University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.
THE PURSUIT.

When Herbert Tracy flung himself upon the
steed of the British Colonel, and planting his spurs
into the sides of the plunging animal, forced him
to take the steep and winding road that led around
the precipice, a thousand feelings rushed through
his mind, and a wild tumult of opposing thoughts
agitated his brain, but amid all the contending
feelings and opposing thoughts, one idea was
uppermost in his mind, a steady, firm and unalterable
resolve to bear his betrothed away to some
scene of safety, and a desperate purpose to part
with his life, ere the beautiful being, whose head
now lay pillowed on his breast, should be torn
from his embrace, by the rude hands of those who
had, so mockingly, toyed with her plighted vows.

Winding his arm yet closer around the waist of
Marian, he dashed down the narrow path, plunged
into the Wissahikon, and ascending the opposite
bank, gained the rocky road, which pursued its
irregular course along the banks of the stream. As
he flew along the road with the speed of wind,
the fresh and breezy night air, fanning the pallid

cheek of the maiden, awoke her to consciousness,
and Herbert felt the warm beating of her heart,
throbbing against the hand which held her to his
side.

She opened her beaming blue eyes, and as the
warm flush of youth and love again glowed on her
swelling cheek, she cast a hurried glance around,
as though she essayed to recall her wandering
thoughts, and then while the whole truth flashed
upon her, she wound her arms with a quick, convulsive
movement, around the neck of her lover, her
bosom rose and fell in the moonlight, and sinking
her head upon his manly breast, she found relief
from the tumult of opposing thoughts, in a flood of
tears.

Herbert gazed upon her fair face with its beauty
half upturned to the sky, and if ever, during his
wild and dreamy life, he felt his soul swell with
the feeling of intense happiness, and every nerve
thrill with delight, it was at that moment, when
her full and lustrous orbs were cast upward, with a
glance so full of high and hallowed love, so full
of all the trustfulness of woman's passion, and
beaming with that winning confidence, unmodified
by mistrust or doubt, which the vilest of mankind
would hesitate to wrong or betray.

The sounds of pursuit broke upon the air. Herbert
had attained the point, where the Paper Mills
cast a lengthened shadow over the stream, and a

quarter of a mile lay before him ere he could
reach Rittenhouse's Mill. It was his purpose to
avoid his pursuers, to seek the farm house of the
Quaker, Joab Smiley, place his betrothed in safety
till the morrow, then repass the British lines by the
bed of the Wissahikon, and reach the Haunted
House by midnight. Marian—thought Herbert—
might remain concealed in the farm house, with
entire safety, until the coming day, when the fate
of battle would enable him to place her in a situation
of greater security.

The sounds of pursuit, the echoing of the horses'
hoofs and the shouts of the pursuers broke louder
and nearer upon the stillness of night, and sinking
the rowels into the flanks of his steed, Herbert gave
him free rein, and in an instant the noble barb
dashed along the road, with the monotonous beat of
the hoof upon the sod, betokening the utmost
stretch of his speed put to the test.

A hundred yards lay between Herbert and Rittenhouse's
Mill, and a hundred yards behind his
pursuers came thundering along the road. The
report of a pistol broke upon the air, and a bullet
whistled by Herbert's ear, at the same moment that
the voice of his father, urging the pursuit, rose
high above all other sounds.

“On—on—let him not escape with life! Let
your aim be sure, and the bullet certain of its
mark! Onward, my brave men, onward!

“I will foil them yet!” Herbert muttered between
his teeth, as he recognized the tones of his
father's voice. “Here is Rittenhouse's Mill—the
moon has gone down, and the night is dark,—now
God help me!”

As the exclamation rose upon his lips, the
sound of horses' hoofs which rose in his rear, were
echoed by similar sounds on the opposite bank of
the stream, and the crashing of brushwood and the
rustling of branches, gave Herbert warning, that his
escape was cut off beyond the Mill.

The crisis came. The Mill was reached, the
party on the opposite side came thundering through
the woods, and the voice of Major Tracy was heard,
nearer and yet more near; when, reining his steed
up against a small and perpendicular rock which
peeped out from among a mass of brushwood, Herbert
loosened his feet from the stirrups, and gathering
his arm around the waist of Marian, with a
firmer embrace, sprang from the horse, on to the
rock, amid the shelter of the environing shrubbery,
and as he sprang, the affrighted horse bounded forward,
dashed through the stream, swept up the
road that traversed the opposite hill, and with the
speed of a bolt, driven from the bow, disappeared
in the shade of the wood.

As he disappeared, the party of Col. Musgrave
emerged from the woods on the opposite bank into
the stream. Almost at the very same instant

Major Tracy with his men; rushed along with the
speed of lightning, within an arm's reach of the
spot upon which Herbert stood, and passing between
the rock and the Mill, dashed into the Wissahikon,
and ere he was aware he confronted the colonel
and his company in mid-stream.

“Which way went the fugitives?” shouted Col.
Musgrave.

“Do you not hear the horses' hoofs upon the
hill?” replied the stern and commanding voice of
Major Tracy—“away! away! We trifle—we
lose time! away!

“We'll have them now, by —” exclaimed
the voice of Lieutenant Wellwood. “They cannot
be more than fifty yards ahead! Now for't
my men!”

And with one assent the pursuers joined their
forces, and galloping up the opposite bank of the
stream in the direction taken by the steed which
Herbert had just abandoned, their forms were lost
in the shades of the forest, and the echoing of
their horses' hoofs, began to grow fainter on the
air.

Herbert had well calculated his address and
dexterity, combined with an intimate acquaintance
with the spot, when he took the sudden leap from
the saddle on to the rock, among the surrounding
brushwood. In his youthful ramblings near the
Mill, he had discovered a path, perhaps worn by

the feet of Indians, an age before, winding along
the nooks, the heights and recesses of the hills
forming the eastern bank of the stream. The
entrance to this path, within a few feet of the Mill,
was hidden by the branches of the trees mingling
with the light shrubbery, that grew upon the perpendicular
rocks, separating the road from the
forest. In the moment of peril, the memory of
the rock and the secret path flashed upon his mind,
and in an instant, he availed himself of the remembrance,
and eluded pursuit in the very crisis of the
chase.

As the sounds of the pursuing party came softened
and almost hushed by distance to the ears of
the lovers, Herbert gave Marian the support of his
arm, and they threaded their way along the winding
path through the woods, until they emerged
upon the meadow sloping from farmer Smiley's
house, down to the Wissahikon. Approaching
the farm house, they found they had been preceded
by Harry Heft and his friend Dennis, who
it seems had succeeded in persuading the Quaker
to receive the betrothed of Herbert, under the
shelter of his roof, for a few days until the fortune
of war might enable the lovers to unite their fates
beyond danger of separation. After he had seen
Marian safe under the peaceful roof, and attended
by the care of the young Quakeress, Herbert departed
from the farm house, with a promise to

return at the earliest moment that might afford an
opportunity. Dennis and Harry proceeded to take
their way to the Wissahikon on their return to the
American lines, in another direction from that
taken by Herbert, who paused an instant on the
banks of the stream, ere he plunged into the recesses
of the woods, and as he looked back upon
the quiet home of the Quaker farmer sleeping in
the starlight, a fearful presentiment crossed his
mind, that he should never gaze upon his betrothed
again—that some dire and hidden calamity was
hovering over their path—that some dread and
overwhelming evil, was even now gathering blackness
upon the horizon of their sky, and would
suddenly burst over their heads, and crush every
fair prospect of their life, every bright hope of
their existence under its blightning influences.

“Come what will”—said Herbert, in a voice
that was uttered not to the air, but to his own
heart, “come what will, my resolve is taken.
My hand and sword shall be raised, first in defence
of the hills and vales of this fair land of my birth;
and then in defence of the maiden, bound to me
by the solemn vows of our plighted troth. Death
may come, and ruin may threaten—but their approaches
shall be met with honor!”