University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

After the departure of Sherwood, our band, not
deeming it prudent, without precautions which must
necessarily deprive most of them of their rest for
the night, to encamp so near an exasperated enemy
of double their own numbers, determined on an immediate
removal from the scene of their recent exploits.
Accordingly they packed up, and, without
further delay, commenced their march by the beautiful
moonlight, which, streaming brightly through
the leafless forest, enabled them to pursue their way
with as much ease and certainty as by the broadest
day light. Striking off westerly from the lake they
directed their course to the nearest part of Otter
Creek, where they proposed procuring quarters for
the remainder of the night in the log houses of the
only two families who resided on the creek in that
vicinity. These two houses were situated nearly a
mile apart, while the respective openings around
them were separated by a dense wood of evergreens
of about half that distance in extent. After proceeding
on together awhile, the company separated
into two parties, three of them bending their course
toward the lowest, or more northerly opening,
where they were to remain till joined in the morning
by their leader to conduct them on their enterprise
down the creek; while the latter, with Selden,

taking their venison and a goodly portion of
their trout, continued forward directly to the upper
clearing. This last was no other than the residence
of the fair and spirited friend, whose timely notice
had not only ensured their late escape, but enabled
them to gain such triumphant advantages over their
foes. And it was this friendly and patriotic act
which they were now proceeding to reward, not only
with suitable acknowledgment, but with the most
valuable portion of their game—an offering that
they supposed would be highly acceptable to one in
her situation: for this extraordinary woman, with
no other dependence than on her own hands, with
the slight assistance rendered her by her boys, the
eldest of whom was not a dozen years old, was
managing to support herself and her large family of
children from the products of a new lot of land,
which her husband had commenced clearing when
he lost his life by the fall of a tree, and which she
now, with unexampled fortitude, persisted in improving,
though in the heart of a wilderness infested
with wild beasts, and not wholly exempt from the
hostile, or at least predatory, incursions of the Indians.
It was nearly midnight when Warrington
and his companion reached the log tenement of this
fearless daughter of the wilds. Much to their surprise
they found the house entirely deserted. Finding
the door unfastened, however, they determined
on entering to note appearances within; when it became
evident that the desertion had taken place
but a few hours before; but whether it was intended
for a temporary, or final removal, they were unable
to determine. A bed of coals, yet alive, was raked
up on the hearth; while the beds had been taken
from the steads, and, with all the most necessary
utensils of family use, removed from the house.

What means this sudden desertion of the family,'
observed Warrington musingly; `and whither
can they have fled?'

`To their neighbor's, down the creek, probably,'
replied Selden; `the movement has been made, I
should conjecture, in anticipation of the return of
Munroe and his party, from whose visit to-night alone
woman, like this widow, would doubtless wish
to be excused.'

`It may be so,' rejoined the other; `but to quit
her home from any of the motives which you suggest
would be very little like widow Story: there
are few men in the settlement who can handle, not
only axe, but rifle, with more effect, though woman
she be. And as for fear, it is a sensation with
which, I verily believe, she is utterly unacquainted.
But whatever may have become of the occupants
of the house, we may as well, now we are here,
make free and remain for the night.'

`It will be considered no intrusion, I suppose?'
enquiringly said Selden; `I have not the honor of
an acquaintance with your heroine, you will bear in
mind.'

`Intrusion? not in the least; for you must know
that we are patriots here,—rebels, or whatever we
were, on the lake to-night,' jocosely replied Warrington.

`Patriotism,' said Selden, following up the train of
thought which the last remark suggested, `would
seem entirely a relative term, and, like beauty,
which consists of black teeth, thick lips and large
eyes, with one nation, and exactly the reverse with
another, wholly dependent on the pre-existing opinions
of those who claim it for this action, and deny

it in that. Besides this, as the world estimate actions,
success would seem to be quite as essential to
constitute the patriot as the merits of his cause or
the glory of his deeds. Here with the settlers, you
are indeed called a patriot, and surely there is no
one who better deserves from them the appellation;
while with the people of New York, you are a rebel,
outlaw, and hunted like a wild beast. And yet
if our cause prove successful, as heaven grant it
may, the world at large, coming in as umpire, will
side with the settlers in establishing your name as a
patriot, but if we fail, it will join with your foes in
declaring you a rebel and reckless factionist.'

`Names and definitions, Selden, may be sometimes
vague and varying, but principles are immutable.
The principles which actuate us in resisting
these encroachments on our rights are the same that
have animated the bosoms of all those whom the
world agree in calling patriots, from the beginning of
oppression to the present time. The disposition to
defend our homes and property, besides being implanted
in our bosoms as a law of our nature, indispensable
to our self protection, and even existence,
in the world, seems to have been ordained by providence
also as the natural means by which the rapacity
of tyrants should be punished. This, indeed,
is the only protection ensured to industry and virtue—it
constitutes the grand cement of society and
the main pillars of all government. This is the
foundation of patriotism, which consists only in the
defence of justly acquired rights against wrongful
aggressions. In our case, the opinions of the world
may indeed be various and fluctuating till our rights
become fairly understood, and the wrongs we have
received as fairly developed. But should men of

the intelligence to know, and the spirit to defend
their rights, stand tamely still, and see those rights
wrested from them, to be placed forever beyond
their recovery, while hesitating to know whether the
world will call their resistance patriotism or rebellion?
It is not the name of patriot that I seek, or
that of rebel or outlaw that I fear. It is results I
am aiming to accomplish, and I will never rest, nor
cease my exertions, till our heaven-favored cause
shall triumph, and these rapacicus intruders shall be
driven from our soil. Could you have witnessed,
as I have, the dismay, want and suffering, which
these grasping and shameless tyrants have occasioned
in this settlement—here, whole families
turned from their houses in the midst of winter,
with no human habitation within miles of them to flee
to for refuge and shelter—there, property, acquired
through the severest of toil, hardship and privation,
wantonly destroyed, houses set on fire and consumed
to prevent the return of the owners—and
then again, females abused, and even the sick
roughly ejected, and left to perish miserably in the
night air, or storm, for all these ruthless aggressors
could know—could you have witnessed all this, you
would not be surprised at the exasperated feelings
of our people, or the indomitable spirit with which
they have persevered in that cause, which brought
you, till lately a stranger to our wrongs, among us
to aid in sustaining. My personal interest, I know,
suffers in consequence of devoting so much of my
time to the service of the public. Indeed, I have,
in common with my chivalrous superior, colonel
Ethan Allen, almost wholly neglected my own concerns,
while guarding the interests of others. Even
now I am the owner of a large tract of land on the
borders of Champlain, a part of which, as I have
lately been apprised, has been for several years in
possession of one of the York patentees, while my
duties nearer home have prevented me from ever
looking after it, or taking, since making this discovery,
any steps toward dispossessing the intruder.'

`But you surely will neglect it no longer,' observed
the other; `since we are going into the vicinity,
and on similar business?'

`We will consider the case after we have righted
the wrongs of the houseless settlers at the Lower
Falls, and fulfilled the other objects of our mission
into this region. But let us drop this exciting subject
for to-night, that we may obtain a little rest to
prepare us for the duties of to-morrow,' replied
Warrington, now rising to make such scanty preparations
as might be required for their repose.

The two friends, after barricading the door, and
spreading their blankets before the small fire they
had kindled on entering the house, now laid down
to repose on the floor, which to the hardy and tired
woodsman is generally more grateful than beds of
the softest down to the pampered sons of luxury
and ease. Selden was soon lost in slumber. But
his companion, whose mind was oppressed with
more weighty cares, and whose feelings had become
somewhat excited in recounting the wrongs of
his countrymen, courted the drowsy god in vain.—
And these causes, together with his attempts to account
for the absence of the family, for whose safety
he was not wholly without apprehensions, continuing
for some time to render all his endeavors to
sleep useless, he arose, unbarred the door, and,
without waking his more fortunate companion, went
out into the open air to try the effect of the cool

breath of heaven in allaying the excitement of his
feelings and disposing him to slumber. The night
still continued bright and lovely. Abroad, nature
seemed sunk in death-like repose; while the deep
and solemn silence that pervaded the wilderness
was broken only by the low, but far sounding hoot
of the sylvan watchman of the night, or the voices
of the inhabitants of the neighboring pools,
who were straining their tiny throats in notes of
seeming joy and jubilee at their recent release from
a wintry thraldom. While contemplating the scene
around him, and indulging in the moody reverie
which the circumstances were calculated to create
in the mind, the young outlaw unconsciously wandered
nearly to the bank of the river, which was
still bordered by a strip of forest, extending from
the water back almost to the house. Here leaning
against the trunk of a large tree, which some heavy
wind had broken off about twenty feet from the
ground, he stood some minutes looking listlessly
down upon the placid waters, as, sparkling in the
moonlight that struggled through the trees above,
they moved ceaselessly along on their journey to the
deep. Now his attention would become riveted for
a moment on some light float of wood sweeping by
in the noiseless current. And now he would turn a
half listening ear to the sportive plunges of the Otter,
here once found in such numbers as to have
naturally suggested to the hunters who first visited
this stream the name which it bears. His meditations,
however, were at length interrupted by some
indistinct, and at first scarcely audible sounds, the
nature of which he was for some time wholly unable
to determine. At last, however, he became satisfied
it could be no other than the distant murmur
of human voices; but from what quarter it came
he was still unable to decide. He listened intently;
and now the sounds became more distinct. Presently
they began to swell on the air in the low, melodious
voice of a female chanting a tune, which,
though not recently heard by him, struck nevertheless
familiarly on his ear, awakening in his mind
reminiscences of persons, time and place, which
formerly occupied a prominent space among the objects
of his peculiar interest, but which, in the cares
and turmoils of the last few years, had been almost
forgotten. Starting as from a trance, he rallied his
doubting senses, and made another effort to ascertain
whence this mysterious music could proceed,
but with no better success than before. Sometimes
the sounds seemed to come from the earth, or some
subterraneous cavern far beneath his feet. At other
times the liquid notes appeared floating high in
the heavens above. He now took another position,
several paces distant from the one first occupied, to
see whether any variation would thus be produced
in the sounds. Here, however, they were scarcely
audible. Several other new positions were then
tried, but all with the same success; and he returned
to the tree where he was standing when his
attention was first arrested by these unaccountable
sounds. Here he again tasked his powers of hearing
to their utmost, when, to his increasing wonder,
the same melodious notes fell upon his ear even
more distinctly than before. Now, not only the
tune seemed familiar to him, but there was something
in the voice likewise which his bewildered
senses seemed to recognize—something that seemed
to touch a chord in his bosom that had never vibrated
save under the sweet intonations of one whose
words even were once music to his ears—but still
one, to heighten his perplexity, who, though her residence
had long been unknown to him, could not
yet be, he felt assured, within a hundred miles of
this spot. Curiosity, surprise and wonder had now
raised his feelings to a pitch of almost frantic excitement.
And, without scarcely knowing why, he
struck his clenched fist two or three times heavily
against the tree, which seemed so strangely the conductor
of the sounds in question. A deep, hollow
reverberation, indicating a large and extended cavity
within, was apparently the only effect produced
by the blows. On applying his ear once more,
however, he found that the singing had ceased;
and every sound was now hushed in silence. He
listened awhile with suspended breath, in expectation
of hearing the music resumed. But he listened
in vain. He then renewed the experiment of
listening from other positions; but being again unsuccessful,
he returned to the tree, and fell to beating
it again, in the absurd fancy that, if there had
been any connection between his blows and the
ceasing of the sounds, the same operation which
had caused them to cease might revive them,
though deeming it, at the same time, an utter impossibility
that the cavity within the trunk could contain
the invisible songstress. All his efforts, however,
to gain a clue to the mystery proved wholly
fruitless, and, after lingering some time near this
spot of seeming enchantment, he slowly wandered
back to the house, deeply pondering over the singular
and incomprehensible incident which had attended
his nocturnal ramble. Was it within the
bounds of possibility, he asked himself, that the
person, the once loved and lost one, whose voice
these mysterious notes so much resembled, could
now be in this almost uninhabited wilderness? No,
no! What other female, then, capable of such execution,
could be near at such an hour of the night?
Surely none! Was it not then a human voice that
he had heard?—was it the voice of an angel, of
`visits few and far between,' floating high in the
heavens, and hymning the stars? What had he
done to deserve such special revealment? Or was
it, as the traditions of the superstitious would inculcate,
the voice of a departing spirit, permitted to
break on the ear of a distant friend at the instant of
departure, for the purpose of apprising him of its
exit from earth, or warning him of his own dissolution?
Or was it not far more probable, he said,
with an effort to shake off these intruding fancies,
that his senses had deceived him; and that, after
all, the whole was but the work of an over-excited
imagination? It must have been so. And, as if
determined to satisfy himself with this last solution
of the subject, since he could hit upon no other
which reason would not sooner reject, he quickened
his pace, and, like one resolved to end a perplexing
enquiry by the best argument he can give, and call
it conclusive, bustled forward, now whistling a tune,
or now affecting to run over to himself the intended
business of to-morrow, till he had reached the house,
secured the door, and thrown hinself down beside
his still insensible companion, when exhausted nature
soon closed the scene in a profound slumber.