University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

We must now return to our long neglected
heroine, to recount the occurrences
of the day at Martin's. Slowly to
her passed the anxious day which was destined
to be the last for her ever being
known by the name of May Martin.—
The forenoon was mostly occupied in
making such scanty preparations as Mrs.
Martin chose to direct for the reception
of the company at the expected ceremony
in the evening. In all these May assisted
with a sort of unnatural alacrity, but
with as great a degree of composure as
her troubled feelings would permit her to
assume. As noon approached she expected
every moment to hear the trampling
of horses at the door as the fruits of
her message, which she supposed must
have been delivered hours before. But
noon and afternoon came and still no tidings

from the village were heard—no
signs of either messenger or the success
of his message were discoverable. Often
and vainly did she strain her aching
sight towards the woods, in the direction
whence the expected succour was to appear,
to catch a glimpse of approaching
horsemen. One o'clock, two, and three
passed, and still they came not. Perhaps
they might have been led by David
round in the woods to the cave without
coming into the clearing—perhaps Gow
was already secured and on his way back
to the village—and the thought, this hope
grasped thought, for a while relieved her.
But even this faint gleam of consolation
soon vanished by the appearance of Gow
himself, come to dress and prepare for
the ceremony. With a hint from Mrs.
Martin that it was time she had began to
dress herself for the company, May now
retired to her room, and carefully fastening
the door, flung herself on her bed in
an agony of grief and despair. But impelled
by the painful consciousness that
the crisis was at hand when she must
yield to her fate or speedily do something
to avert it, and now fast relinquishing all
hope in the success of the plan on which
she had been relying for her extrication,
she soon roused herself, and summoned
all her energies for deciding what course
to pursue on the fearful emergency.—
Could she trust herself to carry into effect
one of the alternatives she had resolved
on in failure of Gow's arrest, that
of denouncing him and resisting the proceeding
of the ceremony? Could she
command her feelings sufficient to do this
—should she not be overawed by Martin
and his wife? And even should she
make the attempt, would her story gain
credence, after keeping so long silent,
and suffering the affair to glide along to
the very hour of consummation without
making known her situation? The more
she reflected on this project the more did
her resolution waver.—She had a female
friend who had not long since married
and settled on the road a few miles north
of Harwood settlement, and her resolution
was soon formed to attempt to escape
from the house and try to reach the
residence of her friend that night.—
Scarce had she formed this resolution before
casting her eye up the road she beheld
in the distance a man approaching
on horseback, whom, from the color of
his horse, she instantly recognized to be
the minister who had been engaged to officiate
on the occasion.—She had seen
him pass the preceding Saturday on his
way to a town a short distance to the
north where, at stated intervals, he
preached; and she but too well knew the
reason of his happening along on his return
at this hour. Now aware that not
another moment was to be lost, she seized
a common bonnet and cautiously letting
herself down from the window which
opened into the garden, glided through
the shurbbery, swift and noiseless as the
wild bird stealing to its covert, slipped
through the fence, and, entering a field of
tall grain immediately beyond, escaped
unseen towards the woods in a northerly
direction. On reaching the woods she
paused a moment to glance at the clouds,
which were now beginning to heave up
over the tops of the mountains in heavy
masses, accompanied at short intervals by
the low, short, and scarcely perceptible
rumbling of the distant thunder, affording
her indubitable evidence of the approaching
storm. But she hesitated not.
What to her feelings were the terrors of
a thunder storm to the scene she had just
left, in which, but for her flight, she must
soon be the principal actor? Pausing no
longer than to decide how she should
best shape her course to avoid all observation
from the road and the open grounds
on the right, and prevent becoming entangled
or bewildered in the depths of the
wilderness on the left, she now plunged
into the woods, and keeping just within
their borders, pressed on with rapid steps
towards her destination. She had not
proceeded far, however, before the occasional
rusting of bushes and the crackling
of sticks and brush breaking under
the tread at some distance on her left, apprised
her of the presence of some one
apparently endeavoring to keep pace with
her for the purpose of dogging her steps.
And soon catching a glimpse of his person
in a glance over her shoulder as with
quickened steps she pursued he way, the
alarming truth at once flashed across her
mind. It was the accomplice of Gow,
the old man she had seen in the cavern,
who was following her. Calculating to
leave the valley that night he had packed
up, and having come down from his retreat,
was awaiting, at a convenient stand
at the skirt of the woods in plain sight of
Martin's, a signal promised by Gow as
soon as the knot was fairly tied, intending
to depart secretly from the settlement
the moment this evidence of the completion
of their infamous work was displayed.—And
it was while standing here concealed
from the view of others in a clump
of bushes and patiently watching for the
promised signal, that he caught sight of
May gliding into the woods but a short
distance below him. Though soon conjecturing
from the course she came that
it could be no other than their intended
victim, he yet suspected not at first her
real object; and, thinking she might
have come to the wood for the purpose
of obtaining some favorite shrub or evergreen
to deck her room for the occasion,
he suffered her to proceed some
way before it occurred to him that she
was actually escaping from their net.—
Unwilling on account of his own safety
to cause any outcry which he was fearful
she might raise if he made any attempt
to detain her by force, he determined
to get ahead of her and endeavor
to frighten her back to the house. But
in this he soon found himself baffled; for
instead of being able te get before her,
he found much difficulty, so rapid was
her flight, even in overtaking and keeping
her in sight. Resolving however not
to lose the advantage of this, that he
might dog her to the house where she
fled for shelter for the night, and return
and apprise his accomplice of the place
of her refuge, he redoubled his exertions
and succeeded barely in accomplishing
this part of his purpose as far as the pursuer
and pursued were permitted to proceed.

But to return to the wretched fugitive.
Having been nurtured among the mountains,
and accustomed from infancy to
exercise in their invigorating breezes, her
naturally active limbs had acquired an
elasticity and a capability of enduring
fatigue, which are unknown to females
of older countries, and which came in
good stead on the present occasion.—
Fleeing, like some frighted nymph of
heathen fable before a pursuing demon,

her lips parted, her hands thrust eagerly
forward, and her loosened and disordered
tresses streaming wildly behind
her, she bounded along over log, rock
and rivulet with a rapidity which fear only
could have incited, and which the delirious
energy of desperation alone could
have sustained. While every glance,
which at times she hastily threw back
over her shoulder at the fearful visage
forever peering through the bushes in
hot pursuit behind her, added a fresh impulse
to her exertions and quickened
her speed. The thunder now burst in
terrific peals over her head—tall trees
were uprooted and huried to the earth
by the furious blast, or, shivered in the
fiercely quivering blaze of the lightning,
fell in fragments around her; yet she
paused not in her course—the rain poured
in a deluging torent over her drenched
person, yet she heeded it not; but
catching the big drops in her parched
lips as they gratefully beat over her fevered
and burning brow, she fled on—
on, regardless of all exposure and forgetful
of all danger but one.

Having now passed the last house of
the settlement, she, just as night and
cloud were fast combining to spread their
dark mantle over the earth, varied her
course, and struck obliquely into the
road. Here pausing an instant in doubt
whether to fly to the nearest house, or go
on in pursuance of her original determination,
she indistinctly caught sight of the
form of her pursuer, who had struck into
the road some distance below her, & thus
cut off her chance of return. Nerving
herself once more for the trial, she pressed
on up the road for her first destination,
now about two miles distant, with
no other means of distinguishing her way
than what the occasional flashes of lightning
afforded.

Although the rain immediately over
head had now sensibly abated, yet the
deep, earth-jarring roar on the left, as if

from the incessant pouring of a cataract,
plainly told that the storm was still spending
its force with unexampled fury on
the mountains. And the proof of this
soon became visible to our heroine in the
rapidly increasing torrents that came rushing
down tha steep acclivities, overflowing
the road and threatening at every step
to put an entire stop to her progress.—
Arriving at length at the northern outlet
of the valley, where the mountains shut
down so close to the pond as to leave little
more than space for the road to pass between
them, she came abreast of one of
the mountain ravines, where, at ordinary
times, a small brook crossed the road.
It was now swollen to a rushing river,
before which no human strength could
have stood an instant. To attempt to
pass this she saw was but madness; and,
as she heard the splashing footsteps of her
pursuer but a short distance behind her,
despair now for the first time sent its chill
to her heart. But while standing on the
brink of the dashing flood, which at every
wave rose higher and higher, hesitating
whether to commit herself to the raging
element, or the scarcely less dreaded
power of her pursuer, a flash of lightning
revealed to her sight a shelving rock
jutting out from the side of the hill a few
rods back, and so aloof from the road and
screened from it by intervening boughs,
as to afford her, she believed, if reached
unseen, a good concealment from her
indefatigable enemy, and a safe retreat
from the waters which were now rising
around her with the most frightful rapidity.
Making directly for the hill, and
scrambling up the slanting rocks at the
foot with the expiring energy of despair,
she gained the place and dropped down
exhausted on the spot, just as another
flash partially revealed to her sight the
form of the old man hurrying by, and
rushing up to the brink of the stream she
had left but an instant before. Recoiling
from the view of the threatening and
impassable torrent, and throwing one
wild glance around him, in which horror
for the supposed fate of his victim, and
alarm for his own safety seemed equally
mingled, he hastily retreated back along
the road. But before he had proceeded
many rods, the gathering and pent
waters above, as if suddenly bursting
through their opposing barriers, in a
mighty torrent came rushing down a corresponding
ravine beyond the ridge a little
distance to the south, and wholly cut
off his retreat. Meanwhile the noise on
the mountain every moment grew louder
and louder. The deep, distant roar, as
of pouring torrents, which had for some
time been heard, now became mingled
with the tumultuous crashing of falling
forests, the hissing, swashing sounds of
disturbed and changing volumes of water,
and the slow, heavy, intermitting jar
of vast bodies of water just beginning to
move. Nearer and nearer it came,—
and now the earth trembled and shook
seemingly to its lowest foundations, as
with gathering impetus, the mighty mass
came rolling down the steep sides of the
mountain directly towards the spot where
the terror struck girl lay concealed, and
her no less affrighted pursuer, a few yards
below, was wildly running to and fro,
vainly looking for some chance to escape.
Anon it became rapidly light, as
from some steady kindling blaze above,
which, growing more luminous and dazzling
every instant, soon gleaming fiercely
along the surface of the bubbling pond,
and flashing broad and bright over the
opposite mountains, lit up the whole amphitheatre
of encircling hills, from the
darkness of midnight to the splendors of
noonday.[1] Starting upon her feet, May
looked around her in mute consternation.
Nearer and more deafening rose the tremendous
din above her—roaring, crashing,
grinding along, with the noise of ten
thousand thunders and with concussions
that made the solid earth heave and bound
beneath her feet, down, down came the
avalanche with fearful velocity towards
her. In another instant the mighty mass,
dividing on the solid ledge beneath which
she stood, began to rush by her on either
side in two vast, high, turbid volumes,
revolving monstrous stones and hurling
trees over trees in their progress, and
like some huge launch, driving with amazing
force into the receding waters of
the pond—while at the same time the
forest around and above her, waved, shook,
toppled and fell in an awful crash on the
rocks over her head. She saw, she heard
no more, but sank stunned and senseless
on the ground. And, passing from the
insensibility occasioned by the shock into
a profound sleep, which, without a full
recovering of her consciousness, immediately
stole over her as her overstrained
faculties ceased their exertion, she lay
till the great struggle of the elements was
over, and the storm passed by. At length,
however, she slowly awoke. The dreadful
tumult that last assailed her conscious
ear was now hushed, and all was still
save the steady rushing of the diminished
waters. The stars shone out brightly,
giving her a dim view of the wild
scenes of havoc and desolation which the
fearful power of the avalanche had spread
around her. The trunk of a large tree
lay directly across the rocks within a few
feet of her head. She saw how narrowly
she had escaped death, and she devoutly
thanked heaven for the preservation.
A faint groan issuing from the ruins a
short distance from where she lay, now
reached her ear. It was the poor wretch
who had caused all her trials, now lying
wounded and buried beneath the top of
the same tree that had spared his intended
victim. But before she had time to
indulge in the mingled emotions which
this was bringing over her, she heard
voices. Presently lights appeared on the
pond, and a boat with several men shot
along the shore directly against her. It
now paused in its course, and some one
repeated loudly her name. Did she hear
rightly? Else why did the tones of that
voice thrill through every fibre of her
frame? She shrieked in reply, and tried
to move, but her benumbed and worn
limbs refused their office. The call came
again, `May! May!' `Oh, Ashley, Ashley,'
she articulated in broken and agonized
utterance. The men sprang on
the shore and in a moment more she was
clasped in the mute embrace of her lover.