 | CHAPTER XV. The wept of Wish-ton-Wish |  |
15. CHAPTER XV.
“Did Heaven look on,
And would not take their part?—
—: Heaven rest them now!”
Macbeth.
“We will be thankful for this blessing,” said Content,
as he aided the half-unconscious Ruth to mount
the ladder, yielding himself to a feeling of nature
that said little against his manhood. “If we have
lost one that we loved, God hath spared our own
child.”
His breathless wife threw herself into a seat, and
folding the treasure to her bosom, she whispered
rather than said aloud—“From my soul, Heathcote,
am I grateful!”
“Thou shieldest the babe from my sight,” returned
the father, stooping to conceal a tear that was
stealing down his brown cheek, under a pretence of
embracing the child—but suddenly recoiling, he
added in alarm—“Ruth!”
Startled by the tone in which her husband uttered
her name, the mother threw aside the folds of
her dress, which still concealed the girl, and stretching
her out to the length of an arm, she saw that,
in the hurry of the appalling scene, the children
had been exchanged, and that she had saved the
life of Martha!
Notwithstanding the generous disposition of Ruth,
it was impossible to repress the feeling of disappointment
which came over her with the consciousness
of the mistake. Nature at first had sway, and to a
degree that was fearfully powerful.
“It is not our babe!” shrieked the mother, still
holding the child at the length of her arm, and
with an expression that Martha had never yet seen
gleaming from eyes that were, in common, so soft
and so indulgent.
“I am thine! I am thine!” murmured the little
trembler, struggling in vain to reach the bosom that
had so long cherished her infancy. “If not thine,
whose am I?”
The gaze of Ruth was still wild, the workings of
her features hysterical.
“Madam—Mrs. Heathcote—mother!” came timidly,
and at intervals, from the lips of the orphan.
Then the heart of Ruth relented. She clasped the
daughter of her friend to her breast, and Nature
found a temporary relief in one of those frightful
exhibitions of anguish, which appear to threaten
the dissolution of the link which connects the soul
with the body.
“Come, daughter of John Harding,” said Content,
looking around him with the assumed composure of
a chastened man, while natural regret struggled
hard at his heart; “this has been God's pleasure;
it is meet that we kiss his parental hand. Let us be
thankful,” he added, with a quivering lip but steady
eye, “that even this mercy hath been shown. Our
babe is with the Indian, but our hopes are far beyond
the reach of savage malignity. We have not `laid
up treasure where moth and rust can corrupt, or
where thieves may break in and steal.' It may be
that the morning shall bring means of parley, and
haply, opportunity of ransom.”
There was the glimmering of hope in this suggestion.
The idea seemed to give a new direction to
the thoughts of Ruth, and the change enabled the
long habits of self-restraint to regain something of
their former ascendancy. The fountains of her tears
became dry, and, after one short and terrible struggle,
she was again enabled to appear composed. But
struggle, was Ruth Heathcote again the same ready
and useful agent of activity and order that she had
been in the earlier events of the night.
It is scarcely necessary to remind the reader that
the brief burst of parental agony which has just
been related, escaped Content and his wife amid a
scene in which the other actors were too much occupied
by their exertions to note its exhibition. The
fate of those in the block was too evidently approaching
its close, to allow of any interest in such an
episode to the great tragedy of the moment.
The character of the contest had in some measure
changed. There was no longer any immediate apprehension
from the missiles of the assailants, though
danger pressed upon the besieged in a new and even
in a more horrible aspect. Now and then indeed an
arrow quivered in the openings of the loops, and
the blunt Dudley had once a narrow escape from
the passage of a bullet, which, guided by chance,
or aimed by a hand surer than common, glanced
through one of the narrow slits, and would have
terminated the history of the borderer, had not the
head it obliquely encountered, been too solid to
yield even to such an assault. The attention of the
garrison was chiefly called to the imminent danger
of the surrounding fire. Though the probability of
such an emergency as that in which the family was
now placed, had certainly been foreseen, and in
some degree guarded against, in the size of the
area and in the construction of the block, yet it
was found that the danger exceeded all former
calculations.
For the basement, there was no reason to feel
alarm. It was of stone, and of a thickness and a
material to put at defiance any artifices that their
enemy might find time to practise. Even the two
upper stories were comparatively safe; for they
to heat them, and they were consequently as little
liable to combustion as wood well could be. But
the roof, like all of that, and indeed, like most of
the present day in America, was composed of short
inflammable shingles of pine. The superior height
of the tower was some little protection, but as the
flames rose roaring above the buildings of the court,
and waved in wide circuits around the heated area,
the whole of the fragile covering of the block was
often wrapped in folds of fire. The result may be
anticipated. Content was first recalled from the
bitterness of his parental regret, by a cry, which
passed among the family, that the roof of their
little citadel was in flames. One of the ordinary
wells of the habitation was in the basement of the
edifice, and it was fortunate that no precaution
necessary to render it serviceable in an emergency
like that which was now arrived, had been neglected.
A well-secured shaft of stone rose through the lower
apartment into the upper floor. Profiting by this
happy precaution, the handmaidens of Ruth plied
the buckets with diligence, while the young men
cast water freely on the roof, from the windows of
the attic. The latter duty, it may readily be supposed,
was not performed without hazard. Flights
of arrows were constantly directed against the laborers,
and more than one of the youths received
greater or less injuries, while exposed to their annoyance.
There were indeed a few minutes, during
which it remained a question of grave interest how
far the risk they ran was likely to be crowned with
success. The excessive heat of so many fires, and
the occasional contact with the flames, as they
swept in eddies over the place, began to render it
doubtful whether any human efforts could long
arrest the evil. Even the massive and moistened
logs of the body of the work began to smoke; and
rest but a moment on their surface.
During this interval of deep suspense, all the men
posted at the loops were called to aid in extinguishing
the fire. Resistance was forgotten in the discharge
of a duty that had become still more pressing. Ruth
herself was aroused by the nature of the alarm,
and all hands and all minds were arduously occupied
in a toil that diverted attention from incidents
which had less interest, because they were teeming
less with instant destruction. Danger is known to
lose its terrors by familiarity. The young borderers
became reckless of their persons in the ardor of
exertion, and as success began to crown their efforts,
something like the levity of happier moments got
the better of their concern. Stolen and curious
glances were thrown around a place that had so
long been kept sacred to the secret uses of the Puritan,
when it was found that the flames were subdued,
and that the present danger was averted.
The light glared powerfully through several openings
in the shingles, no less than through the windows;
and every eye was enabled to scan the contents
of an apartment which all had longed, though
none had ever before presumed, to enter.
“The Captain looketh well to the body,” whispered
Reuben Ring to one of his comrades, as he
wiped the effects of the toil from a sun-burnt brow.
“Thou seest, Hiram, that there is good store of
cheer.”
“The buttery is not better stored!” returned the
other, with the shrewdness and ready observation
of a border-man. “It is known that he never toucheth
that which the cow yields, except as it comes
from the creature, and here we find of the best
that the Madam's dairy can yield!”
“Surely yon buff jerkin is like to those worn by
the Captain hath ridden forth in such a guise.”
“That may be matter of ancient usage, for thou
seest he hath relics of the fashion of the English
troopers in this bit of steel; it is like, he holdeth
deep exercise over the vanities of his youth, while
recalling the times in which they were worn.”
This conjecture appeared to satisfy the other,
though it is probable that a sight of a fresh store
of bodily aliment, which was soon after exposed in
order to gain access to the roof, might have led to
some further inferences, had more time been given
to conjectures. But at this moment a new wail proceeded
from the maidens who plied the buckets
beneath.
“To the loops! to the loops, or we are lost!” was
a summons that admitted of no delay. Led by the
stranger, the young men rushed below, where, in
truth, they found a serious demand on all their
activity and courage.
The Indians were wanting in none of the sagacity
which so remarkably distinguishes the warfare
of this cunning race. The time spent by the family,
in arresting the flames, had not been thrown away
by the assailants. Profiting by the attention of those
within, to efforts that were literally of the last importance,
they had found means to convey burning
brands to the door of the block, against which they
had piled a mass of blazing combustibles, that
threatened shortly to open the way into the basement
of the citadel itself. In order to mask this
design, and to protect their approaches, the savages
had succeeded in dragging bundles of straw and
other similar materials to the foot of the work, to
which the fire soon communicated, and which consequently
served both to increase the actual danger
of the building and to distract the attention of those
by whom it was defended. Although the water that
these flames, it contributed to produce the effect of
all others that was most desired by the savages.
The dense volumes of smoke that arose from the
half-smothered fire, first apprised the females of
the new danger which assailed them. When Content
and the stranger reached the principal floor
of their citadel, it required some little time, and no
small degree of coolness, to comprehend the situation
in which they were now placed. The vapor
that rolled upward from the wet straw and hay
had already penetrated into the apartment, and it
was with no slight difficulty that they who occupied
it were enabled to distinguish objects, or even
to breathe.
“Here is matter to exercise our utmost fortitude,”
said the stranger to his constant companion. “We
must look to this new device, or we come to the fate
of death by fire. Summon the stoutest-hearted of
thy youths, and I will lead them to a sortie, ere the
evil get past a remedy.”
“That were certain victory to the heathen. Thou
hearest, by their yells, that 'tis no small band of
scouters who beleaguer us; a tribe hath sent forth
its chosen warriors to do their wickedness. Better
is it that we bestir ourselves to drive them from our
door, and to prevent the further annoyance of this
cloud, since, to issue from the block, at this moment,
would be to offer our heads to the tomahawk; and
to ask mercy is as vain as to hope to move the rock
with tears.”
“And in what manner may we do this needful
service?”
“Our muskets will still command the entrance,
by means of these downward loops, and water may
be yet applied through the same openings. Thought
hath been had of this danger, in the disposition of
the place.”
“Then, of Heaven's mercy! delay not the effort.”
The necessary measures were taken, instantly.
Eben Dudley applied the muzzle of his piece to a
loop, and discharged it downward, in the direction
of the endangered door. But aim was impossible in
the obscurity, and his want of success was proclaimed
by a taunting shout of triumph. Then followed
a flood of water, which however was scarcely of
more service, since the savages had foreseen its use,
and had made a provision against its effects by placing
boards, and such vessels as they found scattered
among the buildings, above the fire, in a manner to
prevent most of the fluid from reaching its aim.
“Come hither with thy musket, Reuben Ring,”
said Content, hurriedly; “the wind stirreth the
smoke, here; the savages still heap fuel against the
wall.”
The borderer complied. There were in fact moments
when dark human forms were to be seen
gliding in silence around the building, though the
density of the vapor rendered the forms indistinct
and their movements doubtful. With a cool and
practised eye, the youth sought a victim; but as he
discharged his musket, an object glanced near his
own visage, as though the bullet had recoiled on him
who had given it a very different mission. Stepping
backward a little hurriedly, he saw the stranger
pointing through the smoke at an arrow which still
quivered in the floor above them.
“We cannot long abide these assaults,” the soldier
muttered; “something must be speedily devised, or
we fall.”
His words ceased, for a yell that appeared to lift
the floor on which he stood, announced the destruction
of the door and the presence of the savages in
the basement of the tower. Both parties appeared
momentarily confounded at this unexpected success;
for while the one stood mute with astonishment and
this inaction soon ended. The conflict was resumed,
though the efforts of the assailants began to assume
the confidence of victory, while, on the part of the
besieged, they partook fearfully of the aspect of
despair.
A few muskets were discharged, both from below
and above, at the intermediate floor, but the thickness
of the planks prevented the bullets from doing
injury. Then commenced a struggle in which the
respective qualities of the combatants were exhibited
in a singularly characteristic manner. While
the Indians improved their advantages beneath, with
all the arts known to savage warfare, the young
men resisted with that wonderful aptitude of expedient,
and readiness of execution, which distinguish
the American borderer.
The first attempt of the assailants was to burn
the floor of the lower apartment. In order to effect
this, they threw vast piles of straw into the basement.
But ere the brand was applied, water had
reduced the inflammable material to a black and
murky pile. Still the smoke had nearly effected a
conquest which the fire itself had failed to achieve.
So suffocating indeed were the clouds of vapor which
ascended through the crevices, that the females
were compelled to seek a refuge in the attic. Here
the openings in the roof, and a swift current of air,
relieved them, in some degree, from its annoyance.
When it was found that the command of the well
afforded the besieged the means of protecting the
wood-work of the interior, an effort was made to cut
off the communication with the water, by forcing a
passage into the circular stone shaft, through which
it was drawn into the room above. This attempt
was defeated by the readiness of the youths, who
soon cut holes in the floor, whence they sent down
certain death on all beneath. Perhaps no part of
this effort; nor did either assailants or
assailed, at any time during its continuance, suffer
greater personal injury. After a long and fierce
struggle, the resistance was effectual, and the savages
had recourse to new schemes in order to effect
their ruthless object.
During the first moments of their entrance, and
with a view to reap the fruits of the victory when
the garrison should be mroe effectually subdued,
most of the furniture of the dwelling had been scattered
by the conquerors on the side of the hill.
Among other articles, some six or seven beds had
been dragged from the dormitories. These were
now brought into play, as powerful instruments in
the assault. They were cast, one by one, on the
still burning though smothered flames, in the basement
of the block, whence they sent up a cloud of
their intolerable effluvia. At this trying moment,
the appalling cry was heard in the block, that the
well had failed! The buckets ascended as empty
as they went down, and they were thrown aside as
no longer useful. The savages seemed to comprehend
their advantage, for they profited by the confusion
that succeeded among the assailed, to feed
the slumbering fires. The flames kindled fiercely,
and in less than a minute they became too violent
to be subdued. They were soon seen playing on
the planks of the floor above. The subtle element
flashed from point to point, and it was not long ere
it was stealing up the outer side of the heated block
itself.
The savages now knew that conquest was sure.
Yells and whoopings proclaimed the fierce delight
with which they witnessed the certainty of their
victory. Still there was something portentous in
the death-like silence with which the victims within
the block awaited their fate. The whole exterior
yet no show of further resistance, no petition for
mercy, issued from its bosom. The unnatural and
frightful stillness, that reigned within, was gradually
communicated to those without. The cries and
shouts of triumph ceased, and the crackling of
the flames, or the falling of timber in the adjoining
buildings, alone disturbed the awful calm. At length
a solitary voice was heard in the block. Its tones
were deep, solemn, and imploring. The fierce beings
who surrounded the glowing pile bent forward
to listen, for their quick faculties caught the first
sounds that were audible. It was Mark Heathcote
pouring out his spirit in prayer. The petition was
fervent, but steady, and though uttered in words
that were unintelligible to those without, they knew
enough of the practices of the Colonists, to be
aware that it was the chief of the Pale-faces holding
communion with his God. Partly in awe, and
partly in doubt of what might be the consequences
of so mysterious an asking, the dark crowd withdrew
to a little distance, and silently watched the
progress of the destruction. They had heard strange
sayings of the power of the Deity of their invaders,
and as their victims appeared suddenly to cease
using any of the known means of safety, they appeared
to expect, perhaps they did expect, some
unequivocal manifestation of the power of the
Great Spirit of the stranger.
Still no sign of pity, no relenting from the ruthless
barbarity of their warfare, escaped any of the
assailants. If they thought at all of the temporal
fate of those who might still exist within the fiery
pile, it was only to indulge in some passing regret,
that the obstinacy of the defence had deprived them
of the glory of bearing the usual bloody tokens of
victory, in triumph to their villages. But even
these peculiar and deeply-rooted feelings were forgotten,
hope of its indulgence beyond all possibility.
The roof of the block rekindled, and, by the light
that shone through the loops, it was but too evident
the interior was in a blaze. Once or twice, smothered
sounds came out of the place, as if suppressed
shrieks were escaping the females; but they ceased
so suddenly as to leave doubts among the auditors,
whether it were more than the deception of their
own excited fancies. The savages had witnessed
many a similar scene of human suffering, but never
one before in which death was met by so unmoved
a clamness. The serenity that reigned in the blazing
block communicated to them a feeling of awe;
and when the pile came a tumbling and blackened
mass of ruins to the earth, they avoided the place,
like men that dreaded the vengeance of a Deity
who knew how to infuse so deep a sentiment of resignation
in the breasts of his worshippers.
Though the yells of victory were again heard in
the valley that night, and though the sun had arisen
before the conquerors deserted the hill, but few of
the band found resolution to approach the smouldering
pile, where they had witnessed so impressive
an exhibition of Christian fortitude. The few that
did draw near, stood around the spot rather in the
reverence with which an Indian visits the graves
of the just, than in the fierce rejoicings with which
he is known to glut his revenge over a fallen enemy.
| CHAPTER XV. The wept of Wish-ton-Wish | |