University of Virginia Library

24. EDGAR HUNTLY.
CHAPTER XXIV.

It was noon day before we reached
the theatre of action. Fear and revenge
combined to make the people of
Chetasco diligent and zealous in their
own defence. The havock already committed
had been mournful. To prevent
a repetition of the same calamities, they
resolved to hunt out the hostile foot-steps
and exact a merciless retribution.

It was likely that the enemy, on the
approach of day, had withdrawn from
the valley and concealed themselves in
the thickets, between the parrallel ridges

of the mountain. This space, which,
according to the object with which it is
compared is either a vale or the top of
an hill, was obscure and desolate. It
was undoubtedly the avenue by which
the robbers had issued forth, and by
which they would escape to the Ohio.
Here they might still remain, intending
to immerge from their concealment on
the next night, and perpetrate new horrors.

A certain distribution was made of
our number, so as to move in all directions
at the same time. I will not dwell
upon particulars. It will suffice to say
that keen eyes and indefatigable feet,
brought us at last to the presence of the
largest number of these marauders.
Seven of them were slain by the edge
of a brook, where they sat wholly unconscious
of the danger which hung over
them. Five escaped, and one of these

secured his retreat by wresting your
fusil from your uncle, and shooting him
dead. Before our companion could be
rescued or revenged, the assassin, with
the remnant of the troop, disappeared,
and bore away with him the fusil as a
trophy of his victory.

This disaster was deplored not only
on account of that life which had thus
been sacrificed, but because a sagacious
guide and intrepid leader was lost. His
acquaintance with the habits of the Indians,
and his experience in their wars
made him trace their foot-steps with more
certainty than any of his associates.

The pursuit was still continued, and
parties were so stationed that the escape
of the enemy was difficult, if not impossible.
Our search was unremitted, but
during twelve or fourteen hours, unsuccessful.
Queen Mab did not elude all
suspicion. Her hut was visited by different

parties, but the old woman and
her dogs had disappeared.

Meanwhile your situation was not
forgotten. Every one was charged to
explore your foot-steps as well as those
of the savages, but this search was no
less unsuccessful than the former. None
had heard of you or seen you.

This continued till midnight. Three
of us, made a pause at a brook, and
intended to repair our fatigues by a respite
of a few hours, but scarcely had we
stretched ourselves on the ground when
we were alarmed by a shot which seemed
to have been fired at a short distance.
We started on our feet and consulted
with each other on the measures to be
taken. A second, a third and a fourth
shot, from the same quarter, excited our
attention anew. Mab's hut was known
to stand at the distance and in the direction

of this sound, and hither we resolved
to repair.

This was done with speed but with
the utmost circumspection. We shortly
gained the road that leads near this hut
and at length gained a view of the building.
Many persons were discovered, in
a sort of bustling inactivity, before the
hut. They were easily distinguised to
be friends, and were therefore approached
without scruple.

The objects that presented themselves
to a nearer view were five bodies
stretched upon the ground. Three of
them were savages. The fourth was a
girl, who though alive seemed to have
received a mortal wound. The fifth,
breathless and mangled and his features
almost concealed by the blood that overspread
his face, was Edgar; the fugitive

for whom I had made such anxious
search.

About the same hour on the last
night I had met you hastening into Norwalk.
Now were you, lying in the midst
of savages, at the distance of thirty miles
from your home, and in a spot, which
it was impossible for you to have reached
unless by an immense circuit over
rocks and thickets. That you had found
a rift at the basis of the hill, and thus
permeated its solidities, and thus precluded
so tedious and circuitous a journey
as must otherwise have been made,
was not to be imagined.

But whence arose this scene? It was
obvious to conclude that my associates
had surprised their enemies in this house,
and exacted from them the forfeit of their
crimes, but how you should have been
confounded with their foes, or whence

came the wounded girl was a subject of
astonishment.

You will judge how much this surprise
was augmented when I was informed
that the party whom we found had
been attracted hither by the same signals,
by which we had been alarmed. That
on reaching this spot you had been discovered,
alive, seated on the ground and
still sustaining the gun with which you
had apparently completed the destruction
of so many adversaries. In a moment
after their arrival you sunk down
and expired.

This scene was attended with inexplicable
circumstances. The musquet
which lay beside you appeared to have
belonged to one of the savages. The
wound by which each had died was single.
Of the four shots we had distinguished
at a distance, three of them were
therefore fatal to the Indians and the

fourth was doubtless that by which you
had fallen, yet three musquets only were
discoverable.

The arms were collected, and the
girl carried to the nearest house in the
arms of her father. Her situation was
deemed capable of remedy, and the sorrow
and wonder which I felt at your
untimely and extraordinary fate, did not
hinder me from endeavouring to restore
the health of this unfortunate victim. I
reflected likewise that some light might
be thrown upon transactions so mysterious,
by the information which might be
collected from her story. Numberless
questions and hints were necessary to
extract from her a consistent or intelli
gible tale. She had been dragged, it
seems, for miles, at the heels of her conquerors,
who at length, stopped in a
cavern for the sake of some repose; all
slept but one, who sat and watched.

Something called him away, and, at the
same moment, you appeared at the bottom
of the cave half naked and without
arms. You instantly supplied the last
deficiency, by seizing the gun and tomhawk
of him who had gone forth, and
who had negligently left his weapons
behind. Then stepping over the bodies
of the sleepers, you rushed out of the
cavern.

She then mentioned your unexpected
return, her deliverance and flight, and
arrival at Deb's hut. You watched
upon the hearth and she fell asleep upon
the blanket. From this sleep she was
aroused by violent and cruel blows.
She looked up:—you were gone and the
bed on which she lay was surrounded
by the men from whom she had so lately
escaped. One dragged her out of the
hut and levelled his gun at her breast.

At the moment when he touched the
trigger, a shot came from an unknown
quarter, and he fell at her feet. Of subsequent
events she had an incoherent
recollection. The Indians were successively
slain, and you came to her, and
interrogated and consoled her.

In your journey to the hut you were
armed. This in some degree accounted
for appearances, but where were your
arms? Three musquets only were discovered
and these undoubtedly belonged
to your enemies.

I now had leisure to reflect upon your
destiny. I had arrived soon enough on
this shore merely to witness the catastrophe
of two beings whom I most loved.
Both were overtaken by the same fate,
nearly at the same hour. The same
hand had possibly accomplished the destruction
of uncle and nephew.

Now, however, I began to entertain
an hope that your state might not be
irretreivable. You had walked and spoken
after the firing had ceased, and
your enemies had ceased to contend
with you. A wound had, no doubt,
been previously received. I had hastily
inferred that the wound was mortal, and
that life could not be recalled. Occupied
with attention to the wailings of the
girl, and full of sorrow and perplexity
I had admitted an opinion which would
have never been adopted in different
circumstances. My acquaintance with
wounds would have taught me to regard
sunken muscles, lividness and cessation
of the pulse as mere indications of a
swoon, and not as tokens of death.

Perhaps my error was not irreparable.
By hastening to the hut, I might
ascertain your condition and at least
transport your remains to some dwelling

and finally secure to you the decencies
of burial.

Of twelve savages, discovered on the
preceding day, ten were now killed.
Two, at least remained, after whom the
pursuit was still zealously maintained.
Attention to the wounded girl, had withdrawn
me from the party, and I had now
leisure to return to the scene of these
disasters. The sun had risen, and, accompanied
by two others, I repaired
thither.

A sharp turn in the road, at the entrance
of the field, set before us a starting
spectacle. An Indian, mangled by repeated
wounds of bayonet and bullet,
was discovered. His musquet was stuck
in the ground, by way of beacon attracting
our attention to the spot. Over this
space I had gone a few hours before,
and nothing like this was then seen.
The parties abroad, had hied away to a

distant quarter. Some invisible power
seemed to be enlisted in our defence and
to preclude the necessity of our arms.

We proceeded to the hut. The savages
were there, but Edgar had risen and
flown! Nothing now seemed to be incredible.
You had slain three foes, and the
weapon with which the victory had been
achieved, had vanished. You had risen
from the dead, had assailed one of the
surviving enemies, had employed bullet
and dagger in his destruction, with both
of which you could only be supplied by
supernatural means, and had disappeared.
If any inhabitant of Chetasco had
done this, we should have heard of it.

But what remained? You were still
alive. Your strength was sufficient to
bear you from this spot. Why were you
still invisible and to what dangers might
you not be exposed, before you could

disinvolve yourself from the mazes of
this wilderness?

Once more I procured indefatigable
search to be made after you. It was continued
till the approach of evening and
was fruitless. Inquiries were twice made
at the house where you were supplied
with food and intelligence. On the
second call I was astonished and delighted
by the tidings received from the good
woman. Your person and demeanour
and arms were described, and mention
made of your resolution to cross the
southern ridge, and traverse the Solebury
road with the utmost expedition.

The greater part of my inquietudes
were now removed. You were able to
eat and to travel, and there was little
doubt that a meeting would take place
between us on the next morning. Meanwhile,
I determined to concur with those
who pursued the remainder of the enemy.

I followed you, in the path that you were
said to have taken, and quickly joined a
numerous party who were searching for
those who, on the last night, had attacked
a plantation that lies near this, and destroyed
the inhabitants.

I need not dwell upon our doublings
and circuities. The enemy was traced
to the house of Selby. They had entered,
they had put fire on the floor, but
were compelled to relinquish their prey.
Of what number they consisted could
not be ascertained, but one, lingering
behind his fellows, was shot, at the
entrance of the wood, and on the spot
where you chanced to light upon him.

Selby's house was empty, and before
the fire had made any progress we extinguished
it. The drunken wretch whom
you encountered, had probably returned
from his nocturnal debauch, after we had
left the spot.

The flying enemy was pursued with
fresh diligence. They were found, by
various tokens, to have crossed the river,
and to have ascended the mountain. We
trod closely on their heels. When we
arrived at the promontory, described by
you, the fatigues of the night and day
rendered me unqualified to proceed, I
determined that this should be the bound
of my excursions. I was anxious to
obtain an interview with you, and unless
I paused here, should not be able to gain
Inglefield's as early in the morning as I
wished. Two others concurred with me
in this resolution and prepared to return
to this house which had been deserted
by its tenants till the danger was past
and which had been selected as the place
of rendezvous.

At this moment, dejected and weary,
I approached the ledge which severed
the head-land from the mountain. I

marked the appearance of some one
stretched upon the ground where you
lay. No domestic animal would wander
hither and place himself upon this spot.
There was something likewise in the
appearance of the object that bespoke it
to be man, but if it were man, it was,
incontrovertibly, a savage and a foe. I
determined therefore to rouse you by a
bullet.

My decision was perhaps absurd. I
ought to have gained more certainty
before I hazarded your destruction. Be
that as it will, a moments lingering on
your part would have probably been
fatal. You started on your feet, and
fired. See the hole which your random
shot made through my sleeve! This
surely was a day destined to be signalized
by hair-breadth escapes.

Your action seemed incontestably to
confirm my prognostics. Every one hurried

to the spot and was eager to destroy
an enemy. No one hesitated to believe
that some of the shots aimed at you, had
reached their mark, and that you had
sunk to rise no more.

The gun which was fired and thrown
down was taken and examined. It had
been my companion in many a toilsome
expedition. It had rescued me and my
friends from a thousand deaths. In order
to recognize it, I needed only to touch
and handle it. I instantly discovered that
I held in my hand the fusil which I had
left with you on parting, with which your
uncle had equipped himself, and which
had been ravished from him by a savage.
What was I hence to infer respecting
the person of the last possessor?

My inquiries respecting you of the
woman whose milk and bread you had
eaten, were minute. You entered, she
said, with an hatchet and gun in your

hand. While you ate, the gun was laid
upon the table. She sat near, and the
piece became the object of inquisitive
attention. The stock and barrels were
described by her in such terms as left
no doubt that this was the Fusil.

A comparison of incidents enabled
me to trace the manner in which you
came into possession of this instrument.
One of those whom you found in the
cavern was the assassin of your uncle.
According to the girl's report, on issuing
from your hiding place, you seized a gun
that was unoccupied, and this gun chanced
to be your own.

Its two barrels was probably the
cause of your success in that unequal
contest at Mab's hut. On recovering
from deliquium, you found it where it
had been dropped by you, out of sight
and unsuspected by the party that had
afterwards arrived. In your passage to

the river had it once more fallen into hostile
hands, or, had you missed the way,
wandered to this promontory, and mistaken
a troop of friends for a band of
Indian marauders?

Either supposition was dreadful. The
latter was the most plausible. No motives
were conceivable by which one of
the fugitives could be induced to post
himself here, in this conspicuous station:
whereas, the road which lead you to the
summit of the hill, to that spot where
descent to the river road was practicable,
could not be found but by those who
were accustomed to traverse it. The
directions which you had exacted from
your hostess, proved your previous unacquaintance
with these tracts.

I acquiesced in this opinion with an
heavy and desponding heart. Fate had
led us into a maze, which could only
terminate in the destruction of one or of

the other. By the breadth of an hair,
had I escaped death from your hand.
The same fortune had not befriended
you. After my tedious search, I had
lighted on you, forlorn, bewildered, perishing
with cold and hunger. Instead
of recognizing and affording you relief,
I compelled you to leap into the river,
from a perilous height, and had desisted
from my persecution only when I had
bereaved you of life, and plunged you
to the bottom of the gulf.

My motives in coming to America
were numerous and mixed. Among
these was the parental affection with
which you had inspired me. I came
with fortune and a better gift than fortune
in my hand. I intended to bestow
both upon you, not only to give you competence,
but one who would endear to
you that competence, who would enhance,

by participating, every gratification.

My schemes were now at an end.
You were gone, beyond the reach of my
benevolence and justice. I had robbed
your two sisters of a friend and guardian.
It was some consolation to think that it
was in my power to stand, with regard
to them, in your place, that I could
snatch them from the poverty, dependence
and humiliation, to which your
death and that of your uncle had reduced
them.

I was now doubly weary of the enterprise
in which I was engaged, and returned,
with speed, to this rendezvouz.
My companions have gone to know the
state of the family who resided under
this roof and left me to beguile the
tedious moments in whatever manner I
pleased.

I have omitted mentioning one incident
that happened between the detection

of your flight and our expedition to Chetasco.
Having formed a plausible conjecture
as to him who walked in the
Long-room, it was obvious to conclude
that he who purloined your manuscripts
and the walker were the same personage.
It was likewise easily inferred that the
letters were secreted in the Cedar Chest
or in some other part of the room. Instances
similar to this have heretofore
occurred. Men have employed anxious
months in search of that which, in a freak
of Noctambulation, was hidden by their
own hands.

A search was immediately commenced,
and your letters were found, carefully
concealed between the rafters and
shingles of the roof, in a spot, where, if
suspicion had not been previously excited,
they would have remained till the
vernal rains and the summer heats, had
insensibly destroyed them. This pacquet
I carried with me, knowing the

value which you set upon them, and
there being no receptacle equally safe,
but your own cabinet, which was locked.

Having, as I said, reached this house,
and being left alone, I bethought me of
the treasure I possessed. I was unacquainted
with the reasons for which these
papers were so precious. They probably
had some momentous and intimate
connection with your own history. As
such they could not be of little value to
me, and this moment of inoccupation and
regrets, was as suitable as any other to
the task of perusing them. I drew them
forth, therefore, and laid them on the
table in this chamber.

The rest is known to you. During a
momentary absence you entered. Surely
no interview of ancient friends ever
took place in so unexpected and abrupt
a manner. You were dead. I mourned
for you, as one whom I loved, and whom

fate had snatched forever from my sight.
Now, in a blissful hour, you had risen,
and my happiness in thus embracing you,
is tenfold greater than would have been
experienced, if no uncertainties and perils
had protracted our meeting.