University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

—Anon.

—Shakspeare

—Byron.

Some twenty-five or thirty miles
above the mouth of the Little Miami,
and forming the eastern boundary
of a plain not unlike the one
described in the opening pages of
this story, is a stony ridge, to which
we must now invite the readers attention.
In one place, this ridge
leaves the plain abruptly, by an
acelivity so steep as to make ascension
a matter of difficulty.
Huge rocks, whose fronts are neither
more nor less than precipices,
here rise one above the other, to a
height of many feet, and altogether
present a very formidable and imposing
appearance. Between these
rocks, which appear to have been
thrown together by some great
convulsions of nature, are many
deep fissures, through which has
struggled upward a growth of
small, craggy trees and shrubbery,
that, instead of beautifying, only
tend to increase the wildness and
gloominess of the scene.

By a circuitous route, and careful
footsteps, you can gain a point
on one of these rocks, which, to the
eye unaccustomed to the spot,
seems one of imminent peril. The
point alluded to, is elevated above
the plain a hundred and fifty feet,
and forms an area of not more than
fifty square yards. Immediately in
your front, as you face the west,
the rock is perpendicular for a distance
of thirty feet. Behind you
rises another perpendicular rock,
and on either side is a deep and
gloomy chasm. Through one of
these—that at your right hand—
flows a rapid streamlet, whose
waters, unseen from where you
stand, gurgling over the rocks below,
send upward a hollow, dismal
sound, that invariably causes the
spectator, who visits it for the first
time, to wish himself once more
safe on the plain below.

Gloomy as is the place in question,
it is not without its attractions.
The eye here embraces an
extensive scope of country, spread
before it like a map. A large and
well cultivated plain, of two or
three miles in breadth—through the
center of which winds the glassy
stream so often mentioned, interspersed
with here and there a tidy
farm house, or a cluster of white
dwellings, forming a village, with
the steeple of its church overlooking
it with an air of guardianship—
stretches away to the north and
south, and contrasts delightfully
with the rougher and wilder scenery
at hand.

At the time of which we write,
however, the plain had none of the
attractions of civilization it now
presents; but a mighty, unbroken
forest, instead, lay on its bosom, in
whose dark recesses danger everywhere
lurked, and man and beast
warred with themselves and each
other continually.

It was late on the day succeeding
the capture of Kate Clarendon, that
a tall, slim figure, in the costume
of an Indian, leaped, with a light
bound, across the chasm on the left,
and paused, for a moment, upon
the platform of the rock we have
described. The sun was already
sinking in the west, and his rays
streamed softly along the tops of
the trees, tipping them with gold,
throwing the figure into bold relief,
and burnishing the huge erections
of nature, until one could, with but
little stretch of the imagination,
fancy them colossal images of
brass.

We have said the figure was
costumed like an Indian; but that
he was not of this race, was evident
from the whiteness of his skin,
wherever the removal of the paint,
by perspiration or otherwise, permitted
it to be seen. There were
other signs going to prove him not
a native warrior. His arms seemed
tender, as if not accustomed to
exposure, and were scratched in
several places, by brambles and
thorns, so as to render them swollen
and sore. The feathers, intended
as ornaments to his scalp-lock,
had also become disarranged, in a
manner that the pride of a native
Indian would never have permitted.
Around his waist he wore a wampun
belt, supporting a brace of pistols,
a tomahawk and scalping-knife.
As he paused upon the
rock, he ran his black, fiery eye
over the plain, for a moment, as if
to be certain no one was approaching.
Then he glanced cautiously
around him, and a malignant expression
of triumph lighted up and
gradually settled over his features.

“Ha, ha, ha! I have her safe
now!” he exclaimed, with an oath;
and running to the side of the rock
overhanging the stream, he began
to let himself down its jaggy sides,
and presently disappeared altogether.

There was, on this side, a rough
kind of staircase, overhanging the
foaming flood; and down this the
figure descended rapidly, taking
hold of the bushes and projections,
to prevent himself from falling, until
he came to a spot where the rock
jutted completely over the stream,
and formed a sure foundation to his
feet. Halting here for a moment,
and listening the while, he turned
to the right, and passing under the
rocky bank, entered the mouth of a
cavern, which extended back into
the hill a considerable distance.
Hurrying rapidly forward, through
a narrow passage, he at last came
to a stone, which he with difficulty
removed, and emerged into a compartment
of great breadth and size,
dimly lighted by a small opening
or fissure in the rock above,
whence trickled down, or rather
filtered through, just sufficient water
to render the rock beneath wet
and slippery.

Here the figure paused again,
and endeavored to peer into the
further recesses of the cave; but it
was evident from his manner, and
the fact that he had so recently
come from the broad light of day
into a place never at any time more
than twilight, that he could not discern
a single object. Stepping
aside somewhat, to avoid the dripping
water, he at once proceeded
to strike a light. A half-burnt

torch lay on the floor of the cavern,
which re-lighting, he proceeded
to search the place, holding this
in his hand, elevated above his
head, so as to enable him to discern
each thing distinctly.

For some time it was evident by
his lowering brow, angry visage
and keen searching eyes, that he
was unable to find the object
sought. But at length he paused,
uttered a wild yell, not unlike an
Indian, and then sprang forward to
a dark corner of the cavern, where
another figure, arrayed in white,
was crouched, and trembling with
terror.

“Ha, ha, ha! I have thee now!”
he cried, with a hoarse burst of passion,
and a laugh like a fiend; and
the next moment he stood over the
crouching object, waving his torch
from side to side, and resembling,
as the ruddy light flashed upon his
dark, malignant face, some infernal
spirit, about to seize upon an innocent
victim.

“Oh, God! to what am I destined!”
exclaimed in silvery, but
heart-touching tones, the voice of
the unhappy object at the monster's
feet. At the same moment,
the ruddy, gloomy light fell upon
the pale, sweet features of a terrified
female, as she attempted to
rise and confront her foe.

“Destined to perdition with me!”
returned the savage, with another
fiendish laugh, roughly grasping an
arm of the maiden, and raising her
to an upright posture. “Now I
have thee, Kate Clarendon, and
thou shalt this time feel the vengeance
of Rashton Moody.”

“Unhand and let me go, if thou
art a man!” screamed Kate, in terror.

Moody uttered a mocking laugh.

“Talk to the wind!” he cried, furiously,
“not to me! If I am a
man! ha, ha! I like that! If I am
a man! But I am not a man, sweet
beauty. I was a man, but you, you
made a demon of me; and now
my hour has come—my time of
vengeance is at hand!”

“But what have I done to merit
this?” said the other, in a pleading
tone.

“Done?—ha, ha, ha!—come, I
like that. Done all that a woman
could, to make him hate who once
loved her. Done, foolish girl! why
did you not coquette with me, and
lead me to believe I was loved, that
I might be a laughing stock among
my fellows?”

“As God is my judge, Rashton
Moody, I did not.”

“What then?”

“I explained the matter to you
once—have you forgotten it?”

“And are too proud or haughty,
I suppose, to do so again. Well,
well, it matters not; for now you are
in my power, indeed; and I will
teach you a lesson of humility, ere
you depart, that you will remember
to the latest moment of your
life.”

As he spoke, he grasped her arm
tightly, and peered into her sweet
countenance, with a look of diabolical
triumph, that caused Kate to
shudder and feel sick to her very
soul.

“What mean you by such language?”
she faintly asked.

“Hark you, Kate Clarendon! I
told you once I loved you, did I
not?”

“Foolish words upon a foul
tongue,” replied Kate, indignantly.

“Do you think so?” sneered
Moody. Never mind; it is of little
importance now, whether I told you
true or not. I would have wedded
you, but you refused me, did you
not?”

“Well?”

“Well, proud beauty! I'll soon
teach you well!—but to my story.
You refused me; you trifled first,
led me to hope, and then refused
me. I was wild with passion; and
in an evil moment, I sought to bear
you away. Had you left me to do
as I pleased, no wrong would have
followed; but you attempted to escape,
and then I swore you should
be mine, living or dead, I little
cared which. I caught you, and
would have executed my design
upon you then—would have sent
your soul, unpolluted, into the presence
of your Maker—had I not been
struck to the ground by the only
being on earth I fear. Who he is,
or what he is, I know not; but over
me he exercises an influence beyond
my skill to shake off or explain.
Then came your father, and
struck me—(here Moody paused
for some moments, during which
his features worked convulsively,
his hands clenched and unclenched,
his teeth grated against each other,
and his breath came hard thro' his
expanded nostrils); he struck me!—
mark that!—disgraced me—but
he—he paid for it!—ha, ha, ha!—
the blow was returned with interest,
by—!” and he closed with an
oath, while Kate covered her eyes
with her hands and groaned aloud.

“Come, look up!” resumed Moody,
forcing her hands from before
her eyes: “Look up, now, and hear
me out! That night I returned to
the village, took what things I most
valued, and fled; fled for my own
safety—fled to lay my plan of revenge.
I had been struck—a
blow!—heavens!—a blow!—by
him—your father—and I wanted
revenge. Whither should I seek
safety but among the Indians—
among the foes of my race! I knew
if I came peaceably among them,
and offered to join them, I should
be accepted. Two years before I
had been a captive among the
Shawanoes, long enough to understand
in part their language, and
got my liberty through the influence
of the Necromancer, who told
me then, unless I were careful, I
should come to some base end.
But he's a fool! What does he
know about me or my destiny?

“I fled, I say, toward an Indian
settlement; but ere I reached one,
I fell in with a scouting party of
Piquas. I showed them the open
hand, told them my story, and they
adopted me. I was taken home to
their village—went through the Indian
ceremony—was shaved, painted,
and dressed in skins—and was,
in short, made one of them.

“Then I told them I wanted one
trusty warrior, and only one, to go
with me on the war path—that I
had a chief to kill among the pale
faces, to prove my courage and fealty.
They consented that I should
go, but said I must go alone.

“But why am I detailing?
Enough! I went.—I soon reached
your dwelling, and prowled about
the vicinity for several days before
the opportunity I sought presented
itself. It came at last. I saw your
father and his serving man set out
upon a hunt. I laughed, and dogged
their footsteps. They killed a
deer, and your father thought to
bear it home, while the other set off
for another. I laughed again, for
I saw my hour of vengeance was
at hand. He put the deer on his
back, but soon grew weary with his
burthen, and paused under a tree
to rest. I crept up behind him—
and—Fool! why do you tremble
so? You have seen it all once, and
now you are only hearing of it.”

“For God's sake! do not, do not
tell me more!” cried Kate, imploringly.

“O, hear it out, my dear; it will
do you good, and prepare you for
what is to come,” sneered Moody.
“I crept up behind him, I say—and
he was sitting so cozily, too, under
that tree, wiping the perspiration
from his face, and murmuring something
about his wife and daughter—
and plunged my knife into his breast,
and—'Pon my word, I believe
she has fainted,” added Moody,
changing suddenly from his narrative
to a soliloquy, as he perceived
Kate sink down upon the rock at
his feet.

Hastily raising her in his arms,
he now bore her to the water.
There was a slight hollow in the
rock here, and scooping the water
up in his hand, he dashed it in her
face until she revived, when, like
the inquisitors of old, he again proceeded
with the torture.

“I knew the wounds were mortal;
and so, after affixing my mark, I
left him, and, climbing a tree, stationed
myself where I could see the
result. The result of course you
know, and so I shall not detail it.”

“Well, I returned to my dusky
brethren and told my tale. They
listened gravely, and asked me for
the scalp of my white foe. This I
had forgotten; and they laughed at
me, and told me I had killed a deer,
and thought it a warrior in disguise.
I felt chagrined, and told them I
would prove myself what I pretended
to be. I went forth again alone,
and returned with two white scalps.
Then they seemed greatly pleased,
and made me a sort of chief, and
gave me command of a scouting
party.

“Now it was, I felt my design
would at last be gained, and you
be in my power. To this end all
my thoughts were bent; and this
your presence here tells I have accomplished.

“One night, while stealing round
your dwelling, I saw you and your
lover issue forth together, and I
kept you both in sight. You paused
on the river's bank, and sighed
to each other your love-sick tales.
Heavens! how my blood boiled to
crush you both together; but prudence
restrained me. I listened to
your soft words until I became tired
and disgusted.

“At last they came to an end,
and I heard the day set for your
marriage. Then my plan was laid;
I would be there with my painted
friends; and in the height of your
enjoyment, would make the scene
a scene of wailing and woe. You
I sought for my victim, and you I
found in your mother's arms. It
was your last embrace—for she is
now—”

“Where you will never be,” interrupted
Kate, impressively—“in
Heaven!” Then clasping her hands
together, she looked upward, and
bursting into tears, cried: “Alas!
my poor, dear mother! thou art indeed
gone! God rest thy soul!
But thou art in Heaven; and, oh!
that I were with thee—dear, dear,
sainted mother!”

“I seized and bore you hence,”
continued Moody, without appearing
to heed the interruption of the
other; “and as the first ray of light
streaked the eastern heavens this
morning, I placed you here, whence
you cannot depart until I will you
so to do. Nay, do not shrink away!
for now I tell you plainly, you are
in my power, and beyond the reach
of aid. Save my warriors, there is
not a living soul, besides ourselves,
that knows there is such a place in
existence; and they have yielded
you up to me, and will not betray
my secret. I have just returned
from their council fires, with their
full consent to do with you whatsoever

I please. Now you know the
story.”

“And what do you propose to
do?” asked Kate, in trembling
tones.

“Do!—ha, ha!—why, marry you
without a priest,” rejoined Moody,
tauntingly. “I would not kill you,
for that would be but slight revenge.”

“Great God! you do not, cannot
mean this!” almost shrieked
Kate, endeavoring to rush past him
to the mouth of the cave.

“Nay,” cried Moody, seizing
hold of her roughly, “not so fast.”

“Oh! let me go!—for God's sake,
let me go! and I will forgive you
all that is past.”

“Forgive!—ha, ha, ha! What
think you I care for your forgiveness?
Let you go, indeed! after
plunging my soul into crime to get
you here! Why, girl, are you mad,
to talk thus?”

“Then kill me!” cried Kate, wildly.
“Murder me, as you have murdered
my parents! I would rather
die than be dishonored.”

“And that is the very reason
why I let you live,” returned Moody,
with a dark smile of peculiar meaning.
“No, no, Kate Clarendon,—
haughty, coquetting Kate—live to
return to your lover.”

“No! if I am disgraced, I never
will return alive!” rejoined the fair
girl solemnly and firmly.

“Settle that matter with yourself,
then,” said Moody, coldly. “Mine
you shall be, living or dead!”

As he spoke, the villain threw his
arms boldly around the other, and,
in spite of her struggles, pressed
her to his loathsome breast; while
the torch slipped from his hand, fell
to the ground, and nearly became
extinguished by the fall—casting
dark, flitting shadows over the
gloomy cavern.

For some time Kate struggled
violently, and uttered one or two
piercing screams; then she suddenly
became still, as though she
thought it were vain to longer
contend with her evident destiny.
Moody, surprised at her sudden
quietude, drew back to learn the
cause, when the click of a pistol,
with the muzzle pointed at his
heart, warned him, too late, of his
own imprudence. Kate had disengaged
it from his belt during the
souffle, and now stood before him,
erect, with flashing eyes and dishevelled
hair, which came streaming
down around her pale features,
whereon was an expression of deep
resolve, not to be mistaken.

As Moody's dark, malignant eye
met hers, it involuntarily quailed
before that sublime gaze of wronged
innocence.

“Villain, beware!” cried Kate,
in a lofty tone. “Move but a single
step toward me, and your soul
is with its God.”

“Forbear!” cried the cowardly
wretch, in a deprecating tone, fearful
that she might be tempted to
pull the trigger, on which her delicate
finger seemed to rest heavily.
“Forbear, Miss Clarendon, and you
shall go free.”

“Swear it!” said Kate, solemnly
and loftily.

“By every thing that yields me
an existence, by my hopes of salvation,
I swear it!” returned Moody.

“See that you break not your
oath!” rejoined Kate, retreating
backward, and still keeping the
pistol elevated in the same position.
“Stand where you are, Rashton
Moody! advance a single step,
and I fire.”

Whether it was that Moody was
afraid of being deprived of his
own worthless life—or whether, as
is more probable, he thought

by remaining stationary something
might chance to his advantage in
disarming his fair foe—we do not
pretend to say; but certain it is, he
remained fixed as a pillar, while
Kate retreated, until some fifteen
yards divided them, when, unguarded
as to her course, with her eyes
fixed upon the other, she stepped
upon a spot made slippery by the
dripping water, and the next moment
fell heavily upon the ground.
As she went down, the pistol flew
from her hand several feet, struck
upon the rock, and discharged itself,
with a sound that ran bellowing to
the remotest corner of the cavern,
and seemed the death-knell of her
hopes. The sound of the pistol
was succeeded by a laugh that
seemed not earthly, and bounding
forward, Moody stood erect over
his prostrate and forlorn captive.

“So, then, I have you again, eh?”
he cried, exultingly. “This time I
will be more careful.”

“Remember your oath,” said
Kate, timidly, attempting to regain
her feet.

“Oath he d—d!” shouted Moody,
with another frightful laugh;
and again his hateful arms were
thrown around the half-raised and
trembling form of the lovely but
helpless Kate Clarendon. “Down!”
he cried, hoarsely; and at the word
he forced her with violence back
upon the rock.

“God save me!” screamed Kate,
terrified nearly out of her senses.

“He can't do it!” rejoined Moody,
blasphemously, with a hellish grin
of savage joy.

“Liar!” shouted a strange voice,
that made him start in terror, and
Kate scream with joy, as a bright
light flashed in his face and revealed
to his astonished eyes the ungainly,
and to him terrible, form of
the Necromancer, standing by his
side, torch in hand, and looking
downward upon him with an awful
scowl, his jaws working almost convulsively,
and his eyelid quivering
like the leaf of the aspen; while
several dim forms were seen hurrying
toward him from the mouth of
the cave, and voices, portending
summary punishment, came to his
frightened ears through the arches
of the great cavern in hollow and
unearthly tones, making his polluted
soul almost shrink from its frail
and much abused tenement of clay.