 | CHAPTER XI. The forsaken |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
See they come!—And will ye quail?
Leaden rain and iron hail
Let their welcome be!
—Pierpont.
Captain Swain had continued his solitary watch for
several hours. The fire in front of his tent had nearly
burnt down, and the smouldering embers by fits sent
forth a vivid glare, and then sunk into darkness again.
He had watched it gradually mouldering away for some
time, before he arose to replenish it. He was a man of
the kindliest feelings, and his thoughts were at his
home. The dead silence of night maintains a magic
influence over the human mind, and at that solemn
hour it appears to be a different essence from that with
which we are animated during the day, surrounded by
the bustle of the world. The good become better, and
the evil perhaps more prone to sin.
The noise made by captain Swain in rebuilding the
fire, roused the attention of Jurian, who arose and
came forward, shivering with cold.
“Why you tremble, my son,” said the captain, as
the young man spread himself before the blaze.
“A man needs must shake,” replied Jurian,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw.”
the colours of the rainbow.”
“That I'll swear to,” exclaimed M`Crea, crawling
from the tent, his head swathed in half a dozen night-caps,
and his apparel in greater disorder than usual.
He drew nigh to the fire, and presented rather a ludicrous
figure as the light glared full upon him. “I
must thaw myself, or I shall soon become as torpid as
a swallow in December.”
“We have reason to pray for another brush with the
enemy,” observed the captain, “in order to put our
lazy blood in circulation.”
“That would make it circulate with a vengeance,”
rejoined the man of the lancet, “but I am not for that
sport, although I have shed more blood in my time than
any three men in the service.”
“And as fatally, too,” replied Jurian, laughing.
“Your wit is as stale as the last rations that were
dealt out to us,” replied M`Crea.
An officer, who for some time was seen rebuilding
another fire at a short distance from them, now approached.
“A bleak night, this, captain Graham,” said Swain
to him, as he drew nigh the fire.
“And to me it has been a sleepless one,” replied
Graham. How goes the watch?”
“All's well.”
“Have the pickets been relieved?” demanded
Graham.
“An hour since,” replied the other, “at which time
all was quiet.”
“I know not why it is,” replied Graham, “strange
forebodings of ill have taken possession of my mind.”
“I can account for it very readily,” replied M`Crea;
“you supped too luxuriously on your last rations, and
now would frighten us with spectres generated by gluttony.”
“You may have your jest, surgeon,” continued
appear, even to myself, such is their influence, that
I would beat to arms without a moment's loss of time,
had I the command.”
“Sleep will do the poor fellows more good, captain,
than a midnight review,” replied M`Crea.
“How silent the camp is,” continued Graham. “No
grave-yard could be more silent.”
“It is the hour when sleep is deepest,” said the surgeon.
The neighing of horses in different parts of the
camp now broke the dead silence, and a sound like the
rushing of the winds was heard.
“Did you hear that!” demanded Graham.
“I did,” exclaimed M`Crea. “It was but the moaning
of an autumn breeze through the wood.”
“And hark, the horses are neighing! They recognize
the sound. It is more than an autumn blast, I promise
you,” said Graham.
“Look over the camp,” said captain Swain. “Do
you see any portion of it in motion?”
“Not as much as a corporal's guard,” replied Graham.
“That sound again!—all is not right!” exclaimed
Swain.
As they stood listening with the deepest attention,
a haggard figure suddenly appeared before them. He
stood in the full glare of the blaze, and for a few moments
he remained silent, those who beheld him doubted
whether he was a human or supernatural being.
He was bare-headed, and his grizzled hair, which extended
down to his shoulders, hung in confusion about
his face. He raised his hands to part it over his forehead,
and then extended his arms towards the group
around the watch-fire. An Indian blanket covered his
attenuated form. He paused to recover breath, and
then shouted in a voice of thunder:—
“Awake! the Philistines are at hand. Awake!
everlasting sleep!”
He hurried away and disappeared as suddenly as he
had appeared. The group looked at each other in
consternation, while the wild cry of the mysterious visitant
still echoed through the silent camp, “awake,
awake!” A moment after, and a sentinel rushed in
breathless, and exclaimed—
“The pickets have been forced. The enemy is in
the camp.” A shot was now fired, and the sound of a
tumult in the northern part of the encampment was
heard.
“Beat to arms,” cried captain Swain, and the hollow
sound of the drum broke the deep silence of the night.
The camp was now in motion, and a mass of soldiers
was seen by the glimmer of the watch-fires to approach
the spot where captain Swain and his friends were stationed.
The muskets of the approaching soldiers
glimmered in the light.
“Behold they come! How silently they move on,”
exclaimed Graham, “butchering our sleeping comrades
with their bayonets.”
“Let the full band play. Swell a strain that would
rouse the dead,” cried Swain to the musicians, and his
command was succeeded by a wild blast of soul-stirring
music. The enemy still moved on in silence, and by
stealth, like the midnight assassin, the watch-fires serving
to guide them to the bosoms of their sleeping victims.
“Fly to the quarters of general Wayne,” continued
the old captain, addressing the sentinel, “and tell him
what has occurred.” The sentinel was out of sight in
an instant, and Graham left the spot to awaken and
marshal his company. Mauns Talman now rushed in
bloody, and fell at the feet of his captain.
“Mauns, you are bleeding! How is this?”
“A gash in the back, sir. Tickled in my sleep with
a bayonet, that's all.” He writhed on the ground with
pain, and his captain stooped to raise him, and sighed—
“My poor Mauns, and must I lose you?”
“Lose me! no sir, I will keep close to your side,”
replied the single-minded Mauns.
“My brave fellow! Sound your music there; louder,
louder yet! Surgeon, look to his wound.” M`Crea bent
down to examine it.
“Raise my scarf, doctor,” said Talman, “and bind
it tight around the wound to staunch the blood. With
a little care I will be a whole man again.” M`Crea
took one of his night-caps off, and bound it with the
scarf over the wound, remarking that he was a hole
man, indeed. The wretched pun was beyond the comprehension
of honest Mauns, who accordingly made no
reply.
“How do you feel now?” demanded the surgeon,
having staunched the wound.
“A little faint still, but much better. I can take my
station, and I see the line of the Darby boys is already
formed.” Saying which he moved off to join his company.
The enemy had thus far approached in silence, but
now they sent forth a savage yell that was answered
from all parts of the camp, which proved that their
murderous plan had been completely successful. The
half torpid and affrighted Americans might now be seen
by the feeble light of the fires, flying in all directions,
pursued by the foe, and some just starting from their
sleep, were bayoneted to death before they were fully
awake to what was passing. All was hurry and confusion.
“Give me another sword,” cried Jurian, “but let it
be of better temper than the last. I shall make good
use of it, I promise you.” M`Crea entered the tent and
procured him a sword. He returned, drawing his own
weapon. His cocked hat was stuck upon the top of
his night-caps, giving him an appearance the very reverse
of martial. The hurry and confusion increased,
only intelligible words heard, were “forward, forward!”
and these resounded from every direction. The main
body of the enemy still advanced. The companies
commanded by Graham and Swain were drawn up to
impede their progress. Captain Swain took his station,
and M`Crea and Jurian stood together a short distance
from him.
“Curse this killing of men in the dark,” muttered
M`Crea, “I have no objection to it in broad day-light,
when a man may see what he is about; but to be roused
from one's sleep to perform a bungling operation”—
“Stand fast, stand fast!” exclaimed Swain and Graham
at the same moment. The soldiers remained firm,
and kept their eyes fixed on the dark moving mass that
now drew nigh to them. The words “forward, forward!”
resounded through the ranks of those approaching.
“Make ready!” exclaimed Graham and Swain, which
was succeeded by a simultaneous tick through the extended
ranks. A pause ensued, during which not a
breath was drawn. The fires near the spot where Swain
and Graham had drawn up their companies, were now
burnt down to the embers, and the soldiers were obscured
by the darkness, from the view of the advancing
enemy. Still the dark mass was seen to approach in
regular order, and the bewildered Americans to fly in
consternation before it. At length it came in the full
glare of a watch-fire burning brightly. Each man might
have been singled out, and his savage determination
read in his countenance. Their bayonets were fixed
and their muskets brought to a charge, and they advanced
in regular but quick step across the light space,
as if anxious to enter into the obscurity of night again.
“Stand fast!” cried Graham to his men, who evinced
impatience for the onset.
“Stand fast, my boys, and wait for the word!” re-echoed
Swain, and the full cold tone of his voice silenced
at once the murmur of impatience that run through
of elements that foretells the coming storm. A few
moments elapsed. “Stand fast, stand fast!” resounded.
A few moments more, and the points of their bayonets
would have touched. “Fire!” shouted Swain in a
voice that was heard, above the discordant cries, to the
extremity of the camp. This was instantly followed by
a loud report of musketry, and the firm rank of the advancing
enemy was broken. The shock was unexpected;
they paused, and fell back.
“Charge with your bayonets; charge home, my
boys! shouted Swain in a voice that would have roused
the soul of a coward to action. “Charge, charge!”
repeated the clear, full voice of Graham.
They led the way, and their followers rushed upon
the broken ranks of the foe. A scene of carnage ensued,
and such was the headlong fury of the little band,
that it soon failed to preserve the order with which the
onset was made. They were now in the midst of the
foe fighting singly. M`Crea kept in the wake of Jurian,
who dealt destruction wherever he appeared.
There was another who followed him with the same
devotion. It was Corwin the maniac, who had given
the first alarm of the approach of the British. M`Crea
was at length stricken to the earth by a blow with the
but end of a musket. Jurian did not see him fall, and
was soon lost sight of in the confusion. The soldier
who had knocked M`Crea down, reversed his gun, and
was about to terminate his life with the bayonet.
Corwin watched the motion, and threw himself upon
the prostrate body of M`Crea, exclaiming, “Good for
evil is the command of God.” The soldier stabbed
at him, and the bayonet passed through his blanket, but
fortunately a pressure in the crowd at that moment,
hurried the soldier forward.
Jurian in a few moments was in a distant part of the
camp. Bleeding and exhausted with fatigue, he had
not sufficient strength to parry the thrust made with a
and fell. His conqueror bestrode him, and raising his
musket in both hands was about to pin his victim to the
earth, when a huge figure, mounted on a powerful horse,
exclaimed,—
“Forbear! or strike and I strike,” at the same time
presenting a pistol at the head of the soldier.
“What do you mean?” demanded the soldier.
“The life of that boy must be saved,” replied the
other.
“Why so? He is in the ranks of the rebels?”
“No matter, though he were in the ranks of hell,
his life must be saved. You know me?”
“I do.”
“Then begone; I will answer for what I have done.”
The soldier disappeared, and Jurian arose from the
earth, and had time to take a hasty glance at the mysterious
preserver of his life. He was in stature rising
six feet, and proportionately muscular. He wore a
white broad brimmed hat that overshadowed his countenance,
and was dressed in a drab coloured surtout:
around his waist was a broad leathern belt, and a pair
of pistols stuck in it.
“Are you hurt?” asked the stranger.
“Yes; I am bruised and wounded, but not mortally.”
His appearance indicated as much, for his clothes were
torn, and he was covered with dirt and blood.
“If that be all take care of your life, for others set
a higher value upon it than you do yourself.”
“This is strange language from a foe,” replied Jurian.
“Strange, but true. Your father!”
“Ha! what of him? Speak; what of my father?”
“You have a father living.”
“God be praised. Direct me to him. Go on; go
on.”
“This is neither time nor place for explanation,” replied
the stranger. “Read this, and obey it strictly.”
the flanks of his horse, suddenly disappeared. Jurian
approached a fire, by the light of which he read to this
effect.
“Meet me at the sign of the Crooked Billet, on the
evening of the first of October, as I have something to
communicate that concerns you nearly. Fail not to be
punctual.
If Jurian's astonishment was excited by the conduct
of his unknown preserver, this laconic letter rather
tended to augment than diminish it. How he should
thus suddenly have become the care of an unknown
individual, filled him with wonder, and his perplexity
increased, as he reflected that the secret of his birth,
which had been maintained inviolable for so many years,
was on the eve of being divulged, and by a being, that,
to his knowledge, he had never before beheld. The
conduct of the individual, his appearance, the time and
place chosen to deliver the letter, gave to the transaction
such a romantic colouring, that Jurian was disposed
to question its reality, but the fact that his life had been
almost miraculously saved, and the apparent interest
which the stranger felt for him, immediately dissipated
the idea that there could possibly be either mistake or
intentional deception. Besides, what object could
be attained by deceiving or trifling with the feelings of
an obscure individual like himself. Conjecture only
served to increase his perplexity, and at a moment when
curiosity was wrought to the highest pitch, he caught
a glimpse of the stranger at a distance, recrossing the
encampment, and he hastened after him, to obtain, if
possible, an immediate explanation.
The confusion in the camp had by this time diminished,
and midnight assassination given place to regular
warfare. General Wayne, on this trying occasion,
preserved his usual coolness, and promptly rallied a few
the retreat of the others.
Jurian followed the stranger, who appeared to be
leaving the field of battle alone. He rode leisurely, and
the young man increased his speed in hopes of overtaking
him, but his strength was too much exhausted to
effect this object. Still he followed, and when the
stranger was out of sight, he was guided in his pursuit
by the sound of the horse's hoofs. This pursuit was
continued until the sound was no longer heard, when
he threw himself on the ground to rest before he should
retrace his way to the camp.
Morning had not yet appeared when he rose to return,
dejected in spirit, and wounded and bruised, so
that he moved with difficulty. He had wandered for
some time, directed by the noise of the camp, and was
in the midst of a thick wood, when he heard a sound
like voices singing a solemn strain. He was on the
side of a rocky declivity, at the foot of which ran a
stream of water. He descended half way the hill in
the direction whence the music proceeded; it ceased,
and he paused a few moments to listen, when it was resumed,
and seemed to issue from the bowels of the
earth, immediately beneath his feet. The strain was
loud, melodious, and fervent.
The approach of morning had in some degree dissipated
the darkness, so that objects were now discernible.
Jurian discovered that he was on a projecting
rock, and that if he had advanced a few yards farther,
he would inevitably have been dashed to pieces by his
fall. The loud strain of music had now sunk to a low
cadence, so low that it was monotonous. Jurian's curiosity
was excited to behold the being who paid his devotions
in this secluded spot. He descended around
the edge of the rock by means of the underwood, and
when he had arrived at the base, he found that it projected
in such a manner as to form a natural cavern.
He paused and listened. The voice still continued to
spot whence it proceeded, discerned by the uncertain
light, the outline of two human figures, one stretched
upon the ground and the other standing erect beside
him. He was not long in recognising in the tall bare-headed
figure, Corwin the maniac, and on approaching
them, found the other to be surgeon M`Crea. They
were unconscious of his presence.
“The parable of Nathan,” exclaimed Corwin, in a
sepulchral tone, “has been verified in thee. Thou
hast taken from the poor man the little ewe-lamb which
he had bought and nourished up; which drank of his
own cup, and lay in his bosom, and was unto him as a
daughter.”
“Can it be possible that thou art he?” said M`Crea,
faintly. “That haggard face affords no clue to recall
those well-known features.”
“Even he,” replied Corwin. “A merry heart doeth
good like a medicine, but a broken spirit drieth the
bones: and I have grieved for that which was of more
worth than the statue of gold in the plain of Dura.
“O, God!” burst from the heart of M`Crea, and he
hid his face with his hands. Corwin continued,—
“What was the judgment of David? That the rich
man should restore the lamb fourfold, because he had
no pity. Canst thou fulfil the judgment that the king
pronounced on his own head, or wlit thou, like the son
of Jesse, await its fulfilment from above? Beware, for
even as with him, the sword shall never depart from thy
house.”
“It has entered, and has not yet departed, for I remain
alone of all my race.”
“Smitten, even as Ephraim was smitten,” exclaimed
Corwin. “Thy glory hath flown away like a bird from
the birth.”
Jurian approached them, and assisted Corwin in raising
the surgeon to his feet. He had been much bruised,
but not dangerously wounded, and appeared more
he had sustained in the fight. He remained silent.
Corwin continued, addressing Jurian,—
“Into thy hands do I commit him. Guard him as
thou wouldst the apple of thine eye, for I will cleanse
the blood that is not yet cleansed.” Then turning to
M`Crea, he said, “go rend your heart, and not your
garments, repent and leave a blessing behind you.”
Their attention was now attracted by the shrill notes
of a distant bugle which gradually became more distinct.
The sun was just rising, and his broad red
beams dissipated the dense fog that hung around the
surrounding hills. It rapidly passed away like flying
clouds, or rather an extended sheet of undulating water.
The sound of the bugle grew louder, and suddenly a
horseman emerging from the wood, stood in full view
upon a bare field on the top of an adjoining hill. Jurian
immediately recognised the gigantic figure that had
so mysteriously interposed for his life a few hours before.
His first impulse was to rush in pursuit of him,
but reflecting on M`Crea's helpless condition, he checked
his impatience. The horseman remained stationary,
and the hills re-echoed the notes of his bugle. In a
few minutes a troop of about a dozen were seen issuing
from various parts of the wood. They were hastily
marshaled and again disappeared at full speed, the
mysterious bugleman at their head. M`Crea having
declared his ability to walk, they prepared to leave the
cave. Corwin wrapped his blanket around his emaciated
form, and cried, in a deep voice, “go, and sin no
more.” He stalked from the cave, and rapidly descending
the declivity, was soon out of sight. M`Crea
leaned upon the arm of Jurian, and they pursued their
way to the American army.
| CHAPTER XI. The forsaken | |