"Ah! whence yon glare,That fires the arch of heaven?—that dark-red smoke,Blotting the silver moon?"SHELLEY.
An hour had passed, and yet there were no indications of an attack. The inmates of the cottage had taken their places as on the night of the previous conflict; and, with all their senses upon the alert, endeavored to detect the approach of an enemy, from whom so much was to be feared. Ruth and Singing-Bird had both taken positions by the loop-holes, and without strenuous objection; for, on a night that threatened to be so dangerous, they, even, might render important resistance. Another hour passed. Was it possible that the Indians, satisfied with the lives of their two unfortunate prisoners, had abandoned the idea of again attacking the cottage? This query presented itself to the mind of more than one of the little garrison; and it was with a pleasant thrill of hope, that the idea first occurred to the mind of Ruth. Even Ichabod, with all his experience in Indian character, suggested to Eagle's-Wing the possibility that such a hope might be well-founded.
"No," was the answer; "don't know Injins if you think so. They come, sartin, by'mby. Panther cunning Injin. He mean to get cottage to-night, any way—that what it means."
"Do you suppose, Eagle's-Wing, that they're anywhere round here now?" asked Ichabod, more to hear what his friend would answer, than for any other purpose.
"Guess so; guess that ravinefullof Injins. Hear 'em, by'mby. They won't yell nor shoot. Know that don't do any good. Can't shoot through logs; that they know."
"I reckon you're about right, Eagle's-Wing. They want to put us off our guard; and by-and-by some miscreant will try to set us afire. But if we watch, we can prevent that; they can'tcarryfire without our seeing it."
"Don't know that. Little spark make great fire, sometime. Hide little spark pretty well, if they try."
The night had now become dark; the sky was partly obscured by clouds—sufficiently so to render it extremely difficult to discern objects no larger than the size of a man, at even a rod's distance. But while the darkness would allow the Indians to approach nearer the building with less chance of detection, it would also render it more difficult for them to conceal any attempt to set the cottage on fire.
Two, three, or even four hours, might elapse ere any demonstration on the part of the Senecas would be made. This uncertainty, united with the darkness and silence which reigned both within and without, tasked the spirits of the defenders more than any open attack would have done. No anxiety is more overpowering than that of awaiting an event the coming of which is to be dreaded, and yet which will certainly arrive. In the whole range of catastrophes to which mankind are subject, there is, perhaps, but one important exception to this remark, and that is the great catastrophe to which each individual of the human family is subject, which is certain to arrive, and which is universally dreaded. It may arrive soon or late—no one knows when, or how it will come; yet the anxiety incident to that event, is easily overcome; and one by one, a generation passes away, each one knowing well his doom, yet neglecting the least preparation.
This anxiety at length became so irksome, that a desultory conversation sprung up between the different individuals of the party—yet, without any cessation of watchfulness, Ichabod, who had remained silent since the last reply of Eagle's-Wing, now again addressed his companion.
"Why wouldn't it be a good idea for one of us to reconnoitre a little? We could find out for sartin whether any of the reptiles are ra'ally round here or not?"
Eagle's-Wing did not answer. His eyes seemed to be strained almost from their sockets in endeavoring to pierce the darkness. Suddenly the silence was broken by the discharge of his rifle; and at the unexpected sound amidst the unnatural quiet which reigned around them, every member of the little garrison started simultaneously with the report. A scream was heard from the outside, towards the ravine, and Ichabod saw an Indian fall struggling upon the ground, while a small brand of fire fell by his side upon the dry leaves along the edge of the ravine.
"Well done, Eagle's-Wing!" exclaimed Ichabod. "It takes an Injin to see an Injin in the dark; but that rascal won't set fire to the cottage, any way."
"Plenty more, down yonder, where he come from. They keep still, though; won't be foolish, this time."
It was true, that although the Seneca had fallen, and the brand of fire which he had carried concealed, lay by his side; not a sound indicated the presence of another enemy. They had failed in this attempt; but another might be more successful. It was evident, that on this occasion, the Senecas would throw away no chances of triumph.
It has already been mentioned that the forest on the edge of the ravine, approached within three or four rods of the cottage; and as the ground was strewn with dry leaves and dead underbrush, the feelings of safety which the defenders of the cottage, for a moment, had entertained on the detection of this attempt to set the building on fire, was now exchanged for alarm. The brand which had fallen by the side of the Indian, had unfortunately fallen upon a small pile of dry underbrush, which was also covered with dry leaves. A slight wind, which now blew in occasional light gusts from the northward, ignited the whole brand into a live coal, and a feeble blaze began to ascend from around it.
"Con-found the fire!" exclaimed Ichabod. "I'll try and stop that enemy, any way."
He discharged his rifle at the burning brand, and the coal flew scattered in all directions. This was a risk which he foresaw. The scattered coals might fall upon other places which were equally dangerous; if so, the danger would be increased; but there was a chance, too, that they might fall upon places where they would be extinguished. For a moment, the experiment seemed perfectly successful; a feeble and flickering blaze, that seemed about to expire, only remained where the brand had originally fallen. But another slight gust of wind now came, and the feeble blaze streamed upwards into a steady fire.
"Over here, with your rifles," shouted Ichabod; and five rifles were at once discharged into the burning pile. The blazing brush was partially scattered; but that now seemed to increase the danger. The wind came in gentle currents, and the dry leaves and brush were taking fire in half-a-dozen different places. It was useless to fight an enemy which was only multiplied and made more dangerous by defeat.
"I reckon it's bad enough," said Ichabod, "to have to fight them rascally Injins, without being obliged to fight the elements, besides. Wind, fire, and Injins, all at once, areraythertoo much for human natur'."
"What's to be done now?" inquired Barton, who had become very much agitated by this new danger, for it was apparent that should the dry wood in the forest set fire to the trees, as would be most likely, with a northern wind to blow the flames in the direction of the cottage, nothing could prevent the building from taking fire. But there was yet hope; the fire might be confined to the underbrush, and expire without catching among the trees.
"I don't know of anything we can do just now, Squire," replied Ichabod, to the question of Barton, "except to wait. I've known things to be as desp'rate before, and come out right in the end. I don't like it, though, that's sartin. I'm afeard, Eagle's-Wing, that we shall have to try that thing we talked about."
"Think so, too," was the calm reply of the Tuscarora; "when time come, then I'm ready."
For a short time, the anxiety felt in the cottage was extreme. It was yet doubtful whether there was any serious danger from this new enemy or not. But the fire steadily increased; it ran along the ground, catching from bush to bush, and among heaps of dry bushes and limbs of trees, which had been collected by the labor of Barton, and soon the light began to penetrate the recesses of the forest. The red rays darted in among the old trees, and lit them up with a strange, wild glare. The flames crept along with steady pace, as the fire increased, until the whole ravine was suddenly illumined by a blaze of light, and in its recesses were disclosed the main body of the Senecas, watching with savage delight the insidious approaches of their new ally. When they saw that they were discovered, a wild yell of exultation broke from every throat, and darting from the ravine, they scattered in all directions about the cottage; but at sufficient distance to be out of reach of the rifles. For a short time, all was silent again, and all were intent upon observing the progress of this new assailant.
The whole surface of the ground for four or five rods in extent, immediately north of the cottage, seemed now to be on fire. At numerous points, the fire raged intensely, and shot up tall spires, of flames among the crackling branches; now catching upon the mossy side of a tree, it ran upward, darting with the rapidity of lightning for a moment, then suddenly expiring, leaving a blackened crust, instead of the fresh green moss. The wind gradually blew stronger and wilder. Unluckily, heaps of dry wood had been piled around the trunks of trees, and now the bodies of those trees were seen to be on fire. Up among the branches leaped the flames: points of fire darted here and there, like blazing serpents, while, borne by the wind, thick clouds of sparks began to load the air, and dart towards the doomed roof of the cottage. Soon, a steady stream of flame began to mount the trunk of a tall dead pine, which stood upon the edge of the forest. Upward and upward it crept; now pausing, as if to gnaw inward into its centre, then darting with a leap like a wild beast, pouncing on its prey. Around the base of the tree, the fire raged intensely, for here a mass of dry limbs and logs had been collected; and momentarily, the flames from all sides ate inwardly towards its centre. A few dry and leafless limbs stood out from the old trunk, pointing upward; and along these the fire now crept, and they seemed like tortured arms held bleeding to the sky.
The cottage was no longer safe. A few moments more, and the pine must fall; if it fell upon the cottage, it would crush it into a heap of ruins; and if this danger was avoided, the fire could not be escaped. The intense heat already penetrated the building, and through the loop-holes streamed the light, with a red, unearthly glare. The Indians saw that the inmates must either endeavor to escape or be consumed. They had scattered about the cottage in all directions; not a point was left unguarded, where their victims could escape; and as the moment of vengeance approached nearer and nearer, they testified their joy by loud and exulting shrieks. Every window, every door was guarded; the roof of the cottage stood out against the sky, and every crack and cranny of its thatching was exposed. Suddenly, to their surprise and delight, the door that opened upon the roof was lifted, and their most hated enemy, the Tuscarora, leaped from the glaring rafters with his rifle in his hand, and stood for a moment before their eyes, erect and fearless. In the strong, red light, every feature of his countenance could be traced—every gesture could be marked. With a steady look of indifference, he gazed about him for a moment, then darting forward, leaped from the roof to the ground. The place selected for the leap was the south-west angle of the building, where he would fall within the shadow. Thirty rifles had been raised to shoot at him; but the admiration of the Senecas at this exploit had probably saved his life; for not a rifle was discharged, until he had darted forward in his leap into the darkness. Every Indian rushed forward towards the spot where the Tuscarora had been seen to leap; for this, the most prized, the most hated of their enemies, they deemed to be now inevitably in their power. The Tuscarora staggered as he struck the ground; but instantly gathering himself, he darted towards the grove. Two Senecas leaped before him, who had been stationed at this point—the others not having yet arrived. With a blow from his rifle he knocked down one of them, and darting past the other, gained the grove. The Senecas who had now arrived about the cottage from the different points, set out in chase; but Panther, who saw that this would afford means for those yet within the building to escape, after the lapse of a few minutes, was able to recall a portion of the Senecas, who were again distributed about the cottage.
But these few minutes had accomplished all that the Tuscarora had designed. Before he ascended the roof, the remainder of the party inside gathered by the window through which Guthrie bore off Ruth, on the night of the former attack. The ladder was in readiness, and at the moment when the Senecas were seen to rush past the eastern side of the cottage in pursuit of the Tuscarora, the window was opened, the ladder let down, and one by one the party quickly descended—Ichabod descending last. As he stepped out upon the ladder, he closed the window—and when he had reached the ground, the ladder was thrown down by the side of the cottage. The party instantly set out toward the pond, and at a distance of about ten rods, they had descended the hill to a point where they were concealed in the darkness. It was at just about this moment, that Panther had again distributed a portion of the Senecas about the cottage, while another portion was in pursuit of the Tuscarora. Their flight had thus far been unobserved; and now they walked more leisurely towards the shore of the pond, where they expected to find the boat which we described on a former occasion, and the position of which had been noticed by Ichabod, just before dark, from the cottage. After a little time, the boat was reached; the party entered it, and an extra supply of rifles, which had been brought from the cottage, was carefully deposited. They shoved off from the shore, which, at this point might, in the progress of the fire, become exposed—and paddling northward, reached a point where the hill ascended, on the crest, sharply from the shore, but where the land was sufficiently low in a north-westerly direction to allow them to obtain a good and but partially obstructed view of the cottage.
But a few moments after they had taken up this position, they discovered the roof of the cottage to be on fire. The sparks and pieces of blazing bark which were blown from the ravine had fallen upon the thatching, which was of light and combustible material, and had ignited it at various points; and slowly but surely the flames began to devour this, the only obstacle, as the Senecas believe, to their complete triumph.
Soon, the fugitives saw the top of the tall, dry pine begin to rock and waver with its blazing crown; then, slowly bending southward, the huge trunk fell across the cottage, crushing in the burning roof, and starting the logs from their places in the sides of the building. The shrieks of the Indians were horrible, as they now supposed that their victims were fully in their power. Leaping forwards, they broke in the doors, and rushed in among the flames. From room to room, they wandered. Up the stairway, which was covered with burning coals, they rushed, and gazed in among the fallen and blazing rafters. Not a pale-face was to be seen. The Senecas could not believe that they had escaped; and again and again every point and portion of the cottage was searched; until, at length, it became apparent that their victims had fled. But how, and where? The superstitious feelings of the Indians, for a moment, were excited; and they thought that their intended victims must have been rescued by the direct interposition of the Great Spirit of the pale-faces. But Panther, saw at once, the manner of the escape; and that it had been accomplished while the attention of the Senecas was withdrawn by the daring exploit of the Tuscarora. He immediately ordered the Indians to scour the woods in all directions, and particularly the shores of the pond.
The party in the boat could see, from the gestures of the Indians, the extent of their surprise; and they also well understood the directions of Panther. They carefully paddled the boat farther out into the pond, and more towards the northern shore, where they would be completely hidden, for the present, in the shadows of the hills and trees, from the light of the fire.
"Them reptiles are deceived this time, any way," said Ichabod, laughing. "If Eagle's-Wing only gets through his part, according to the programme, we may consider ourselves pretty tolerably lucky; and I haven't any doubt but what he will. We shall hear from him before a great while. I agreed to lay off up here for him."
"That was a daring act on the part of Eagle's-Wing," said Ralph; "and had I known precisely his purpose, I doubt whether I, for one, should have assented to it. The chances were ten to one, against his escaping with life."
"Lord love you, Captain," said Ichabod, "Eagle's-Wing knows Injin natur' pretty well, considering he's an Injin himself; and he knew that them rascals would be so astonished, that they wouldn't fire at him till he had time to get out of their sight. What I was most afeard on, was his getting off the roof; but it's all right, and went off according to contract," and Ichabod laughed.
"I can easily bear the destruction of my property," said Barton, "if Eagle's-Wing escapes. But I think, as Ralph does, that if you had disclosed the nature of your plan, I should have opposed it. I should, rather, have relied upon fighting our way through to the shore."
"Didn't we know that?" asked Ichabod, with a laugh. "Nobody but Singing-Bird was let into that secret; and she, bless her little soul, ra'ally insisted, for a long time, on going to the roof with him: but she's got reason, and finally consented to the arrangement."
Singing-Bird, to whom all eyes were now directed, in admiration, only answered:
"Eagle's-Wing do that for friend. He 'members friend. He wouldn't be brave Injin if he didn't dosomet'ingfor friend."
"He has always been the creditor in an account," answered Barton. "He has given us no opportunity, yet, to repay him for anything."
Both Barton and Ruth, notwithstanding their thankfulness at this escape, surveyed the destruction of the cottage with feelings of melancholy. To Barton, it was the home of his old age—where he had planted his household gods, with the hope that they would survive him. The cottage had been erected, and had gradually been made a comfortable dwelling, by his labor; while around it, he had rescued fair fields from the wilderness, from which he had hoped to derive the means of prosperity. To Ruth, it was endeared by other associations; and they both saw that all the hopes and dreams which they had cherished, were ended, and that this place must again—even if they ultimately succeeded in escaping from their enemies—pass from their possession, if not from their remembrance. Barton continued, in answer to Singing-Bird:
"And my power to repay him, is gone. I am now an old man, deprived of everything but my daughter and my life. But I cannot complain. The Lord's will be done."
"Let us not think about our loss," said Ruth earnestly, "since we have saved so much. We truly have need to be thankful to a kind Providence, that we and all our friends have escaped with our lives."
At this moment, a rifle was heard, at a few rods distance apparently on the western shore; and at the same instant, there was a sound as of a heavy body falling into the water. The idea occurred to each in the boat, that this might be the Tuscarora, and the boat was instantly moved in that direction. As they approached the shore, they heard some of the enemy talking, and evidently laboring under a great excitement; and it was easy to believe that it was owing to the escape of Eagle's-Wing. They had reached, in perfect silence, within eight or ten rods of the shore, when Ichabod discovered an Indian swimming towards the boat. It was the Tuscarora, and he was lifted in, panting with fatigue.
"Long run had this time," said he, "They almost catch me—they shoot me a little; but better have arm shot, than lose scalp though."
It was found, on examination, that the ball had merely penetrated the fleshy part of his arm, without having done any very serious injury. It was immediately bandaged by Ralph, with as much care as their means would permit; while Ichabod and the negro paddled the boat towards the northern shore.
It has been mentioned before, in the brief description which we gave of the pond, that on the north was a low marshy flat, and that the edge of the pond was thickly bordered with willows and other bushes; but back a short distance from the shore, the bushes were few and stinted in growth, while the marsh was so soft, that it was impassable to one unacquainted with it, even by the aid of day-light. Ichabod and the Tuscarora were both confident that the Senecas had no canoes upon the pond; and that there was only one upon the river in the possession of the Senecas, and that this one was only capable of carrying three or four persons. There were no materials at hand with which a raft could be constructed; and it was with a feeling of security that the boat was made fast among the willows for the night.
The fire about the cottage, for a time, had been gradually diminishing; and thicker and thicker fell the darkness upon forest and water. Gradually the shrieks and cries of the Indians subsided, and silence at length fell upon the scene.
"Hence, strangers, to your native shore!Far from our Indian shades retire."FRENEAU.
When the morning light had rendered objects sufficiently visible, the party in the boat endeavored to get a view of their precise situation. The place where the cottage had stood, could be distinctly seen; but instead of the dwelling, there appeared nothing but a mass of black and smoking ruins. But not an Indian was to be seen. The party partook of a very frugal breakfast; for previous to their flight, they had secured a few articles of food—sufficient, if sparingly used, to last them for three or four days.
"The question now seems to be," said Ichabod, "what we're going to do next. Here we are—the cottage is burnt down—that factory project is blowed up, for a while, at least; and providing—I say,providing, wecanget away from these villainous reptiles, I'm for steering for the settlements."
"I think that will be the course that we must adopt," said Ralph. "It will be a tedious undertaking, in the face of all our difficulties, as we shall be obliged to walk the whole distance the horses will undoubtedly either be destroyed or captured by the Indians. Could they be saved, so that Miss Barton and Singing-Bird could ride, it would not be so difficult."
Barton assented with a melancholy look. "There's no use," he said, "in my attempting to rebuild the cottage, even if the Senecas abandon the country. I am getting old, and cannot labor as I once could. Yes—we shall have to go to the settlements."
Ruth assured them that she could walk the distance necessary with perfect ease. As for Singing-Bird, she laughed at the idea of riding.
As all assented to this proposal, the next thing was to find the means of escape from their present difficulties. It would not be safe to leave their cover in the willows, so long as the Senecas remained; and it was hoped, that not discovering them upon the pond, they would, after searching for them in the woods, for a day or two, finally abandon the hope of capturing them, and either set out on their return to their own country, or remove farther down the valley.
A feeling of joyful excitement pervaded the party. The extreme danger of their situation on the previous night, their fortunate flight, and the hope of an early escape, served to awaken this feeling, which, even Barton and Ruth, who were so much the greatest sufferers by recent events, shared with the others.
"I suppose," said Barton, "that Jenkins will most seriously feel the consequences of our removal to the settlements. First, he loses a fortune by the failure of that city-lot and factory speculation; and next, he runs the risk of escape from the Senecas, to be captured and imprisoned by his pale-faced friends."
"Now, that's rather too hard, Squire," said Ichabod. "That factory business will keep for some years, at least: and as for that other matter, I hope that fellow Parsons will discover from the fate of his two officers, who took up the business on speculation, that there's a special Providence agin his collecting it. But if he don't see reason, we'll try and manage it."
The Tuscarora, who had taken no part in the conversation but who had simply exchanged a few words, at intervals, with Singing-Bird, which seemed to cloud her face with anxiety, now arose, and stretching his arm towards the south, merely uttered the common Indian ejaculation of surprise.
"Ugh!"
The others immediately arose, and after a few moments, their eyes became fastened upon a sight, which attracted their attention. On the opposite shore of the pond, some half-a-dozen Indians were seen, busily at work, partially hidden behind bushes that grew to the water's edge. It was evident that they were engaged in the construction of a raft, with which they probably intended to search the northern shore. Though this afforded some cause for alarm, yet, as a raft large enough to convey a sufficiently numerous party to attack them with any chance of success, would be too unwieldy to be moved through the water, except with the greatest labor—they had no fear but that, if their landing-place should be discovered, they would be able, by the greater ease with which their boat could be managed, to escape from its pursuit. So long as they could remain near the northern shore, they would be comparatively safe, as they had no fear of any attack in that quarter, by land. No force sufficiently large could penetrate in that direction, to give them any uneasiness; but should they be driven by the raft from their present position, they might be compelled, in escaping from it, to pass between it and the shore, at some point where they might be exposed to an attack from either. But for the present, they maintained their position, and awaited the movements of the enemy.
It was probable that their precise position was unknown, although the sagacity of the Indians would convince them that the fugitives must be concealed somewhere on the northern shore. The woods had been thoroughly searched, and no traces of the fugitives had been found, while the disappearance of the boat, together with the fact that they could not observe it upon the pond, was sufficient to induce them to believe that the fugitives were yet in their power, had they any means to reach them. They could not, without days of labor, construct canoes by which they would be able to compete in speed with the boat in the possession of the fugitives; but by building a large raft, which could be accomplished in two or three hours, they might man it with sufficient numbers to move it readily from place to place, as well as to capture the fugitives, should they overtake them.
An hour or two had elapsed since Eagle's-Wing discovered the employment of the Senecas, when they saw a large number of Indians collected together at the place where the raft was being constructed. Soon they saw the unwieldy structure moved into the pond; when about fifteen of the Senecas, some with poles for urging the raft along the shore, and others with paddles for use in the deeper water, got upon it, and forced it into the pond. At first, they kept close to the shore, but soon struck out into the deeper water. Their progress was extremely slow; but it was sufficiently rapid to keep pace with the anxiety of the fugitives.
The point was earnestly debated between Ichabod and his companions, whether they should trust to the cover in which they now were, or whether, on the near approach of the Indians, they should push out into the pond. But it was finally agreed, as the safest course, to trust to the water; as, were they to remain where they now were, and should they be discovered, they would be compelled to fight at great odds; and besides, there would be no means of flight; while, should they adopt the other course, they might keep out of reach of the rifles of the Indians; or if not, they could, at least, be in a condition to maintain the fight at less odds and with greater chance of escape.
The raft had been urged to some distance from the shore into the deep water; it was moved towards the north-east shore, with the intention, evidently, of carrying it thence, along the whole southern side of the pond. It finally reached the shore, at which point, it was from thirty to forty rods from the spot where the boat was concealed. As the Indians began to move along the shore, partly by the use of poles, and partly by pulling upon the willows, the boat shot out from its cove into the pond. The Indians witnessed it with loud yells of joy both from the raft and the shore; and three or four rifles from the raft were discharged, but the bullets struck in the water, their force being spent before reaching the boat. The fugitives moved leisurely towards the centre of the pond, while the Indians who manned the raft, resumed the use of their paddles, and endeavored to follow them. The boat kept its distance from the raft, moving towards the south-west shore, until it had reached a position just out of range of the fire of the Senecas from the land. As the Indians upon the raft came up almost near enough to use their rifles effectively, the boat, urged by five paddles, passed between it and the south shore. It took no little time and labor to check the motion of the raft, and when that had been accomplished, the boat was again approaching the northern shore, and had nearly reached the point from which it started. It was evident to the Indians upon the raft, that they might thus be evaded during the whole day and they now ceased their attempt to follow the fugitives.
It was now nearly noon; and both the raft and boat lay motionless upon the water.
"There's deviltry in this business, somewhere," said Ichabod.
"Injins done what they should have done this morning," said Eagle's-Wing. "They gone after canoe."
"That's it, Eagle's-Wing; and I reckon that when they've got it launched, we shall have our hands full."
"I am not certain," said Ralph, "but that we may hold out until night; and then, perhaps, we should take to the shore, and run our chance in the woods."
"I'm of your opinion, Captin," said Ichabod, "provided wecanhold out until night. But I reckon—and I ain't use to giving up a speculation, while there's a chance of making anything out of it—that if we stayhere, we shall lose our scalps, and if we gothereit will be just about the same thing. I'm blamed if I see my way out of it."
"You must not despair, Ichabod," said Ruth—"ifyoudo that; we shall lose heart altogether."
"Lord bless you, girl, I shouldn'tdespairtill them villainous reptiles have got my scalp beyond the hope of redemption; and when that thing happens, I shallhaveto give it up. But what doyousay, Eagle's-Wing?"
"Guess we lose our scalps. That's what I say," sententiously replied the Tuscarora.
"But not without a fight for 'em, though," said Ichabod.
"Has any one ever explored this swamp?" suddenly asked Ralph. "Is it not possible that we may find some tolerably safe cover in it?"
"I do not know that it has ever been thoroughly explored," answered Barton; "but any place where we can go, those Senecas can follow."
"I am not so certain about that," replied Ralph. "If you will put me ashore, I will reconnoiter it."
The boat again entered the cover, and Ralph stepped out upon the turf, and instantly sank to his knees in the mud. But, clinging to the willows, he extricated himself, and, assisted by the roots, which furnished a sure footing, he passed some twenty rods from the shore, when he discovered a little island of hard soil, not more than twenty feet across in either direction, and which could only be reached, as he ascertained on examination, by one path, part of which was formed by the trunk of a fallen tree, some forty or fifty feet in length. He returned with a heart relieved of half its load, to the boat; and he had but just reached it, when the Indians upon the raft set up a loud yell of joy. The cause was soon ascertained; for immediately afterwards, four Senecas were seen approaching with a canoe, which they had brought from the river. No time was to be lost, as the canoe and raft together would, undoubtedly, be able to outmatch the boat, and either compel them to a fight against great odds, or drive them to the shore.
Ralph hastily communicated the result of his reconnoisance, and their resolution was instantly formed. The party immediately left the boat; and in a few minutes, although with great difficulty, they reached the little island which had been discovered by Ralph. As soon as it was reached, they saw its capabilities as a place of defence. It was surrounded upon all sides by the swamp, and was approachable from no point, except from that at which they reached it. Upon the island were two large trees, behind which Ruth and Singing-Bird could remain in safety, in case of an attempt to dislodge them from the only practicable point. There were also thick clumps of willows around it, behind which they could remain concealed, except upon a near approach of the enemy, against which they thought themselves able to guard. Ichabod was highly delighted with this new place of defence.
"We're safe here, Captin. I'll risk all the Injins this side of the infarnal legions, as long as our ammunition holds out. I'd like to see them red devils poking their heads over them bushes, yonder."
"You'll see them soon enough," answered Ralph; "but I think we shall escape captivity to-night, at least."
Preparations were now made for the effectual concealment of the women; and when this was done, the rifles were all examined and put in readiness. Scarcely had their preparations been concluded, when a loud shout from the Indians announced that they had discovered the empty boat. The path of the fugitives could easily be traced; and the latter did not doubt but that a few moments would bring one or more of their enemies in sight.
Not more than ten minutes had elapsed, ere Ichabod discovered a Seneca cautiously making his way along the path which they had taken, clinging to the willows.
"I'll give that fellow a taste of what his companions will get by calling on us," said Ichabod. "It wouldn't be civil to refuse him what he's come so far to get."
Taking aim, he discharged his rifle, and the Seneca fell lifeless, vainly grasping at the willows for support. The Indians who were behind, endeavored to press forward; but again and again the rifles of the defenders were discharged, and five or six dead or wounded Indians testified to Ichabod and his companions, that the place could be successfully defended. The Indians themselves saw the hopelessness of approaching the fugitives directly in the face, and rapidly retreated towards the boats.
But to the astonishment of the little party on the island, scarcely had the Senecas regained their boat, ere they heard a rapid discharge of rifles on their left, with loud shrieks and yells, testifying the arrival of another party of Indians. Were they friends or foes? The Tuscarora rapidly swung himself into one of the trees upon the Island, when with a yell of exultation which was answered from fifty throats he shouted, "the Oneidas,—the Tuscaroras!"
Rapidly Eagle's-Wing, Ichabod and Ralph retraced their way to the place where they had left the boat; when they beheld the Senecas moving as swiftly across the pond towards the south-west shore, as the nature of their cumbrous raft would allow. The four Senecas in the canoe had already nearly reached the shore. On the left they beheld a large band of Oneidas and Tuscaroras, forty or fifty in number, who were following the retreating Senecas. In a few moments more the released party had re-entered their boat, and were following the Senecas upon the raft. They had come within fair rifle-shot, as the raft touched the shore; their rifles were discharged, and the Senecas plunged hastily into the forest.
"How would you be,If He, who is the top of judgment, shouldBut judge you as you are? O, think on that!And mercy then will breathe within your lipsLike man new made."MEASURE FOR MEASURE
The now liberated party left the boat, and with mingled feelings of joyfulness for their delivery, and of sadness for the waste and desolation caused by the unmerciful savages, proceeded towards the spot where had once stood the dwelling of Barton. Scarcely a trace was left of the cottage, and nothing but a mass of half-consumed and charred and blackened timbers indicated that here had once been the habitation of a happy family. On the north, the trees had been stripped of their leaves, their trunks and boughs blackened and partially consumed, while the ground appeared to have been covered with a carpet of fire. The lawn about the cottage had been made desolate, and the shrubbery and flowers that had began to gladden the wilderness with new and unaccustomed beauties, had been trodden down and broken as with a wanton and malicious desire on the part of the Indians to destroy every vestige of civilization.
A portion of the friendly Oneidas and Tuscaroras had followed in pursuit of the Senecas, accompanied by Eagle's-Wing, who, on reaching the land, had rushed with frantic haste to join and lead the pursuers, over whom he was an acknowledged chief. Another portion, after going around the south shore of the pond, with feelings of curiosity, sought this scene of desolation, where they arrived a little before the party from the boat. The savages moved about the mass of smoking ruins with excited countenances and flashing eyes, and at every discovery of some blackened and despoiled article of domestic use, gave vent to ejaculations, either, of surprise or pleasure. As Barton, and the party from the boat approached, the Oneidas, with a courtesy and delicate appreciation of the feelings of Barton and his daughter, retired from the ruins towards the grove, where, gathered in knots, or lying lazily upon the ground, they gazed upon the pale-faces with mingled looks of curiosity and sympathy.
The cattle enclosure, which had stood by the side of the cottage, had also been mostly destroyed; that portion of it, however farthest from the dwelling, being least injured. The few cattle which had been shut up in it, had perished, and their bodies more or less consumed, were found among the ruins; but no traces were seen of the horses. The door of the enclosure seemed, from the fact that a portion of it was found on one side, unharmed, to have been broken open, and it was presumed, that the Indians had taken possession of them.
The barn, however, which was at a few rods distance, on the west, was wholly uninjured; and Ichabod and the negro, assisted by two or three of the Oneidas, began, at once, to put a portion of it in readiness for the temporary occupation of Barton and his daughter. It would, at least, afford a shelter; and however rude and uncomfortable it might be, it was a happy exchange for the mode of life to which they had been compelled on the previous night.
Tears came into the eyes of Ruth, as she surveyed the desolation by which she was surrounded. Scarcely a vestige could be found of those delicate and womanly labors by which she had adorned her dwelling; and it was with a feeling of momentary anguish that her eyes ran over the familiar places, and found nothing upon which to rest but the marks of violence and brutality. The whole party shared this feeling, and they surveyed the scene, for a few moments, with a melancholy silence. Ichabod was the first who gave voice to his feelings:
"Don't be cast down, Miss Ruth; and you, Squire, keep up a good courage. I've seen many an unfortunate speculation in my day; but somehow or other, there is always a kind of philosophy in these things. The first feeling is a hard one; it swells up the heart, and is apt to provoke rebellious and unnatural thoughts; but it comes round all right in the end. You'll yet be happy in another home, and then all these things will be forgotten, except thatonelesson, that they teach, and that is, that all speculations are in the hand of Providence."
"You are right, Ichabod, you are right," said Barton. "In our own escape, the loss shall be forgotten. But the severest reflection is, that we must now leave this valley forever; but we shall carry away with us, the recollection of many happy days."
Ruth smiled with a look of joy, that momentarily lit up the melancholy of her countenance, at this feeling on the part of her father. It was for him that she felt the most deeply. Youth, with the prospect of many years, may rise renewed and hopeful from desolation; but, age, without the means of reparation, is apt to sink beneath the load of misfortune. Seeing, then, that her father bore his loss with resignation, and with a happy idea of conforming to his altered circumstances, she assumed a cheerfulness which she did not, perhaps, wholly feel.
Scarcely an hour had elapsed, after the flight of the Senecas, when a yell of exultation from beyond the grove, announced the return of the party who had gone in pursuit of them. Words were heard in the Iroquois tongue, which produced an unusual excitement in the savages, who were wandering about the ruined dwelling. Then could be seen the returning warriors advancing leisurely towards the ruins, while guarded among them, they led an Indian bound as a prisoner.
Eagle's-Wing came in advance, with a quiet look of triumph upon his countenance, but illy disguised beneath the usual immobility of face of the Indian. Mingled with this look, was a glow of satisfied revenge, and savage exultation. He came up to the party at the ruins, while the rest of the Indians remained in the grove.
"Well, Eagle's-Wing, what news from the Senecas?" asked Ralph.
"Ask Panther," answered the Tuscarora. "He yonder."
"Such is the fortune of war," said Ichabod: "now a victor—now a prisoner. But I am glad to see, Eagle's-Wing, that you're ra'ally improving under my instructions. It's a great step towards civilization, that you didn't take the fellow's scalp at once."
Wild and fiendish was the glance that shot from the dark eye of the Indian; but no words were given to its terrible significance. Turning leisurely about, he moved slowly towards the grove.
In the meantime, Barton and Ruth, together with Singing-Bird, took possession of the temporary dwelling that had been fitted up for them. Sambo, who had gone up through the clearing, towards the forest, soon was seen returning with the horses, which he was leading with the most frantic exclamations of joy. He had discovered the marks of their hoofs upon the ground, and had followed on their track, until he found them on the edge of the forest. It was with scarcely less joy than that which Sambo displayed, that Barton beheld them—the only remains of his little property. They had been abandoned by the Senecas in their sudden surprise, and thus the most serious difficulty in the removal of Barton and his family to the settlements, was obviated.
But we will follow Eagle's-Wing to the grove where the Indians were now collected. Panther had been securely confined to a tree, and the change which had come over him, under his reverse of fortune, was most wonderful and striking. When in command of his party, he had preserved a quiet dignity of demeanor—the natural consequence, to a manly mind, of the power of command. His face had worn an expression of solemn gravity, and there was, in all he said and did, an air of courtesy and sincerity, which had struck his prisoners as inconsistent with his reputation for cunning and cruelty. But now, deprived of his freedom, and in the power of his enemies, his whole manner was changed. With head erect—with flashing eyes, and nostrils that quivered with untameable ferocity, he glared upon the Indians by whom he was surrounded. As Eagle's-Wing approached, his glance fell upon him with a look of savage malice. The Tuscarora came up directly before him, and with folded arms, gazed into the eyes of his prisoner.
"Seneca," said he, "you are a lying chief of a lying nation. You must die. I have been told that the Senecas have the hearts of girls. I wish to see the tears in your eyes."
"The Tuscaroras are women," began the Seneca, in a quiet voice, and with a look of contempt. "They once dwelt in the land of the sun, where the snows of the winter never come, and their hearts became soft, and the pale-faces made them slaves. That was all they were fit for. They did not know how to fight their enemies, and the pale-faces took the hatchets and the bows from their hands, and made them work in the fields. Then the Iroquois took pity on them, and wrapped them in their blankets, as the squaws do the pappooses; and they brought them up into the land of braves, and gave them villages and hunting-grounds; but they could do nothing but sit shivering by the fire. They were afraid of the rifles of the Colony men, and they deserted the Iroquois. They are worse than women—they are dogs! They arelittledogs, that run barking at our heels, and dare not bite! It is a shame for a warrior to fall into their hands. The death of the brave warrior, in the midst of his enemies, is the triumph of his glory. The Great Spirit smiles, as the warrior endures the torture, and lifts him up to the happy hunting-grounds with the hand of a father; while his name goes down in the traditions of his enemies, as a brave who died without fear! But I am ashamed. The Tuscaroras have no traditions! They are dogs! and however so brave I may be, my name will be forgotten, as though I died in the midst of dogs!
"The Oneidas are liars! They have forgotten how to be brave. They live with the dogs of the Tuscaroras, and think they are men. They smile in the faces of the red-men, and throw their hatchets at their backs. They sit down and listen to the medicine-men, (missionaries,) of the pale-faces, and learn new traditions. They forget that they are Indians, and try to worship the Great Spirit of the pale-faces. They are liars; and I am ashamed to die in the midst of liars and dogs!"
These contemptuous words excited the anger of the Oneidas and Tuscaroras to the highest degree; and with a shout of rage, tomahawks were brandished, and knives drawn from their belts, while three or four of them darted forward with the determination of at once terminating the life of the insulting Seneca; but at a gesture from Eagle's-Wing, they retired.
"Poor thief of a Seneca!" said Eagle's-Wing, "whose sharpest weapon is that of a woman; he can only hurt his enemies with his tongue. If we had him in our villages, we would put on him the dress of a squaw, that he might scold, while the warriors stood around and laughed! It is a pity that an Iroquois can only hurt his enemies with his tongue. I have killed a great many Senecas; they all die like women, and scream when they feel the knife on their scalps. I have got some of them here," throwing back his blanket, and displaying to the passionate eyes of the Seneca three or four gory scalps. "They are not fit for a warrior to wear; and I will not hang them in the council-room of my nation. I will give them to the pappooses to play with," and turning with a gesture of contempt he walked back into the crowd of Indians.
But while the preparations were being made for the torture of Panther, Barton and his friends had concluded their arrangements for their return on the next day to the settlements. But little preparation was necessary, and the possession of the horses had obviated the greatest difficulty in their removal. There was little or nothing to be transported, as the Senecas had destroyed nearly every valuable upon the premises.
Their arrangements were all made, and that peculiar and natural solemnity of feeling, which attends the abandonment of a cherished home, laid waste and desolate, prevented any continued conversation.
"The friendly Indians will accompany us a portion of the way, I suppose," said Barton; "but only for a few miles, as their path lies northward, while ours is more to the eastward. They will, doubtless, take their prisoner with them."
"That would be an useless trouble, I should think," said Ralph. "It would be better for them to let him go at once. But perhaps, as a matter of pride, they wish to display a Seneca chief in their villages, as a prisoner."
It was at this moment, that the shout was heard, which attended the ebullition of anger on the part of the Indians at the contemptuous language of Panther. Each individual of the party, excepting Ichabod and Singing-Bird, started;—it recalled, for a moment, with vivid distinctness, the memory of the perils from which they had just escaped.
"What is the meaning of that shout?" asked Barton.
"It is, perhaps, an attempt to terrify their prisoner," said Ralph, "or perhaps it may be," and he started at the sudden conjecture, rising hastily upon his feet, "that they are about to put him to torture."
"Oh! they will not do that!" exclaimed Ralph. "It cannot be, that Eagle's-Wing can imitate the cold-blooded cruelty of Panther. Say it is not so, Singing-Bird."
"Eagle's-Wing great chief," said the Indian, quietly, "he know how to punish enemy."
Ruth seemed astonished by this unlooked-for confirmation of her fears.
"Ralph! Ichabod!" said she, "prevent this murder, if possible. Do not let such a horrid act sully our last recollections of this place."
Ichabod bowed his head for a moment with a shudder, and then said:
"Miss Ruth, all people have their customs; an Englishman shuts up his prisoners in old hulks, where they die of foul air, and filthiness, and starvation; and the most civilized people, will punish their prisoners in some way; and an Injin can't be expected to be better than those that have some other light than the light of Natur' to walk by. It's their way, Miss Ruth—it's their way; and there's no use trying to prevent it."
"I will go," she answered; "I will beg for his life; perhaps I may not plead in vain."
"Don't do so, Miss Ruth—it's no use. Their blood is up; and there is no power in this world strong enough to control them, but force, and that we haven't got."
"But there is a Power above us and them, which may touch their hearts. I will go."
Seeing that she was determined to venture among the savages, on this—as Ichabod, as well as the others also, thought—bootless errand, the whole party accompanied her, and they proceeded hastily towards the grove. As they reached the place where the Indians were gathered, they found them busy in their preparations. A large number of pine knots had been collected, and a pile of pointed splinters, the object of which was apparent to them all. The Seneca, fastened to the tree, was surveying the preparations with a look of indifference or contempt; but as Barton and his party came in sight, his eyes rolled over them with glances of uncontrollable hatred. Eagle's-Wing was quietly directing the preparations.
Barton approached the Tuscarora. "For Heaven's sake, Eagle's-Wing, what do all these arrangements mean? It cannot be that you will torture this Seneca. Let him go, Eagle's-Wing. You have done me many a friendly deed, lately—add this to the number."
"The hearts of the pale-faces are soft," said Eagle's-Wing. "Let my father and his friends go back to their dwelling. The Seneca must die."
Ralph, in turn, besought the Tuscarora to desist from his purpose. He used all the arguments which he could summon to his aid, growing out of the present condition of the Colonies, and their desire to keep on peaceful terms with the hostile Indians of the Six Nations; but to no purpose. Eagle's-Wing listened with courtesy, but declared that the Seneca must die.
"Old friend," said Ichabod, "you'll give me credit for understanding Injin natur' pretty well, and that I never make it a point to interfere in their lawful customs and amusements; but I can't help saying, now, that thisisa risky speculation. I never meant to call on you for payment of any balance of account between us; but there's no disguising that you do owe a little to me on the score of having saved your scalp-lock, ere now; but give me that Seneca, and I will balance the books."
"I owe my brother my life, and it is his," said Eagle's-Wing. "Let my brother take it, if he will; it is just. But the Seneca shall go with me into the happy hunting-grounds of my nation. He shall go before me as my prisoner."
"Let us go back, Miss Ruth," said Ichabod. "These Injins are perfectly set in their way. I knowed it was of no use. They won't imitate white people in their conduct, any more than they will in their clothes."
At these repeated failures, it must be confessed that Ruth almost despaired of success. Yet she could not suffer the Seneca thus to be murdered, without making one appeal in his behalf. Tears filled her eyes as she approached the Tuscarora.
"Eagle's-Wing," said she, smiling through her tears, "you have refused Panther to my friends, that you might give him to me. Is it not so?"
This pertinacity on the part of the pale-faces seemed partially to irritate the Tuscarora; but he subdued the momentary flash of anger, and answered quietly:
"The hearts of the pale-face women are soft; they cannot look on the death of a warrior in the midst of his enemies. Let the pale-face girl go back with her friends."
"You cannot mean to do this, Eagle's-Wing—you, who have been so gentle and kind to us—cannotdo this murder."
"The Seneca must die," was the answer.
"Is it right, Eagle's-Wing, to kill Panther thus, in cold blood? It is a great crime, both by the laws of men and of God."
"Our traditions have not told us so," answered the Tuscarora. "They tell us that we must do so, if we wish to please the Great Spirit."
"But have you never heard of any other tradition? Have you not heard the story of the life and death of the Redeemer of the world, and of the truths that he taught?"
The Indian seemed struck with a sort of consternation, for a moment. He evidently recollected the teaching of the pious missionary of the Oneidas and Tuscaroras, who had done so much to give the minds of the Indians of those nations a proper direction, just previous to the Revolutionary struggle. After a short pause, he answered:
"The good missionary from the pale-faces has told us the story; but it was a long while ago; it was before the war between the Colony men and the Yengeese. I have almost forgotten it. If I was a pale-face, I should love it very much. But an Indian must follow the traditions of his fathers."
"I know who you mean, Eagle's-Wing. It was Kirtland who taught you that story. I am sorry that you should so soon have forgotten it. He was a good man and told you the truth. He told you that you must not persecute your enemies; but that you must forgive them, and that the Great Spirit will like you better for it."
"How know that?" asked Eagle's-Wing abruptly, and with a kind of superstitious feeling, that Ruth should be able to repeat the instructions which, in his ignorance, he supposed she could not have understood, without having listened to the missionary, herself. "How know that! That was great many years ago, when the pale-face girl was a child."
"I know that he told you so," replied Ruth, "because he must have told you what the new tradition was. He told you that the Redeemer came down from Heaven, and how he died because he loved all the nations and people of the world; and how he told them that they must all love one another like brothers. Would it not be better, Eagle's-Wing, if all the pale-faces and all the Indians thought so?"
The Tuscarora cast down his eyes, while he answered: "Itwouldbe better, if they would think so; but they do not. If the pale-faces do not, how can the Indians think so?"
"It is only the bad men among the pale-faces who think otherwise. There are a great many good men who always act upon this truth. If it would be better for everybody to follow this teaching, it is a good thing for those who do, even if a great many do not. Is it not so, Eagle's-Wing?"
Eagle's-Wing turned away—his savage heart evidently touched by this re-awakening of old recollections; but in the act of doing so, his eyes fell upon the Seneca, who was surveying him and Ruth, with a look of curious interest. The bitter taunt of Panther occurred to him, and those cruel instincts which had been nearly overcome, were kindled again with renewed force. Turning towards Ruth, he coldly answered:
"It is a good tradition. I will not deny it; but it is a pale-face tradition. The Great-Teacher was not a red man; he was a pale-face. The pale-face girl must go back with her friends. The Seneca shall die."
The color fled from the face of Ruth, and for a moment she looked as if she would have fallen to the ground. Ralph was springing forward to assist her, when a new and more heroic strength seemed to sustain and inspire her. Advancing towards Eagle's-Wing, she laid her hand upon his arm and exclaimed—
"You shall not do this murder, Eagle's-Wing. Your own heart tells you that it is wrong. The Seneca is a bloody, guilty man; but God—the same God who looks down on the pale-face and the Indian—shall punish you. You shall not do it. I will keep this great crime from your soul, and you will thank me for it, some day. See here, you shall see what I will do;" and she ran to the tree where Panther was confined. The Indians hastened forward, yet seemingly without the intent to resist her purpose. The daring energy which inspired her, and the lofty look of innocent boldness, awed them into silence. With a rapidity she could not have equalled at another time, she unfastened the withes with which the Seneca was bound, and as rapidly returned to the side of Eagle's-Wing. "See," she said, "he is free!" Again she laid her hand upon the arm of the Tuscarora, while all eyes were watching the motions of Panther, who seemed stupefied with the curious scene. As the withes fell at his feet, he straightened his form, and glared slowly around on the assembled warriors. For a moment his eyes fell upon Ruth, with a look of awe, such as a debased human creature might be supposed to cast upon a more exalted being: then slowly, and as if he expected his attempt to be resisted, he moved from the tree, yet with his eyes firmly fastened upon the face of Eagle's-Wing. The latter stood erect, his nostrils dilated, and his eyes flashing, as if about to spring upon the escaping prisoner, yet restrained by the gentle hand upon his arm, which, without the exertion of physical strength, seemed to bind him to the ground. Creeping as stealthily as the animal from which he derived his name, the Seneca still moved away, but with his face partially turned towards the group which he was leaving. A few moments, and he had disappeared in the forest.
A spasmodic shudder passed over the frame of the Tuscarora chief; then he turned towards Ruth, with a smile upon his face and a tear in his eye, as he said. "It is well—let the Seneca go."
We have brought this narrative, relating to the early history of an interesting portion of New York, nearly to a close; and all that remains, is to give the reader a brief account of the fortunes of some of the personages in whom he is supposed to have taken some interest.
After the defeat of the Senecas, Barton and his daughter, together with Ralph, Ichabod and the negro, returned to the settlements, where Barton finally concluded to remain. His advanced age prevented him from again undertaking to build himself a house in the wilderness, while another reason, perhaps still more powerful, forced him to the same conclusion.
He discovered that Ruth, provided he would give his consent to the arrangement, which, under the circumstances, he could not refuse, had decided upon becoming Mrs. Ralph Weston. That event happened not long after their return to the settlements; and the old gentleman found, after the lapse of a very few years, that he could not again seek the wilderness without abandoning two little grand-children of whom he had become very fond. Sambo remained with the family; but in the course of a short time, he was offered his freedom, which he refused.
Ichabod, also, returned to the settlements; and through the assistance of his friend, the Captain, he was enabled to satisfy the rapacious Mr. Parsons for his demand of£25 7s. 6d.. He finally embarked in some speculation in what were then deemed western lands, in which it is believed that he came very near making his fortune. But he never mentioned his adventures of the year 1783, without a sigh over the heavy losses which he sustained in his factory and city-lot projects.
As for the Tuscarora and his squaw, they returned to their village, and there remained, until the removal of the Tuscaroras to the west, a few years afterwards.
Of Guthrie—whose fate has been left in some little doubt—nothing certain was ever known. But a few years after, some adventurer, who supposed himself a pioneer in this new country, discovered a human skeleton by the stump of a tree, to which it had been apparently bound, judging from the remnant of a strong cord, which was found by its side. As some portions of the skeleton were found at some distance from the tree, it was supposed that the unfortunate man, whoever he was, after having been confined to the tree, had been devoured by wolves.
Our tale is told; and seventy years have passed over its scenes and actors. The forests have fallen; broad, green meadows, enriched with labor and enriching the husbandman, are in their place; an active, bustling village has effaced all signs of early hardship and suffering; and, as if changed like the pictures in a magic glass, the old scenes about which we have lingered are no more. Occasionally, the children in the village gaze, with a mixture of fear and wonder, upon a wandering Oneida, as he loiters in the streets, idle and drunken—a vagabond where his fathers were lords and rulers.
But, with all the changes which seventy years have produced and notwithstanding Ichabod's city lots have been laid out and sold, and succeeding speculators are still busy in the same short-handed means of getting money, the woollen factory has never been built. In that respect, his dreams have never been realized. Occasionally some speculative Ichabod has broached the old scheme anew; but obstacle upon obstacle has conspired to prevent its realization; and although the sheep dot our hills, their wool seeks a foreign market.
The pond, too, remains; but that which was once a sylvan lake, surrounded with forests and crystalline in the purity of its waters, has yielded all of its romantic associations to the practical spirit of the age. It has become a portion of a canal, and a touring-path has been constructed along its eastern and southern shores.
So pass our dreams; the infancy of Nature has reached its age; old fashioned modes of life, with their simplicity of manners, are passing away with our forests.
The valley is still, as of old, shut out from the world. Great thoroughfares of travel are at its either extremity; but neither across it nor through it is heard the rushing of the "iron horse;" still, as of old, come trotting and jogging along, at morning and at night, the lumbering coaches, rocking like cradles, while the weary traveler curses the fortune which compels him to take this antiquated mode of travel. Four miles an hour—five, perchance, in great emergencies—rushthese ancient vehicles; and therein only, perhaps, we have not degenerated from the sober steadiness of our ancestors.
But a newly-directed energy is now exulting over the prospect of levelling our hills and elevating our valleys, and building a path upon which shall be heard the scream of the locomotive, and the sweep of travel. City lots are up; New York is small potatoes—half-acre landholders, issuing like the youth in Cole's "Voyage of Life," from the wilderness of long sleepy years, and guided by an angel with money-bags under his wings, and with a voice like the ring of dollars, see castles in the air, in the shape of depots and engine-houses, settling down upon their premises! Ichabod is alive again!
Contents
CHAPTER I.CHAPTER II.CHAPTER III.CHAPTER IV.CHAPTER V.CHAPTER VI.CHAPTER VII.CHAPTER VIII.CHAPTER IX.CHAPTER X.CHAPTER XI.CHAPTER XII.CHAPTER XIII.CHAPTER XIV.CHAPTER XV.CHAPTER XVI.CHAPTER XVII.CHAPTER XVIII.CHAPTER XIX.CHAPTER XX.CHAPTER XXI.CONCLUSION.