University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

Moore.

What a wayward and unaccountable passion
is love! No strength of mind can resist it—no
force of reasoning can control it. If it has
once truly fixed upon the heart, what will remove
it? Neither the coldness nor the unworthiness
of its object. We may discover that
our affections are misplaced—we may grieve,
but we will continue to love. We may disapprove—we
may condemn—we may even try
to detest. But it will not avail. Our affections
will cling to their chosen object, no matter
how desperate the efforts we may make to separate
them. The mention of a beloved name
will excite tender emotions, although we know
it to be the name of a wretch. We may abhor
crime, yet we may love the criminal. Nay,
we may receive injuries—ungenerous, base and
cruel injuries—yet we may love the unkind
being who inflicts them, and long to kiss the

hand that consigns us to misery. Unfortunate,
indeed, is the condition of those whose
heart and understanding are thus at variance.
Often does the struggle continue until the whole
frame becomes agitated and convulsed, and
sinks into despondency—despair—madness—
death!—So true is the Greek adage which may
be thus paraphrased:

Isabella Austin still continued to love Butler
even after his treacherous alliance with the
savages became known. In spite of the exhortations
and arguments of her friends—in spite
of her own earnest desire to withdraw her affections
from one so perfidious and wicked, her
heart still clung to him. He was her first, her
only choice among mankind. All her affections
were entwined around his image, and she found
it as impossible to dissever them as to separate
sensation from her existence. Severely, indeed,
did she feel his perfidy—deeply did she
lament his turpitude. His attempt upon Miss
Norwood, and his instrumentality in carrying
off her father, greatly shocked her. She could
offer no apology for him. She saw that he was

not only a traitor but a ruffian; yet, though her
esteem was gone, her love was not diminished;
and no small portion of the agitation she experienced,
when she heard of the late transaction,
arose from the danger to which he had then
been exposed. The outcry against him throughout
the whole settlement was unanimous and
great; and every day her ears were pained by
accumulating intelligence of his flagitious acts
and detestable projects. She brooded intensely
and sorrowfully on the subject, until she became
an object of pity to all her acquaintances,
and of anxiety to her immediate friends.

Miss Norwood and Miss Watson were her
most intimate companions, and deeply did they
sympathise with her. By every art that could
be suggested by the tenderest friendship, they
endeavoured to sooth her sorrows, and divert
her mind from the unhappy subject of its contemplations.
Books, music, short walks—
for the times were too dangerous to admit long
ones—and cheerful conversation, were the
principal means resorted to, and they sometimes
produced an apparently good effect. She
felt grateful for the attention of these true
friends, and seemed to derive enjoyment from
their society.

One evening as they sat in the porch of Dr.

Watson's house, they observed two fowls
fighting with great fury.

“Alas!” said Isabella, “all animated nature
seems to be imbued with contentious feelings.
The propensity for mutual destruction is not
confined to man. To be irritable and vengeful
seems to be a law imposed, no doubt for wise
ends, on all sentient beings!”

“All sentient beings,” observed Agnes,
“have impulses capable of being excited to
either hatred or love, resentment or gratitude.
The effects of hatred and resentment even in
the inferior animals, it is unpleasant to behold;
while those of love and gratitude are always delightful.
How much more so in man! and endowed
as he is with reason to see and appreciate
the superior advantages of the latter, he is
wonderfully inexcusable for not cultivating
them attentively and indulging them exclusively.”

“That men,” said Miss Watson, “with all
their powers of calculation and foresight, should
plunge, on account of any provocation, into the
known miseries of war, seems to me not only
inexcusable but unaccountable. The lower animals
cannot estimate the extent of injury they
may inflict on each other by yielding to the
impulses of anger, and are, therefore, certainly
not so culpable and absurd in their quarrels as

men. Neither do the evils resulting from
their combats ever extend so far. With the
rational, and, therefore, less excusable beings,
we frequently find the evils of contention almost
unbounded in their extent, and shocking
in their details. Plunder, devastation, and
death inflicted in a thousand forms, and, alas!
too often in the most cruel that can be devised,
are the direful accompaniments—often the intended
objects—of human warfare, for which,
in my view, no justification nor apology can be
offered.”

“I do not wish to justify the wars waged by
men from any example drawn from the brute
creation,” said Isabella. “Alas! I have been
too severely tried by the animosity existing
among our race—our neighbours—our connexions—shall
I say our friends!—ah! no; they
are deceitful—false friends!—But such are
mankind!—Can I justify them? No—no. In
our present unhappy dissensions, my approbation
may be entirely on one side; but there are
those I dearly love embarked on both. Can I,
without a bleeding heart, contemplate the strife
of such, or wish either to be vanquished? My
friends, you will forgive me if I wish safety to
your most dreaded and detested enemy! Alas!
is he not my own enemy? Yet does my heart
bleed for him—cling to him—in spite of reason

—in spite of duty—for, oh! I cannot control
my heart. I ask you not to approve of me. I
only ask you to pity and forgive me!”

“Truly do we pity—sincerely do we forgive
you,” said Miss Watson. “We know your
affection for that man is involuntary. It is
true love with which reason has nothing to do.
It is the offspring of feeling alone. Happy,
happy are they whose reason sanctions the impulse
of their feelings!”

At this moment their attention was directed
to a man on horseback galloping swiftly towards
the governor's house. They recognised
him to be Joseph Jennings. Their hearts
sunk within them, for something indescribable
in his manner, as he past, told them that he was
the bearer of alarming intelligence. In a short
time, they perceived a crowd assembling about
the governor's house, and were soon informed
that the intelligence was indeed alarming. The
combined forces of the tories and Indians had
invaded the district. One of the remote forts
situated about half a day's journey from the
village, had already fallen into their hands, in
their attack upon which they had slain nearly
a hundred of the garrison, and after its surrender,
had massacred the survivors consisting of
about the same number.

In a short time our trembling females received

a message from the governor, requiring
them to retire into the adjoining fort, where all
the women and children, and the aged and infirm
inhabitants of the settlement, were hastening
for protection. Mr. Norwood and Dr. Watson
were the bearers of this message, and their
companions to the only asylum that now remained
against the advancing and ferocious foe.

The habitations of Wyoming soon became
totally deserted. The fort, although capacious,
having in its construction been adapted for
such an emergency, was incapable of affording
accommodation to the great number that desired
admission. Many were, therefore, obliged
to fly to the wilds and mountains for safety.
The nearest and dearest friends were thus
separated, and the most heart-rending scenes of
grief and distress were sorrowfully witnessed
by the governor and the council, without it being
in their power to relieve them.

The fort was tolerably well calculated for
defence. It was surrounded by a parapet about
five feet high, outside of which was a ditch
nearly as many feet deep, and more than twice
as many wide. This ditch was, on the present
occasion, filled with water brought to it by a
channel purposely cut from the Sharon. It was
entered by a wooden bridge or moveable platform
which was susceptible of being drawn up

against the gate of the parapet, so as in that
place, to form no inconsiderable addition to its
strength.

The garrison consisted of about four hundred
men, comprising nearly two-thirds of the armed
strength of the whole settlement. The residue
was scattered in various small bands, for the
purpose of protecting the inhabitants in different
parts of the district. One of these under
Joseph Jennings, was particularly useful in defending
those who were obliged to seek shelter
in the mountains from marauding parties of the
enemy. While engaged in this service, Joseph
had the fortune to encounter the celebrated
Brandt himself, and to rescue from his murderous
hands, the venerable Hermit of the woods.
The incident will be related in the next chapter.