University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XXIV.

It was noonday before we reached the theatre of action.
Fear and revenge combined to make the people of Chetasco
diligent and zealous in their own defence. The havoc already
committed had been mournful. To prevent a repetition
of the same calamities, they resolved to hunt out
the hostile footsteps and exact a merciless retribution.

It was likely that the enemy, on the approach of day,
had withdrawn from the valley and concealed themselves in
the thickets, between the parallel ridges of the mountain.
This space, which, according to the object with which it is
compared is either a vale or the top of a hill, was obscure
and desolate. It was undoubtedly the avenue by which the
robbers had issued forth, and by which they would escape
to the Ohio. Here they might still remain, intending to
emerge from their concealment on the next night, and perpetrate
new horrors.

A certain distribution was made of our number, so as to
move in all directions at the same time. I will not dwell
upon particulars. It will suffice to say that keen eyes and
indefatigable feet, brought us at last to the presence of the
largest number of these marauders. Seven of them were
slain by the edge of a brook, where they sat wholly unconscious
of the danger which hung over them. Five escaped,
and one of these secured his retreat by wresting
your fusil from your uncle, and shooting him dead. Before
our companion could be rescued or revenged, the assassin,
with the remnant of the troop, disappeared, and bore
away with him the fusil as a trophy of his victory.

This disaster was deplored, not only on account of that
life which had thus been sacrificed, but because a sagacious
guide and intrepid leader was lost. His acquaintance with

the habits of the Indians, and his experience in their wars
made him trace their footsteps with more certainty than any
of his associates.

The pursuit was still continued, and parties were so
stationed that the escape of the enemy was difficult, if not
impossible. Our search was unremitted, but during twelve
or fourteen hours, unsuccessful. Queen Mab did not elude
all suspicion. Her hut was visited by different parties, but
the old woman and her dogs had disappeared.

Meanwhile your situation was not forgotten. Every one
was charged to explore your footsteps as well as those of
the savages, but this search was no less unsuccessful than
the former. None had heard of you or seen you.

This continued till midnight. Three of us made a pause
at a brook, and intended to repair our fatigues by a respite
of a few hours, but scarcely had we stretched ourselves on
the ground when we were alarmed by a shot which seemed
to have been fired at a short distance. We started on our
feet and consulted with each other on the measures to be
taken. A second, a third and a fourth shot, from the same
quarter, excited our attention anew. Mab's hut was known
to stand at the distance and in the direction of this sound,
and hither we resolved to repair.

This was done with speed but with the utmost circumspection.
We shortly gained the road that leads near this
hut and at length gained a view of the building. Many
persons were discovered, in a sort of bustling inactivity,
before the hut. They were easily distinguished to be
friends, and were therefore approached without scruple.

The objects that presented themselves to a nearer view,
were five bodies stretched upon the ground. Three of
them were savages. The fourth was a girl, who though
alive seemed to have received a mortal wound. The fifth,
breathless and mangled and his features almost concealed
by the blood that overspread his face, was Edgar; the
fugitive for whom I had made such anxious search.

About the same hour on the last night I had met you
hastening into Norwalk. Now were you, lying in the
midst of savages, at the distance of thirty miles from your
home, and in a spot, which it was impossible for you to
have reached unless by an immense circuit over rocks and

thickets. That you had found a rift at the basis of a hill,
and thus penetrated its solidities, and thus precluded so
tedious and circuitous a journey as must otherwise have
been made, was not to be imagined.

But whence arose this scene? It was obvious to conclude
that my associates had surprised their enemies in this
house, and exacted from them the forfeit of their crimes,
but how you should have been confounded with their foes,
or whence came the wounded girl was a subject of astonishment.

You will judge how much this surprise was augmented
when I was informed that the party whom we found had been
attracted hither by the same signals, by which we had been
alarmed. That on reaching this spot you had been discovered,
alive, seated on the ground and still sustaining the
gun with which you had apparently completed the destruction
of so many adversaries. In a moment after their
arrival you sunk down and expired.

This scene was attended with inexplicable circumstances.
The musket which lay beside you appeared to have belonged
to one of the savages. The wound by which each had died
was single. Of the four shots we had distinguished at a
distance, three of them were therefore fatal to the Indians
and the fourth was doubtless that by which you had fallen,
yet three muskets only were discoverable.

The arms were collected, and the girl carried to the
nearest house in the arms of her father. Her situation was
deemed capable of remedy, and the sorrow and wonder
which I felt at your untimely and extraordinary fate, did not
hinder me from endeavoring to restore the health of this unfortunate
victim. I reflected likewise that some light might
be thrown upon transactions so mysterious, by the information
which might be collected from her story. Numberless
questions and hints were necessary to extract from her a
consistent or intelligible tale. She had been dragged, it
seems, for miles, at the heels of her conquerors, who at
length, stopped in a cavern for the sake of some repose; all
slept but one, who sat and watched. Something called him
away, and, at the same moment, you appeared at the bottom
of the cave half naked and without arms. You instantly
supplied the last deficiency, by seizing the gun and tomahawk

of him who had gone forth, and who had negligently
left his weapons behind. Then stepping over the bodies of
the sleepers, you rushed out of the cavern.

She then mentioned your unexpected return, her deliverance
and flight, and arrival at Deb's hut. You watched
upon the hearth and she fell asleep upon the blanket. From
this sleep she was aroused by violent and cruel blows. She
looked up;—you were gone and the bed on which she lay
was surrounded by the men from whom she had so lately
escaped. One dragged her out of the hut and levelled his
gun at her breast. At the moment when he touched the
trigger, a shot came from an unknown quarter, and he fell
at her feet. Of subsequent events she had an incoherent
recollection. The Indians were successively slain, and you
came to her, and interrogated and consoled her.

In your journey to the hut you were armed. This in
some degree accounted for appearances, but where were
your arms? Three muskets only were discovered and these
undoubtedly belonged to your enemies.

I now had leisure to reflect upon your destiny. I had arrived
soon enough on this shore merely to witness the catastrophe
of two beings whom I most loved. Both were overtaken
by the same fate, nearly at the same hour. The
same hand had possibly accomplished the destruction of
uncle and nephew.

Now, however, I began to entertain a hope that your
state might not be irretrievable. You had walked and
spoken after the firing had ceased, and your enemies had
ceased to contend with you. A wound had, no doubt, been
previously received. I had hastily inferred that the wound
was mortal, and that life could not be recalled. Occupied
with attention to the wailings of the girl, and full of sorrow
and perplexity I had admitted an opinion which would have
never been adopted in different circumstances. My acquaintance
with wounds would have taught me to regard
sunken muscles, lividness and cessation of the pulse as mere
indications of a swoon, and not as tokens of death.

Perhaps my error was not irreparable. By hastening
to the hut, I might ascertain your condition and at least
transport your remains to some dwelling and finally secure
to you the decencies of burial.

Of twelve savages, discovered on the preceding day, ten
were now killed. Two at least remained, after whom the
pursuit was still zealously maintained. Attention to the
wounded girl, had withdrawn me from the party, and I had
now leisure to return to the scene of these disasters. The
sun had risen, and, accompanied by two others, I repaired
thither.

A sharp turn in the road, at the entrance of a field, set
before us a startling spectacle. An Indian, mangled by repeated
wounds of bayonet and bullet, was discovered. His
musket was stuck in the ground, by way of beacon attracting
our attention to the spot. Over this space I had gone a
few hours before, and nothing like this was then seen. The
parties abroad had hied away to a distant quarter. Some
invisible power seemed to be enlisted in our defence and to
preclude the necessity of our arms.

We proceeded to the hut. The savages were there, but
Edgar had risen and flown! Nothing now seemed to be
incredible. You had slain three foes, and the weapon with
which the victory had been achieved had vanished. You
had risen from the dead, had assailed one of the surviving
enemies, had employed bullet and dagger in his destruction,
with both of which you could only be supplied by supernatural
means, and had disappeared. If any inhabitant of
Chetasco had done this, we should have heard of it.

But what remained? You were still alive. Your strength
was sufficient to bear you from this spot. Why were you
still invisible and to what dangers might you not be exposed,
before you could disinvolve yourself from the mazes of this
wilderness?

Once more I procured indefatigable search to be made
after you. It was continued till the approach of evening,
and was fruitless. Inquiries were twice made at the house
where you were supplied with food and intelligence. On
the second call I was astonished and delighted by the tidings
received from the good woman. Your person, and demeanor,
and arms were described, and mention made of
your resolution to cross the southern ridge, and traverse the
Solebury road with the utmost expedition.

The greater part of my inquietudes were now removed.
You were able to eat and to travel, and there was little
doubt that a meeting would take place between us on the
next morning. Meanwhile, I determined to concur with
those who pursued the remainder of the enemy. I followed
you, in the path that you were said to have taken, and
quickly joined a numerous party who were searching for
those who, on the last night, had attacked a plantation that
lies near this, and destroyed the inhabitants.

I need not dwell upon our doublings and circuities. The
enemy was traced to the house of Selby. They had entered,
they had put fire on the floor, but were compelled to
relinquish their prey. Of what number they consisted
could not be ascertained, but one, lingering behind his fellows,
was shot, at the entrance of the wood, and on the spot
where you chanced to light upon him.

Selby's house was empty, and before the fire had made
any progress we extinguished it. The drunken wretch
whom you encountered, had probably returned from his
nocturnal debauch, after we had left the spot.

The flying enemy was pursued with fresh diligence.
They were found, by various tokens, to have crossed the
river, and to have ascended the mountain. We trod closely
on their heels. When we arrived at the promontory, described
by you, the fatigues of the night and day rendered
me unqualified to proceed, I determined that this should be
the bound of my excursions. I was anxious to obtain an
interview with you, and unless I paused here, should not be
able to gain Inglefield's as early in the morning as I wished.
Two others concurred with me in this resolution and prepared
to return to this house, which had been deserted by
its tenants till the danger was past, and which had been selected
as the place of rendezvous.

At this moment, dejected and weary, I approached the
ledge which severed the head-land from the mountain. I
marked the appearance of some one stretched upon the
ground where you lay. No domestic animal would wander
hither and place himself upon this spot. There was something
likewise in the appearance of the object that bespoke
it to be man, but if it were man, it was, incontrovertibly, a

savage and a foe. I determined therefore to rouse you by
a bullet.

My decision was perhaps absurd. I ought to have gained
more certainty before I hazarded your destruction. Be that
as it will, a moment's lingering on your part would have
probably been fatal. You started on your feet, and fired.
See the hole which your random shot made through my
sleeve! This surely was a day destined to be signalized by
hair-breadth escapes.

Your action seemed incontestibly to confirm my prognostics.
Every one hurried to the spot and was eager to destroy
an enemy. No one hesitated to believe that some of
the shots aimed at you, had reached their mark, and that
you had sunk to rise no more.

The gun which was fired and thrown down was taken
and examined. It had been my companion in many a toilsome
expedition. It had rescued me and my friends from
a thousand deaths. In order to recognise it, I needed only
to touch and handle it. I instantly discovered that I held in
my hand the fusil which I had left with you on parting, with
which your uncle had equipped himself, and which had
been ravished from him by a savage. What was I hence
to infer respecting the person of the last possessor?

My inquiries respecting you of the woman whose milk
and bread you had eaten, were minute. You entered, she
said, with a hatchet and gun in your hand. While you ate,
the gun was laid upon the table. She sat near, and the
piece became the object of inquisitive attention. The stock
and barrels were described by her in such terms as left no
doubt that this was the fusil.

A comparison of incidents enabled me to trace the manner
in which you came into possession of this instrument.
One of those whom you found in the cavern was the assassin
of your uncle. According to the girl's report, on issuing
from your hiding place, you seized a gun that was unoccupied,
and this gun chanced to be your own.

Its two barrels were probably the cause of your success
in that unequal contest at Mab's hut. On recovering from
deliquium, you found it where it had been dropped by you,
out of sight and unsuspected by the party that had afterwards
arrived. In your passage to the river, had it once

more fallen into hostile hands, or, had you missed the way,
wandered to this promontory, and mistaken a troop of friends
for a band of Indian marauders?

Either supposition was dreadful. The latter was the
most plausible. No motives were conceivable by which
one of the fugitives could be induced to post himself here,
in this conspicuous station; whereas, the road which led
you to the summit of the hill, to that spot where descent to
the river road was practicable, could not be found but by
those who were accustomed to traverse it. The directions
which you had exacted from your hostess, proved your previous
unacquaintance with these tracts.

I acquiesced in this opinion with a heavy and desponding
heart. Fate had led us into a maze, which could only terminate
in the destruction of one or of the other. By the
breadth of a hair had I escaped death from your hand.
The same fortune had not befriended you. After my tedious
search, I had lighted on you, forlorn, bewildered,
perishing with cold and hunger. Instead of recognising
and affording you relief, I compelled you to leap into the
river, from a perilous height, and had desisted from my persecution
only when I had bereaved you of life, and plunged
you to the bottom of the gulf.

My motives in coming to America were numerous and
mixed. Among these was the parental affection with which
you had inspired me. I came with fortune, and a better
gift than fortune in my hand. I intended to bestow both
upon you, not only to give you competence, but one who
would endear to you that competence, who would enhance,
by participating, every gratification.

My schemes were now at an end. You were gone, beyond
the reach of my benevolence and justice. I had robbed
your two sisters of a friend and guardian. It was some
consolation to think that it was in my power to stand, with
regard to them, in your place, that I could snatch them from
the poverty, dependence, and humiliation, to which your
death, and that of your uncle had reduced them.

I was now doubly weary of the enterprise in which I was
engaged, and returned with speed, to this rendezvous. My
companions have gone to know the state of the family who

resided under this roof, and left me to beguile the tedious
moments in whatever manner I pleased.

I have omitted mentioning one incident that happened
between the detection of your flight and our expedition to
Chetasco. Having formed a plausible conjecture as to him
who walked in the long-room, it was obvious to conclude
that he who purloined your manuscripts and the walker
was the same personage. It was likewise easily inferred
that the letters were secreted in the cedar chest or in some
other part of the room. Instances similar to this have heretofore
occurred. Men have employed anxious months in
search of that which, in a freak of noctambulation, was hidden
by their own hands.

A search was immediately commenced, and your letters
were found, carefully concealed between the rafters and
shingles of the roof, in a spot, where, if suspicion had not
been previously excited, they would have remained till the
vernal rains and the summer heats, had insensibly destroyed
them. This packet I carried with me, knowing the value
which you set upon it, and there being no receptacle
equally safe, but your own cabinet, which was locked.

Having, as I said, reached this house, and being left alone,
I bethought me of the treasure I possessed. I was unacquainted
with the reasons for which these papers were so
precious. They probably had some momentous and intimate
connexion with your own history. As such, they
could not be of little value to me, and this moment of inoccupation
and regrets, was as suitable as any other to the
task of perusing them. I drew them forth, therefore, and
laid them on the table in this chamber.

The rest is known to you. During a momentary absence
you entered. Surely no interview of ancient friends ever
took place in so unexpected and abrupt a manner. You
were dead. I mourned for you, as one whom I loved, and
whom fate had snatched forever from my sight. Now, in a
blissful hour, you had risen, and my happiness in thus embracing
you, is tenfold greater than would have been experienced,
if no uncertainties and perils had protracted our
meeting.