ticulars of the information were laid before 
 them, and their opinions asked as to the mea 
 sures it would be most advisable to pursue. 
 After some deliberation, it was agreed that the 
 information should be kept secret, lest alarm 
 might be given to the tories, and theirassembling 
 prevented for, it was considered, that the act 
 of their aiiembling would be such manifest proof 
 of their treasonable designs, as would reconcile 
 their best friends to the necessity and justice 
 of their punishment. In the mean time it was 
 proposed that an armed force, sufficient to over 
 power them, should be collected as secretly as 

 
 OP WFOMING. 87 
 
 possible, by which their meeting might be sur 
 prised, themselves carried to prison, and all 
 their machinations frustrated and their power 
 of doing mischief destroyed at one blow. This 
 plan had also another essential advantage. It 
 would furnish sufficient evidence of the guilt 
 of the culprits, without obliging the authorities 
 to expose the individual from whom the infor 
 mation originated. Such exposure was, if pos 
 sible, to be avoided, as it would incapacitate 
 him from afterwards serving the patriotic cause 
 in the character of a spy." 
 
 Thus far the epistle of Dr. Watson has an 
 swered the purpose of our narrative. The re 
 mainder having by some accident been destroy 
 ed, the story must proceed without its aid. By 
 industrious research the writer has obtained a 
 sufficient acquaintance with the facts, to be able 
 to relate them accurately enough without the 
 aid of any written document. 
 
 The measures mentioned by the Doctor hav 
 ing been agreed to, a young and spirited officer 
 of the militia of the district, named Dennison, 
 undertook to have a sufficient armed force in 
 readiness for the service. In the valley ap 
 pointed for the meeting of the tories, there 
 was a small log house belonging to one of their 
 faction. About noon, on the appointed day, 
 around this rustic building, the conspirators
 
 
 ^HmK : ' 
 S8 THE BETROTHED 
 
 began to assemble, and until about two o'clock 
 continued to increase in number, without pro 
 ceeding to business. Butler, Brandt, land 
 Aranooko, the Sachem of the Mohawks, were 
 early on the scene. In conformity with the 
 custom of modern and fashionable historians, 
 we shall stop the progress of the story for a 
 short time, in order to give a brief sketch of 
 these three distinguished personages. Though 
 this may communicate no important informa 
 tion, it may satisfy the curiosity of the reader, 
 and, if so, will not be writing in vain. 
 
 Butler possessed a good figure; and, in his 
 pleasant moods, a handsome countenance. But 
 in his moments of gloom and resentment he 
 betrayed the looks of a ruffian, and in his pe 
 riods of wrath the scowl of a demon. On 
 such occasions the contracted brows, the flushed 
 cheeks, the clenched teeth, the quivering lips, 
 and the eyes flashing fire like burning mirrors, 
 denoted the hellish fury of his mind, and if he 
 did not become loathsome, he became terrify 
 ing. But his most furious fits could be con 
 trolled by his hypocrisy where his interest re 
 quired it. A moment's reflection would replace 
 him on his guard, and restore to him a placidity 
 yet an expressiveness of countenance, which at 
 once indicated great knowledge of the world, 
 and ability to deceive it. But having spoken
 
 OF WYOMING. 89 
 
 of his appearance and character in a preceding 
 part of our narrative, it is unncessary to en 
 large upon it here. 
 
 The ferocity of Brandt, his courage, his ac 
 tivity and robust strength, are well known to 
 the readers of history, which has abundantly 
 exposed to an indignant world, the sanguinary 
 and vengeful disposition of this most daring of 
 savages. His hatred of the whites is said to 
 have been of a more embittered character than 
 was usual even among the Indians. This is the 
 more remarkable, as he himself was but a half- 
 Indian, his father having been a white man, of 
 German descent, who on occasion of some disgust 
 which he had imbibed against civilized society, 
 took up his residence among the Indians. The 
 collisions with the frontier settlers into which 
 the restless and enterprising disposition of 
 Brandt had frequently brought him, and in 
 which he had met with many repulses, no 
 doubt tended much to irritate his feelings, and 
 arouse that animosity against the whites which 
 was the reigning passion of his soul. 
 
 The Sachem, Aranooko, was an Indian of a 
 dignified figure, somewhat advanced in years, 
 but still athletic and healthful. He was ac 
 tuated with all the antipathy natural to the 
 aborigines against the despoilers of their race; 
 yet he was averse to useless and wanton war- 
 H 2 

 
 90 THE BETROTHED 
 
 fare upon them. He was unlike Brandt in the 
 circumstance, that the destruction of white men 
 of itself, unattended with any advantage to the 
 Indian cause, afforded him no pleasure. At 
 least, like a prudent father of his people, he 
 was unwilling to plunge them into the horrors 
 of war, when it afforded no prospect of a suc 
 cessful issue, merely from vengeful motives. 
 He possessed neither the unbounded ferocity 
 nor reckless hardihood of Brandt yet he was 
 greatly under the influence of that mongrel 
 savage; and it was chiefly by his persuasions 
 that he had been induced to join the present 
 confederacy against the inhabitants of Wyo 
 ming.
 
 OF WYOMING. 91 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A fairer person lost not heaven; he seemed 
 
 For dignity composed, and high exploit: 
 
 Hut all was false and hollow; though his tongue 
 
 Dropt manna, and would make the worse appear 
 
 The better reason. Milton. 
 
 Brandt and Aranooka sat on a bench in the 
 chief apartment of the log-cottage already men 
 tioned, waiting with dignified gravity, and in 
 meditative silence, the full assemblage of the 
 tories, whose number was every moment in 
 creasing by fresh accessions from various parts 
 of the district. Five or six other savages sat 
 near them. The two chiefs were drest in a 
 very showy and rather imposing costume. Their 
 vestments of scarlet flannel, wide in the sleeves, 
 and tied closely round the body, were orna 
 mented in front, by an intertexture of porcu 
 pine's quills and the down of various coloured 
 birds, wrought into curious devices. These, 
 together with their leggings of deer skin their 
 mockasins of buffalo hide and, above all, their 
 head dresses adorned with feathers of the flam 
 ingo and the eagle, presented to the eye a wild 
 but rich and picturesque appearance. The 
 dignified composure of these rude sons of the
 
 
 D2 T%E BETROTHED 
 
 forest was well contrasted with the noisy rest 
 lessness of the tories who filled the apartment, 
 and were often disputatious and clamorous, and 
 sometimes even indecorous in their conversa 
 tion and conduct. Ardent spirits, furnished 
 for payment by the owner of the cabin, were 
 used freely by the whites. But Aranooko and 
 his companions refused to taste any until the 
 business for which they had met, should be 
 transacted. 
 
 Such was the state of matters within doors. 
 before the hour appointed for the transaction 
 of business arrived. Without, a promiscupus 
 assemblage. of several hundred men, indulged 
 themselves in military exercises, or in discuss 
 ing the merits and prospects of their enterprise, 
 or in feats of strength and other amusements, 
 as whim or inclination suggested. At length. 
 twelve o'clock being announced, Butler mount 
 ed on an elevated platform outside the door, 
 and requested the attention of the assembly, 
 which he addressed as follows: 
 
 " Friends and fellow subjects, I now beg 
 leave to state the object of calling you together 
 on the present occasion. But first let me ob 
 serve, that I hope there is no one here who is 
 not truly and zealously faithful to the cause in 
 which we are embarked, namely, resistance to 
 the unnatural and bloody rebellion now raging
 
 
 OF WYOMING. 93 
 
 . 
 
 throughout this unhappy land. Remember, 
 my friends, that \ve have been born subjects to 
 the kind and beneficent monarch who, at pre 
 sent, sits on 'the throne of Britain. Britain, 
 that noble and illustrious isle, whose arts, and 
 arms, and literature have shed a glorious radi 
 ance over the whole world, in which we, as 
 her children, largely partake; and of which, if 
 we were actuated by a proper sense of duty 
 and gratitude for the benefits she has, by her 
 fostering and protecting care, conferred upon 
 us, we should be proud. Unhappily, a large 
 portion of our countrymen have shown that 
 they are not actuated by such generous motives. 
 Stimulated by pride or selfishness, or misled 
 by the sophistry and cant of turbulent orators, 
 the great mass of our people have abandoned 
 the path of duty, broken the ties of gratitude, 
 set at nought their allegiance, and rushed into 
 a wild, sanguinary, and desperate rebellion, 
 which has already brought destruction on thou 
 sands, and must terminante in the absolute ruin 
 of their audacious and ambitious schemes. 
 
 "My friends, I am, in truth, amazed and griev 
 ed when I think on the state into which the affairs 
 of these colonies, so lately blooming in peace and 
 prosperity, are now plunged. I could scarcely 
 imagine, did notwoful experience convince me 
 of the fact, that such a degree of turpitude as is
 
 94 THE BETROTHED 
 
 sufficient to produce the present direful crisis, 
 could exist in human bosoms. What! the sons 
 of Britains separate themselves from Britain ! 
 disconnect themselves from British prosperity, 
 British virtue, British greatness, and British 
 glory! And for what object? the paltry con 
 sideration of saving a few thousand pounds a 
 year, which we were well able, and well enti 
 tled to pay; and which the slightest impulse of 
 gratitude or honour ought to have rendered us 
 willing to pay. And is it possible that the pre 
 sent horrid state of things has arisen from this 
 sordid motive? Has it been a mere petty finan 
 cial speculation that has driven three millions 
 of people into the crime of rebellion against a 
 parental government; and induced them to 
 plunge into a sea of blood for the hope of sav 
 ing annually a few pence per head, which they 
 ought to have been proud to pay a generous 
 parent, who had so lately expended millions for 
 their sakes? But no; my fellow subjects, repug 
 nance to parliamentary taxation, let the disor- 
 ganizers pretend what they please, was not the 
 cause which induced the majority of the leading 
 rebels to raise their accursed standard. It was 
 ambition. Our lawyers got an itch for making 
 laws for a nation, hence they must have a con 
 gress. Our military captains wanted war that 

 
 OF WYOMING. 95 
 
 they might become generals: our sheriffs and 
 magistrates, and forward politicians of every 
 class, wanted independence, that they might 
 become governors of states, or members of 
 cabinets, or public functionaries of some kind, 
 whereby they might make a figure in the land 
 at the public expense. 
 
 " But enough of these dishonest and dishon 
 ourable men, who have embroiled us with the 
 mighty power to whom we owe allegiance, and 
 with whose vast superiority of strength it is 
 madness to contend. The distress into which 
 their schemes have plunged the country ren 
 ders them abhorred by every virtuous and well 
 principled mind. My friends, I hope there is 
 not one among you who does not loath and de 
 test them as you would a pestilence; and will 
 not be ready to hasten with just and holy ven 
 geance upon them, as you would upon incen 
 diaries whom you caught in the act of commit 
 ting destruction upon all that you held dear 
 and estimable, or accounted sacred and venera 
 ble upon earth. 
 
 " I propose now to lead you against a nest of 
 rebels of this stamp. They have not, indeed, 
 taken the field against their sovereign, but they 
 have abjured their allegiance, and thrown off the 
 lawful authority under which their fathers and 
 themselves were born. Strange, indeed, and
 
 96 THE BETROTHED 
 
 depraved must be that state of society in which 
 allegiance and loyalty are thrown aside with as 
 little ceremony and reflection, as the casting off 
 of a loose gown or a pair of slippers. It is against 
 the whigs in the adjoining settlements, whose 
 militia hold their fortifications for the rebel 
 congress, that I propose to lead you, and I call 
 upon you, by your allegiance, to follow me. 
 That you may see I am authorized to make 
 such a call, I request you to look upon this 
 commission. It has the signature of Howe, as 
 noble and brave a general as ever wore a sword. 
 I have within these two weeks been in his pre 
 sence: I have been honoured and delighted 
 with his conversation; and have received from 
 him authority to arm all his majesty's loyal 
 subjects in this district, in order to reduce the 
 people in the neighbourhood to obedience, and 
 sieze upon their fortified places in the name of 
 his majesty. Hearken to the reward offered 
 us in the event of succeeding in this service. It 
 is a rich one-^no less than the whole valley 
 of Wyoming, including all its improvements, 
 dwellings, cattle, crops and property of every 
 description, now forfeited by the rebellion of 
 their present owners, to be divided amongst us 
 in proportion to the merit we shall individually 
 exhibit in the contest we may have to sustain. 
 " If we are truly zealous in the cause, and 
 
 '
 
 OP WYOMING. 97 
 
 desirous to earn this rich reward, we cannot 
 but succeed. The force against which we shall 
 have to contend is not much more numerous 
 than our own, nor is it better equipped for war, 
 for of warlike stores the British general has 
 taken care to supply us abundantly. Besides, 
 what have we, inured as we are to all the toils 
 and risks of war, and experienced in its arts 
 and stratagems, to fear from a simple agricul 
 tural race, the majority of whom have never wit 
 nessed a battle nor destroyed a foe. It is my be 
 lief, my friends, that on the first appearance of 
 danger, these men of timidity and peace, will 
 submit, and acknowledge once more the au 
 thority of their legitimate sovereign, while we 
 shall earn the reward of our loyalty by becom 
 ing the owners of the fair estates they have 
 forfeited by their rebellion. 
 
 "But should they unexpectedly resist, besides 
 our own strength, we shall, in reducing them, 
 have the powerful aid of the brave Mohawks, 
 the chiefs of whom I have invited to this con 
 ference, in order to lay before them the propo 
 sals of General Howe for an alliance between 
 them and the government of Britain. The lib 
 erality of the terms offered to these valiant 
 people, cannot but secure their approbation and 
 win their aid; and with such potent allies, what
 
 98 THE BETROTHED 
 
 have we to fear from the feeble peasantry of 
 Wyoming. 
 
 " Thus, my friends, the crisis which to oth 
 ers is so gloomy and full of peril, opens to us a 
 brilliant prospect of glorious victory and rich 
 reward. Be courageous and resolute, and soon 
 the pleasant dwellings in which we have been 
 only sojourners, and the fertile fields which 
 surround them, shall be our own and we shall 
 dispose of the present inhabitants according to 
 their deserts. What say ye, my gallant friends, 
 shall we raise the standard of loyalty in these 
 regions, and strike for possessions so valuable?" 
 
 A shout of applause was given by the audi 
 tors of this harangue, in answer to the question 
 with which it concluded. This shout continued 
 to resound for some minutes, and seemed to 
 express the unanimous assent of the assembly 
 to the proposal of the speaker. It was not 
 unanimous, however. There was one man, and 
 one too in whose staunch loyalty all present 
 placed the firmest confidence, who opposed 
 waging war against the people of Wyoming, 
 for the purpose of despoiling them of their pro 
 perty. This man's name was Clifton, who had 
 already suffered much for his royalism. He 
 had the courage to address the assembly, and 
 was listened to only on account of his known 
 zeal for the royal cause, and the sacrifices he
 
 OF WYOMING. . 99 
 
 had made for it. The warm expressions of 
 personal regard for him which General Howe 
 had more than once used in the hearing of But 
 ler, induced the latter to attend to his remarks 
 without interruption, although not without im 
 patience and a strong feeling of resentment. 
 
 " Friends and fellow subjects," said Clifton, 
 " your zeal in behalf of the government under 
 which we and our fathers have so long flour 
 ished, is worthy of all praise; and in these un 
 happy times of treason and rebellion, is refresh 
 ing and consolatory to every well-disposed 
 mind. I would not damp your ardour in such 
 a cause; but I would direct it to the adoption 
 of justifiable measures. I do not wish you to sit 
 down in sluggish apathy, while rebellion, like 
 a raging monster, fills the land with blood and 
 desolation. No, my friends, I rejoice to be 
 hold your enthusiasm I would have you to be 
 up and active in the cause of the lawful and 
 just government under which our colonies have 
 long enjoyed so many blessings: whose protec 
 tion and care alone preserved them in the fee 
 bleness of their infancy, and reared them to 
 their present state of maturity. 
 
 " But I would have you to select proper ob 
 jects for the display of your zeal. I would have 
 you to direct your hostility to points where you 
 could perform real service to your sovereign, and
 
 100 THE BETROTHED 
 
 vindicate, upon enemies actually in the field, 
 the majesty of his laws. I would have you to 
 wield your energies against rebels and there- 
 are abundance of such in the land to whom 
 you are under no obligations for hospitality, 
 kindness and protection; and to whom you have 
 made no pledges of amity and peace. I cannot 
 suppose that you have so soon forgotten the for 
 lorn and fugitive state under which we implored 
 and received shelter and sustenance from the 
 people of these settlements. We were driven 
 from our homes, and like wild beasts, hunted 
 into the forests by the vindictive power of our 
 enemies. We fled hither, and threw ourselve? 
 on the mercy of the inhabitants of these valleys. 
 Although they had embraced the cause of our 
 enemies, and disapproved of the political and 
 warlike course we had pursued, yet they sa\\ 
 us destitute and suffering, and their humanity 
 relieved us. They received our assurances of 
 living in tranquillity among them, and they af 
 forded us habitations. They fed, they clothed, 
 they lodged us. We are at this moment, pen 
 sioners on their bounty, protegees of theii 
 care; and, trusting in our promises of peaceable 
 behaviour, they have taken no precautions 
 against our hostility, as if they could not dream 
 that men were to be found so wicked as to aim
 
 OF WYOMING. 101 
 
 insidious and dark destruction against protect 
 ing and confiding friends. ' 
 
 "The king's general requires us to arm; I 
 say too let us arm, since we have obtained the 
 means. But let us arm against our enemies; 
 not against our friends. The king has abund 
 ance of foes who are no friends of ours. Let us 
 march to the sea-board; we shall there find re 
 bels to whom we owe no gratitude, whom it 
 will be our duty to subdue, and for subduing 
 whom, the royal authorities will be as grateful, 
 and, no doubt, reward us as liberally, as for 
 subduing a people less deeply plunged in the 
 guilt of rebellion, and to respect whose welfare 
 we are bound by every tie of gratitude and 
 honour." 
 
 When Clifton ceased speaking, a mixed sensa 
 tion seemed to pervade the assembly amurmur 
 expressive of divided sentiments, was distinctly 
 heard in various directions; for many were in 
 reality, forcibly struck with the justice of his 
 arguments and the propriety of his views. This 
 feeling of rectitude, however, did not prevail 
 long. Butler hastened to stem the current that 
 was setting against his designs; and by his ad 
 dress he completely succeeded in giving it a 
 contrary direction. 
 
 " What!" said he, "have I, in reality, heard 
 sentiments of lukewarmness in the cause of 
 i 2
 
 102 THE BETROTHED 
 
 Britain, from one who has hitherto been so dt - 
 voted to her interests; who has fought and bled 
 and lost his all for his fidelity to the govern 
 ment that claims his allegiance! But it is the 
 weakness of humanity it is the mere frothing 
 of the milk of human kindness, which now 
 prevails over his natural vigour of soul, and en 
 feebles his energies with scruples of sickly sen 
 timent and morbid sensibility. We are dis 
 tinctly called upon by the British general, to 
 seize and occupy the fortresses of the Wyoming 
 valley, in behalf of the king, and to compel the 
 inhabitants to return to their allegiance." 
 
 Here Butler read a commission which he had 
 received from general Howe, appointing him 
 to the command of such of the frontier royalists 
 as might join his standard. He also read to the 
 assembly a paper of instructions, requiring him 
 to use every effort in his power to reduce the 
 malecontents of Wyoming, and to preserve the 
 district in subjection to the regal authority. 
 This paper likewise contained the promise of be 
 stowing on him and his coadjutors in this ser 
 vice, all the lands of the district whose owner? 
 should be convicted of any act of disloyalty. 
 
 "Now," said he, after he had finished read 
 ing these documents, "all who gre willing to 
 obey the orders of general Howe, and to serve 
 their king, and earn the reward offered for
 
 OP WYOMING. 103 
 
 such service, will come forward, enrol their 
 names on the list of the king's friends, and 
 swear fidelity to his cause. Those who refuse 
 had better now retire from this assembly, for in 
 half an hour they shall be treated as enemies." 
 
 None retired. All were either convinced or 
 intimidated by Butler's statement. Even Clif 
 ton tacitly yielded to the opinions of the ma 
 jority, and made no further opposition. One 
 Ford, an active and violent tory, was appointed 
 to administer the oath of fidelity to the assem 
 bly; while Butler and two or three other lead 
 ers withdrew to hold a conference with the 
 Indian chiefs. The calumet was lighted, and 
 each having smoked from it, Aranooko arose, 
 and addressed Butler. 
 
 "Brother, we received your message, and 
 are here. Tell us the will of our father, the 
 great king of the east. We would be his friends, 
 and if his wishes Ise reasonable, we will obey 
 him. The Mohawks have suffered much from 
 the people of your race, the disobedient chil 
 dren of your father beyond the great lake. Our 
 revenge has lately been asleep; but if the voice 
 of your father comes in friendship to us, we 
 will hear, we will awake we will kindle up 
 the fierceness of our wrath, like the angry 
 panther when hunted in his native woods. We 
 will be a rod in the hands of your father to chas-
 
 104 THE BETROTHED 
 
 tise his unruly children we will be a flaming 
 brand to avenge our own wrongs. You have 
 heard me, brother; now speak." 
 
 "Brave Mohawks!" replied Butler, "our 
 father knows ye are valiant, and he asks your 
 aid. He knows ye have been wronged, and he 
 bids you avenge yourselves. The chief captain 
 of his host bade me say to you, that he will 
 supply you with clothing, and with instruments 
 of war sufficient for your whole tribe. Ask 
 what else you want, and it shall be given, for 
 you are a brave people, and we wish for your 
 friendship." 
 
 "Brother," said Aranooko "clothing and 
 arms are all we want. Our forests supply us 
 with food, and with fuel, and with timber for 
 wigwams. We want no more. But when we 
 do, we shall ask it. We are your friends. The 
 disobedient of your race are our enemies. We 
 will join you in war against them. Receive 
 our Wampum!" 
 
 So saying, he handed to Butler, a long string 
 of beads made of red berries, in testimony 
 of the league. In return for which Butler made 
 him a present of several trinkets he had pro 
 vided for the purpose. Brandt now arose. His 
 eyes glanced fire for some moments, then cooled 
 into a settled gleam of ferocious satisfaction; 
 while pride perched on his heavy brows, de-
 
 OF WYOMING. 105 
 
 termination expanded his large lips, and im 
 parted a clenching firmness to the vigorous 
 muscles of his whole frame, as he addressed 
 himself to Butler. 
 
 "Brother," said he, "You and I are now- 
 leagued in one cause. You have rebellion to 
 punish. I have wrongs to avenge. Our vic 
 tims are the same. I devote them to death. 
 Let no man step between me and my purpose! 
 Brother, I am determined on slaughter. They 
 shall die! Are you of my mind?" 
 
 Butler himself was startled at the fiendish fe 
 rocity with which the savage asked this ques 
 tion. He paused for a moment, as if to recover 
 from his surprise, and to reflect on an answer. 
 He then said: 
 
 "Brother, our minds agree. Blood must 
 flow. Death must mark our course, for rebel 
 lion must be rooted out, and your vengeance 
 be appeased. Brother, our hearts are one. I 
 feel that we are colleagues in a work destined 
 to eternize our names as perpetrators of unpar- 
 ralleled deeds. Brother, shall we exchange 
 gifts in token of the compact of blood?" 
 
 Butler received a sharp hatchet in return for 
 a poignard, on handing which to Brandt, he ob 
 served, " The point of that steel is for the 
 hearts of thy enemies, until thy revenge is 
 glutted ! The edge of this hatchet is for the
 
 106 THE BETROTHED 
 
 necks of rebels until they be cut off from the 
 land!" 
 
 "Why wert thou not born a Mohawk?" ex 
 claimed Brandt. " Thy sternness is worthy of 
 our nation, and in fierceness of spirit we are 
 brothers!" 
 
 At this moment the party were startled with 
 a discharge of musketry, and a cry of terror and 
 distress which rent the air, and announced that 
 they were attacked by the whigs. Butler. 
 Brandt, Aranooko, and all, indeed, who were 
 inside of the log-house, rushed out to lend 
 assistance to their friends, but they found them 
 in full flight, and were themselves borne off the 
 scene by a torrent of fugitives which they could 
 not resist. In a moment colonel Dennison and 
 his militia occupied the ground on which the 
 tories had been assembled, whence they de 
 tached a strong party in pursuit of the fugitives. 
 The closeness of the woods and intricacies of 
 the country, favoured the flight of the latter, 
 and only about forty fell into the hands of their 
 pursuers. Among these was Clifton, who was 
 immediately released, on account of the effort 
 he had made in opposition to the proposal to 
 attack Wyoming, which was communicated to 
 the whigs by one of their party who had acted 
 as a spy among the conspirator-
 
 OF WYOMING. 107 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Ingratitude! thou poisoner of the heart, 
 That mak'st it dead to all the joys of life, 
 What fiend engendered thee! and brought thee forth, 
 And let thee loose upon the sons .of men! 
 So that the one upon the other plays 
 Such arts of treachery, as sting the soul 
 With tortures keener than the adder's fang! 
 Oh! thou dost wring the meek confiding spirit, 
 With wrong'd affection's fierce, envenomed grip, 
 Until the world seems to the writhing victim, 
 A wilderness of pit-falls, thorns and briers, 
 With not one green nor sunny spot therein. 
 Barley. 
 
 Who has made any progress on the journey 
 of life, and mingled, in any degree, with soci 
 ety, without experiencing the truth of the above 
 sentiments? What has produced to human 
 hearts more intense pangs than ingratitude? To 
 be injured by those on whom we have confer 
 red no favour, on whom we have fixed no es 
 teem, and lavished no bounty, occasions but 
 little surprise, and inspires but little dissatis 
 faction with human nature. We can still, after 
 such an injury, look upon the world and upon 
 mankind, in their natural colours, compounded 
 of the various and ever-changing shades of good 
 and evil, and remain satisfied with ourselves. 
 Hope blends with fortitude, and enables us to 
 bear present ills in anticipation of future good. 
 But when we have detected the lurking ani-
 
 108 THE BETROTHED 
 
 mosities of a favourite, or received an insidious 
 blow from one whom we have trusted, aided, 
 or esteemed, grief for disappointed hopes and 
 lost affections, mortification at being duped by 
 hypocrisy, and horror at witnessing such a 
 manifestation of the perfidy of man, contribute 
 much more than the amount of the injury re 
 ceived, to inspire us with gloomy views of our 
 nature and condition, and render us discontent 
 ed with existence. 
 
 How intensely, on this occasion, did the as 
 tonished people of Wyoming experience such 
 feelings! The greater number of the individu 
 als who were detected in this foul conspiracy 
 against their lives and properties, had been the 
 welcome partakers of their bounty, many of 
 them the confidants of their secrets, and some 
 of them bound to their affections by the closest 
 ties of relationship or marriage. When the 
 prisoners were conducted through several of the 
 villages on their way to the fort at Wyoming, 
 how grievously did many a confiding heart 
 shudder to reflect how it had been betrayed, 
 and to perceive that its destruction had been 
 contrived by those on whom its confidence had 
 been placed without restraint, and its kindness 
 lavished without limits. 
 
 Perhaps there was no circumstance connect 
 ed with these agitating scenes more remarkable
 
 OP WYOMING. 109 
 
 than the forbearance of the inhabitants of Wyo 
 ming towards their captured betrayers. The 
 bare idea that such a treacherous and murderous 
 combination had been projected, was enough to 
 inflame the blood of its intended victims, and 
 to arouse them to a degree of indignation which, 
 had it arisen and overwhelmed their prisoners 
 in immediate destruction, would have been 
 neither so wonderful nor censurable as many 
 ebullitions of popular fury which history has 
 recorded, nor half so flagitious and detestable 
 as the foul conspiracy it would have avenged. 
 But no excess of this kind was committed. 
 The generous inhabitants of the district were 
 more grieved than irritated at the example of 
 treachery and barbarous depravity they now 
 witnessed. Alarm and sorrow, rather than 
 indignation and rage, filled their hearts and ac 
 tuated their feelings. To their governor, Ze- 
 bulon Butler, who, though the relative of their 
 arch enemy, was a tried and faithful friend to 
 their cause, and to five of the most intelligent 
 of their known patriots, whom they selected to 
 form his council, they committed the manage 
 ment of their affairs at this critical juncture'. 
 Mr. Norwood, Mr. Austin, Dr. Watson, 
 Colonel Dennison, and the judge of their court, 
 whose name was Harvey, formed this council; 
 and a more judicious selection could not have 
 K
 
 110 THE BETROTHED 
 
 been made. In the honesty and prudence of 
 these men, the inhabitants placed implicit reli 
 ance. Nor did they place it wrongfully. 
 Whatever zeal, vigilance and correct judgment 
 could effect for the safety of the district, was ac 
 complished. But their resources were small in 
 comparison to those of their enemies, who were 
 in league with the powerful tribe of the Mo 
 hawks, and supplied with all the materials of 
 war, by the British General. 
 
 The aspect of the affairs of the settlement 
 was indeed extremely menacing. The inhab 
 itants had, it is true, detected and frustrated a 
 fearful plot, which, had it with matured force 
 burst upon them by surprise, would have found 
 them almost totally unprepared for resistance, 
 and would inevitably have effected their de 
 struction. But although this imminent danger 
 had been escaped, safety was far from being 
 secured. The clouds of a tremendous and sav 
 age war were gathering around them. They 
 saw them with the apprehension of rational be 
 ings, who could estimate probabilities and ap 
 preciate consequences. But they trusted in 
 Providence, and did not sit down indolently to 
 await the bursting of the storm in the apathy of 
 despair. They assumed the fortitude of men 
 conscious of a good cause, and they made every 
 preparation for defence that judgment could
 
 OF WYOMING. Ill 
 
 suggest or 'circumstances would permit. All 
 among them, fit to bear arms, were enrolled, 
 and instructed to be in readiness to act on the 
 first alarm. Despatches were also forwarded 
 to Washington, informing him of the threaten 
 ing aspect of their affairs, and their defenceless 
 condition; and requesting military aid as soon as 
 he could possibly send it. The Wyoming vol 
 unteers were also implored by many private 
 letters, to return to the protection of their 
 friends and their homes. 
 
 It was little more than a week after the 
 dispersion of the conspirators in the Hemlock 
 Glade, as mentioned in the preceding chapter, 
 that an incident happened which greatly in 
 creased the consternation of the Whigs, and 
 excited them to stronger feelings of resentment 
 than any thing that had yet occurred. Mr. 
 Norwood had returned home on the evening of 
 a warm day in June, from a meeting of his fel 
 low counsellors at the governor's house, when 
 learning that his daughter had gone into the 
 orchard which skirted the stream of the Sharon, 
 i n order to enjoy the coolness of the evening air, 
 he hastened to join her. He found her seated 
 near the bank of the stream on a favourite spot, 
 where she had often sat with Henry Austin. 
 She had been reading, probably for the twenti 
 eth time, a letter lately received from Henry.
 
 112 THE BETROTHED 
 
 This letter described to her the joyous entry ot 
 the troops under Washington into Philadelphia, 
 which had been evacuated by the British force 
 now under the command of sir Henry Clinton. 
 The glowing style of triumphant patriotism, 
 and the ardent expressions of undiminished 
 love, which pervaded this communication from 
 the chosen of her heart, warmed her feelings 
 and engrossed her attention so entirely, that the 
 alarming aspect of the affairs of her own neigh 
 bourhood were for a time forgotten; her whole 
 faculties were employed in the contemplation 
 of her absent lover. His numerous virtues, 
 his patriotism, his courage, and the unchanging 
 and unchangeable nature of his love for her 
 the toils he had undergone the privations he 
 had endured, and the dangers he had encoun 
 tered in the performance of his duty to his 
 country all stood imaged in her mind as per 
 sonifications of the highest excellence that 
 could dignify the character and conduct of man. 
 And he had been rewarded for these virtues and 
 privations. He had seen his country's chief and 
 her gallant army, in triumph enter her capital, 
 which had just been abandoned by a retiring 
 enemy. He had himself formed part of the glo 
 rious procession. And now he was in the 
 midst of a populous and fascinating metropolis. 
 Her thoughts instantly flowed in another
 
 
 OP WYOMING. 113 
 
 current. Would he be able to resist the fascina 
 tions of gayety, beauty and splendor which the 
 new scenes he should now witness would present 
 to him? Amidst the many accomplished females 
 to whom he would now become introduced, 
 would there be none sufficiently attractive to 
 make an impression on his heart? She wished 
 to get rid of the unwelcome suggestion. To 
 harbour it was painful, and might be unjust 
 nay, when she reflected on the vows and the 
 virtues of Henry, she felt assured that it was 
 unjust. "No," thought she, "no allurements 
 will lead him from the path of fidelity. The 
 temptations that shall assail him may be great; 
 but his virtue is great his love is sincere, and 
 he will triumph over them all." 
 
 She was indulging this train of thought when 
 her father approached her. 
 
 " My daughter," said he, " the messenger to 
 general Washington has been despatched. Your 
 letter to Henry has gone with him. I fervently 
 pray that at least our own brave volunteers, who 
 serve under him, may return to our aid, before 
 the savages and tories shall have time to com 
 bine their forces and attack us." 
 
 "The distance is great and the road diffi 
 cult;" she observed, "but when they hear of 
 our danger, affection will give wings to their 
 K 2
 
 114 THE BETROTHED 
 
 speed, and I trust in Heaven, that they will 
 reach us in time to secure our safety." 
 
 " Their force is but small," said Mr. Nor 
 wood, "but their military skill would be of 
 immense value. We have requested general 
 Washington for more extensive aid, which, I 
 trust, he will be able to spare us, since the in 
 vading enemy has been, at length, compelled to 
 make a retrogade motion, and to retreat, as we 
 have just heard, across the Jerseys, towards 
 New York, followed by the whole patriotic 
 army. " 
 
 " But, father," said she, "this removes our 
 friends farther from our assistance. Heaven only 
 knows at what distance they may be, when 
 our messenger reaches them. Our situation is, 
 indeed, perilous. Our prospects are forlorn." 
 
 "Do not be alarmed, my Agnes!" returned 
 her father. ''Our messenger is well acquaint 
 ed with the country, and he has been ordered 
 to take the direct course into Jersey, and find 
 the head-quarters of Washington by the short 
 est road. But lest he' should fail, two other 
 messengers will be despatched to-morrow. 
 Nor are we in such immediate danger, nor so 
 totally destitute of strength, as to justify des 
 pondency. Our men have all assumed arms 
 they seem brave and resolute, and will nobly 
 resist any attack that the traitors and their sav-
 
 OP WYOMING. 115 
 
 age allies may make upon us. And one or two 
 of our forts are strong " 
 
 " Traitors and their savage allies!" ex 
 claimed a large man in a mask, who, followed 
 by two savages, rushed upon them from the 
 midst of some bushes on the bank of the rivulet, 
 where they had been concealed. The savages 
 seized Mr. Norwood, tied his hands behind 
 him, and hurried him off. The man in the 
 mask caught Agnes, whom, without binding, 
 he attempted also to carry away. She screamed 
 and struggled, but he succeeded in removing 
 her out of the orchard. She ceased her cries, 
 and assuming a tone of entreaty, begged for a 
 few moments' respite. She was taunted with 
 the exclamation 
 
 " Traitors and their savage allies! These 
 were harsh terms. You and your father, fair 
 maid, shall soon know how far they are appli 
 cable." He however slackened his pace with 
 the view of treating her more mildly, as he 
 added in a conciliatory tone "you at least 
 have nothing to fear. Unless too obstinate, your 
 father and you shall be both well treated. I 
 love you and wish to separate you from a re 
 bellious people destined to destruction. Be 
 hold me, and believe my words!" 
 
 He withdrew his mask and presented the 
 countenance of Butler. An instinctive alarm
 
 110 T HE BETROTHED 
 
 seized her, and she again screamed aloud. At 
 that instant a man !on horseback gallopped to 
 wards them, the wood being sufficiently open 
 to admit his approach. Butler drew forth a 
 pistol. Agnes with great presence of mind, 
 watched his motions, and, at the moment he 
 fired, she shook his arm so forcibly, that the ac 
 curacy of his aim was destroyed, and he missed 
 the advancing horseman. He uttered a pro 
 fane exclamation of disappointment, and, per 
 ceiving the horseman to be in the act of pre 
 senting a pistol, he fled, and was soon concealed 
 amidst the woods. 
 
 "My father my father is carried off by the 
 savages!" cried Agnes, as Dr. Watson, for he 
 was the horseman, alighted in order to raise 
 and support her, for her alarm having overpow 
 ered her, she had sunk upon the ground. 
 
 The main road was but a short distance from 
 the scene of this incident. The Doctor had 
 been riding past when he heard her cries. He 
 hastened to her assistance. He was armed as 
 has been stated. Since the times became dan 
 gerous he had never ventured from home with, 
 out being so. When Butler missed him and 
 fled, he prudently reserved his fire that he 
 might the more effectually protect Agnes from 
 any other assailant until she could be conveyed 
 to a place of safety. This he soon accomplish-
 
 OF WyOMING. 117 
 
 ed, and hastened to raise a party to go in pur 
 suit of the captors of Mr. Norwood. 
 
 It will be readily supposed that so violent an 
 outrage on the person of a clergyman so much 
 esteemed as Mr. Norwood, would produce 
 strong sensations of both sorrow and resentment 
 in the minds of his people. Several hundred 
 were speedily in active chase of the savages. 
 But the latter, whom Butler soon overtook, 
 knew the lurking places of the woods too well 
 to be easily captured. For several days they 
 were briskly pursued. But they finally escaped, 
 and arrived safe., with their worn-out prisoner, 
 after a perilous and toilsome journey, at the 
 chief village of the Mohawks, where the tories 
 had formed an encampment. 
 
 Oh! Agnes, unhappy daughter of an unfor 
 tunate father, to what desolation of heart wert 
 thou now subjected! What horrors did thy be 
 reaved and fearful spirit imagine to be the 
 doom of thy beloved and only parent! The 
 vengeful bitterness and capricious cruelty of 
 the savage nature were well known to thee 
 and was thy father now destined to endure 
 them! Was his aged and venerable frame to 
 run the cruel gauntlet, and sustain the scorn 
 and the blows of Mohawk ferocity? Or does 
 thy terrified imagination behold the blazing 
 faggots, and the stake to which he is bound, in
 
 118 THE BETROTHED 
 
 order to be consumed, amidst the shouting 
 vengeance of exulting fiends in the shape of 
 men? Is he doomed to that most cruel of all 
 deaths to which savage vengeance is accustom 
 ed to devote its victims? Art thou, in thy mis 
 ery of mind, capable of enduring the terrible 
 thought? Or hast thou consolation? Does 'hope 
 whisper any solace to thy heart? Dost thou 
 listen to the suggestions of comfort? Dost thou 
 not rather repel them as fallacious, and beg thy 
 comforters to depart to leave thee to silence 
 to sorrow to hopelessness to despair! No; 
 although thy grief is intense almost too 
 great for thy., tender frame to endure, thou art 
 a Christian, and wilt not harbour thoughts of 
 despair. Thy spirit is too strongly imbued 
 with the pious principles which thy father 
 taught thee, to question the designs of Heaven 
 in inflicting calamities, or to murmur at the 
 rod of chastisement although it pierces thee to 
 the heart. There is a Rock of comfort to which 
 he, for whom thou grievest, taught thee to look 
 for support under every affliction. And thou 
 rememberest his instructions thou lookest to 
 the God of Christians for support in thy be 
 reavement for solace in thy sorrow, and for 
 deliverance from thy affliction! Hence thou 
 wilt not listen to the suggestions of despair. 
 Thou art sick, and sorrowful, and wretched
 
 OF WYOMING. 119 
 
 thou canst not help suffering, but thou sufferest 
 with piety with meekness and resignation. 
 
 The unrepining but intense grief of Agnes, 
 although it could not overcome the strength of 
 her mind, overpowered that of her body. 
 Sickness seized upon her. A strong fever ran 
 through her veins, and prostrated her strength. 
 The solicitude with which Dr. Watson attend 
 ed to a patient so beloved may be readily ima 
 gined. ' His sister, her faithful friend, now 
 became her anxious and diligent nurse. She 
 made her abode with her, and her assiduous 
 cares and judicious counsels contributed much 
 both to mitigate her fever and fco shorten its 
 duration. Her recovery, however, was chiefly 
 owing to intelligence contained in the follow 
 ing letter, which she received about a week af 
 ter the capture of her father, from the author of 
 the outrage. 
 
 "This letter is written by a man you hate; 
 yet you will receive it with satisfaction. With 
 satisfaction do I write it, because it will give 
 pleasure to the woman I love the only wo 
 man I ever loved. It pleases 1 me also to think 
 that the characters I now trace will be perused 
 by you will be gazed upon by those eyes 
 which have struck the fire of love into my 
 soul. But I hasten to communicate the cir 
 cumstance which is the object of my writing,
 
 120 THE BETROTHED 
 
 and which alone will make my letter accepta 
 ble. Your father lives he is well treated 
 and, for your sake, until I hear from you, I 
 shall secure to him a continuance of good treat 
 ment. 
 
 "Believe me this will not be an easy task. 
 What I have already done for him, has en 
 countered much opposition. The half Indian 
 Brandt, he who escaped from the attack upon 
 you, which afforded me the first occasion of be 
 holding your loveliness, and of rendering you 
 some service, has not forgotten that he was 
 once a prisoner in your village. He is invet- 
 erately hostile to all your people. He will go 
 any length, he will submit to any hardship, he 
 will expose himself to any danger, he will com 
 mit any crime to be revenged on the feeblest 
 and most innocent among you. I had to sooth 
 and conciliate him, and make even humiliating 
 concessions to him, ere I could obtain his for 
 giveness for the part I acted in your rescue. 
 His knowledge of the breach between your 
 people and me, and an assurance that we arc 
 now irreconcilable enemies, tended to mollify 
 him; my influence among the royalists whom 
 he views as necessary instruments of his re 
 venge; procured for me his respect, and, in 
 some measure, his confidence; and my proposal
 
 
 
 OF WYOMING. 121 
 
 to join him in the late attempt to carry you off, 
 has attached him entirely to my interests. 
 
 "It was you I wanted, my love, and not 
 your father. But when, from our lurking 
 place, we discovered him to be with you, the 
 Indians proposed to seize both, and I made no 
 objection. I was rather pleased with the cir 
 cumstance. My passion for you is vehement. 
 I know your aversion to me. Your father be 
 ing in my hands, might afford me the power of 
 working on your mind, so as to gain your con 
 sent to become mine. I now lament the cir 
 cumstance of your father being present. I have 
 no ill-will towards him. I wish no harm to 
 befall him. His being with you occasioned the 
 failure of my great object to secure you. It 
 drew the attention of the Indians from you. I 
 thought my own strength sufficient to bear you 
 
 off. It would have been so, had I not been de- 
 
 ' 
 
 sirous to effect my purpose with as little harsh 
 ness as possible. I refrained from stifling your 
 cries by force. I even indulged you by relax 
 ing my speed when we left the orchard, for I 
 wished to show you that you would be treated 
 tenderly. That relaxation ruined the whole 
 project. You renewed your cries. Your friend 
 approached. I knew not how many might be 
 following him. 1 cursed my ill-starred fate,
 
 
 
 122 THE BETROTHED 
 
 and to avoid instant destruction, abandoned 
 you. 
 
 "I have gained something, however, by the 
 enterprise. Yaur father is my prisoner. I see 
 my advantage in this, and I am determined to 
 profit by it. Let the irresistible nature of my 
 love for you excuse my design. Your father 
 must be my instrument to gain, or if the ex 
 pression must be used, to extort, your consent 
 to my wishes. I have already stated that I 
 have protected him from injury. I have claim 
 ed him from the savages as my own prisoner. 
 I have preserved him from the torments of 
 their cruel customs. I have saved him from 
 the humiliation and blows of the gauntlet, and 
 from the fiery horrors of the stake. Do I not 
 merit recompense for this? Will you not be 
 grateful? Will you not attribute my exertions 
 for to do these things required exertions to 
 the ardour of my love? I would restore him to 
 liberty, but my power over you would be then 
 lost. No; I must have you. My conceptions 
 of happiness are so entirely wrought up with 
 the idea^of possessing you, that I swear to 
 you, I shall stop short of no effort that circum 
 stances may put in my power, to obtain that 
 great good for which I so passionately long. I 
 disdain every other luxury I disdain mirth 
 and exhilaration nay, I disdain reputation and* 

 
 * ' 
 
 OF WYOMING. 123 
 
 power I would disdain life itself but for the 
 hope that it may last till you have blest me- with 
 your charms. 
 
 "Hear now my purpose. Your father's fate 
 is in my hands. It is in yours. Your conduct t A^ 
 to me shall regulate mine to him. Let me 
 know your resolves, and let me know them 
 soon. The aspect of the times will admit of no 
 delay. I enclose a safe-conduct for any mes 
 senger you may send me. Should you decide 
 on coming here to see your father, and to be 
 mine, it will be prudent to communicate your 
 design to me privately, lest the people among 
 whom you live, should prevent its accomplish 
 ment. Your messenger will hear of me at the 
 wigwam of Aranooko. If he comes not soon, 
 I shall not expect him at all. Fierce and prompt 
 measures shall then be adopted, and remember 
 who is in my power. Oh! drive me not, thou 
 most fascinating of thy sex, to the adoption of 
 measures that may sink thee into affliction, that 
 humanity may deplore, that I myself may view 
 with horror! If thou refusest to make me hap 
 py, most solemnly do I swear to make thou 
 sands miserable. Arouse not my energies to 
 do mischief, or terribly, on all whom thou dost 
 love, will I revenge thy hatred of me. 
 
 JOHN BUTLER."
 
 124 THE BETROTHEI' 
 
 What a diversity of feelings did this lettei 
 excite in the bosom of Agnes? With what con 
 tending emotions d'ud it agitate her whole frame? 
 Her immediate sorrow was relieved. Her fa 
 ther was alive was safe. How earnestly did 
 she rejoice how ardently did she thank Hea 
 ven! But how long should he be safe? That 
 depended upon her determination. Cruel con 
 sideration! She could not, she dared not com 
 ply with the terms on which her father would 
 be spared. Her love was given, her faith was 
 sworn, her hand was BETROTHED to another. 
 She could not be Butler's without being faith 
 less and perjured. To save her father she would 
 cheerfully die; but could she wrong her soul?. 
 Could she become a bold offender against Hea 
 ven and subject herself to perdition? No, no 
 her father himself would shudder at the 
 thought. She must reject the dreadful alterna 
 tive, be the consequence what it would. To 
 Mary Watson she showed the letter, and ex 
 plained her perplexities, and from her she re 
 quested counsel. 
 
 " Heaven be praised," she said, "my father 
 is alive; and he has not been tortured. But 
 how shall I save him from the perils with 
 which he is threatened. Oh! my friend, thy 
 judgment is clear counsel me what I shall 
 do!"
 
 OP WYOMING. 125 
 
 "Thy situation is, indeed, perplexing," said 
 Miss Watson, " what counsel to give it is dif 
 ficult to determine. Concession to the demands 
 of this ^vicked man cannot be thought of. To 
 refuse him entirely might be to seal thy father's 
 fate. To defer making any reply to his letter 
 might gain time for the occurrence of some fa 
 vourable event. But that is uncertain; and he 
 threatens harshness in case of delay. To de 
 ceive him by a feigned and conditional compli 
 ance, would be the safest course; but would it 
 be proper? Would it be justifiable? These are 
 questions which require a clearer judgment than 
 mine, to resolve." 
 
 "Alas!" said Agnes, "in what a situation 
 am I placed, when the least unhappy alterna 
 tive for me to adopt is deception!" 
 
 "But it is deception to prevent cruelty and 
 crime," observed Miss Watson, "and decep 
 tion too that will injure no one. Does this not 
 argue something in its favour?" 
 
 "I would fain reconcile my conscience to its 
 adoption in this instance, "said Agnes, "but 
 I cannot. The motive for the imposition may 
 be laudable. But still it would be imposition. 
 It would be promising to do that which I am 
 resolved not to do Oh, Mary Watson, would 
 you advise me to be guilty of falsehood?" 
 
 " I am, indeed, bewildered on the subject," 
 L2 
 
 ' 
 
 .
 
 126 THE BETROTHED 
 
 replied Miss Watson. "Anxiously do I wis) : 
 for the adoption of some means to preserve youi 
 father, and I can see no other than your con 
 senting to deceive the wicked man.irfto whose 
 power he has fallen. Yet, I acknowledge, the 
 idea of yo.ur committing a deliberate falsehood, 
 is a painful one. It would be truly desirable 
 to avoid it. Perhaps my brother may be able 
 to suggest some means of extricating you out 
 of this difficulty." 
 
 "I should like to consult him," said Agnes. 
 " His wisdom may point out the correct course 
 for me to steer. On his friendship for aid in 
 my present distress, I implicitly rely, and I feel 
 that I do not rely in vain." 
 
 A message was despatched for Dr. Watson, 
 and he was soon in the presence of Agnes. 
 When he heard her statement, "Thank Pro 
 vidence," said he, "they have not murdered 
 your father! While there is life there is hope. 
 Butler must, if possible, be kept in uncertainty 
 respecting your determination. Peremptorily 
 to reject his terms might be fatal to your father. 
 You must write soothingly but let me reflect 
 before you write, I will consult a friend 
 whose counsel and whose aid, if any man's can, 
 will serve us on this occasion. He is at present 
 in our village." 
 
 He withdrew, and returned in about a quar- 
 

 
 OF WYOMING. 127 
 
 ter of an hour, with the Hermit of the woods. 
 "My daughter," said the Hermit, "I respect 
 your scruples. Whether they be, in this in 
 stance, overstrained or not, I would have you 
 for ever to cherish them. They are valuable 
 proofs of upright feelings precious marks of 
 a pure mind. Yet, commendable as this rigid 
 adherence to literal veracity, under all circum 
 stances, is, in our course through life, we may 
 often find the exercise of contrivance and strata 
 gem requisite for self*preservation; and to use 
 artifice against the deceitful must be sometimes 
 allowable. It is but meeting them with .their 
 own weapons.' To use it against such a dark 
 and depraved dissembler as Butler, and, as in 
 the present case, for the purpose of preserving 
 the life of a virtuous man, can hardly be con 
 sidered wrong. But since you have scruples on 
 the subject, you do well to hearken to them. 
 They proceed from correct principles; and so 
 long as they regulate your conduct, you will 
 not be likely to go astray. If you will commit 
 to me the management of this affair, I will en 
 deavour to effect the preservation of your father, 
 without obliging you to offend against your 
 conscience. You are betrothed to another. 
 You cannot promise yourself to Butler, with 
 out speaking a wilful untruth. Yet on such a 
 promise the safety of your father seems to de-
 
 THE BETROTHED 
 
 pentl. Fear not, my child; adhere to the 
 strict principles of integrity which are the 
 foundation of your virtuous scruples. The con 
 sciousness of doing so will be an unfailing so 
 lace in every trial. I will exert myself in 
 behalf of your father. Will you trust to my 
 efforts?" 
 
 "You have spoken comfort to my heart/' 
 she replied. "Not only will I trust you, but 
 my thanks and my prayers shall attend your 
 generous efforts. Save my father, and the jus 
 tice of Heaven will reward you: it will be a 
 deed beyond the power of man to reward!" 
 
 The Hermit departed; and Agnes full of con 
 fidence in the success of his exertions, soon 
 threw off the despondency which had weighed 
 so heavily upon her, and bloomed once more 
 in renewed health and recovered spirits.
 
 OF WYOMING. 129 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 '.ihuukl simplicity be opposed to cunning, and openness of heart to 
 deep guilt? As well might we oppose the lamb to the fox, or tin 
 trembling fawn to the crouching tiger. No; let snares be set for the 
 deceiver, and let the deviser of fraud fall into his own pit. So shall 
 honesty triumph over baseness, and wisdom show herself stronger 
 than fraud. Talmud. 
 
 Although the Hermit approved of the scru 
 ples of Agnes on the subject of deception, and 
 encouraged her to persevere, on all occasions, 
 in a system of strict veracity, yet the moral 
 code which he prescribed for himself was not 
 quite so rigid. Injurious or even unnecessary 
 untruths he detested. Such, he conceived, could 
 never come but from a corrupt source. But he 
 had great knowledge of human nature of its 
 condition in this life its liability to be affected 
 by circumstances which it cannot control, and 
 which frequently change its position in respect 
 to abstract morality, rendering the obligations 
 of the latter more or less incumbent, according 
 to events and situations. He had often been 
 witness of alternatives which left only a choice 
 of crimes. To choose the least was assuredly 
 then the duty, and he who did so was, in his 
 opinion, entitled to praise instead of censure. 
 
 "To destroy the life of another in self- 
 defence," he reasoned, "has never been con-
 
 130 THE BETROTHED 
 
 sidered immoral. Neither is it thought im 
 moral to break a promise or even an oath 
 which is enforced by the fear of violence. How 
 then can it be criminal to dissuade a ruffian 
 from the commission of murder by communi 
 cating to him information which is known to 
 be untrue? What is, in most other cases, a 
 crime, becomes here a virtue.. It is used as an 
 instrument of goodj and to forbear the use of it, 
 when it is found that no other instrument will 
 answer the purpose, is to omit doing the good, 
 and to participate in the enormous guilt which 
 the omission permits to take place." 
 
 If such were the Hermit's views, why did he 
 not counsel Agnes to save her father by deceiv 
 ing Butler? His motives were various. Truth 
 is, at aft times beautiful, and rarely indeed, is 
 a breach of it commendable. To accustom 
 young and ingenuous minds, therefore, to rev 
 erence it at all times, and to ward off from their 
 experience, as much as possible, any occurrence 
 that might justify deception, is to consult their 
 welfare by strengthening their integrity. For 
 this reason, the Hermit did not wish Agnes to 
 diverge from the direct line of truth even for a 
 good purpose, when that purpose might b 
 otherwise obtained, which he believed it might 
 by his own agency. Besides, he was a believer 
 in the doctrine of the impulses of conscience
 
 OP WYOMING. 131 
 
 being the criterion of good or evil actions. 
 The scruples of Agnes, proved that in practis 
 ing the proposed deception, she would have 
 acted against the dictates of her conscience, 
 and, therefore, in his view, would have been 
 criminal. Should he find deception to be ne 
 cessary to save Mr. Norwood, he had no scru 
 ples against using it himself. In such a case he 
 would experience no compunction, while he 
 would save a young female whom he esteemed, 
 from doing what might afterwards inflict upon 
 her the pangs of remorse. In short, whether 
 the Hermit's reasoning on this subject was right 
 or wrong, it will be admitted that his intentions 
 and conduct were benevolent. He had in view 
 two schemes for the delivery of Mr. Norwood. 
 The first was to use an agent whom he could 
 instruct in a certain stratagem which might ef 
 fect the purpose, and thereby obviate the neces 
 sity of himself appearing on the scene and 
 deceiving Butler in relation to Agnes; an alter 
 native which he wished to avoid, but if found 
 necessary, he was resolved to adopt." 
 
 On leaving Agnes he proceeded to the resi 
 dence of a young man named Joseph Jennings. 
 Joseph, though rugged in his manners, possess 
 ed a warm heart, and was devotedly, or rather 
 superstitiously, attached to Mr. Norwood, 
 whose clerical character he esteemed as the per-
 
 132 THE BETROTHED 
 
 fection of human excellence, and whose abduc 
 tion he conceived to be a sacrilegious crime 
 that could not fail to be visited by the vengeance 
 of Heaven. Joseph was stout, active and fear 
 less. From his earliest youth h'e had been a 
 hunter of the wild beasts of the forest, and was, 
 in consequence, acquainted with every hill and 
 valley, defile and cavern, river, swamp and lake, 
 in the whole of the broad region that lies be 
 tween the two great branches of the Susque- 
 hanna. He possessed also that quick and 
 shrewd conception, which, when found among 
 the uneducated classes of mankind, is more ob 
 servable, perhaps because less. expected, than 
 when found among those who have had better 
 |Ki opportunities of mental cultivation and intel 
 lectual improvement. 
 
 It was with the aid of this youth that the 
 Hermit proposed to effect the deliverance of 
 Mr. Norwood; and he found him a ready and 
 zealous auxiliary in the enterprise. He accom 
 panied him to a cavern about ten miles distant 
 from the residence of the sachem Aranooko, in 
 the neighbourhood of which Mr. Norwood was 
 confined under the immediate surveillance of 
 Butler himself. From this cavern, Joseph pro 
 ceeded alone on the enterprise. He had re 
 ceived instructions from the Hermit in relation 
 to the measures he should adopt. He pushed
 
 OP WYOMING. 133 
 
 forward boldly with a resolution to act the roy 
 alist to the heart's content of the tories, who 
 had on the detection of their conspiracy, fled, in 
 great numbers, from the Wyoming settlements, 
 to the country occupied by the Mohawks, near 
 the chief village of which they had formed an 
 encampment. Joseph entered this encampment 
 singing, at the top of his lungs, " God save the 
 king." His hunting pursuits, by keeping him 
 at a distance from society, had prevented his 
 political predilections, which were decidedly 
 whig, from being generally known. It was, 
 therefore, not doubted but that he was sincere 
 in his present manifestations of loyalty; and 
 that, as he now pretended, he had fled from the 
 threats of the Wyoming whigs, to seek shelter 
 among men whose sentiments were more in 
 accordance with his own. He was soon intro 
 duced to Butler, furnished with arms at the 
 expense of king George, and enrolled among 
 the faithful defenders of his majesty's crown 
 and government. 
 
 Joseph knew the value of time, and was no 
 laggard on an errand of importance. He soon 
 discovered the tent in which Mr. Norwood 
 was confined. He had some slight acquaint 
 ance with the sentinel placed over the reverend 
 captive for that evening. It was late in the 
 evening when Joseph approached this sentinel 
 M
 
 134 THE BETROTHED 
 
 in a seemingly careless manner, with a flask of 
 rum in his hand. He tipt him a jovial wink, 
 and offered to treat him. Good humour is al 
 ways infectious, especially when good fare is 
 offered with it. Joseph's was at this time irre 
 sistible to the sentinel, who willingly pledged 
 him in a bumper, which was soon repeated; 
 and Joseph seated himself on a log beside his 
 sociable companion and began to talk of the 
 times. 
 
 "When do you think, Ephraim," said he, 
 "we shall have to fight the whigs? I guess 
 when we muster our forces, Indians and all, 
 they wont stand us long." 
 
 "The time of marching will be fixed to 
 morrow," said Ephraim. 
 
 "Who fixes it?" inquired Joseph. 
 
 "The Indian chiefs are to hold a council for 
 the purpose," replied Ephraim, " and our 
 leaders are to assist at their deliberations.'" 
 Another glass, drank to the success of their en 
 terprise, followed this information. 
 
 "How does the old preacher stand his con 
 finement?" asked Joseph. 
 
 " He seems patient enough under it," an 
 swered Ephraim. 
 
 "Is he well treated?" inquired Joseph. 
 
 "Pretty well as yet," was the reply. "But 
 he is not likely to be much longer indulged as
 
 OF WYOMING. 135 
 
 he has been. Butler and he have had a violent 
 quarrel to-day." 
 
 "How? but no matter," said Joseph. "It 
 is none of our concern, you know. Here 
 Ephraim, another glass to the success of the 
 right side. This empties the flask." 
 
 "The more's the pity," said Ephraim, 
 again partaking of Joseph's spiritual kindness, 
 the effects of which on his intellects had now 
 become visible. 
 
 "Did you hear nothing of the cause of their 
 dispute?" asked Joseph. "Cause! hie darn 
 the cause! Guess it was politics Care nothing 
 about it hie-up darn this sentry duty curse 
 the rebels! hie they give so much trouble 
 hie-up." 
 
 Joseph, who perceived that his friend, whose 
 notions of military discipline were not very or 
 thodox, had got into the delectable care-for- 
 nobody state which suited his design, proposed 
 to relieve him for a short time of his irksome 
 duty, by assuming it in his stead. 
 
 "If Butler or Bateman hie-up finds that 
 I have left my post hie" muttered Ephraim. 
 But without finishing the sentence, his ideas 
 took another turn, and he exclaimed, "Darn 
 them, what care I for them. I'm as good a 
 man as any of them. I am for king George 
 hie-up! Guess I'll have a frolic. Some of the
 
 136 THE BETROTHED 
 
 boys are carousing in Josh. Juggles's tent! 
 Keep my post for half an hour bravo! darn it 
 now for spree! hie-up!" And away Ephraim 
 staggered in pursuit of jollity and rum, leaving 
 Joseph in possession of the premises. 
 
 Joseph's difficulty, however, was not yet 
 over. The tent contained more inmates than 
 Mr. Norwood. Butler himself and two or three 
 other royalists were its inhabitants. It is true, 
 from the lateness of the hour, eleven o'clock 
 at night, the presumption was that they were 
 asleep; but that presumption was the same in 
 regard to Mr. Norwood. Besides, Joseph 
 knew not which bed was occupied by the latter 
 gentleman, and he might awake some other 
 person in his stead. He had a bold heart, 
 however, and he resolved to make an effort to 
 effect his design, trusting to some favourable 
 circumstance, and his own dexterity for success. 
 He cautiously entered the tent, and perceived 
 by means of a dim lamp that flickered in one 
 corner, three beds spread on the floor, two of 
 which apparently contained more than one in 
 dividual. In the third which was the farthest 
 from the entrance, he conjectured there was 
 but one person, whom from the appearance of 
 an article of dress which lay upon it, he be 
 lieved to be the object of his solicitude. Joseph, 
 while he supplied Ephraim so liberally with
 
 OF WYOMING. 137 
 
 the rum, had taken care to use it very sparingly 
 himself, so that he was in possession of all his 
 faculties, with perhaps a little elevation of 
 courage suited to the occasion. 
 
 He approached the bed which he believed 
 to contain Mr. Norwood; but he was mistaken. 
 It contained Butler himself, who was in a sound 
 sleep. He examined the other dormitories, 
 but was greatly chagrined to find that the ob 
 ject of his search was in neither of them. He 
 was retiring very reluctantly and with much 
 mortification, when he heard a cough which he 
 thought was familiar to his ear, and perceived 
 the movement of a curtain which he had before 
 mistaken for part of the enclosure of the tent. 
 He was also agreeably surprised at seeing the 
 curtain drawn aside, and the well-known coun 
 tenance of his reverend friend looking at him. 
 He hastily motioned to Mr. Norwood to pre 
 serve silence, and to follow him. Mr. Nor 
 wood knew Joseph well, and instantly compre 
 hended his intention. 
 
 11 This is a providential interference" 
 thought he "I will avail myself of it." 
 
 He beckoned to Joseph that he understood 
 him and would follow. Joseph immediately 
 withdrew, and, in a few minutes Mr. Nor 
 wood joined him outside of the tent; a few more 
 carried them into a part of the woods which 
 M2
 
 If ;. THE BETROTHED 
 
 1 .dually secured them from detection. 
 rough the intricacies of the forest, there 
 ild not be a better guide than Joseph, and 
 v the next morning he conducted his ven- 
 t. %f e protegee into the cavern where he had 
 the oay previous left the Hermit of the woods. 
 In three or four days more, Mr. Norwood re 
 ceived the embraces of his pious and affection 
 ate daughter, and the heart-felt congratulations 
 of all the people of Wyoming.
 
 OF 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 
 The council meets, and vengeance is decreed; 
 War's demon is unchained, and blood-shot rage 
 Whets his fierce appetite, and spurs his steed 
 To the death-revelling field, the strife to wage, 
 Where innocence as well as guilt shall bleed; 
 But, if he can with human suffering feed 
 His fell voracity for mortal wo, 
 He cares not; let the weapon but succeed, 
 To him no matter who endures the blow, 
 The wound it makes shall cause the demon's joy to glow! 
 
 Karley. 
 
 No demon of wrath could exhibit more fury 
 than did Butler on discovering that his impor 
 tant prisoner had escaped. The sentinel whose 
 neglect of duty had occasioned this mischance, 
 was brought trembling into his presence. In 
 vain did he acknowledge his crime and implore 
 pardon. In vain did he plead that he had been 
 deceived by one who had deceived Butler him 
 self one who had that very day been enrolled 
 among the king's friends, and seemed particu 
 larly zealous for the royal cause. Poor Eph- 
 raim was handed over to some tory officers who 
 formed themselves into a species of court mar 
 tial, for the purpose of trying him for his of 
 fence. As strict discipline was, as yet, far 
 from being properly established among the tory 
 bands that now rallied round the standard of 
 Butler, and as there was some danger of excit-
 
 140 THE BETROTHED 
 
 Ing discontent in their ranks, if Ephraim should 
 be punished too severely, he was merely sen 
 tenced to be first publicly reprimanded, and 
 afterwards exposed in an open space in the cen 
 tre of the encampment, with his legs confined 
 in a wooden frame resembling stocks, for 
 twenty four hours. Butler was greatly dissat 
 isfied with the lenity of this sentence; but re 
 flecting that too much harshness might shake 
 his popularity among a body of men who were 
 not yet accustomed to subordination, he ac 
 quiesced. He, however, determined to urge 
 forward, with all speed, the measures that 
 were in preparation for an attack upon the set 
 tlements of Wyoming. 
 
 In expectation of being able, by means of 
 her father, to constrain Agnes to comply with 
 his wishes, he had for some few days past ra 
 ther contributed to retard the intended enter 
 prise, that he might have time to effect this 
 purpose. He knew the filial reverence and 
 strong attachment of Agnes for her father. He 
 considered him, therefore, as an engine in his 
 hands, by which, with proper management, he 
 could wield her determinations as he pleased. 
 He had written to her, as we have seen, inform 
 ing her that her father should receive good or 
 bad treatment, according as she complied or 
 not with his wishes. The time in which, ac-
 
 OP WYOMING. 141 
 
 cording to his calculations he should receive 
 her answer, had elapsed on the day of Joseph 
 Jennings' arrival at the tory encampment. No 
 answer had arrived. But in this he scarcely felt 
 disappointed. He was too well aware of her 
 aversion to him, to have been very sanguine in 
 his expectations of one, at least one satisfac 
 tory to his wishes. He considered that Agnes, 
 knowing her father to be himself averse to her 
 connexion with him, might suppose that her 
 consent, even if she gave it, would not receive 
 his sanction. To remove that obstacle, there-' 
 fore, he determined either to persuade or com 
 pel his prisoner to exert his authority over her, 
 and to write desiring her to yield to his wishes. 
 It was his attempt to enforce such a letter from 
 Mr. Norwood, that occasioned the altercation 
 between them to which the sentinel alluded in 
 his conversation with Joseph Jennings. The 
 firmness of Mr. Norwood highly incensed him, 
 and he did not refrain from the most vehement 
 threats of vengeance. He, in fact, determined 
 to commence a system of harshness and cruelty 
 towards his prisoner, which he doubted not 
 would compel him to purchase forbearance by 
 compliance. His scheme, however, was frus 
 trated by the event we have related, and, with 
 a spirit animated to the utmost fury of revenge 
 against all the whigs of Wyoming, he resolved
 
 142 THE BETROTHED 
 
 to exert his whole influence in hastening for 
 ward the expedition now planned against 
 them. 
 
 A great council, composed of the Mohawk 
 chiefs and the tory leaders, was held the day 
 after Mr. Norwood's escape. This was the 
 council alluded to by the sentinel Ephraim. It 
 convened in the wigwam of Aranooko. Its 
 object was to confirm the league between the 
 Indians and the royalists, and make final ar 
 rangements relative to the marching of the in 
 tended expedition against the whigs of Wy 
 oming. 
 
 The sachem Aranooko presided at this assem 
 bly. 
 
 Around the council-fire which was lighted in 
 the centre of the wigwam, the chiefs and leaders 
 arranged themselves. The calumet was smoked 
 in silence, for some minutes, and the cup of 
 hospitality pledged, in token of amity between 
 the parties. Aranooko then addressed the tory 
 leaders. 
 
 "Brothers, I am glad to see you. Hearken 
 to me. The council-fire is kindled that we may 
 converse around it. The smoke of our calumets 
 have mingled, and we are united the festal 
 cup has been pledged, and we are friends. 
 Every Mohawk says, let it be for ever. Bro 
 thers, what is your reply!"
 
 OP WYOMING. 143 
 
 "For ever!" answered Butler and his co- 
 leagues. 
 
 "Then take this wampum," said the sa 
 chem, "and let the treaty be confirmed.' 7 
 
 Butler received the wampum, and presented 
 Aranooko with a handsome military sash in ex 
 change. 
 
 11 The treaty is now confirmed," continued 
 Aranooko. "We are now the allies of the 
 great king, your father, whose throne is fixed in 
 chambers of the east in the land of the morn 
 ing sun. Your father is powerful. He is at a 
 far distance. But he stretches his arm across 
 the great deep, and our forests tremble at his 
 strength. The winds of heaven have blown to 
 this land the travellers of the sea that he has 
 sent forth. They brought thunder with them, 
 they shook the solidity of our shores, and at 
 the glare of their lightning, heroes have turned 
 pale. Thus mighty is your father. Yet he has 
 children in this land, who fear not his power. 
 They have united in strong bands against his 
 faithful servants. They have spoken words of 
 defiance They have committed acts of rebel 
 lion. They are not worthy to be called chil 
 dren. 
 
 "Brothers, your father wants to chastise his 
 disobedient children. He asks us to aid him,
 
 144 THE BETROTHED 
 
 and offers us rich rewards. We have agreed to 
 his terms. Brothers, hear our reasons. 
 
 " In the quarrel between your father and his 
 disobedient children, we would have nothing to 
 do, if those children did not deserve chastise 
 ment from our hands, as well as from his. They 
 have usurped our lands they have driven us 
 from our hunting grounds. The wigwams of 
 our fathers once covered the fair regions of the 
 Merrimack, the Hudson, the Delaware, and 
 the Susquehanna. Where are now those dwell 
 ings of the brave? They have vanished like the 
 blossoms that are beautiful when fanned by the 
 gale of spring, but that wither and fade away 
 when the fierce summer bursts upon them with 
 the relentless scorching of his beams. So have 
 our people faded before the wrath of the chil 
 dren of your father. They would now destroy 
 him also; and shall we not help to avenge his 
 cause and our own? 
 
 "Brothers, we grieve for the doom of our 
 fathers. The recollection of their sufferings, 
 makes our hearts ache. You invite us to re 
 venge them. Can we refuse? When we look 
 at ourselves, what do we see? The persecuted 
 remnants of a mighty people. Our race was 
 once like the stars of the heaven, numerous and 
 bright in their glorious abodes we are now 
 like the glimmering meteors of the swamps and
 
 OF WYOMING. 145 
 
 solitudes, few and wandering, scattered by the 
 winds of night, and extinguished by the beams 
 of day. 
 
 "Brothers, you offer us vengeance. Shall 
 we not take it ? Our wrath is awakened our 
 strength is revived. We have lifted the hatchet. 
 We pant for the enemy. Let us hasten towards 
 him, that we may scorch him with the fire that 
 burns within us. 
 
 "Brothers you have heard me." 
 
 Butler now rose and addressed the sachem. 
 
 "Brother and chief, thy zeal del-ights me. 
 The spirit that animates thee is worthy of the 
 chief of the gallant Mohawks. Thou hast not 
 degenerated from thy fathers, and thy fathers 
 were heroes. They never shrunk from battle, 
 although the death-winged thunder of artillery 
 rolled in volumes of destruction against them. 
 Their hearts were invincible, but their weapons 
 were not formed of materials to combat with 
 the deadly hail of the musketry, or the fiery 
 bolts of the cannon of their adversaries. Yet 
 they would not submit to the invaders. They 
 could die but they could not yield. Hence 
 were they swept from the land. Ye are now, 
 brave Mohawks, in the stead of your fathers. 
 You are equally heroic. Their spirits, from 
 their abodes in the land of bliss, will survey 
 your exploits in the approaching war with de- 
 
 N
 
 146 THE BETROTHED 
 
 light. They will say to each other: 'Our sons 
 are heroes they are mindful of our wrongs. 
 See how they avenge us!' 
 
 "Brother, thou hast said truly that our fa 
 ther, the great king beyond the ocean, is pow 
 erful. All parts of the world have seen the 
 glittering of his arms, and heard the rolling of 
 his thunder. His armies have conquered con 
 tinents, and his navies have brought the islands 
 into subjection. His rebellious children in this 
 land, could soon be humbled by his power, and 
 crushed in his wrath; but they have sought aid 
 from his enemies, and have unnaturally thrown 
 themselves into the arms of those who envy 
 the power of their parent. Is their offence 
 not heinous? Is it not aggravated beyond en 
 durance? 
 
 "Brother, those same disobedient people are 
 your enemies. In this very neighbourhood, 
 they have usurped the lands which were once 
 yours, and they have given you no equivalent 
 for the possession. The pleasant valleys on 
 the Susquehanna are no longer yours. They 
 have enclosed fields, built villages, and erected 
 strong-holds on your hunting grounds. You are 
 expelled from the heritage of your ancestors. 
 You will now be avenged; you will soon re 
 possess your own. Our great father, the king, 
 invites you to accept of his assistance. He
 
 OF WYOMING. . 147 
 
 sends you arms and ammunition equal to those 
 possessed by your enemies, and such as your 
 fathers never had. With such means would 
 your fathers not have conquered? Would they 
 not have kept possession of their lands, and 
 transmitted to you the inheritance of a great 
 people? Your hearts answer, 'yes.' 
 
 "Brother, you wifl do no less than your fa 
 thers would have done. We will lend our aid. 
 We will go forth jointly to conquest and re 
 venge. We will avenge the wrongs of our fa 
 ther, though he is far distant. You will avenge 
 those of your long-suffering race; and after the 
 wreaths of victory shall decorate your brows, 
 you will resume your station as a great and val 
 iant people. 
 
 " Brother, shall we march to-morrow? In 
 three days we shall be upon the enemy. We 
 shall take them by surprise, and they shall be 
 easily overthrown. 
 
 "Brother, it is my proposal that we delay 
 not, lest our foes receive succour and be in a 
 condition to give powerful battle on the field, 
 or to entrench themselves securely in their 
 strong-holds. 
 
 " Brother, you have heard what say you?" 
 
 " My voice is for marching to-morrow by 
 the dawn," said Aranooko. 
 
 (t Father!" said Brandt, addressing the sa-
 
 148 THE BETROTHED 
 
 chem, "My voice is the same. Shall I say 
 that now the wish of my heart is accomplished, 
 when I see a league formed against the spoilers 
 of our people? No, until I behold a thousand of 
 their scalps hanging around our wigwams, I 
 shall not say so. But, father, I will say that I 
 rejoice exceedingly at the prospect this treaty 
 holds forth. It appears to me as the dawn of a 
 triumphant and glorious day, which will not set 
 until my soul shall be satisfied with the blood 
 of my enemies. 
 
 " Father, hear me. I am a Mohawk. When 
 I was a boy some of my companions taunted 
 me. They said that the blood of the pale-faced 
 people ran in my veins that my heart sided 
 with the race of my father, and that the Mo 
 hawks should not confide in me. I then vowed to 
 show to you all which side my heart preferred. 
 Did I ever spare a white man in battleB Did I 
 ever show mercy to a white prisoner? If so, 
 let my mother's race disclaim me. But ye are 
 all witnesses of the animosity with which I 
 have pursued the white race, and how I have 
 endeavoured to avenge the injuries they have 
 inflicted on my red brethren, the people of my 
 mother. 
 
 " Father, I will tell you the reason. My 
 mother was tender to my infancy. She cher 
 ished, she fed, she clothed me in my helpless 
 
 'Jk
 
 OF WYOMING. 149 
 
 years. I reverence her memory. I love her 
 people. My father I never knew. He deserted 
 me when I was feeble. He was unnatural, and 
 left me to the protection of a forsaken woman. 
 My mother had been his friend in distress. 
 She nursed him in his sickness, and her caresses 
 relieved the anguish of his mind. He was un 
 grateful. He was more unnatural than the 
 rugged bear or the ferocious panther. They do 
 not desert their young when it is helpless, and 
 leave to its mother the sole charge of providing 
 for it. My father did so. Can I love him? 
 No; I grieve that my frame contains any por 
 tion of his blood. For his sake I detest his 
 people. Father, on my own account I detest 
 them also. Have they not maltreated and im 
 prisoned me, because I resented the insult of 
 one of their rude tongues. I clove him down. 
 
 3 
 
 I should have been applauded: but I was bound 
 and thrown into a dark cell. My heart has 
 panted for revenge! I demand of my white 
 brother, that, when we gain the victory, he 
 will allow me a thousand scalps of the prisoners 
 over whose tortures I may exult, and enjoy a 
 full banquet of vengeance." 
 
 "Let our white brother speak," said Aran- 
 ooko. "Brandt is brave. He will be the 
 leader of our warriors* He will deserve his 
 reward:." 
 
 f.
 
 150 THE BETROTHED 
 
 " I know the bravery of Brandt," replied 
 Butler. "I admire his zeal in behalf of his 
 people. His desire of vengeance upon those 
 who have injured him, is natural. I will not 
 oppose it Let it have its full swing upon the 
 rebels of Wyoming. There are but two or 
 three there whom I would save. I will name 
 them to Brandt in secret. All others shall be 
 at his disposal. Why should I wish to pre 
 serve rebels? Will this satisfy my brother?'' 
 
 "I am satisfied," said Brandt. "There is 
 joy in my heart. I will have vengeance for 
 the bonds that fettered my limbs; and for every 
 hour of my imprisonment the scalp of a white 
 man shall reward me!" 
 
 "Let the first glance of the sun to-morrow 
 upon our village, be the signal for marching!" 
 said Aranooko. 
 
 The chiefs signified approbation, and the 
 council broke up, each man hastening to make 
 arrangements for his departure the next morn 
 ing. 

 
 
 OF WYOMING. 151 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Who that feels what love is here, 
 All its falsehoods all its pain, 
 Would, for even Elysium's sphere, 
 Hisk the fatal dream again? 
 Who, that 'midst the desert's heat, 
 Sees the waters fade away, 
 Would not rather die than meet 
 Streams again as false as they? 
 
 Moire. 
 
 What a wayward and unaccountable passion 
 is love! No strength of mind can resist it no 
 force of reasoning can control it. If it has 
 once truly fixed upon the heart, what will re 
 move it? Neither the coldness nor the unwor- 
 thiness of its object. We may discover that 
 our affections are misplaced we may grieve, 
 but we will continue to love. We may disap 
 prove we may condemn we may even try 
 to detest. But it will not avail. Our affections 
 will cling to their chosen object, no matter 
 how desperate the efforts we may make to sep 
 arate them. The mention of a beloved name 
 will excite tender emotions, although we know 
 it to be the name of a wretch. We may abhor 
 crime, yet we may love the criminal. Nay, 
 we may receive injuries ungenerous, base and 
 cruel injuries yet we may love the unkind 
 being who inflicts them, and long to kiss the
 
 
 152 THE BETROTHED 
 
 hand that consigns us to misery. Unfortu 
 nate, indeed, is the condition of those whose 
 heart and understanding are thus at variance* 
 Often does the struggle continue until the whole 
 frame becomes agitated and convulsed, and 
 sinks into despondency despair madness 
 death! So true is the Greek adage which may 
 be thus paraphrased: 
 
 Not against hope alone, said mighty Jove, 
 But against reason shall weak mortals love, 
 Until the madd'ning strife exhausts the breath, 
 And the torn victim finds repose in death. 
 
 Isabella Austin still continued to love But 
 ler even after his treacherous alliance with the 
 savages became known. In spite of the exhor 
 tations and arguments of her friends in spite 
 of her own earnest desire to withdraw her af 
 fections from one so perfidious and wicked, her 
 heart still clung to him. He was her first, her 
 only choice among mankind. All her affections 
 were entwined around his image, and she found 
 it as impossible to dissever them as to separate 
 sensation from her existence. Severely, in 
 deed, did she feel his perfidy deeply did she 
 lament his turpitude. His attempt upon Mis* 
 Norwood, and his instrumentality in carrying 
 off her father, greatly shocked her. She could 
 offer no apology for him. She saw that he was
 
 OP WYOMING* 153 
 
 not only a traitor but a ruffian; yet, though her 
 esteem was gone, her love was not diminished; 
 and no small portion of the agitation she expe 
 rienced, when she heard of the late transaction, 
 arose from the danger to which he had then 
 been exposed. The outcry against him through 
 out the whole settlement was unanimous and 
 great; and every day her ears were pained by 
 accumulating intelligence of his flagitious acts 
 and detestable projects. She brooded intensely 
 and sorrowfully on the subject, until she be 
 came an object of pity to all her acquaintances, 
 and of anxiety to her immediate friends. 
 
 Miss Norwood and Miss Watson were her 
 most intimate companions, and deeply did they 
 sympathise with her. By every art that could 
 be suggested by the tenderest friendship, they 
 endeavoured to sooth her sorrows, and divert 
 her mind from the unhappy subject of its con 
 templations. Books, music, short walks 
 for the times were too dangerous to admit long 
 ones and cheerful conversation, were the 
 principal means resorted to, and they some 
 times produced an apparently good effect. She 
 felt grateful for the attention of these true 
 friends, and seemed to derive enjoyment from 
 their society. 
 
 One evening as they sat in the porch of Dr.
 
 154 THE BETROTHED 
 
 Watson's house, they observed two fowl* 
 fighting with great fury. 
 
 "Alas!" said Isabella, "all animated nature 
 seems to be imbued with contentious feelings. 
 The propensity for mutual destruction is not 
 confined to man. To be irritable and vengeful 
 seems to be a law imposed, no doubt for wise 
 ends, on all sentient beings!" 
 
 "All sentient beings," observed Agnes, 
 "have impulses capable of being excited to 
 either hatred or love, resentment or gratitude. 
 The effects of hatred and resentment even in 
 the inferior animals, it is unpleasant to behold; 
 while those of love and gratitude are always de 
 lightful. How much more so in man! and en 
 dowed as he is with reason to see and appreci 
 ate the superior advantages of the latter, he is 
 wonderfully inexcusable for not cultivating 
 them attentively and indulging them exclu 
 sively." 
 
 "That men," said Miss Watson, " with all 
 their powers of calculation and foresight, should 
 plunge, on account of any provocation, into the 
 known miseries of war, seems to me not only 
 inexcusable but unaccountable. The lower ani 
 mals cannftt estimate the extent of injury they 
 may inflict on each other by yielding to the 
 impulses of anger, and are, therefore, certainly 
 not so culpable and absurd in their quarrels a&
 
 OF WYOMING. 155 
 
 men. Neither do the evils resulting from 
 their combats ever extend so far. With the 
 rational, and, therefore, less excusable beings, 
 we frequently find the evils of contention al 
 most unbounded in their extent, and shocking 
 in their details. Plunder, devastation, and 
 death inflicted in a thousand forms, and, alas! 
 too often in the most cruel that can be devised, 
 are the direful accompaniments often the in 
 tended objects of human warfare, for which, 
 in my view, no justification nor apology can be 
 offered." 
 
 11 1 do not wish to justify the wars waged by 
 men from any example drawn from the brute 
 creation," said Isabella. "Alas! I have been 
 too severely tried by the animosity existing 
 among our race our neighbours our connex* 
 ions shall I say our friends! ah! no; they 
 are deceitful false friends! But such are 
 mankind! Can I justify them? No no. In 
 our present unhappy dissensions, my approba 
 tion may be entirely on one side; but there are 
 those I dearly love embarked on both. Can I, 
 without a bleeding heart, contemplate the strife 
 of such, or wish either to be vanquished? My 
 friends, you will forgive me if I wish safety to 
 your most dreaded and detested enemy! Alas! 
 is he not my own enemy? Yet does my heart 
 bleed for him cling to him in spite of reason
 
 156 THE BETHOTHED 
 
 in spite of duty for, oh! I cannot control 
 my heart. I ask you not to approve of me. I 
 only ask you to pity and forgive me!" 
 
 " Truly do we pity sincerely do we forgive 
 you," said Miss Watson. "We know your 
 affection for that man is involuntary. It is 
 true love with which reason has nothing to do. 
 It is the offspring of feeling .alone. Happy, 
 happy are they whose reason sanctions the im 
 pulse of their feelings!" 
 
 At this moment their attention was directed 
 to a man on horseback galloping swiftly to 
 wards the governor's house. They recognis 
 ed him to be Joseph Jennings. Their hearts 
 sunk within them, for something indescribable 
 in his manner, as he past, told them that he was 
 the bearer of alarming intelligence. In a short 
 time, they perceived a crowd assembling about 
 the governor's house, and were soon informed 
 that the intelligence was indeed alarming. The 
 combined forces of the tories and Indians had 
 invaded the district. One of the remote forts 
 situated about half a day's journey from the 
 village, had already fallen into their hands, in 
 their attack upon which they had slain nearly 
 a hundred of the garrison, and after its surren 
 der, had massacred the survivors consisting of 
 about the same number. 
 
 In a short time our trembling females re- 

 
 OP WYOMING* 157 
 
 reived a message from the governor, requiring 
 them to retire into the adjoining fort, where all 
 the women and children, and the aged and in 
 firm inhabitants of the settlement, were hasten 
 ing for protection. Mr. Norwood and Dr. Wat 
 son were the bearers of this message, and their 
 companions to the only asylum that now re 
 mained against the advancing and ferocious foe. 
 
 The habitations of Wyoming soon became 
 totally deserted. The fort, although capacious, 
 having in its construction been adapted for 
 such an emergency, was incapable of afford 
 ing accommodation to the great number that de 
 sired admission. Many were, therefore, oblig 
 ed to fly to the wilds and mountains for safety. 
 The nearest and dearest friends were thus 
 separated, and the most heart-rending scenes of 
 grief and distress were sorrowfully witnessed 
 by the governor and the council, without it be 
 ing in their power to relieve them. 
 
 The fort was tolerably well calculated for 
 defence. It was surrounded by a parapet about 
 five feet high, outside of which was a ditch 
 nearly as many feet deep, and more than twice 
 as many wide. This ditch was, on the present 
 occasion, filled with water brought to it by a 
 channel purposely cut from the Sharon. It was 
 entered by a wooden bridge or moveable plat 
 form which was susceptible of being drawn up 
 o
 
 
 
 
 a 
 
 against the gate of the parapet, so as in th#t 
 place, to form no inconsiderable addition to its 
 strength. 
 
 The garrison consisted of about four hundred 
 men, comprising nearly two-thirds of the armed 
 strength of the whole settlement. The residue 
 was scattered in various small bands, for the 
 purpose of protecting the inhabitants in differ 
 ent parts of the district. One of these under 
 Joseph Jennings, was particularly useful in de 
 fending those who were obliged to seek shelter 
 in the mountains from marauding parties of the 
 enemy. While engaged in this service, Joseph 
 had the fortune to encounter the celebrated 
 Brandt himself, and to rescue from his murder 
 ous hands, the venerable Hermit of the woods. 
 T,he incident will be related in the next chap 
 ter. 
 
 
 

 
 OF WYOMING. 159 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 There was a something in his look, 
 Which the fell murderer's purpose shook; 
 His words, mysterious, dark and strange, 
 pad power the savage heart to change: 
 Yet le-s the words impression made, 
 Than the deep tune of what he said. 
 
 Harley. f 
 
 It was about mid-summer in 1778, that the 
 united force of the tories and Indians arri 
 ved at the most northern settlement in the 
 valley of Wyoming. This place was defended 
 by a garrison of about two hundred men, 
 stationed in a fort, called Wintermoot, from a 
 violent tory of that name, who had several 
 months before made it the object of an attack, 
 in which he was defeated. It was assailed 
 now by an overwhelming force of nearly six 
 teen hundred tories and Indians, under the 
 command of Butler and Brandt. The tories, 
 who were commanded by Butler, formed the 
 largest portion of this army, their number be 
 ing about one thousand. The remainder con 
 sisted of the Mohawk warriors, who owned 
 Brandt for their leader. On reaching the first 
 settlement of the whites, they halted in order 
 to perform some warlike ceremonies customary 
 with the native tribes, on such occasions. 
 The war-dance was accordingly performed,
 
 160 ' THE BETROTHED 
 
 and the war-song chanted. The former beins: 
 more grotesque than picturesque, would afford 
 no pleasure in the description; the latter, which 
 \vas wild in its structure and fierce in its senti 
 ments, ran something in the following strain. 
 
 INDIAN WAR SONG. 
 
 Warriors ! warriors ! we are come 
 
 To the field of blood ; 
 Warriors ! warriors ! we assume 
 
 The fierce and vengeful mood ! 
 Remember the combats our fathers maintained 
 
 So daringly, so daringly ! 
 
 O'er the red fields of slaughter their hot vengeance 
 reigned 
 
 Unsparingly, unsparingly ! 
 
 The sun of the summer burns fierce on the plain, 
 The fire of our wrath in the battle shall glow ; 
 The thunder of Heav'n shakes the -land and the main. 
 Our war-cry strikes dread to the heart of the foe ! 
 
 On, ye warriors, brave and bold ! 
 The foe is there his ranks behold, 
 
 To death to death devote them ! 
 Send their souls to howl in air ; 
 And let their writhing frames declare 
 
 'Twas vengeful arms that smote them ! 
 
 Warriors! now to us belongs 
 
 To avenge the red-man's wrongs, 
 To teach the spoilers of our race,' 
 
 The murderers of our sires, 
 That strength does yet our sinews brace* 
 
 That rage our hearts inspires ! - 
 

 
 OP WYOMING. 161 
 
 There they are ! We'll spare them not! 
 Our arms are strong, our rage is hot, 
 Our aim is sure, and sharp our steel, 
 Which soon their quivering flesh shall feel, 
 As from their sculls we wrench away 
 
 The trophies of this vengeful day ! 
 I 
 
 Warriors! warriors! we are come, 
 To seal yon haughty white men's doom 
 Hark ! our fathers from on high, 
 Pronounce the mandate "they shall die!" 
 Haste then, the dread command obey! 
 Plunge plunge into the deadly fray ! 
 Nor mercy ask nor give to-day ! 
 
 After the excitement of the bloody exhorta-- 
 iions contained in these verses, it is not to be 
 supposed that much mercy would be shown to 
 the small garrison which was now attacked. The 
 brave Wyoming soldiers, however, sold their 
 lives dearly. Repeatedly did their well-aimed 
 discharges of musketry from behind their ram 
 parts, thin the ranks of the assailants and 
 stagger the enthusiasm of their approach. But 
 that enthusiasm, supported by the weight of 
 their numbers, carried them forward to the 
 gate of the ramparts, which soon gave way, and 
 a thousand balls followed the flying garrison 
 into their last refuge, a large log edifice inside 
 of the entrenchment. Nearly one half of these 
 brave men were slain; the rest surrendered at 
 discretion, but were soon laid prostrate in the 
 o 2
 
 162 THE BETROTHED 
 
 arms of death along side of their companions^ 
 and two hundred scalps collected together that 
 evening in the tent of Brandt, formed the hor 
 rid trophies on which that monster feasted his 
 fiendish imagination with intense delight. 
 
 "Eight hundred more!" cried he, addressing 
 himself to Butler, " and my revenge on Wy 
 oming shall be satisfied!" 
 
 "That will require the heads of nearly one- 
 fourth of the population of the district!" re 
 plied his confederate in cruelty. "But no 
 matter, you shall be gratified. The full com 
 plement shall, before many days, be meted out 
 to you. Your valour deserves even a richef 
 reward." 
 
 "What richer can I obtain?" asked Brandt, 
 with fierce satisfaction gleaming in his burning 
 eyes. " In the assemblies of my tribe, I will 
 point to these trophies of my valour, and I 
 will say, ' Mohawks, behold how I have dealt 
 with your enemies' and they will answer, 
 * Brandt deserves to be our leader in war, for 
 he has overpowered the white men!' ' 
 
 That evening, while the victors, wearied out 
 b)' their exertions during the fight, or their ca 
 rousals afterwards, were mostly sunk in slumber, 
 and the whole encampment had become hush 
 ed in comparative silence, Brandt, whose exul 
 tation of mind prevented him from sharing in
 
 *v OF WYOMING. 163 
 
 the general repose, and who was also desirous 
 to ascertain whether the sentinels were atten 
 tive to their duty, wandered for some time 
 from station to station, indulging his delight in 
 the present triumph, and regaling his imagina 
 tion with the contemplation of others that he 
 believed were speedily approaching. 
 
 The evening was beautiful, and altogether 
 free from that sultriness which frequently cha 
 racterizes the evenings of July (for it was now 
 the beginning of that month) in Pennsylvania. 
 There was a magnificent serenity in the ex 
 pansive brightness of the starry heavens, the 
 majestic mildness of the modest moon, the se- 
 dateness of the lofty hills, the solid plain on 
 which he trod, and the broad and quiet sheet 
 of the Susquehanna that lay basking in the 
 moonlight rays before him, that might have 
 inspired even a savage with the love of tran 
 quillity and peace. There was also inherent 
 in the sublime grandeur of the scene, a mys 
 terious power of impressing on the mind of 
 the beholder, holy and solemn feelings and 
 convictions relative to the great Author of all 
 things, which might have imparted a sensa 
 tion of humility even to the proud and stern 
 heart of the triumphant Brandt, and softened 
 his rugged temper, into, at least, a temporary 
 feeling of kindness and benevolence toward his 

 
 164 THE BETROTHED 
 
 fellow men. But although he was impressed with 
 no feeling of this nature, he was not altogether 
 insensible to the beaut^sind blandness* of the 
 scene. These induced him to wander some 
 distance from the fort, towards the bank of the 
 river, in order that he might have a more per 
 fect view of the silvery sheen of its broad bo 
 som. As he approached the river, but while 
 yet at some distance from it, lie imagined that 
 he beheld the figure of a man moving slowly 
 amidst the trees near the bank'. He advanced 
 cautiously, and with that stealthy pace which 
 the Indians, when requisite, can so readily 
 adopt, for he wished not to frighten away the 
 wanderer, whom he suspected to be a spy from 
 the whig party, endeavouring to reconnoitre 
 the state and position of his encampment. If so, 
 as he was armed with a tomahawk, he determin 
 ed to cut him down, and add one scalp more to 
 the number of the day's trophies. If indeed he 
 should be a white man, whether a spy or not, 
 unless he belonged to Butler's party, he resolved 
 that he should suffer the same fate. His quick 
 eye soon discerned that the stranger was clothed, 
 partly at least, in the Indian costume. This caused 
 him to hesitate in his murderous intention, and 
 he hailed the stranger in the Indian language. 
 The latter was startled. He had evidently not 
 hitherto observed the approach of Brandt. It
 
 OP WYOMING. 165 
 
 was now too late to avoid an interview, even 
 if he wished to do so, and he answered the 
 salutation in the same language. 
 
 Brandt now recognised the Hermit of the 
 Woods. By information received from But 
 ler, he knew that he had now in his power the 
 person whose interference had occasioned the 
 rescue of Miss Norwood and Miss Watson, and 
 the death of three of his party in the Hemlock 
 Glade. His first impulse was to sacrifice him 
 to his vengeance. But reflecting that he was 
 entirely in his power, he resolved to forbear, 
 until he should show him how he had excited 
 his resentment for he knew that revenge is 
 never so complete as when its victim is made 
 conscious of his offence, and compelled by his 
 sufferings or his fears to deplore having com 
 mitted it Indeed those who are epicures in 
 the indulgence of that most savage and hellish 
 of all passions, never wish the sufferings of 
 their victim to be too suddenly terminated by 
 his dissolution for what gratification can ven 
 geance derive when consciousness is gone and 
 life extinct? Besides, even before he received 
 the information of the Hermit's agency in the 
 transaction just mentioned, Brandt had par 
 taken of the general reverence which was felt 
 for the old man by the Mohawks, whose vil 
 lages of late years he had frequently visited,
 
 166 THE BETROTHED 
 
 and had to Brandt himself paid more than or 
 dinary attention. It is true, he had sometimes 
 wearied the stern savage by ineffectual attempts 
 to restrain his impetuous temper and soften 
 his ferocity. Brandt, although he disrelished 
 those harangues, and improved nothing by 
 them, could not but respect a man who took 
 so much trouble to do him a service. Some 
 sprinkling of this feeling, perhaps, on this occa 
 sion, mingled with his resentment, and con 
 tributed to produce the pause in his murderous 
 design, which we have mentioned. 
 
 - " What brings thee here, old man," said he, 
 " prowling, at midnight like a beast of prey, on 
 the skirts of a field of battle?" 
 
 "I come," said the Hermit, "to this scene 
 of slaughter to discover if there is no wounded 
 being lying neglected in its vicinity, to whom I 
 may be of service." 
 
 "Thou mayest save thyself such trouble," 
 said Brandt. "Every thing human that, this 
 morning, inhabited yon fort, has been subjected 
 to the tomahawk. " 
 
 "Then indeed I can render them no ser 
 vice!" ejaculated the Hermit. "Barbarous 
 barbarous Brandt! But cruel asthou art, thou 
 art even less so than he who bears the name of 
 a Christian was born among Christians was 
 educated in Christian principles and yet has 

 
 OP WYOMING. 16? 
 
 assisted thee in this butchery upon his own 
 people." 
 
 "Beware old man," exclaimed Brandt, "or 
 thou mayest thyself become the victim of my 
 resentment. My vengeance is not yet satisfied 
 on the usurping race who have destroyed my 
 fathers, and robbed their children of their hunt 
 ing grounds!" & 
 
 "Thy fathers!" interrupted Rodolph 
 "thy fathers were of the race on whom thou 
 seekest vengeance. Unnatural man, leave the 
 work-of destroying white men to those who 
 have none of their blood in their veins! Thou 
 shouldst " 
 
 "Hold!" shouted the savage with a loud and 
 fearful voice, "by Manetto, thou dost insult 
 me! Seest thou this tomahawk! Is that the 
 weapon of a white man? Seest thou the hand 
 that grasps it, the eye that directs it, and the 
 heart that dictates its use Seest thou these? 
 Do they belong to a white man? No no 
 tremble they belong to a Mohawk! One who 
 has sworn vengeance on all thy race; and who 
 grieves that his blood is tainted with theirs. 
 One who has sworn vengeance on thyself, for 
 thou hast done him an injury not to be forgiven 
 --thou hast caused the destruction of three of 
 his mother's kindred!" 
 
 "Brandt!" said the Hermit, in a fearless
 
 168 THE BETROTHED 
 
 tone that surprised the savage, " Brandt, what 
 meanest thou? Thy charge I comprehend not. 
 But let me tell thee, I fear neither thy bar 
 barous weapon, thy blood-stained arm, thy fe 
 rocious eye, nor thy savage heart. Weaponless 
 as I am, I dare defy thee. But explain thy 
 charge. What kindred of thy mother have I 
 destroyed?" * 
 
 "One word will explain it," said Brandt, 
 somewhat disconcerted by the manner of the 
 Hermit, "the Hemlock Glade! All the people 
 of my tribe are the kindred of my mother!" 
 
 The Hermit now clearly comprehended the 
 charge; but he shrunk not from meeting it. 
 "Ha!" said he, "I might have been assured 
 that thy companion in atrocity would have in 
 formed thee of that. I did my duty then> I 
 saved innocence from misery, and thee from 
 additional guilt. Yet I lifted not my hand 
 against thee. Dost thou wish that thou hadst 
 disgraced thy manhood by the murder of wo 
 men?" 
 
 "They were our captives, old man," said 
 Brandt; " what we should have done to them 
 would have been determined by our chiefs. 
 But the death of my companions must be 
 avenged. Thou wert the cause thou must die !" 
 
 As Brandt prepared to strike, the Hermit, 
 starting back a few paces, drew himself up to a
 
 OP WYOMING. 169 
 
 greater height than usual, and assumed an air 
 and attitude of majesty that seemed for a time 
 to hold the savage spell-bound. 
 
 "Brandt, beware!" he exclaimed, "Heaven 
 looks upon thee! No no, thou darest not 
 strike to injure this time-worn frame:. The 
 spirits that inhabit the orbs which shine above 
 us would see thee and shudder, for it would 
 be a deed of guilt surpassing whatever thou 
 hast yet C9mmitted. Return to thy camp, nor 
 pollute the earth with such a crime. Thou 
 knowest not whom thou wouldst slay." 
 
 ''Who art thou? strange man," said Brandt 
 in a subdued tone. "Art thou not Rodolph of the 
 woods?" 
 
 "I am Rodolph of the woods," replied the 
 Hermit; " and I am one whose fate is so closely 
 connected with thine, that if thou darest to 
 strike me, with the blow thou wilt seal thy 
 own perdition. The laws of the universe have 
 given me a control over thee from which thou 
 
 t> 
 
 canst not escape, but of which, at present, 
 thou knowest nothing." 
 
 "Thou speakest mysteries, old man !" re 
 turned Brandt. "By Manetto, I do not believe 
 thy words. Thou wouldst mock me thou 
 wouldst frighten me. Ha! thou shalt not. 
 What care I for thy fancied control.. Vain 
 dreamer, thy silly device will not serve thee. I 
 p
 
 170 THE BETROTHED 
 
 must have revenge for my slaughtered friends 
 and now thou diest!" 
 
 "I die not now. Heaven prevents thy wick 
 edness!" said the Hermit. Brandt replied not; 
 but uttered an imprecation which he intended 
 should "be followed by the stroke of death. Im 
 mediately his weapon was raised in air, but as 
 it descended, it was grasped firmly by an un 
 seen hand, and rendered powerless. The 
 Hermit then seized it, wrested it from him, and 
 flung it afar into the Susquehanna. 
 
 " Untameable savage!" he cried, " return to 
 thy companions, I command thee; and thank 
 Heaven that thou hast been prevented from 
 committing the most terrible of crimes." 
 
 Brandt, awe-struck and yet enraged, was 
 about to answer, when an unknown voice ex 
 claimed "Obey!" and at the same instant, a 
 large pistol was presented to his breast by the 
 hand that had lately grasped him so firmly. 
 He instinctively started back, muttered a curse 
 upon his ill-fortune, and fled. 
 
 "It would be right to shoot him," said the 
 person who held the pistol; and he was about 
 performing what he said, when the Hermit 
 prevented him by exclaiming 
 
 "Oh! spare him! for my sake, spare him!" 
 
 "For your sake, then, let him go in safety, 
 this time," said Joseph Jennings, for it was he 

 
 OF WYOMING. 171 
 
 vho had come so opportunely to the Hermit's 
 assistance. "But I fear," added he, "that 
 we shall all have reason to repent this lenity." 
 "Alas! I also fear it," said the Hermit, sor 
 rowfully; " but, Joseph, you know my reasons. 
 I thank you for respecting my feelings, and for 
 your timely interference to-night. Let us trust 
 the future to the goodness of the Great Being, 
 whose hand has so evidently appeared in what 
 has just taken place. But we must now haste 
 from hence, lest the implacable Brandt return 
 to assail us with a force we shall not be able to 
 withstand." 
 
 Joseph's small party of bush-rangers, as they 
 were called, were stationed in a valley about a 
 mile distant. Thither they bent their course, 
 and soon joined them.
 
 172 THE BETROTHED 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Last noon beheld them full (,f lusty life, 
 Last evf in Ixsuity's circle proudly pay, 
 The midnight brought the signal sound of strife, 
 The mom the marshalling in arms the day 
 Battle's magnificently-stern arraj I 
 The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent. 
 The earth \s covered thick with other clay 
 Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent 
 Rider and horse friend, foe in njie red burial blent. 
 
 Byron 
 
 The next day was one of terrible importance 
 to the people of Wyoming. It brought against 
 them the 'combined forces of their unfeeling 
 enemies. Flushed with victory, and breathing 
 denunciations of desolation and ruin on the hith 
 erto flourishing settlementsof this fair valley, the 
 fierce Mohawks and merciless tories,sweptalong 
 in their march from the fort of Wintermoot to that 
 of Wyoming, without meeting any opposition. 
 The country indeed was deserted before them. 
 Men, women and children, the cattle, and all 
 kinds of easily transported property, had been 
 hurried off to places of security. In their hasty 
 flight, however, the fugitives had unavoidably 
 left much valuable property behind. This, it 
 is not to be supposed, was spared by the in 
 vaders. Every dwelling was pillaged, and what 
 ever could not be removed or was not thought 
 worthy of removal, was destroyed. The plun-
 
 OF WYOMING. 173 
 
 tiered houses were subjected to the flames, and 
 even the fences of the fields were vengefully 
 and wantonly demolished. 
 
 At length the drums and trumpets of the to- 
 ries, and the terrifying war-whoop of the sava 
 ges, were heard by the garrison of Wyoming, 
 and the alarmed multitude, of women, children, 
 aged and infirm under its protection. Every 
 disposition that judgment and zeal could sug 
 gest towards an effective defence was adopted 
 by the Governor and his military coadjutor 
 Colonel Dennison. Their men were divided 
 between them, and each took his station at a 
 separate wing of the entrenchment, in order 
 to repel the enemy from whatever part it 
 should be assaulted. Upon two sides only 
 could the fort be easily attacked, and to these 
 was the defence now chiefly directed. 
 
 The assailing force was also divided into two 
 -bodies, the savages and the lories, being ranged 
 under their respective leaders, Brandt and But 
 ler. The tories were the first that made the 
 assault. They advanced toward the moveable 
 bridge, but found that it was drawn up against 
 the gate of the parapet. They retired, and in 
 the course of half an hour constructed a frame 
 of light timber. This they intended to throw 
 over the ditch which was now full of water, 
 tin approaching to make the attempt they were
 
 174 THE BETROTHED 
 
 saluted with such an effective volley of mus- 
 quetry from the Governor's division that they 
 could not accomplish their design. They 
 withdrew, greatly chagrined, with the loss of 
 nearly a hundred men. 
 
 In the meantime the savages had dragged 
 forward, as near to the fort as they could with 
 safety approach, a large quantity of rubbish and 
 timber torn from the houses of the village, in 
 order to fill the ditch in a quarter where they 
 thought the entrenchment assailable. But here 
 they also met with such a warm reception 
 from the walls as obliged them to desist, after 
 the destruction of about fifty of their warriors. 
 
 Butler and Brandt now held a consultation. 
 "These pale-faced "rebels," said the latter, 
 "fight like furies. How shall we penetrate 
 their strong-hold? To approach it on any side 
 is destruction." 
 
 "It is an unexpected resistance," said But 
 ler. "We must use artifice. Let us ; with- 
 draw our men from the reach of danger, and 
 then deliberate." 
 
 The attack was suspended, and the chiefs 
 conferred together. 
 
 "The rebels manage their affairs better than 
 I expected," said Butler. "They know the 
 strength of their position, and they have avail 
 ed themselves of it with much spirit. It is in
 
 OF WYOMING. 175 
 
 vain to exert our force against them while thus 
 sheltered. We cannot reach their ramparts, 
 otherwise we might scale them. But our 
 musketry produces on them no effect, while 
 theirs, whenever we approach near enou gh 
 thins our ranks in the most murderous manner. 
 Cannon we have none. If we had, the state of 
 affairs would be different, this consultation 
 would not be required. We have the choice 
 of two measures to besiege, and endeavour 
 to v starve them into a surrender, or to allure 
 them out of their strong-hold either by fair 
 promises or pretended flight. Which shall 
 we adopt?" 
 
 " A siege is tedious," replied Brandt. "I 
 love action. My heart rejoices in the excite 
 ment of strife. But flight is shameful. Are 
 we vanquished that we must leave the field to 
 the victors?" 
 
 " No," said Butler. " We are not van 
 quished. We shall not fly we shall only re 
 tire to a better position. I dislike the tedi- 
 ousness and dulness of a siege as much as 
 thou. The delay might frustrate all our de 
 signs. The rebels are in daily expectation of 
 succours from their great army. We must 
 subdue them soon, and possess their fortified 
 places, or we shall not be able to withstand the 
 force that may be sent against us. A siege,
 
 176 THE BETROTHED 
 
 therefore, will not answer. But, brother, are 
 thy people not expert at stratagems? Do ye 
 not love the animating variety of dextrous 
 manoeuvres, ambuscades, rapid marches, sur 
 prises and sudden actions in war? Are such 
 not the favourite pastimes of true warriors, who 
 shun no toil and dread no danger?" 
 
 "Brother," replied Brandt, " thou art skil 
 ful. Thou hast spoken truth. My people 
 glory in the manoeuvres of war. The rapid 
 march, the silent ambush, and the clamorous 
 battle are changes that delight them. Exert 
 thy wisdom let thy cunning dictate. I and 
 my people will obey thee. " 
 
 Butler being satisfied with this assurance, 
 took his measures accordingly. He first sent 
 a message to the garrison summoning it to sur 
 render, oflt-ring them terms more favourable 
 than he had any intention of fulfilling. The 
 Governor was inclined to accede to these terms; 
 but the other leaders were averse to them, 
 and he \vas overruled. They insisted that it 
 would be folly to trust to the professions of so 
 treacherous a character as Butler, whom no 
 treaties could bind. Besides, the terms now 
 offered being only personal safety, and the 
 guarantee of certain property under the obliga 
 tion of never again resisting British authority, 
 were such as became conquerors only to pro- 

 
 OF WYOMING. 177 
 
 pose to the vanquished. But their enemies 
 were not conquerors; nay, thus far, they were 
 themselves the victors in the strife. In fine, 
 the terms were rejected, and Butler hastened 
 to adopt other measures. 
 
 During the attack which had taken place, 
 Mr. Norwood, who was entrusted with the 
 maintenance of quiet and regularity in the in 
 terior of the barracks, where those unfit to as 
 sist in the defence were collected, had found 
 abundant exercise for all his fortitude as a man 
 and his influence as a divine. The ferocity of the 
 Indian character, had, by the repetition of a 
 thousand tales, made a deep impression on the 
 minds of the women and children. The very 
 name of Brandt was terrifying to them. It 
 was connected in their minds with all that was 
 terrible in savage cruelty or dreadful in human 
 suffering. Nor was the name of Butler, at this 
 time, much less appalling than that of his bar 
 barous confederate. The atrocities committed 
 under his sanction at fort Wintermoot had 
 struck them with dismay, for they felt that if 
 they should fall, into his hands, they might ex 
 pect nothing but a similar fate. Lamentations 
 and cries, and prayers to Heaven for protec 
 tion, filled every apartment occupied by these 
 unfortunate people, during the whole continu 
 ance of the firing produced by the action that 
 

 
 
 178 THE BETROTHED 
 
 had taken place. In the work of consolation 
 and encouragement, Mr. Norwood was zealous 
 and active, and he had two assistants whose 
 zeal and activity were little inferior to his own. 
 These were his daughter and her friend Mary 
 Watson. Their own hearts were torn with 
 anxiety and terror. But they lost not their 
 presence of mind. They concealed the agita 
 tion which they could not overcome; and, 
 hastening from one group to another of their 
 terrified companions, they soothed theiralarms 
 and diffused among them at least a portion of 
 that courage which they themselves so nobly 
 exerted. 
 
 As soon as the firing ceased, and it was 
 ascertained that their enemies were beaten off, 
 the joy and gratitude which pervaded all hearts 
 were equal to the alarm and despair they had 
 before experienced. Praises and blessings, 
 loudly expressed and earnestly felt, were show 
 ered upon their brave defenders. Mothers 
 pressed their sons to their bosoms, daughters 
 their fathers, sisters their brothers, and wives 
 their husbands, with all that eqstacy of delight 
 and thankfulness with which they would have 
 hailed their restoration from the dead. After 
 the first ebullition of joy had subsided, and 
 tranquillized feelings permitted their thoughts 
 to arise to the Author of all good, Mr. Nor- 
 
 ***
 
 OF WTOMING. 179 
 
 wood assembled them in the open space be 
 tween the barrack and the ramparts, and pub 
 licly offered up to Heaven grateful acknow 
 ledgments for the protection they had experi 
 enced, and earnest entreaties, if it were con 
 sistent with the Divine will, that it might be 
 continued until their enemies should no longer 
 seek their destruction. 
 
 Intelligence that their enemies were retiring 
 from before the fort, soon added to their satis 
 faction. Scouts were despatched to watch the 
 proceedings, and if possible ascertain the inten 
 sions of the retiring foe. It was in a short 
 time ascertained that the tories and the Indians 
 had separated, and marched off in different di 
 rections. Many supposed or rather hopedj 
 from this circumstance, that some misunder 
 standing had arisen between these confederates, 
 and if so, that the enterprises of either against 
 their settlement, if continued, would be easrly 
 resisted and overthrown. 
 
 While the minds of the people, in the fort, 
 were occupied with these and other conjec 
 tures relative to the present aspect of their 
 affairs, one of the scouts who had been taken 
 prisoner by the tories, and was released by the 
 order of Butler, after experiencing from the 
 latter much unexpected kindness, returned to 
 the garrison. He reported to the Governor 
 
 i
 
 180 THE BETROTHED 
 
 that Butler was heartily tired of his alliance 
 with the Indians, on account of their ferocious 
 cruelty at Fort Wintermoot, as well as the 
 general obstinacy of their character, which pre 
 vented him from being able to restrain their 
 excesses, or even to direct their military force 
 to any useful purpose. The scout also stated, 
 that besides giving him this information, But 
 ler had requested him to acquaint the Governor 
 of Wyoming with his desire to enter into ar 
 rangements by which their differences might be 
 reconciled, and peace restored to the settlement. 
 What we ardently wish to be true, we are 
 extremely ready to believe. The Governor 
 was, therefore, much disposed to credit this 
 statement of his kinsman's wishes. There were, 
 notwithstanding the known perfidy of Butler's 
 character, many circumstances which counte 
 nanced the supposition that he was sincere in 
 this instance. The scout, who had conversed 
 with him, seemed fully convinced of his sincer 
 ity. It was believed that he had witnessed 
 cruelties enough to render him sick of such 
 scenes; he had been worsted in his attempt upon 
 their fort, and might begin to feel hopeless of 
 success in his designs; and above all, he had 
 found his savage allies so intractable that he had 
 been obliged to separate from them. Why 
 might he not, therefore, be desirous of a recon-
 
 OF WYOMING. 181 
 
 eiliation with his former friends who had treated 
 him with much kindness, and with whom he 
 had lived in tranquillity and ease. 
 
 These reasons operated on the minds of many 
 besides the Governor. But Mr. Norwood, 
 Colonel Dennison, and Dr. Watson, placed no 
 confidence in them. They expressed their 
 conviction that the professions of Butler were 
 totally false, and that they were intended 
 merely as a lure to facilitate the execution of 
 some stratagem, against which it would be pro 
 per diligently to guard. They, however, be 
 lieved that, with due vigilance, his sincerity 
 might be put to the test, without any risk on 
 their part. Since so many of their friends, 
 therefore, were desirous to open the door for a 
 reconciliation, which might put an end to such 
 a barbarous and unnatural war, they would 
 throw no opposition in the way of any prudent 
 and honourable effort to effect so desirable an 
 object. But they trusted that if a negotiation 
 were opened with the tories while they contin 
 ued to form an armed force, the utmost circum 
 spection should be used to prevent any surprise, 
 or the gaining of any undue advantage in a mili 
 tary respect, by enemies so unprincipled and 
 unfeeling. 
 
 It was, at length, determined that the same 
 individual who made the report relative to But- 
 Q
 
 THE BETROTHED 
 
 ler's wishes, should return to him and ascertain 
 on what terms he would disband his forces and 
 accept of the forgiveness and friendship of the 
 people of Wyoming, who were,even yet, willing 
 to overlook all his hostility, and restore to him 
 their former protection and kindness. The mes 
 senger soon returned with Butler's answer, 
 which was, that if the Governor and any num 
 ber of his friends^ would meet him at an ap 
 pointed place, they would confer together, and, 
 no doubt, speedily agree upon terms. 
 
 This reply was certainly vague and unsatis 
 factory. It strengthened the doubts of those 
 who had suspicions of Butler's intentions. 
 Why should he want the Governor and his 
 friends to leave their place of security, and 
 meet him in a situation where, it was evident 
 they could have no other guarantee for their 
 safety than his word. Was it not mockery in 
 him to pretend that he expected they would 
 rely on the promise or the honour of one who 
 had already so egregiously deceived them, and 
 had proved so bitterly their enemy? Yet the 
 fond hope of bringing the distressing state of 
 their affairs to a termination could not be slightly 
 abandoned, and some risk might well be in 
 curred for the attainment of such an object. 
 
 It was therefore agreed that the Governor, 
 Colonel Dennison, and Mr. Austin, should pro-
 
 OF WYOMING. 183 
 
 ceed to the place appointed. But as it was thought 
 imprudent for them to go without protection, 
 they were accompanied by upwards of three hun 
 dred and fifty men well armed, comprising, with 
 the exception of about sixty soldiers, the whole 
 force of the garrison. The fort was entrusted to 
 the' care of Dr. Watson and Mr. Norwood, the 
 former being invested with the military, and 
 the latter, if we may so term it, with the civil 
 command which required the performance of 
 but few more duties than he had hitherto dis 
 charged. 
 
 The Governor and his party marched out of 
 the fort in high hopes and joyous spirits, anti 
 cipating a speedy and prosperous return with 
 their repentant and submissive enemy. When 
 they had proceeded nearly a mile, they perceived 
 the enemy's flag about a furlong before them at 
 a bend of the road. They hastily pushed for 
 ward in order to overtake it; but it receded 
 as they advanced, continuing for a considerable 
 time at nearly the same distance from them, 
 without any accompanying force in view, even 
 he, who bore it, being but seldom visible. At 
 length it stopped at the entrance of a defile. 
 Colonel Dennison, who strongly suspected 
 treachery, had just advised the Governor to fol 
 low, what he called a deluding meteor, no fur 
 ther. The Governor was about taking his
 
 1S4 THE BETROTHED 
 
 advice, and retracing his steps to the fort, when 
 the stationary appearance of an unprotected 
 hostile flag at such a short distance from him, 
 induced him to advance toward it. When the 
 Wyoming party reached the entrance of the 
 defile, the flag suddenly disappeared. But fur 
 ther in advance a white flag was perceived, 
 which soon began to approach. They awaited 
 its arrival. The man who carried it stated, that 
 Butler felt unwilling to subject himself to the 
 hazard of an interview with the Governor 
 while attended by so large a party of armed 
 men personally hostile to him. He proposed 
 that, if the Governor would select five or six of 
 his friends, Butler would select the same num 
 ber of his own, and attended by these only, they 
 should meet at the bottom of a high cliff which 
 he pointed out about a quarter of a mile further 
 up the defile. In spite of the remonstrances of 
 Colonel Dennison, the Governor agreed to this 
 proposal. He left his men in charge of the 
 Colonel, and accompanied by Mr. Austin and 
 five others, proceeded to the place appointed. 
 Butler, with a small party, had reached the 
 ground a few minutes before them. They had 
 scarcely met, when the latter retired suddenly 
 from the group, and sounded a small horn. In 
 stantly a band of about twenty men, who had 
 been concealed in an adjoining hollow, rushed
 
 OF WYOMING. 185 
 
 upon the Governor and his friends. They made 
 a brave resistance until four of them were killed, 
 among whom was Mr. Austin. The Governor 
 and another named Dorance, who held the rank 
 of captain, were taken prisoners. But the lat 
 ter was so badly wounded that he died shortly 
 afterwards. 
 
 On perceiving the attack thus treacherously 
 made upon their friends, Colonel Dennison and 
 his whole force hastened forward to rescue them 
 or avenge their fate. They had proceeded but 
 a short way, when they perceived at some dis 
 tance Up a narrow rugged ravine in the hill on 
 their right, a flag-which they conceived to be 
 the fatal one that had decoyed them into this 
 snare; but their anxiety to save their friends, 
 whose' lives were, before their eyes, so perfidi 
 ously assailed, induced them to- hurry forward 
 without stopping to revenge the injury it had 
 done them. So rapid indeed was their approach 
 that they succeeded in rescuing the Governor; 
 his assailants hastily disappearing behind the 
 rock at the base of which the assault had taken 
 place. On advancing to this spot, however, 
 the Wyoming soldiers were struck with con 
 sternation to behold the whole tory force issu 
 ing from the midst of a dark glen, to attack 
 them. They had scarcely time to form their 
 ranks, which had been broken by the rapidity
 
 186 THE BETROTHED 
 
 of their advance,, when their hearts were ap*> 
 palled by the sound of the dreadful savage war- 
 whoop, which awoke the trembling echoes of 
 the hills behind them. They turned, and saw 
 the ferocious warriors of Brandt rushing impet 
 uously forward to attack them. These savages 
 had been lying in ambush in the defile where 
 the Wyoming troops, on passing to the aid of 
 the Governor, saw the flag which they suppos 
 ed had ensnared them into their present ap 
 palling situation. Appalling, indeed, .was that 
 situation. A well armed band of royalists, at 
 least three times their number, %vas close up 
 on them on the one side, while an infuriate 
 force of red warriors had already attacked them 
 on the other. There was little time for deliber 
 ation, but what there was, the Governdr and 
 Colonel Dennison improved to the best advan 
 tage. Their force was divided into two parties. 
 The Governor, at the head of the one which 
 was somewhat most numerous, waited the onset 
 of the tories, while Dennison led the other to 
 attack the savages. The Governor had not to 
 wait long. In a few minutes, a volley from the 
 tories levelled about one fourth of his par 
 ty to the earth. Their companions, however, 
 avenged them by a destructive fire upon the 
 assailants, which for some moments checked 
 their approach. But it was only for some mo- 

 
 OF WYOMING. 187 
 
 ments; for soon an overwhelming torrent of 
 bayonets rushed into the midst of their ranks, 
 and consigned them to one general doom 
 indiscriminate, unsparing destruction. Cries 
 for quarter entreaties for mercy, addressed by 
 name to those who had received kindness, many 
 and great, from the imploring victims, were to 
 tally disregarded on this dreadful .day, by men 
 who had hearts harder than tigers and more 
 unnatural than fiends. 
 
 Scarcely a remnant of the Governor's party 
 escaped this terrible slaughter. He himself, 
 for some time, fought bravely, and brought 
 several of his assailants to the ground. He 
 soon, however, perceived all to be lost in this 
 quarter, and hastened with about thirty men, 
 who followed him, to reinforce Colonel Den- 
 nison, who was making head gallantly against 
 the Indians. On reaching the Colonel's party, 
 the governor exclaimed 
 
 " All's lost above the tories have slaughter 
 ed our friends; they are hastening upon our 
 selves. Our only chance is, with desperation, 
 to cut our way through the midst of the sa 
 vages. On! my brave men! and as many as 
 survive, fly to the fort, lest it, too, fall into the 
 hands of the unmerciful!" 
 
 Dashing on,, he lead the way. Colonel Den- 
 nison followed,, and their whole band rushed to
 
 138 THE BETROTHED 
 
 the same point. The astonished savages were 
 either overthrown or fell back before them. 
 But the inveterate and victory-flushed tories 
 were dealing death upon their rear, and the 
 thunder of the savage rifles, rolling upon them 
 from all directions, also dealt destruction at 
 every step. About forty only succeeded in 
 escaping from this fatal defile. They hasten 
 ed to the fort; the sad remnant of that gallant 
 band of nearly four hundred patriot soldiers 
 who had so recently left it in sanguine hopes 
 and joyous spirits. 

 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 OF WYOMING. 189 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Auria's self is now but one wide tomb 
 For all its habitants what better grave? 
 What worthier monument ? Oh, cover not 
 Their blood, thou earth ! nor ye, ye blessed souls 
 Of heroes and of murdered innocents, 
 O never let your everlasting cries 
 Cease round th' eternal throne, till the Most High 
 For all these unexampled wrongs, hath given 
 Full, overflowing vengeance. 
 
 Southey. 
 
 Alas! how horror-struck were the discon 
 solate inhabitants of Wyoming, when the me 
 lancholy relics of their late band of brave de 
 fenders returned to that fortress which was 
 now their last asylum. Where were now the 
 near and dear relatives, the fathers, sons, bro 
 thers, husbands and lovers, to "whom so many 
 heartfelt thanks had that morning been given, 
 and for whom so many earnest prayers had 
 been offered? Ye bereaved mothers, and ye 
 orphans and ye widows, cold now are the 
 manly hearts that, but a few hours since, beat 
 so warmly to your ar.dent pressure; and those 
 ears which drank in, -with so much rapture, 
 the glowing praises and fervent blessings 
 which ye showered upon them, are now deaf 
 to all sounds. From neither friendship nor love 
 can those clay-cold bosoms, late so generous 
 and joyous, now experience any pleasing emo-
 
 
 190 THE BETROTHED 
 
 
 . 
 
 tion. The blooming cheek is now pale; the 
 sparkling eye is dim; motionless is the heart 
 of ardour, and nerveless is the arm of strength. 
 And ye survive those dear objects! Alas! un 
 happily "for yourselves, ye survive them. Ye 
 are in sorrow; ye are miserable. Sorrow can 
 approach them no more. Their trials are over; 
 they are happy! Yes, they are all happy; for 
 the barbarity of their foes has not permitted a 
 wounded cxne to survive the work of death has 
 been carefully, coolly, and effectually accom 
 plished upon them all. Oh! ye mourners, do 
 your hearts long for the same fate! Alas! 
 what is life, when those who constituted 
 its charm are no more? And within the 
 walls of the fort of Wyoming many a heart, 
 during that dismal night, (for night had now 
 come on,) would have given a sincere welcome 
 to the blow of the Indian tomahawk or the 
 thrust of the tory bayonet which would have 
 terminated their grief, and sent them to join, 
 in the realms of spirits, the beloved ones of 
 whom they had been so cruelly bereaved. 
 
 Colonel Dennison was now invested with 
 the command of the small garrison, whose task 
 it was to defend the fort and preserve from 
 destruction the hundreds of helpless and inno 
 cent beings who had made it their place of re 
 fuge. The governor, on escaping from the 
 fatal defile, had refused to enter the fort. 

 
 
 
 '3 , 
 
 OF WYOMING. 191 
 
 "You are," said he to Colonel Dennison, 
 " better fitted for the command than I. My 
 unhappy credulity has been the sole cause of 
 the terrible disaster that has befallen my 
 friends. I am mortified; I am grieved almost 
 to heart-breaking, to think of the fatal infa 
 tuation which induced me, in spite of your 
 judicious counsel, to place confidence in the as 
 surances of a wretch so perfidious, so utterly 
 wicked. I will not enter the fort. I could 
 not look upon the faces of those whom my -ob- 
 stinate folly has reduced to such a state of dan 
 ger and distress. Your coolness, your wisdom, 
 your intrepidity will do more to save them, if 
 there is yet for them any means of safety, than 
 any power or effort of mine. Yet I will not 
 desert their cause; I will hasten to the districts 
 on the Delaware. I will implore the people 
 there to hurry to your aid; and, if I cannot. 
 succeed, I will fly to the camp of Washington 
 himself, and entreat assistance. Alas! it may 
 then be too late to assist you. But if so, I will 
 avenge you God protect and bless you!" said 
 he; and the tears rushed to his eyes, as he 
 shook Colonel Dennison by the hand. He 
 then mounted a horse which was brought to 
 him from the fort, and rode off. 
 
 The tories and their allies did not advance 
 towards the fort that evening. They had, dur- 

 
 
 192 THE BETROTHED 
 
 ing the day, performed abundance of fatiguing 
 work. Besides the labour of the severe battle 
 they had fought, they had gone through the 
 barbarous toil of despatching the wounded and 
 despoiling the dead, upon all of whom the scalp- 
 ing-knife had performed its horrid office, and 
 the diabolical Brandt added, -that day, the in 
 teguments of more than three hundred human 
 heads to the number of his former trophies of 
 conquest and massacre. They encamped in 
 the vicinity of the fatal field, and after their 
 customary carousal in celebration of victory, 
 they sunk exhausted into a supine and heavy 
 state of repose. .But the garrison of the fort 
 was too weak, and, perhaps, too much disheart 
 ened to take advantage of this defenceless con 
 dition of the enemy. 
 
 This melancholy night was spent by Agues 
 Norwood in a state of the most intense and 
 restless anxiety. At the first intelligence of 
 the disasters of the day, poignant grief over 
 came every other feeling. But the exhorta 
 tions of her father, and the exemplary forti 
 tude of Mary Watson, contributed much to 
 restore her to a state of pious submission to 
 the awful dispensation that had taken place; 
 and although the terrors of destruction seemed 
 to accumulate so thickly around her, as to ex 
 clude from her view every hope of deliverance,
 
 OF WYOMING. 193 
 
 yet she would not resign herself to despair nor 
 withdraw her confidence in the overruling 
 goodness of the Most High. Her attention 
 was, indeed, soon so entirely absorbed by the 
 wretchedness of her friend Isabella Austin, the 
 only sister of her Henry, who, on first hear 
 ing of the death of her father, became so over 
 powered with grief, that she had to be carried, 
 in a state of insensibility, to her bed-chamber. 
 When she recovered from this, she wept bit 
 terly for some time, and then relapsed into 
 stupefaction. Towards the morning, she was 
 seized with several fits of frenzy, during which 
 she frequently exclaimed, that she beheld the 
 ungrateful Butler in the act of murdering her 
 father ' 
 
 "Ha!" she would cry, "see, see! oh! save 
 him! The horrid steel pierces his heart Un 
 grateful Butler! He was your best friend. How 
 could you do such a deed! Oh! for my sake, 
 could you not have spared him!' 7 
 
 She would then laugh deliriously, and sink 
 again into stupefaction. Agnes and Miss Wat 
 son became alternately the nurses of the poor 
 sufferer, and in the intensity of her grief, al 
 most forgot their own. 
 
 The morning arose with the brightness usual 
 in July. The night-clouds fled, and the ad 
 vancing sun came forward joyously and in 
 R
 
 194 THE BETROTHED 
 
 smiles, as if he were that day to witness no 
 scene of calamity and suffering on the earth 
 which he illuminated. Colonel Dennison, at 
 an early hour, mustered the whole strength of 
 his garrison, and found that it scarcely num 
 bered a hundred men. This was but a small 
 force, with which to contend against that which 
 he expected soon to assail him. They were 
 zealous, however, and determined to defend 
 the place to the last extremity. To propose a 
 capitulation, they knew to be folly. The gar 
 rison of Fort Wintermoot they remembered, 
 had received to the request which they made to 
 Butler to be informed of what treatment they 
 might expect if they surrendered, the reply 
 which has since become so famous for its la 
 conic ferocity of " the hatchet!" Their pros 
 pects of making a successful defence were, it 
 is true, hopeless. But making such defence 
 would not render their fate more certain or 
 more severe. Massacre would inevitably fol 
 low submission; nothing worse could follow 
 resistance. Besides, in resistance there was 
 one chance; that of protracting their fate, until, 
 perhaps, the succour which was daily expected, 
 might arrive. This, indeed, was literally a 
 forlorn hope. Their utmost efforts could not 
 be supposed capable of resisting the force of 
 their numerous enemies for many hours. They
 
 OF WYOMING. ' 195 
 
 \vere, however, too brave to despair; and with 
 the firmness of devoted martyrs, they calmly 
 awaited the approach of the expected foe. 
 
 How terrible to the reflecting mind is such 
 an interval of suspense! In the hurry of bat 
 tle there is an excitement of mind which si 
 lences the emotions of fear; and nerves which, 
 in moments of tranquillity, would tremble at 
 the contemplation of approaching doom, in the 
 actual struggle with that doom, become ani 
 mated to a defiance, and indurated to an endu 
 rance of its uttermost extremity. 
 
 At length the music of warlike instruments, 
 floating at first so weakly as scarcely to seem 
 to agitate the distant air, became every mo 
 ment louder and louder, until the neighbouring 
 woods shook, and the walls of the fort itself 
 reverberated with the sounds. The blood 
 stained banner of toryism soon appeared issu 
 ing from the surrounding forest; and Butler and 
 Brandt, with the whole strength of their san 
 guinary followers, drew up before the devoted 
 fort, which they soon made arrangements to 
 attack. 
 
 The fire of the small garrison succeeded for 
 some time in keeping the assailants at a re 
 spectful distance. But it was not sufficient 
 long to guard the entrenchments at every point 
 from numbers so superior. A party of the
 
 196 THE BETROTHED 
 
 lories succeeded in filling the ditch, near its 
 northern angle, with rubbish, which rendered 
 it passable. In various other places repeated at 
 tempts to accomplish the same object had been 
 made by the besiegers, which were foiled by 
 the unremitting exertions of the garrison. To 
 the place which was now rendered passable, 
 the assailants soon directed their chief efforts. 
 The garrison rushed to prevent their wall from 
 being scaled there. The besiegers drew back. 
 But many other points being now undefended, 
 at several of them the trench was also soon 
 rendered passable. At one of these, Butler 
 resolvea to make an effective attempt, cost 
 what it would, to scale the walls, and take the 
 place by storm. As he was leading on a choice 
 body of men for this purpose, his attention and 
 the attention of all, both in and out of the gar 
 rison, were suddenly attracted to an apparition 
 upon the rampart opposite to him, of a beauti 
 ful young woman with her white garments 
 flowing loosely around her, her dark brown 
 hair streaming wildly in the air, her face pale, 
 her eyes rolling, and her hands stretched to 
 wards Heaven. It was Isabella Austin. She had 
 unexpectedly rushed from her chamber, and 
 with the energy and fleetness of a maniac, while 
 the attention of her friends was directed towards 
 the advancing foe, she ascended the parapet.
 
 OF WYOMING. 197 
 
 looked wildly around her then fixing her 
 view upon Butler, she exclaimed: 
 
 " Ha! he is there! Heaven, have mercy! 
 a murderer! my beloved did ye not know 
 I loved you? Yet ye killed him! My father 
 Oh! Heaven, think of the deed! The old 
 man was kind. Ha! the thunderbolt! it has 
 struck my brain. Terrible man! thou art 
 accurst. My love will not save thee. Fiends! 
 fiends! yes, there he is he is a murderer 
 Oh! God! must I fly to the arms of a mur 
 derer!" 
 
 Uttering the last words, she sprang from the 
 wall towards Butler, and as she descended, a 
 random ball for even this heart-rending spec 
 tacle had not produced -an entire -cessation of 
 the firing passed through her heart. An ex 
 clamation of horror burst from the defenders 
 of the fort. One volley they fired with des 
 perate precision upon their enemies, which 
 levelled about fifty of them to the ground. But 
 it was their last velley. Before they could re 
 load, Butler and his inhuman followers were 
 within the ramparts, furiously employed in the 
 work of destruction. 
 
 Butler, in the midst of this affray, became 
 
 anxious to obtain possession of Agnes, lest she 
 
 might fall a victim to the savages, who he knew, 
 
 had resolved on a general massacre, and who 
 
 R2
 
 198 THE BETROTHED 
 
 were now surmounting the entrenchments in 
 all directions. Seeing Colonel Dennison en 
 gaged with a soldier, he ordered the latter to 
 desist 
 
 "Your life, Colonel," said he*, "shall be 
 granted on one condition. You see it is use 
 less to resist. Let me have your sword." 
 
 "Name your condition first," said the 
 Colonel. " It must be such as an honourable 
 man can accept, or I shall die sword in hand." 
 
 " It is only to lead me to Mr. Norwood and 
 his daughter, that I may save them," said But 
 ler. " No time is to be lost the Indians may 
 in another moment, defeat my intention." 
 
 "You are right," replied Dennison. "I 
 surrender take my sword follow me!" 
 
 In a few moments they had penetrated the 
 mingled mass of destroyers and victims, and 
 reached the chamber whefe Mr. Norwood and 
 his daughter,and Dr. Watson and his sister, were 
 calmly awaiting that expected death which they 
 were determined to share together. On enter 
 ing the apartmept, Butler, looking at Agnes, 
 exclaimed, 
 
 "I am fortunate! You are yet safe. But 
 you must be taken hence. These walls are 
 doomed to destruction!" 
 
 He then called, from the window, to Bate- 
 man, one of his partizans, who has been al-
 
 OF WYOMING. 199 
 
 ready mentioned as enrolling the tories in the 
 Hemlock Glade, to bring forward the company 
 he commanded. He was speedily obeyed. 
 
 " Captain Bateman," said he, " here are 
 five prisoners. Their safety is of importance 
 to me. I charge you with it. Conduct them 
 to Mr. Norwood's house. I will join you there 
 as soon as our business here is completed." 
 
 Agnes and Miss Watson, Mr. Norwood, Dr. 
 Watson, and Colonel Dennison, were thus 
 snatched, like brands from amidst a mass of 
 flaming destruction, by the influence which the 
 charms of the former had over the savage 
 heart of a ruffian who was destitute of every 
 other tender feeling save that of love. Love! 
 ah! no let not the name of the sweetest and 
 purest, and most disinterested of feelings be 
 profaned by being applied to the gross and 
 selfish, and sensual passion which actuated the 
 heart of Butler the destroyer of Wyoming. 
 
 A detailed description of the terrible car 
 nage that was now committed on the defence 
 less inmates of the fort, by the merciless vic 
 tors of this bloody day, would present too hor 
 rible a picture of human suffering and human 
 depravity, to be endured by any reader of sen 
 sibility. The monster Brandt seemed to be in 
 his natural element, when wading through the 
 currents of fresh-flowing blood that filled the
 
 200 THE BETROTHES 
 
 yard of the fortress which was made-Xhe butch 
 ering place of the victims. As each victim 
 received the mortal stroke, he rushed upon the 
 body, while yet writhing in the agonies of 
 death, and with his own knife dissected, with 
 a fiendish delight, from the warm skull, the 
 scalp which added one more trophy to those 
 horrid memorials of vengeful victory of which 
 he was so proud. The number of these memo 
 rials to which he had limited his ambition was 
 on this occasion completed. 
 
 "I have now a thousand scalps'/' said he to 
 Butler. "I have had a full harvest of re 
 venge. The people of my tribe will extol me. 
 I shall be called Brandt the successful the de 
 stroyer of white men! I am satisfied!" 
 
 The carnage being over, the dead were strip 
 ped of every thing valuable. They were then 
 dragged into the principal building of the fort, 
 which after being pillaged, was set on fire 
 along with the adjoining edifices. The smoke 
 and flames soon ascended to the clouds, and 
 struck new terror into the hearts of the discon 
 solate prisoners at Mr. Norwood's; for too 
 well they knew that the awful conflagration 
 which they beheld was the funeral pile of 
 slaughtered hundreds of their friends and 
 neighbours.
 
 OF WYOMING. 201 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 If she will smile I'll woo her like the dove, 
 Soft, fond and tender every word shall be ; 
 But should she frown repulsive on my love, 
 The tiger's amorous rage shall reign in me ; 
 Horror and dread shall drive her to my arms, 
 And with infuriate love, I'll seize upon her charms. 
 
 Harley. 
 
 Butler did not interrupt the sorrowful medi 
 tations of Agnes for that night. He wished 
 to render himself as little odious to her as pos 
 sible. By treating her and her friends with 
 kindness and delicacy, he hoped to remove her 
 unfavourable impressions of him, and in some 
 degree, at least, ingratiate himself into her es 
 teem. The vehemence of his passion, how 
 ever, would not permit him long to defer his 
 attempts to gain her to his purpose. He vi 
 sited her the next day. 
 
 "Miss Norwood," said he, "I truly rejoice 
 that you and your father were yesterday rescued 
 from the unsparing hands of the savages. This 
 is twice I have had the happiness of rendering 
 you such service. May I claim some portion 
 of gratitude for my efforts?" 
 
 " If your general conduct were such," said 
 she, "as to warrant my yielding you any es 
 teem, I would freely acknowledge gratitude. 
 For the particular services of which you speak,
 
 202 THE BETROTHED 
 
 however, receive my thanks. But beware lest 
 you conceive them to be thanks accompanied 
 by any other feeling than horror at the num 
 berless deeds of cruelty of which you have 
 been guilty." 
 
 "My fair reprehender," he replied, " thou 
 only utterest such sentiments as I expected. 
 Thy reproach, therefore, does not offend me. 
 But dost thou not consider the circumstances 
 that have influenced my conduct, and, in spite 
 of myself, compelled me to act as I have done. 
 My conscience is hostile to the rebel cause. My 
 father was murdered by the whigs. I was de 
 nounced by them. I fought them often. I have 
 triumphed over them, and been triumphed over 
 by them. They have put me into prison; they 
 have doomed me to death. How I was rescu 
 ed thou hast heard." 
 
 "Ha! ungenerous man!" said she, interrupt 
 ing him, "the faithful maid to whom thou 
 didst owe thy rescue, has been killed by thy 
 cruelty. Thou didst desert her; she pined in 
 secret, but reproached -thee not. At length, 
 her reason gave way before the pressure of ca 
 lamity and grief inflicted by thee, for thou didst 
 slay her father. " 
 
 "Fair Agnes'." said he, " thou art wrong. I 
 did not. Another slew him in the scuffle!" 
 
 " But thy treachery ensnared him to destruc-
 
 OF WYOMING. 203 
 
 tion. Poor Isabella! she is no more. She 
 died awfully insane, the victim of thy ingrati 
 tude and thy crimes!' 7 
 
 "I grieve for her death, for she loved me. 
 But if I could not love her, am I to blame? For 
 a time I tried to love her, and thought I had 
 succeeded. But I saw you, and found I was 
 mistaken. The soft regard perhaps I should 
 rather call it, the petty fondness I felt for 
 her, bore no comparison, in intensity, to the 
 all-absorbing passion I feel for you. Had I 
 never seen you, perhaps, I might not have been 
 ungrateful to her. To your charms alone has 
 my ingratitude been owing. Can you blame 
 me for this?" 
 
 11 Thy love forme!" she exclaimed. "Oh, 
 thou deceitful and barbarous man, I am truly 
 unfortunate in being the object of thy love. 
 Alas! if thou wouldst acquire any portion of my 
 regard, talk not to me of love. I cannot hear 
 thee without loathing." 
 
 "Fair Agnes," he replied, "dost thou not 
 know love to be an involuntary impulse? If I 
 could have compelled myself to love Isabella, I 
 might then have been justly charged with in 
 gratitude. If I could now refrain from loving 
 thee, thou mightest properly reproach me for 
 cherishing a feeling thou wilt not, perhaps canst 
 not, return thou mightest rightly reprimand
 
 04 THE BETROTHED 
 
 me for troubling thee with a subject which thou 
 loathest. Oh! Agnes, if thou wert mine, thy 
 virtues would chase away my vices. I would 
 become what thou shouldst choose to make me. 
 But without thee, I feel I can never be virtu 
 ous I can never be happy." 
 
 "This is rhapsody it is delusion," she re 
 plied. "Thou dost not want strength of mind. 
 Struggle to win the victory over thy bad pas 
 sions. It will be the most glorious thou hast 
 ever gained, and will afford thee more satisfac 
 tion than any triumph whether of successful 
 war or prosperous ambition.'^ 
 
 "Thou dost throw away thy counsel, my 
 lovely adviser," said he, looking fondly on her 
 countenance, which animated by her subject, 
 had brightened, during her observations, into a 
 most beautiful glow. "By heaven, I would 
 not resign my love for thee for an empire! It 
 is the sweetest sensation that ever animated my 
 frame. At this moment it sweeps through my 
 veins with a thrill of delight, which I would not 
 forfeit for the riches of the Indies. Thou must 
 be mine, I tell thee, ere long, or perdition shall 
 seize us both! Till to-morrow think of the 
 fervour of my passion. I must leave thee till 
 then." 
 
 He had heard the sound of a bugle which 
 was the signal for a joint-muster of the Indians
 
 OF WYOMING. 205 , 
 
 and tories, in 6rder to perform some military 
 mancBuvres previous to a carousal they were to 
 hold in the afternoon, in celebrating their late 
 decisive victories. On such celebrations, it was 
 the practice of the Mohawks to sacrifice some 
 prisoners to the manes of their slain warriors. 
 But so complete had been the previous day's 
 slaughter in the fort, that no prisoners had been 
 made, except those- who fell, as we have seen, 
 into the hands of Butler. This barbarous part 
 of their ceremonies, therefore, the Indians had 
 no means of performing unless Butler should 
 give up some of his prisoners for the purpose. 
 Brandt made an application to this effect. But 
 Butler's design of conciliating Agnes prevented 
 him from complying. He reminded Brandt 
 that the glory of obtaining so large a number of 
 scalps as he now possessed, more than compen 
 sated for the want of prisoners; and that, as to 
 the few he had himself taken, he considered 
 he was well entitled to the entire disposal of 
 them, especially as he had not interfered with 
 the operations of Brandt in securing as many 
 scalps as he had thought proper. He also ob 
 served that had the Mohawks been less eager 
 to seize upon these trophies of victory, they 
 would not have destroyed all their enemies 
 upon the spot, and might now have been in 
 possession of many prisoners. Brandt acqui- 
 s
 
 206 THE BETROTHED 
 
 esced in the propriety of these remarks, and 
 the captives of Butler were permitted to re 
 main solely at his own disposal. ' 
 
 During the carousal, or, as the Indians term 
 ed it, the Feast of Victory, on this occasion, 
 every species of riot and debauchery was in 
 dulged in to excess. To describe a scene of such 
 frantic folly and disgusting dissipation, would 
 be to give a representation of human depravity 
 and degradation, neither agreeable to write 
 nor desirable to read. While in a state of in 
 toxication, an altercation, as was to have been 
 expected, took place between some of the In 
 dians and the tories, which the interference of 
 their chiefs alone prevented from becoming se 
 rious and bloody. In consequence of this, it 
 was agreed by Butler and Brandt, that, while 
 the Indians remained in the Valley, they should 
 encamp at a distance from the tories, but not 
 so far off as to prevent the maintenance of 
 friendly intercourse, or a speedy junction in 
 case of either being attacked by an enemy. 
 
 On visiting Agnes the next day, Butler ap 
 proached her with the self-satisfied air of a 
 wooer who thinks he can plead the merit of 
 having performed an action of a nature very 
 pleasing to his mistress. 
 
 "My sweet Agnes," said he, " you will not 
 consider me destitute of all claim upon your
 
 OP WYOMING. 207 
 
 esteem, when I inform you, that, but for my 
 exertions your fellow captives would have been 
 yesterday sacrificed by the savages in confor 
 mity with their ferocious customs. Do I merit 
 no portion of gratitude for saving them?" 
 
 "I do, indeed," she replied, "and they too 
 must feel grateful to you for this. And oh! 
 if you were to conduct us to a place of safety 
 and restore us to liberty; abandon the wicked 
 schemes in which you are engaged ; repent of 
 the crimes and the cruelties you have commit 
 ted upon your own kindred and people; and 
 by your future conduct make some atonement 
 for them then might you yet require respect 
 upon earth and forgiveness from Heaven." 
 
 "Agnes," said he, "I know that you think 
 me a villain, but I did not suppose that you 
 thought me a fool. Were I to do what you 
 say, and throw myself upon the mercy of the 
 whigs, in all the contrition of a sincere peni 
 tent, would not the halter be my fate? My 
 father's death admonishes me not to trust my 
 enemies. I have avenged him amply, and, 
 therefore, my spirit rejoices in my career. But 
 I have no desire- to become the victim of that 
 career, by trusting to the mercy of those to 
 whose friends I have shown none. No; I can 
 form no connexion with the rebels I can 
 make no peace with them. But for thy sake,
 
 208 THE BETROTHED 
 
 fair charmer, I can, in future, be less virulent 
 in my resentment less destructive in my re 
 venge. Nay, hear me further; if them wilt 
 comply with my wishes, if thou wilt be mine, 
 I will set thy friends at liberty, I will with 
 draw from all scenes of strife I will retire 
 to Canada or Europe, and though I will not 
 makepeace with the rebels, I -will no more lift 
 my hand against them. Say, fair Agnes, wilt 
 thou sign the treaty? 
 
 ''Sign a treaty to become .thine!" she ex 
 claimed, "no; never! My reason forbids it, 
 my heart shrinks from it, and my vows render 
 it impossible. Expect it not, I entreat thee; 
 and if thou wouldst jnot make me utterly abhor 
 thee, persecute me no more with thy applica 
 tions." 
 
 " By Heaven," he ejaculated, " I have been 
 patient long enough with this girl's obstinacy. 
 Maiden, I shall not be so easily baffled in my 
 wishes, as thou thinkest. Mine thou must be. I 
 find that the mild means of persuasion will not 
 prevail with thee. But thou art in my power 
 thy father thy friends are in my power. I can 
 bring force terror torture to my aid. I have 
 but to say the word, and they are borne to the 
 stake. By six this evening thou shalt consent 
 to be mine or they shall die!" 
 
 She heard the dreadful threat pronounced
 
 OF WYOMING. 209 
 
 with the tone, and accompanied by the looks 
 of a demon, and she knew he had.daringness 
 and cruelty enough to perform it. Her terri 
 fied imagination overcame her fortitude. She 
 caught him as he was hastily retiring, and, al 
 though she felt as if even the touch of his gar 
 ment were pollution, she clung to his arm in 
 an imploring attitude, and with a voice and 
 look of sorrow that would have softened a 
 fiend, "Oh! if thy heart be human," she said, 
 "have pity, pity on my wretchedness!" 
 
 " Have pity on thyself," he replied, "have 
 pity on me on thy father on thy friends! 
 Reflect till six!" So saying he left the room, 
 and under the impression that the persuasions 
 of Miss Watson, whose life depended on her 
 decision, might prevail on her to comply, he 
 ordered that young lady into her apartment. 
 He himself hastened to that of Mr. Norwood. 
 
 " I come," said he, " my reverend friend, on 
 an errand of much consequence to yourself, to 
 your daughter, and to all your fellow prison 
 ers. You know the violence of my love for 
 Agnes. 'You also know her obstinate antipathy 
 to me. She is in my power. I might seize 
 upon her charms by force. But my wishes are 
 for an honourable union with her. No per 
 suasions of mine can induce her to consent. 
 Exert your authority. Should you succeed, 
 
 8*
 
 210 THE BETROTHED 
 
 you and your friends shall be set at liberty. I 
 shall retire from the contest against the whigs, 
 and reside in tranquillity either in Canada or 
 England." 
 
 " When I was formerly your prisoner" re 
 plied Mr. Norwood, "you obtained my an 
 swer to a similar proposal. My answer now 
 shall be the same that it was then; for my 
 mind is unchanged on the subject. I will not 
 comply with your wishes." 
 
 "Then hear thy doom, foolish, obstinate 
 man," said Butler, in a tone of fierce determin 
 ation " and the doom of thy captive friends 
 ye shall, should she not consent to save you, 
 be delivered up by the dawn to-morrow, to the 
 Mohawks, who, at noon, shall bind you to the 
 stake, and sacrifice you upon the flaming fag 
 gots, according to the customs of their tribe!" 
 
 " When thou shalt have done that, cruel 
 man!" said Mr. Norwood, "thou shalt have 
 done thy worst. I pray to the gracious Power 
 who can disconcert all the designs of the wick 
 ed, and into whose hands I commit my fate 
 and that of my friends, that, be our destiny 
 and that of my daughter what they may, he 
 will avert from her what I would deem the 
 most direful of all misfortunes, a union with 
 thee!" 
 
 "Rash man," replied Butler, foaming with
 
 OF WYOMING. 211 
 
 rage, ." it ill becomes thy prudence when under 
 the paw of the lion, to goad him to wrath ; and 
 it is but a poor display of clerical sanctity to 
 convey reproof in the words of insolence. I 
 swear to thee, thou shalt soon be taught thy 
 own pulpit doctrine of repentance. Either that 
 doom, which seems to thee the most direful of 
 misfortunes, shall overtake thee thy daugh 
 ter shall be mine or thou shalt die!" 
 
 He pronounced the last word with a terrible 
 emphasis; and casting on Mr. Norwood the 
 scowl of a fiend, he hurried furiously from the 
 apartment. 
 
 At the threatened hour of six, the enamoured 
 tyrant waited on Agnes to ascertain her decision. 
 He dismissed Miss Watson sternly, for he per 
 ceived from the mixture of detestation and defi 
 ance with which she regarded him on his en 
 trance, that she had not been a' very zealous 
 advocate for either his interest or her own. 
 
 " And now, my fair one," said he, as he 
 closed the door after Miss Watson's departure, 
 "I want to know whether thou hast decided 
 on peace or war, and art resolved that thy fa 
 ther and his friends shall live or die?" 
 
 " Alas! to what straits does thy cruelty drive 
 me!" said she. "If my own death will satisfy 
 thy barbarous wishes, Oh! I intreat thee to in-
 
 212 THE BETROTHED 
 
 flict it, and spare my unoffending parent and 
 thy other intended victims?" 
 
 "Thy death! Nonsense!" he exclaimed 
 " Thou dost trifle with me. I am serious. Thou 
 knowest that it is thy love or thy person, if I 
 cannot have thy love and not thy death that I 
 desire. Thy death! No; I would be miserable 
 if thou shouldst die before I possessed thee! 
 But now for thy decision? Wilt thou be mine, 
 or shall the victims die?" 
 
 "Hear me," she said, assuming a sudden 
 energy inspired by the utter hopelessness of her 
 situation "Unhappy and inhuman tyrant, thou 
 mayest sacrifice those victims; but their death 
 shall avail thee nothing. Thine I never will 
 be. If they die, I shall die also. Their de 
 struction and mine, shall only aggravate thy 
 crimes in the sight of God and men. It will 
 sink thy soul more deeply into perdition, and 
 render thy memory more accurst." 
 
 "Ha! sorceress!" he cried, "dost thou too 
 speak the language of defiance? Well may a sin 
 ner like me be pardoned some rudeness when 
 holy men and gentle ladies can assume the tone 
 of violence and the language of menace. But, 
 fair one, I am made of materials too stern and 
 unyielding to be frightened by the denunciations 
 of a maiden's wrath, or even the curses of a 
 priest I am master of thy destiny, and of the
 
 OP WYOMING. 213 
 
 fate of thy friends, and they shall be wielded 
 to suit my purpose. Since thy resolution is ta 
 ken, so is mine. I shall see you to-morrow at 
 ten!" 
 
 He withdrew; his countenance expressing 
 the settled sternness of determined malignancy, 
 rather than the violence of irresolute rage.
 
 214 THE BETROTHED 
 
 CHAP. XVII. 
 
 How shall I woo her? she is obstinate 
 As well attempt the firm-set rocks to move 
 With the soft motion of the zephyrs wing, 
 As try persuasion on her. Hut the bolts 
 Launched by the red artillery of the sky 
 Can to their entrails n nil the solid rocks: 
 And there's a thunder that can shake the mind, 
 Formed by the raging agony of terror: 
 With it I'll woo her till her heart be rent, 
 And moulded into trembling pliancy. 
 
 Harley. 
 
 What a terrible night of hopeless sorrow did 
 Agnes Norwood spend in her lonely chamber! 
 She was, in utter solitude, left a prey to her own 
 despairing thoughts without a counsellor or a 
 companion. Her tyrant had forbidden Miss 
 Watson to be again admitted to her, for he truly 
 conjectured that, disregarding all selfish consid 
 erations, she had strengthened, by her influence 
 and arguments, the opposition of Agnes to his 
 wishes. He had, therefore, ordered her to be 
 elsewhere closely confined, and to prepare for 
 death the next day. Miss Watson heard her sen 
 tence with the calmest resignation. She felt her 
 self a martyr in a just cause, and she determined 
 that her fortitude should not be overcome by 
 any consequence, however terrific, that should 
 arise from having done her duty. She had, in 
 deed, been always of a resigned and enduring
 
 OP WYOMING. 215 
 
 temper; and death had of late too frequently 
 appeared to her and threatened her in his most 
 hideous forms, for her to bo now surprised if he 
 should overtake her at last. She had witnessed 
 the destruction of hundreds of beloved friends 
 and respected neighbours. It was by a miracle 
 that astonished herself, that she had hitherto 
 survived. She could not always expect such 
 a special interference of Providence. What 
 greater claim had she upon life than those who 
 had already fallen? She could not conceive of 
 any. To the dispensation, therefore, now 
 awarded her, she was resolved to submit as her 
 duty dictated, without repining and without 
 complaint 
 
 The character of Agnes was not so stoical. 
 Her disposition was much more sensitive, yet 
 she was equally firm in her adherence to duty. 
 She had besides, causes of inquietude from which 
 her friend was exempt. The worst that could 
 happen to Miss Watson was death. She had 
 not, like Agnes, the fate of others in her hands. 
 No one could charge his suffering to her obsti 
 nacy. But Agnes! dreadful consideration! 
 the life of even thy own father depends on thy 
 will! And wilt thou not save him? And thy 
 three other friends are they to die too, be 
 cause thou wilt not yield to the solicitations of 
 a man who would wed thee? Alas! it must be
 
 S16 THE BETROTHED 
 
 so. Thou canst not break vows already made. 
 Thou art the betrothed of another, thy fidelity 
 to whom no accumulation of earthly calamities 
 can ever shake. To be unfaithful to him would 
 be to be unfaithful to Heaven and thy own 
 soul to be a traitor to thy own heart. It can 
 not be. Love, triumphant love assists thee 
 now in the terrible task that duty requires thee 
 to perform. The trial is severe, but thou art 
 firm. Thy sufferings are great, but thou .wilt 
 endure without yielding to crime thy heart 
 may break, but it will not be false. 
 
 Towards the morning, as the sleepless sufferer 
 lay meditating on the horrors of her destiny, the 
 door, to which her eyes were directed, slowly 
 opened, and a soldier cautiously entered. Per 
 ceiving her awake, he approached, put a letter 
 into her hand, and whispered, " when you read 
 this, destroy it, or it may destroy me. Your 
 father has paid me for delivering it. This will 
 be an awful day ! I am sorry I can do no more 
 for either you or him." 
 
 He departed without giving her time to re 
 ply. She opened the letter. There was suffi 
 cient day-light to enable her to read as follows. 
 
 "My. daughter, I tremble lest you should be 
 frightened into submission to the tyrant. Re 
 member your vows of betrothment. They 
 are as sacred and binding as the vows of mar-
 
 OF WYOMING, 217 
 
 r-:age itself. Let no peril nor calamity shake 
 yeur fidelity to them. Care nothing for me. 
 Let not my fate have the weight of a feather in 
 opposition to the obligation of your solemn 
 oath. I am resigned, my daughter, to the 
 death which awaits me. Why should I wish to 
 live, since I have witnessed the destruction of 
 my beloved friends and neighbours the zeal 
 ous hearers of the word of life which I experi 
 enced so much delight in delivering to them 
 the pious communicants of the cup of salvation 
 which I felt it so glorious a privilege to distrib 
 ute among them. They are gone; I have noth 
 ing to do but to follow. To separate from thee, 
 my child, I confess, is a heavy affliction, but 
 it is not so heavy as would be the knowledge, 
 that thou wert degraded and criminal. Perse 
 verance in virtue, on this awful occasion, is 
 the earnest and last injunction and that the 
 Almighty may bless and protect thee for ever, 
 is the anxious prayer of thy father." 
 
 At ten o'clock, Butler, according to his 
 threat, visited her. "A chance still remains 
 for thy friends," said he. "Although I have 
 promised them to the Indians, and the exult 
 ing Brandt has all things prepared for their 
 execution, thou canst yet save them. Say only 
 that thou wilt bemine. I shall recall my pro 
 mise to the Mohawks. I will relinquish their 
 T
 
 218 THE BETROTHED 
 
 confederacy, and fulfil every item of the pro 
 posal I have made to thee." 
 
 "Thou dost tempt me in vain," she replied. 
 "I will not be criminal; I will not break the 
 oath of my betrothment to Henry Austin, 
 though all the wicked and cruel powers of men 
 and fiends should conspire to accumulate hor 
 rors upon me for the refusal!" 
 
 "Thou hast named my rival my detested 
 rival!" cried he. " From thee his name comes 
 with a torturing a malignant influence. It 
 has sealed the doom of thy friends, and con 
 verted my wish to persuade, into a resolution 
 to compel thee." 
 
 At this moment, the music of the " Dead 
 March," was heard. He knew its meaning. 
 He led her to the window. A melancholy 
 procession was approaching. She beheld it; 
 her heart sunk the light left her eyes she 
 became dizzy, and had she not hasted to a 
 seat, she would have fallen upon the floor. 
 She had seen the prisoners those friends so 
 dear to her heart, bound and seated in a cart 
 her father and Miss Watson on the one side, 
 and Dr. Watson and Colonel Dennison on the 
 other, moving towards the place of execution. 
 
 "Thou seest that I have made no empty 
 threats!" said the tyrant, exirttingly. " I per 
 ceive thou dost pity the plight of those, poor 

 
 OF WYOMING. 219 
 
 victims of thy obstinacy. Wilt thou save them? 
 Shall I stop the death-going procession, and 
 restore those beloved ones, free and in safety, 
 to thy arms? Say only thou wilt be mine, and 
 this shall be done." 
 
 "I cannot 0! God forgive me!" She ex 
 claimed, " if I am wrongly obstinate obstinate 
 even to the destruction of my revered parent!" 
 
 "Save thy father!" cried the tyrant. "I 
 had resolved no more to entreat, but to com 
 mand thee to force thee to yield. But 
 once more, for the sake of those victims, I re 
 sort to entreaty." 
 
 U I am firm. Heaven has strengthened me," 
 she said with a tone and air of determination, 
 which aroused the wrath of the tyrant. 
 
 He exclaimed, "be it so then, perverse girl! 
 They shall die, whilst thou shalt profit nothing. 
 Thou shalt even behold them sacrificed, that 
 thou mayst witness the firmness of my re 
 solves. Thy charms shall then be mine with 
 out more parley. Look upon that couch. Thou 
 shalt be brought back from the scene of death, 
 and there there, while the cries of the sufferers, 
 are still ringing in thy ears, shall thy charms 
 become mine. Thy consent I will ask not.' I 
 have strength sufficient to seize upon happi 
 ness. I shall riot on thy loveliness, until my 
 Jonging soul shall be satiated with beauty!" 

 
 220 THE BETROTHED 
 
 He ordered her sentinel to assist him in con 
 ducting her to a light wagon which was in 
 waiting. He placed her on a chair in this ve 
 hicle, and seating himself beside her, they fol 
 lowed, at a slow space, the melancholy proces 
 sion already noticed, to the place appointed for 
 the dreadful sacrifice. They reached it in about 
 half an hour. It was a large field adjoining 
 a farm-house, the owners of which had been 
 slaughtered at the capture of the fort. The 
 house stood southward from the field, and be 
 tween them was a small garden, overlooked by 
 a balcony. With a sternness of purpose and a 
 refinement of cruelty characteristic of his in 
 fernal mind, Butler conducted the trembling 
 Agnes* to this balcony, that she might, in pur 
 suance of his threats, witness the horrible sac 
 rifice, for the completion of which every thing 
 was now ready. He seated himself beside her, 
 and, with barbarous oificiousness, pointed out 
 the arrangements of the scene. 
 
 The field rose in a gentle ascent towards the 
 north, on which side and on the east, it was 
 bounded by a wood of considerable thickness-. 
 A small rivulet which flowed into the stream 
 of the Sharon, formed its border on the west. 
 Upon or near the bank of this rivulet, the to- 
 ries had taken their station, as spectators, leav 
 ing to the Indians, the office of being the per- 

 
 OF WYOMING. 221 
 
 formers in the dreadful drama. The lattev 
 were ranged near the centre of the field. Im 
 mediately in their front, between them and the 
 house, were placed, in a line, four large piles 
 of wood, about eight or ten yards asunder. To 
 a stake erected in the centre of each of these 
 piles, and projecting five or six feet above 
 them, was bound one of the victims. The piles 
 were intermixed with a quantity of dried leaves 
 and straw, plentifully besprinkled with tar, 
 in order to facilitate the kindling of the mass. A 
 burning'pile which had been kindled somewhat 
 nearer the house, sent up to the air its mingling 
 volumes of flames and smoke, which occasional 
 ly bent their red and dusky streams towards the 
 prisoners, as if to familiarize them with their 
 fierceness ere they should envelope them in 
 their fatal folds. Round this burning pile stood 
 four Indians, of peculiarly fierce aspects', who 
 were appointed as executioners. They were 
 kindling the brands with which they were to 
 fire the combustible piles, upon which the pri 
 soners were bound. This last act of prepara 
 tion was, at length, completed, and these fero 
 cious figures only awaited the signal which 
 Brandt, who stood near the balcony, was to 
 give, at the intimation of Butler, to perform 
 their horrid office. 
 
 A solemn silence pervaded the whole field 
 
 T2
 
 222 THE BETROTHED 
 
 Every eye was fixed, with intense interest, 
 upon the innocent victims of barbarous cus 
 toms and lawless and revengeful passions. A 
 heavy horror hung over the scene which seem 
 ed to paralyze motion and to diffuse melancholy 
 through all surrounding nature. At length the 
 demon of the mournful drama arose, and with a 
 smile of malignant triumph, looked first towards 
 the prisoners, then upon the horror-struck fair- 
 one beside him. She was pale as sackcloth, her 
 lips quivered, her eyes were swollen, her 
 heart was faint; but her soul looked- towards 
 Heaven, was fixed upon truth, and resolved on 
 an adherence to duty. 
 
 "Fair-one," said the demon, "look on thy 
 friends. The balance of their fate is suspended. 
 
 Life and death are in the scales. One word 
 
 
 from thee will make either preponderate. I 
 ask, for the last time, wilt thou be mine?" 
 
 She raised her eyes towards Heaven, and 
 grasping with her whole soul at the 'unfailing 
 support of conscious rectitude, she committed 
 the issue of all to the protection of her Maker, 
 and firmly answered "No!" 
 
 The tyrant turned from her with fury 
 streaming from his eyes. He gave a signal to 
 Brandt, who instantly raised the death shout; 
 and the executioners, flourishing their flaming 
 brands in the air, were hastening to fire the
 
 OF WYOMING. 223 
 
 fatal piles, when a man, in the garb of a pro 
 phet, bearing the consecrated wand of Manetto, 
 rushed impetuously from the woods, and com 
 manded them to forbear. 
 
 "Stand back!" said he, " Mohawks! In 
 the name of the Great Spirit, I charge you to 
 cast away your brands, and harm not the inno 
 cent at these stakes, on peril of the vengeance 
 of the Almighty!-" 
 
 The prophetic symbol which he displayed, 
 together with the boldness and energy of his 
 manner, and the awfulness of his words, were 
 successful. The executioners, and indeed all 
 the Indians who beheld him, except the un- 
 tameable Brandt, respected the words of the 
 prophet, and feared the denunciation delivered 
 so impressively in the name of the Great 
 Spirit. Even Brandt felt tremulous at the 
 first appearance of the prophet. But he soon 
 recovered, for he recognised him to be the 
 object of his late resentment, the Hermit 
 of the Woods. His rage kindled, and when 
 he perceived the executioners to throw down 
 their brands and relinquish their office, he 
 rushed forward to the Hermit. 
 
 "Howdarest thou, dotard," said he, "in 
 trude thyself and thy madness between us and 
 the sacrifice of our captives? The spirits of our 
 slain warriors call upon us for the vengeance
 
 
 224 THE BETROTHED 
 
 which we must inflict upon these victims. I 
 have my own wrongs to avenge upon thee, Ro- 
 dolph. Retire, and disturb us not in this feast 
 of vengeance, or I will cut thee down where 
 thou stantiest." 
 
 " I defy thee, vain man!" returned the Her 
 mit, camly. "Thou darest not I am here in 
 defence of innocence, and in the service of the 
 Great Spirit. In his name, I command thee to 
 set these prisoners free. If thou refusest, his 
 hand is out-stretched, and immediate destruc 
 tion shall fall upon thee!" 
 
 "Destruction shall fall upon thee first," 
 shouted the infuriate Mohawk, and he plunged 
 his tomahawk into the breast of the prophet. 
 All the spectators shuddered, but stood still as 
 if horror had rooted them to the ground. 
 
 "Brandt! Brandt!" said the Hermit, as he 
 fell to the earth, " thou knowest not what thou 
 hast done. This deed has filled the measure 
 of thy wickedness. There is no more peace 
 for thy spirit. Thou hast slain thy father!" 
 
 Brandt uttered a yell of horror which made 
 the air quiver and astonished the Indians who 
 were now moving irrregularly and timidly to 
 wards him. He caught his father's breast, and 
 held it with an endeavour to stem the issuing 
 of the blood that flowed from it. " 
 
 " It is in vain," said Rodolph. " But thank
 
 OF WYOMING. 225 
 
 Heaven thou seemest penitent, and I forgive thee. 
 I deserved this. In my youth I was wicked 
 as thou. My father's liberal bounty I exhaust-- 
 ed in dissipation. At length he refused to 
 supply me with more. I longed for his riches. 
 / slew him. Oh God! then, then, frenzy 
 seized my brain ! I fled from civilization. 
 Your mother nursed me in my delirium. -I 
 recovered I married her. You were born. 
 I fled from your presence. He who has in 
 jured a father .ought never to have a son. A 
 presentiment I could not banish, told me that 
 you were to be the avenger of my father's blood 
 'I slew my father my son has slain me! Eter 
 nal justice, thou art satisfied!" he said and died. 
 
 Butler, on perceiving from his station on 
 the balcony, this interruption to the execution 
 of his victims, hastened forward to ascertain 
 distinctly the cause. By the time he approach 
 ed, the Hermit had ceased to speak. He saw 
 Brandt powerfully affected. He was surprised, 
 for he knew not the cause. 
 
 "What! is this the hero of the Mohawks!" 
 said he, upbraiding his confederate in iniquity. 
 " I thought thou hadst the soul of a warrior; 
 but thy heart is grown feeble like a woman's. 
 The spirits of thy fathers will be ashamed of 
 thy weakness." 
 
 Brandt cast upon him a look of indignation.
 
 226 THE BETROTHED 
 
 "The spirits of my fathers ashamed of me!" 
 he exclaimed. " Ay; they will curse me. But 
 thou thou hast nothing to do with my fathers. 
 Hie hence, lest, if thou frettest me, in my 
 madness I slay thee!" 
 
 "What! art thou, indeed, mad?" cried But 
 ler, in astonishment. " Does it grieve thee 
 that, thou hast slain a peevish grey-beard who 
 was thy enemy?" 
 
 " Ha!" cried Brandt, seizing his tomahawk, 
 which was still reeking with the blood of his 
 father, "if thou wilt scoff again, I have a weapon 
 accustomed to pierce hearts. By the blood that is 
 now upon it, I swear I am thy friend no longer!" 
 
 "Nonsense!" returned Butler, perceiving 
 the impolicy of irritating the savage farther. 
 "I wish not to offend thee. 1 cannot compre 
 hend the cause of thy agitation. But enough 
 of it. Let us now proceed with the sacrifice 
 of the prisoners." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed the savage, his habitual 
 taste for destruction returning. " Our customs 
 require it. He was but a white man," he 
 said to the executioners, who now stood near 
 him, "and could not be a prophet of M,anetto. 
 Haste, fire the piles, and let the sacrifice be of 
 fered!" 
 
 Being no longer in awe of Rodolph, whom 
 they now considered a deceiver, and who lay
 
 Of WYOMING. 227 
 
 dead before them, the executioners hastened to 
 re-kindle their brands, which they soon accom 
 plished, and waving them, as they blazed and 
 crackled in the air, they proceeded towards the 
 piles. But before they could apply the flaming 
 instruments to their destructive purpose, a sud 
 den shout of warlike voices issued from the 
 woods, and a number of musket balls pierced 
 each of them, together with the ferocious 
 Brandt, and stretched them on the ground. 
 This was instantaneously followed by a more 
 abundant visitation of the same deadly missiles, 
 upon the thickest groups of the Indians, more 
 than a hundred of whom fell, and the rest fled 
 in terror from the scene. Butler, with the 
 whole force of the tories, was now advancing 
 to check the flight of the Indians and give bat 
 tle to the assailants, when Henry Austin, at the' 
 head of the Wyoming Volunteers, and about 
 five hundred Continental troops, rushed out of 
 the wood and charged the traitorous destroyers 
 with the bayonet They made but a short re 
 sistance. They were unable to withstand even 
 the first shock of their disciplined adversaries. 
 They broke, and imitating their Indian allies, 
 fled into the depths of the forest, leaving two 
 hundred of their party dead on the field. 
 
 Butler, even in this extremity, resolved to 
 make an effort to retain possession of Agnes.
 
 228 THE BETROTHED 
 
 He hurried from the scene of battle, as soon as he 
 saw that the day was lost, to the balcony where 
 he had left her in charge of a sentinel. By this 
 time, however, the prisoners were unbound, 
 and Dr. Watson, whose anxious eye followed 
 the career of Butler over the field, perceived 
 this movement, the intention of which he at 
 once conjectured, just as Henry Austin ap 
 proached towards him. 
 
 "Fly, Henry !" said he, " fly to yonder bal 
 cony, and save your Betrothed from the de 
 stroyer!" 
 
 With the speed of an arrow Henry obeyed, 
 and just as Butler had seized Agnes to carry her 
 off, he with one spring mounted the balcony, 
 and one powerful thrust of his sword, anni 
 hilated the opposition which the sentinel im- 
 ' prudently offered to his advance upon Butler. 
 
 "Ah! infamous miscreant!" cried he to the 
 latter, "thank Heaven, I have thee!" 
 . "I know that this is my death-scene," said 
 the courageous ruffian, " for thy soldiers sur 
 round me. But I shall die with the satisfaction 
 of knowing that thou, my detested rival, shalt 
 not survive to enjoy Agnes." 
 
 So saying he made a desperate pass at Henry, 
 aiming, not to save himself, but to destroy his 
 antagonist. That antagonist, however, was too 
 expert a swords-man to be endangered by such
 
 OF WYOMING. 229 
 
 maniac rashness. He struck the coming weapon 
 aside with such force that it almost flew from 
 its owner's grasp, while his own sword, in' its 
 backward sweep, nearly dissevered Butler's 
 head from his body. 
 
 " By that Heaven-directed blow," said 
 Colonel Dennison, who at that moment entered 
 ^he balcony, "thou hast avenged the desolation 
 of a whole people." 
 
 "Thou hast also," said Dr. Watson, who 
 entered immediately after the Colonelj "aven 
 ged thy father and thy sister, and rescued thy 
 Betrothed from unspeakable misery from the 
 hands of a villain!" 
 
 "Oh Agnes!" exclaimed Henry, straining 
 her to his palpitating breast " my beloved, my 
 faithful one, thou art yet' my own. I am happy 
 Heaven hath preserved thee for me!" 
 
 "I see thee again!" said she. "Oh Henry, 
 thanks to the Eternal! this is indeed happi 
 ness!" The tears rushed to her eyes; she hid 
 her burning blushes in his bosom, and sobbed 
 aloud the grateful agitations of her heart. 
 
 "Bless thee, my son!" said Mr. Norwood, 
 who now, with Miss Watson, advanced towards 
 the victor. "The hand of Heaven is mani 
 fest in this day's deliverance. May the Al 
 mighty Power that sent thee at the critical 
 moment, when all seemed to be lost, still be- 
 u
 
 230 THE BETROTHED 
 
 friend thee and that maiden, thy own betrothed, 
 who has been true to thee and to her vows, 
 amidst the severest trials that could beset hu 
 man nature." 
 
 But we haste to close our narrative; and 
 must, therefore, decline entering into a detail 
 of the congratulations and outpourings of grati 
 tude of which Henry Austin was now the ob 
 ject. .The party retired from the eventful bal 
 cony to the residence of Mr. Norwood, which 
 was so lately the prison of its venerable master 
 and his friends. 
 
 Henry now informed them that it was owing 
 to information received from Rodolph the Her 
 mit, that he had been enabled to come to their 
 rescue at so critical a juncture. After the cap 
 ture of Fort Wintermoot, Rodolph anticipat 
 ing what would happen elsewhere, hasted on 
 horseback, towards the Lehigh, where he under 
 stood that a party of Continentals was advancing 
 to Wyoming. Here, fortunately meeting them, 
 he stimulated their speed by the intelligence he 
 imparted, and conducted them, by the shortest 
 route, to their destination. 
 
 "Yesterday," said Henry, " Joseph Jen 
 nings joined us with a small party of his bush 
 rangers. He informed us where the Indians 
 were encamped, but he knew nothing about 
 the intended sacrifice. Rodolph, who had often.
 
 OF WYOMING. 231 
 
 in the character of a prophet, by working on 
 their superstition, restrained the ferocity of the 
 savages in their wars, conceiving that he might 
 possibly do some good by visiting them now in 
 that capacity, hastened on before us, to their 
 encampment. We followed as fast as our num 
 bers and equipments would permit. With the 
 result of his arrival, as well as of ours, ye are 
 acquainted. Would to Heaven we had arrived 
 but one week sooner! What an amount of un 
 paralleled misery and desolation would have 
 been prevented!" 
 
 "The ways of Providence are, indeed, mys 
 terious," observed Mr. Norwood. " Often do 
 the wicked triumph, while the virtuous are 
 subjected to the most terrible calamities. But 
 God is just; hence there must be a time and a 
 place where the inequalities of this world shall 
 be corrected, and the value of virtue and the 
 principles of eternal justice vindicated to the 
 satisfaction of both angels and men."
 
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