University of Virginia Library

A NIGHT AMONG THE WOLVES.

The wolf—the gaunt and ferocious wolf! How
many tales of wild horror are associated with its
name! Tales of the deserted battle-field—where the
wolf and the vulture feast together—a horrible and
obscene banquet, realizing the fearful description of
the Seige of Corinth, when—

amidst the cold and stiffening corses of the fallen;—
or of the wild Scandinavian forests, where the peasant
sinks down, exhausted amidst the drifts of winter,
and the wild wolf-howl sounds fearfully in his deafening
ear, and lean forms and evil eyes gather closer
and closer around him, as if impatient for the death of
the doomed victim.

The early settlers of New-England were, not unfrequently,
greatly incommoded by the numbers and ferocity
of the wolves which prowled around their rude

settlements. The hunter easily overpowered them,
and with one discharge of his musket, scattere them
from about his dwelling. They fled, even from the
timid child, in the broad glare of day—but in the
thick and solitary night, far away from the dwellings
of men, they were terrible, from their fiendish and
ferocious appetite for blood.

I have heard a fearful story of the wolf, from the
lips of some of the old settlers of Vermont. Perhaps
it may be best told in the language of one of the witnesses
of the scene.

“'Twas a night of January, in the year 17—. We
had been to a fine quilting frolic, about two miles from
our little settlement of four or five log-houses. 'Twas
rather late—about 12 o'clock, I should guess—when
the party broke up. There was no moon—and a
dull, grey shadow or haze hung all around the horizon,
while overhead a few pale and sickly looking
stars gave us their dull light as if they shone through
a dingy curtain. There were six of us in company—
Harry Mason and myself and four as pretty girls as
ever grew up this side of the Green Mountains.
There were my two sisters and Harry's sister and his
sweetheart, the daughter of our next door neighbor.
She was a right down handsome girl—that Caroline
Allen. I never saw her equal, 'though I am no

stranger to pretty faces. She was so pleasant and
kind of heart—so gentle and sweet-spoken, and so intelligent
besides, that every body loved her. She
had an eye as blue as the hill-violet, and her lips were
like a red rose-leaf in June. No wonder that Harry
Mason loved her—boy though he was—for we had
neither of us seen our seventeenth summer.

“Our path lay through a thick forest of oak, with
here and there a tall pine raising its dark, full shadow
against the sky, with an outline rendered indistinct by
the thick darkness. The snow was deep—deeper a
great deal than it ever falls of late years—but the surface
was frozen strongly enough to bear our weight,
and we hurried on over the white pathway with rapid
steps. We had not proceeded far, before a low, long
howl came to our ears. We all knew it in a moment;
and I could feel a shudder thrilling the arms that were
folded close to my own, as a sudden cry burst from
the lips of all of us—“The wolves—the wolves!”

“Did you ever see a wild wolf—not one of your
caged, broken down show-animals, which are exhibited
for sixpence a sight—children half price—but a
fierce, half-starved ranger of the wintry forest—howling
and hurrying over the barren snow, and actually
mad with hunger? There is no one of God's creatures
which has such a frightful, fiendish look, as this

animal. It has the form as well as the spirit of a
demon.

“Another, and another howl—and then we could
hear distinctly the quick patter of feet behind us. We
all turned right about, and looked in the direction of
the sound.

“The devils are after us,” said Mason, pointing to
a line of dark, gliding bodies. And so in fact they
were—a whole troop of them—howling like so many
Indians in a Powwaw. We had no weapons of any
kind; and we knew enough of the nature of the vile
creatures who followed us to feel that it would be
useless for us to contend without them. There was
not a moment to lose—the savage beasts were close
upon us. To attempt flight would have been a hopeless
affair. There was but one chance of escape, and
we instantly seized upon it.

“To the tree—let us climb this tree!” I cried,
springing forward towards a low-boughed and gnarled
oak, which I saw at a glance might be easily climbed
into.

“Harry Mason sprang lightly into the tree, and
aided in placing the terrified girls in a place of comparative
security among the thick boughs. I was the
last on the ground, and the whole troop were yelling
at my heels before I reached the rest of the company.

There was one moment of hard breathing and wild
exclamations among us, and then a feeling of calm
thankfulness for our escape. The night was cold—
and we soon began to shiver and shake, like so many
sailors on the top-mast of an Iceland whaler. But
there were no murmurs—no complaining among us—
for we could distinctly see the gaunt, attenuated bodies
of the wolves beneath us, and every now and
then we could see great, glowing eyes, staring up into
the tree where we were seated. And then their yells
—they were loud and long and devilish!

“I know not how long we had remained in this
situation, for we had no means of ascertaining the
time—when I heard a limb of the tree cracking, as if
breaking down beneath the weight of some of us;
and a moment after a shriek went through my ears
like the piercing of a knife. A light form went plunging
down through the naked branches, and fell with
a dull and heavy sound upon the stiff snow.

“Oh God! I am gone!”

“It was the voice of Caroline Allen. The poor
girl never spoke again! There was a horrible dizziness
and confusion in my brain, and I spoke not—
and I stirred not—for the whole was at that time like
an ugly, unreal dream. I only remember that there
were cries and shudderings around me—perhaps I

joined with them—and that there were smothered
groans and dreadful howls underneath. It was all
over in a moment. Poor Caroline! She was literally
eaten alive. The wolves had a frightful feast, and
they became raving mad with the taste of blood.

“When I came fully to myself—when the horrible
dream went off—and it lasted but a moment—I struggled
to shake off the arms of my sisters, which were
clinging around me, and could I have cleared myself
I should have jumped down among the raging animals.
But when a second thought came over me, I knew
that any attempt at rescue would be useless. As for
poor Mason, he was wild with horror. He had tried
to follow Caroline when she fell—but he could not
shake off the grasp of his terrified sister. His youth,
and weak constitution and frame, were unable to
withstand the dreadful trial; and he stood close by
my side, with his hands firmly clenched and his teeth
set closely, gazing down upon the dark, wrangling
creatures below, with the fixed stare of a maniac. It
was indeed a terrible scene. Around us was the
thick, cold night—and below, the ravenous wild
beasts were lapping their bloody jaws, and howling
for another victim.

“The morning broke at last; and our frightful enemies
fled at the first advance of day-light, like so

many cowardly murderers. We waited until the sun
had risen before we ventured to crawl down from our
resting-place. We were chilled through—every
limb was numb with cold and terror—and poor Mason
was delirious, and raved wildly about the dreadful
things he had witnessed. There were bloody stains
all around the tree; and two or three long locks of
dark hair were trampled into the snow.

“We had gone but a little distance when we were
met by our friends from the settlement, who had become
alarmed at our absence. They were shocked
at our wild and frightful appearance; and my brothers
have oftentimes told me that at first view we all seemed
like so many crazed and brain-stricken creatures.
They assisted us to reach our homes; but Harry Mason
never recovered fully from the dreadful trial.
He neglected his business, his studies and his friends,
and would sit alone for hours together, ever and anon
muttering to himself about that horrible night. He
fell to drinking soon after, and died, a miserable
drunkard, before age had whitened a hair of his
head.

“For my own part, I confess I have never entirely
overcome the terrors of the melancholy circumstance
which I have endeavored to describe. The thought
of it has haunted me like my own shadow. And even

now, the whole scene comes at times freshly before
me in my dreams, and I start up with something of
the same feeling of terror, as when, more than half a
century ago, I passed A NIGHT AMONG THE WOLVES.”

Note.—

Perhaps the foregoing may be deemed improbable. It is however
an oral tradition, which is as well authenticated as anything of the kind
may well be. It is one of a series of strange legends of encounters with the
wild beasts of a new country which have descended to us from our hardy
forefathers, and which are still preserved in the memories of their children.