University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

Sefton.

The outrage upon Miss Norwood and her
friend, of which we have been speaking, was
the first that had been committed by the Indians,
on any of the inhabitants of Wyoming,
for many years. It was, therefore, totally unexpected,
and threw the whole district into the
utmost consternation. It was caused by the
intestine commotion which then agitated the
whole continent. It was one of the remote
heavings of that might commotion which effected
such a change in the destinies of man—
the American Revolution. A crisis was then
taking place in the fortunes of the western
world, and such a one as was not to be accomplished
without a violence, which shook the
fabric of society, and was felt at the most extreme
verge of civilization.

The outrage we are now considering, was
excited by some fugitive tories from New
England, who had taken refuge among the savages.
Its origin was, in truth, closely conneeted

with the affairs of Butler, although, ignorant
of the circumstance, he was so instrumental
in defeating and avenging it. His prosecutors,
the Whigs of New Haven, had many
relations among the settlers of Wyoming. In
revenge, therefore, for the condemnation passed
upon him, which it was not doubted would
be executed, as well as in resentment of the
patriotic principles which predominated in
the settlement, some of his gang, after its dispersion
in Connecticut, fled to the country of
the Mohawk Indians, and exerted every artifice
to inflame them against the settlers. The
Mohawks were ready enough to hearken to
these instigations, not only on account of their
desire for plunder, but also of some claims
which they had to a portion of the lands occupied
by the settlement.

Their chiefs, however, would not rashly engage
in such a war. The neighbouring whites,
with whom they had long lived on peaceable
terms, had given them no recent cause of offence.
Besides, in the quarrel between the government
of Britain and the colonies, they believed that
their wisest course would be to remain neutral.
Old resentment against the colonies, however,
operated in their minds. They had not forgotten
the usurpation of their lands, and the exterminating
wars so frequently waged against

their race. While, therefore, they refused as
a nation to commit any act of hostility, they
permitted it to be understood that they would
not too strictly scrutinize the conduct of any
individuals of their tribe who might join the
tories in their depredations on the whigs, or
undertake of themselves, any enterprise against
the frontier settlements. In consequence of
this tacit permission, many of the more adventurous
Indians began in small parties to harass
the colonists for the purposes of plunder or revenge.
The seizure of Agnes Norwood and
her companion, Mary Watson, the issue of
which has been narrated, was the first of a series
of outrages which the inhabitants of Wyoming
were destined to endure from the spirit
of hostility thus awakened in the minds of
the savages. The suggestion of one Silas
Bateman, a zealous partizan of Butler, was the
immediate cause of this outrage. He applied
himself to a half-breed Indian of a daring and
ferocious character, who possessed great influence
among the Mohawks. This man's name,
which has since become infamous in history,
was Brandt. He had, for some time past, harboured
much animosity against the people of
Wyoming, and particularly against Dr. Watson,
of whose character the reader is already
apprised. This arose from the following incident.

About two years before the present adventure,
Brandt had accompanied a trading party
of his tribe to Wyoming. While there, in a
fit of intoxication, he quarrelled with one of
the inhabitants, whom he wounded with a
knife, so dangerously, that recovery was not
expected. Brandt was arrested, and the evidence
of Dr. Watson, who had witnessed the
affray, was decisive against him. He was convicted;
but as the person whom he wounded,
had not died, he was only sentenced to some
months imprisonment, a punishment to which
the leaders of his tribe gave their consent, acknowledging
it to be just. Brandt, however,
considered himself disgraced, and resented it
exceedingly. Before half the term of his sentence
had transpired, he broke from prison
and escaped; his bosom glowing with revenge
against the whole of the population of Wyoming,
but particularly against Dr. Watson, whom
he looked upon as the principal author of his
disgrace.

He was, therefore, a willing listener to the
suggestions of Bateman, and a ready instrument
in his hands, to execute any enterprise
of violence against the objects of his resentment.
Accordingly, as soon as he understood
that the chiefs of his tribe would be willing to
overlook whatever outrage he might commit

upon the whites, he, in conjunction with three
of his boldest and most zealous confederates,
undertook the enterprise which, as we have
seen, terminated so disastrously for his party,
he himself being the only one that escaped.
His chief object was the destruction of Dr.
Watson. But in this he was disappointed, the
intended victim happening to be from home at
the time of the attack. The doctor's house being
situated in the outskirts of the village, was
easily assailed; and the attack was made at a
late hour in the evening, when the assailants
supposed there was little danger of alarming
the inhabitants before the completion of their
design. Unhappily for Agnes Norwood, she
happened to be on a visit to her friend at the
time the marauders entered the house. The
only other inmates were a male and a female
servant. The former in attempting to resist
the entrance of the savages, was killed; the
latter escaped by a back door, and hastened to
alarm the village. The savages perceived this,
and knowing there was no time to plunder or
destroy any of the property, they seized the
terrified Agnes and Mary, stiffled their cries
by gagging them, and carried them off. The
direction of their flight was not known to any
of the villagers, and although an active pursuit
was soon commenced, it was in vain. But Providence
sent deliverance to the captives from
another quarter. An old man, of singular habits,
and mysterious conduct, usually known
by the name of the “Hermit of the Woods,”
made his haunts in a secluded and rugged valley
some miles distant. Here, the day following
the outrage, he discovered the savages,
with their captives, encamped for the purpose
of rest and refreshment. Having, from the
arrangements they were making, satisfied himself
that they intended remaining there for the
night, he set off with the design of apprising
the people of Wyoming, when, on his way,
he met with Austin and Butler, as before
stated.

On the return of Agnes and Mary under
the protection of their deliverers, to their disconsolate
friends, the joy of the inhabitants of
Wyoming may be easier imagined than expressed.
The sincerest gratitude towards their
deliverers pervaded every bosom. Austin and
Butler became favourites throughout the whole
settlement. The toryism and late misconduct
of the latter, though they were universally
known, were universally forgiven. His conversion
from error was considered sincere;
and, whatever had been his guilt, it was amply
atoned for by the important service he had
now rendered. As for Austin, there was no

drawback upon the esteem in which he was
held. The arrival of his friends was hailed as
a valuable acquisition, which, in truth, it was,
to the strength and resources of the colony.

It may be imagined that among those who
felt most gratitude for the services, and esteem
for the virtues, of Henry Austin, was to be
found the father of Agnes Norwood. The fervour
with which he strained his hand to his
heart when, with tears of joy, he thanked him
for the preservation of his daughter, imparted
to Henry's feelings a thrill of delight that would
have amply repaid, a thousand-fold the degree
of danger he encountered in the performance of
that happy achievement. Butler, too, received
from Mr. Norwood the thanks which he deserved.
But his experienced eye perceived
the superior fervour with which the reverend
gentleman, perhaps unconsciously, addressed
his companion. He also observed the looks
which spoke a feeling much warmer than the
warmest gratitude, that brightened the countenance
of the lovely Agnes, whenever she would
rest her eyes on the happy Henry. The fiend
of jealousy, from that moment, seized upon the
depraved spirit of Butler. He began to hate
Henry; and forgetful of the obligation he owed
his sister Isabella, and the impassioned vows
he had often pledged to her, he began even to

dislike her. A new and fiercer flame, inspired
by the superior charms of Agnes, had arisen
in his breast. But he was an adept in deception,
and had the art to conceal the change in his
feelings, and even to conduct himself in such
a manner as to gain upon the esteem of those he
hated. He had several very influential relations
in the colony; one of whom, a cousin, named
Zebulon Butler, with whom he chiefly resided,
was so popular, that he was, shortly after this
period, elected commander of the small army
which the inhabitants raised for their protection
from any future aggression of the Indians.
This circumstance had, for a time, some influence
in counteracting the effects of Butler's jealousy
of Henry, and his increasing hatred of
the Austins. He hoped that he might yet, by
adopting a popular course of conduct, raise
himself to an equal influence with his cousin;
and acquire such a degree of authority in the
colony as would enable him to accomplish his
views of matrimony, with the fascinating Agnes,
in despite of the present favour enjoyed by his
rival.

Henry, in the mean time, did not dream of
the alteration that had taken place in the feelings
and designs of Butler. He conceived that
gratitude and love had bound him firmly to his
sister, and to the interests of all her friends.

His professions of attachment to the popular
cause seemed to be unquestionably sincere, and
as it was a cause in which Henry was an enthusiast,
he could not but esteem him the more
for that attachment. Henry, therefore, treated
other as an assured friend, who had shared
with him the glory of a noble and fortunate exploit,
and was likely soon to become nearly
connected with him by a union with his only
sister.

Every man must have experienced that there
are some characters in this world, whom we
may believe that we have every reason to
esteem and think trust-worthy, and yet, although
we cannot tell why, we feel unable to open to
them all our minds, or bestow upon them our
unreserved regard. There is an indefinite something
about them which renders us backward in
yielding them our confidence; and, in despite
of ourselves, limits even the extent of our good
wishes for them. Henry possessed this feeling
in respect to Butler, even at the period of their
closest intimacy. He was sorry for it. He
blamed himself for a repugnance he could not
help. He ascribed it to prejudice against his
former course of life. Often did he combat
with it as an unworthy feeling: but in vain.
With all his efforts, he never could become the
unreserved friend and thorough admirer of

Butler. Frequently did he feel sorry for his
sister's infatuation in loving this man; and,
although her happiness seemed to depend on a
union with him, he often felt as if he could
wish some event to take place which would
frustrate its accomplishment.

But there was one man in the village to
whom he delighted to open his heart; one whose
integrity of soul, (although he was to him, as
yet, but a comparative stranger,) he felt as if he
would be committing an act of dishonour to doubt
—one who, although reserved and unobtrusive,
had acquired his esteem so entirely, that he perseveringly
sought his friendship until he gained
it. This person was Dr. Watson. On his principles
he had reliance, and in his confidence he
felt safe. Many were the pleasant and instructive
hours these sincere friends passed together
in the shade of the tall oaks that skirted the
broad rolling Susquehanna. The attachment
that existed between Henry and Miss Norwood,
was well known to Dr. Watson. There were,
indeed, but few people in the village who did
not surmise it. Love affairs are mighty matters
in small villages; and usually furnish the most
frequent and interesting topics of gossip which
the uniform tranquillity of rustic seclusion can
supply. Henry had not been many weeks a
resident at Wyoming before the good natured

villagers had set him down as the destined husband
of Agnes Norwood. In the estimation
of all prophetic spirits, it was so suitable, it
was so likely, it was so just the thing, that it
could not but take place. There was only one
individual in the settlement that dissented from
this arrangement of the good villagers, or felt
hostile to its accomplishment. This individual
was John Butler. His conviction of their mutual
attachment gnawed at his heart; and every
allusion to it, by the gossips of the place, stung
him like a scorpion. He, however, was a consummate
master of duplicity, and preserved a
strict silence on the subject, affecting to occupy
his mind with more important concerns. But
he had internally vowed that their union never
should take place, during his life, without being
cemented by blood.

How different were the feelings of Dr. Watson!
He loved Agnes as passionately, but he
loved her more purely, and with a heart so
entirely and exclusively devoted to her welfare,
that he ardently wished for her union
with the man she preferred, especially since he
knew that man to be so eminently qualified to
render her happy. Such was the contrast between
the characters of Henry's rivals—the
contrast between virtue and vice!