p316-238 CHAPTER I.

A PREFACE WHICH OUGHT TO HAVE PRECEDED THE FIRST
VOLUME OF THIS WORK.

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It hath been a mooted point with that class of philosophical
inquirers, which so usefully occupies itself
with discussions that can never be brought to a conclusion,
whether the age gives the tone to literature,
or literature to the age. It is a knotty question, and
not being of the least consequence to any practical
purpose, it will be passed over with the single remark,
that it is quite useless for an author to write in good
taste if the public won't read, and equally idle for the
public to cherish a keen relish for polite literature, if
there are no authors to administer food to its appetite.

It is certain, however, that owing either to the
excessive refinement and intelligence of the age, or it
may be, to causes directly the contrary, the present
taste of the venerable public is exceedingly

[figure description] Page 010.[end figure description]

carniverous. If any conclusion can be drawn from those
classical productions which are so industriously hawked
about by the genuine representatives of the illustrious
“Dicky Doubt,” who, by an allowable figure of
speech, may be called the handmaids of the Muses,
there must be an exceedingly voracious appetite in the
reading community for all sorts of breaches of morality
and breaches of the peace, not omitting smothering,
poisoning, and suicide. Authors do not mind committing
murder in cold blood, or perpetrating any other
atrocious crime, any more than they do borrowing an
idea from some old, forgotten writer; and the most
timid, delicate, nervous lady in the land, who would
shriek at the apparition of a caterpillar, or run away
from a butterfly, is now so accustomed to battles, robberies,
poisonings, and assassinations, that it would
not be altogether surprising if we some day hear of
one of the elite, after going the rounds of polite literature,
and committing a few murders in the way of
poisoning, together with some other fashionable et
ceteras—not proper to mention by name, though the
thing itself is highly aristocratic—should make a brilliant
exit by blowing up a whole square of houses
and perishing in their ruins.

There was a time—it was in the dark ages, previous
to the apotheosis of phrenology and animal magnetism—
there was a time when the records of crime, and
those exhibitions of human depravity, which disgrace
the name of man, and make angels weep, were confined
to the romance of the police, and the last dying

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speeches of convicted and converted murderers. A
taste for these was considered as characteristic only of
the vulgar and depraved, and they seldom ascended to
the parlor or the drawing-room, except by stealth. At
present, however, it appears that the most fashionable
species of romance is a sort of Newgate calendar, in
which the crimes and depravity of the lowest and
worst species of real human beings, are cast into the
shade by the creation of imaginary monsters.

The reader, however, is not to conclude from these
preliminary remarks that we meditate the presumption
of finding fault with the prevailing taste for blood
puddings, and concentrated soup of depravity. On
the contrary, with the amateurs of thorough-going
barbarity and wickedness, we are perfectly willing to
defer to the taste of the venerable public for that species
of meritorious romance, which, if anything can
achieve it, will assuredly, in the shortest possible time—
with the aid of the “diggings” of California—bring
about that Golden Age, when the saint and the assassin
shall lie down in peace together; when the sword
shall be turned into a bowie knife or a revolving pistol;
firemen meet at midnight conflagrations without
broken heads and bloody noses; and last and greatest
miracle of all, the bright star of Bethlehem cease to
be the torch of discord.

We are full of hope that the time is not far distant,
when the human heart shall become so mellowed and
humanized by being accustomed to these pictured
horrors, these atrocious crimes, and this total

[figure description] Page 012.[end figure description]

degradation of the human species exhibited in polite literature
that certain portions of select readers should in time
lose all perception of the distinction between virtue
and vice, and the good and bad mingle together in
perfect harmony. Thus the world might at length
be brought to a perfect good understanding, and no
more blood be shed, except in romances.

Doubtless the experiment is worth the trial, and we
propose in this our second volume to flourish the besom
of destruction somewhat liberally. Hitherto, we have
only killed two or three honest people, in fair fight,
and, as yet, not one of our actors is qualified for a hero
of romance. But we shall do better in future, by
introducing, in due time, a gentleman so utterly
divested of any attribute that might redeem him from
abhorrence, that he cannot fail to conciliate the favor
of the judicious reader. It shall go hard with us, too,
if we don't commit a most exemplary murder soon. If
it comes not in our way, we will seek it. If we can't
kill by retail, which is much the most emphatic and
striking, we will go at it by wholesale, and demolish
entire communities without regard to age, sex, color
or condition. Should all our resources fail, we will
murder our story and smother ourselves with charcoal
to escape public justice.

p316-242 CHAPTER II.

A Forest Scene—The Wild Man in the Wild Woods—A Short Speech
Worthy the Imitation of the Wisdom of Congress—An Ingenious
Mode of Trying the Patience—A Thunder Storm—The White Man
Asleep when He Should Be Wide Awake.

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In the depths of the vast primeval forest, where
echo had never replied to the axe of the woodman—
the great instrument of civilization, or the long resounding
burst of the hunter's rifle—on the margin of a
nameless lake, where dark waters, though pure as the
skies, reflected no object of the earth, was assembled
a band of red men, a race made for the shade, as the
white man is for the sunshine. The lake was several
miles in circumference, and lay in the centre of swamps
whose limits were almost undefinable, and its approaches
at that period only known to the savages who roamed
its borders. It was a gloomy, wild, fantastic scene,
silent as death, and melancholy as the grave, yet
decked with a profusion of flowers, and flowering vines
of gorgeous tints and various odor, that “wasted their
sweetness on the desert air.” There every production
of nature, around the margin of the lake seemed to

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spring out of the water; for the land, if so it might be
called, was nothing but floating earth, that quivered
like a jelly under the light foot of the Indian. Vast
cypress trees, with slender limbless trunks and tufted
heads towering to the skies, and rocking with the
slightest breeze, rose from the water apparently selfsupported
on its surface; and with the exception of a
level spot on the southern shore which loomed some
ten or twelve feet above the surface of the lake, the
entire margin was one dead level morass of decayed
vegetables saturated with moisture. A numb and
moody silence reigned far and near; no woodland minstrel
caroled his joyous notes in these pathless wilds,
whose unapproachable recesses were never cheered by
the rays of the sun even in winter, for the trees were
all evergreens and knew no change of seasons. At
intervals during the day, a lonely woodpecker, the
hermit of the forest, might be heard tapping some
rough-barked tree; and sometimes the monarch eagle
was seen in solitary majesty resting on a dry limb,
silent and motionless, as if he were the guardian genius
of this gloomy empire.

The hour was near midnight, and a large fire around
which a crowd of dusky figures were moving back
and forth, tinged the melancholy cypress trees with a
silvery lustre, and threw a long line of light athwart
the dark water. It was an Indian council of the surrounding
tribes, whose deputies had met together at
this secret hour, in this secret haunt, to devise the plan
of a general attack on the intruding white man, and

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practice those preliminary rites, which were always
the precursors of war to the knife. It is the characteristic
of the savages of North America, that they
have always some old injury to remember, or some new
one to avenge. Though without historians to record
their wrongs, they never forget them; and a legacy of
revenge is handed down from generation to generation.
Time never heals these wounds, however slight; and
when these motives are wanting, a dream interpreted
to suit the purpose, a whim of some old woman, a
fraud of some mountebank, or a real or pretended
desire to appease the spirits of the dead, is sufficient
to rouse the ever restless savage to war and rapine.

A war was now in contemplation which not merely
involved a single tribe, but all the tribes within reach
of the influence of the colony, together with their
allies, and which had for its object the utter extermination
of the whites, as well as the total destruction
of their property. The civilized and savage men are
two dry sticks; rub them together and they take fire.
The causes which produced this combination of the
Indian tribes were such as seem innate and inseparable
from the irreconcilable relations of savage and
civilized man, and will be passed over, as not material
to our story. At the moment of which we are speaking,
the final decision had been made; the deputies of
all the tribes were agreed; the plan of operations concerted,
and nothing now remained but to practice those
religious rites and warlike ceremonies customary on
such occasions.

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A chief who had fasted till the vapors of an empty
stomach had ascended to his brains, and half-crazed
his intellect, now came forward and addressed the dark
assemblage as follows:—

“Brothers, I have had a dream. The great Spirit
appeared to me in the shape of a bear, and said: The
blood of your brothers is not yet wiped away. It
smokes from the ground. The spirits of your fathers
are not appeased. They wander about the spot where
they fell, and disturb me with their shriekings. You
must go and take scalps, burn houses, lay waste tobacco
fields, and eat the long-knives. Say to your young
men, take courage, dress your hair, paint your faces,
sharpen your tomahawks till you cannot feel their
edge, for the Great Spirit is with you. Go and avenge
the dead, that their spirits may no longer wander on
the face of the earth, howling like hungry wolves. The
long-knife is fast asleep—go and wake him.”

This speech was answered by a shrill, withering howl,
that quavered through the silent air, and awaked the
echoes from their sleep. Songs, filled with boastings
of exploits that might make the hair stand stiff, were
sung, followed by a succession of dances, rehearsing
the vicissitudes of war, and the various manœuvres of
Indian tactics, all exhibiting a variety of strange,
grotesque motions, accompanied by harsh, dissonant
music. When these were ended, the aged warriors
proceeded to test the self-command of the young braves
who offered themselves, for the first time, as candidates
for service, and were to act under the immediate orders

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of the great war-chief. It was a maxim with these
strangely wise barbarians, that no man possessed true
courage who is not master of his temper, on all occasions.
Nature is more knowing than most people
think her.

The old warriors, accordingly, inflicted every possible
insult, provocation, and outrage on the young candidates.
They called them cowards, women, and threatened
to dress them in petticoats; they accused them
of running away from bears and wolves, nay, even the
timid deer; they made faces at them, followed by the
most contemptuous gestures; they beat them with
cudgels, pricked them with knives; and, as a last
effort, threw hot coals and blazing brands at their
heads. All this was borne with the most stoical indifference,
for if any one had exhibited the least sign of
pain, anger, or impatience, he would have been considered
disgraced, and unworthy to go forth to battle
with men. After this came the great war feast,
consisting entirely of the flesh of dogs, which, being
their most valuable possession, was offered up
to Areskoué, the god of battles. The feast being
ended, they extinguished the fire, and slowly departed
to their respective wilds, chaunting the song of death.
The silence of the grave succeeded their departure, but
their next coming was the signal for groans of agony,
shrieks of despair, and shouts of demoniac triumph.

p316-247 CHAPTER III.

A Scene not Uncommon in the Early Settlements of the New World—
Obstinacy of the Roundhead—A Massacre and a Siege—Unparralled
Achievement of Gregory Moth—Langley Distinguishes Himself—
A Providential Shower and its Consequences—A Scene and
a Reflection.

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The inhabitants of the colony, who were by these barbarous
ceremonies devoted to destruction, remained
not only ignorant, but unsuspicious of the destiny at
hand. So many false reports and unfounded alarms
had of late followed in succession, and passed away,
that they, as a natural consequence, only produced an
additional feeling of security. The savages had concealed
their purpose with consummate art, and the
infant of the new world lay sleeping in its cradle, unconscious
that the serpent was coiling around him. Every
station on either side of the river, except the capital,
which was too strongly guarded for their simple tactics—
nay, every house was marked out, and a body of
Indians expressly devoted to its destruction. The plan
was laid with a cruel sagacity, and executed with
equal silence and celerity. Not a human being, white
or black, would have escaped, but for the compunction

[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]

of a half-civilized Indian, who paid the debt of gratitude
by betraying his brothers.

He was one of a small tribe which, some years previous
to this period, had been nearly exterminated by
the victorious Iroquois, the few survivors of which had
sought refuge among the Indians of the South, and
were received by adoption. Among them was a little
lad, who, being ill of body, and worn out by a long,
wearisome journey, was dropt by the way, and finally
fell into the hands of Master Tyringham, where he
became the companion of Langley, then a boy of about
the same age. By degrees he grew to be a favorite;
shared in Langley's studies, amusements, and occupations,
until finally scarcely any difference appeared
in the treatment of the white man's son, and the Indian
boy. They became greatly attached to each
other, and but for the difference of color might have
passed for brothers.

Somewhere about the age of sixteen, Langley was
sent to pass the winter at the capital, with a friend of
his father, with a view to polishing his manners, by
intercourse with the little community, among which
were many persons of liberal education and high breeding,
some of whom had figured at courts in their day.
Circumstances prevented the Indian boy from accompanying
him, and he was left behind. From that
moment he became melancholy and discontented. He
no longer paid any attention to his studies, insomuch
that Gregory Moth prognosticated that the Indian
blood was up, and that nature was becoming too

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strong for habit. His days were spent in wandering
through the woods, or paddling on the river, and finally
he disappeared to return no more.

On the day succeeding the scene sketched in the
preceding chapter, as Gregory was early in the morning
scouring the wood in search of wild turkeys, he
was half-frightened out of his wits, by the sudden
apparition of an Indian, who approached him without
arms, making signs of peace. Whether Gregory
understood or not is a question, but certain it is, that
at this instant his gun went off, but happily without
doing any injury. The savage still approached, and
coming up said with a smile—

“Your gun is bewitched, Master Gregory.”

Gregory trembled like a leaf, and replied only by the
chattering of his teeth. The other then asked,

“Don't you know me?”

“No,” said Gregory, somewhat restored by his gentle
voice, and pacific deportment—“No, my acquaintance
is not very extensive among gentlemen of your
complexion.”

“That is rather strange. I was once a scholar of
yours.”

“Hah!” quoth Gregory—eyeing him closely, “a
scholar of mine! Let me look at you—but don't
come a step nearer. Why—why—if it is not our
Indian boy, I am a blind beetle. Where did you come
from, where are you going, and what brought you
here, after playing my master such a trick, you ungrateful
salvage?”

[figure description] Page 021.[end figure description]

“True, I am a savage, and will speak to you in the
style of my native home. Listen—I see a black cloud
in the sky.”

“Where?” said Gregory, looking upwards—“I
don't see it.”

“No—the long-knife is asleep. He don't see anything.
The cloud will burst soon, and then he will
wake too late.”

“What do you mean by that? Speak out like a
Christian, can't you.”

“The Great Spirit is angry with the long-knives.
When the next sun is high up yonder, he will speak
to them in blood and fire.”

“A murrain seize this metaphorical villain,”
thought Gregory, “he is as obscure as a Pagan oracle.
I say, speak out. I can't understand your gibberish.
Its all Greek to me.”

“The Indian talks his talk, and the white man his.
But I will try to speak with the double tongue. Run—
fly like the deer to your master, and tell him from
me, that this day—at the middle of the day, when the
white man is resting from his labors, the red men will
spring from the woods, like hungry wolves, and
devour them all at a single meal. Tell him from me,
to make the most of the few hours yet left him, or
woe to him and his!” He paused a moment and
added, “I have been ungrateful to the white man for
his kindness, and am ashamed to meet him. Tell him
the Indian cannot fight against his adopted tribe, nor
join them in scalping the white man who has fed him.

[figure description] Page 022.[end figure description]

He will go and seek some other tribe far away. Be
quick, long-knife, they will come at noon—let it not
be night to you all.” Thus saying, he bent his course
towards the West, and was never seen again. His
information, for a time, almost paralyzed Gregory,
whose limbs and senses seemed equally to fail him.
At length he recovered to a perception of his duty, and
winged by fear, made the best of his way home,
where he communicated his information to his master.

It was now verging towards eight o'clock, of as fair
a day as ever dawned upon the sunny South. Mild,
gentle, and soothing, it irresistibly disposed the mind,
as well as body, to languor and repose. But the tale
of the Indian had effectually roused the inmates of the
mansion, which in these early times, when danger
lurked behind every tree, had been built with a view
to defensive operations, though its materials were
principally of wood. There was no other house of any
pretensions within a distance of many miles, on that
side of the river, but that of Harold Habingdon, which
was by no means so well adapted to resist the Indian
mode of attack, as that of his neighbor. In the castle
all was hurry, and confusion. The massacre was to
commence between twelve and one, when the field
laborers would be resting themselves in languid indolence
in the shade, or fast asleep in their cabins, and
the masters shut up in their mansions to avoid the
sultry summer heat.

Every means of defence the brief period would permit
was adopted, and messages sent out to give

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warning on both sides of the river; but, alas! too late. In
addition to this, Langley Tyringham took occasion to
mention the defenceless state of Harold and his family.
The old Cavalier's spirit rose within him, not in anger,
but sympathy. He forgot the past, and only remembered
the present hour, when a common danger
demanded a common sympathy.

“'Slife—that's true. The Crop-ear is more exposed
than we are, and besides makes a point of conscience
to offer no resistance in cases like this, as he told me
not long ago, when I called to warn him against the
savages. There is yet time—go to him. I see there
a horse ready saddled at the door. Go, and entreat him
to come hither instantly with his family and people.
Say to him, from me, that danger should make us
friends, and he shall be welcome. Be quick—not a
moment is to be lost—mount and away! But mind
you don't suffer his obstinacy to detain you too long.”

Langley mounted the horse, and gallopped full
speed to Habingdon. Entering without ceremony, he
found Harold apparently unconscious of the terrible
calamity impending, and was received by him with
an ungracious courtesy, by no means gratifying.
Harold stiffly inquired his business, which was equivalent
to an insinuation that nothing but that would
excuse his visit; and Langley, without preface, communicated
his errand. Harold had previously wrought
himself into an obstinate doubt of the reality of the
danger, and positively declined the invitation of his
neighbor. He professed to rely on Providence, which,

[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]

as he had never wronged the redmen, would doubtless
incline their hearts in his favor. Langley besought
him to come home to his father's. He painted in few
words the indiscriminate vengeance of the savage,
which spared neither age nor sex, and involved all in
blood and fire; he entreated him, if not for his own,
for the sake of his wife, his daughter and his dependents,
who looked up to him for protection, to accept
the invitation of his father, which he assured him was
cordially given; and finally reminded him that the aid
of Providence was only vouchsafed to those without
other aid, or who made every effort to help themselves.

The stern obstinacy of Harold became only more
rigid and inflexible, under the increasing warmth with
which it was assailed. A precious half hour was
wasted, and the young man at length took his departure
under the influence of feelings he had never
experienced before. It was not alone compassion that
tugged at his heart, but a stronger sentiment, which
had been a nurseling in his bosom ever since that wise
old gentleman, his father, had so judiciously proclaimed
his edict of non-intercourse. The danger in which
Miriam was placed took precedence, nay, swallowed up
all other feelings for the moment, and he thought only
of her. So young, so pious, so innocent and helpless,
he bound himself by a solemn vow she should not
perish if he could save her. On his departure Harold
apprised Susan and Miriam of what he had just heard,
his doubts of its truth, and his determination to await
the event. They heard, and submitted in silence.

[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]

Susan had long since acquiesced in the supremacy of
her husband in all cases not directly compromising
her conscience, and the religion of Miriam was that of
obedience. They retired and sought consolation in
prayer.

Langley galloped furiously home, and related to his
father the ill success of his mission. At one time he
thought of asking permission to return and endeavor,
if possible, to protect those helpless women; but he
recollected he had higher duties at home, and relinquished
the design with a calm resolution to do his
duty, and submit in silence to what seemed inevitable.
The brief period preceding the expected attack was
employed in various devices of defence which former
experience had taught them; and these being completed,
the hour had come that more than any other
tries the strength of manhood—the hour of watchful
caution, and of deep suspense—the hour of dread
anticipation, ere action has conquered thought—the
hour when the arm is idle and the fancy busy.

It was indeed an interval of dreadful silence and
grim repose; a stern, terrific calm—a crisis that tried
the firmness of the soul, ere it called forth the strength
of the arm. At length, when the sun had gained the
midway of the sky, Langley, who was on the watch,
suddenly saw on the opposite side of the broad river
a hundred columns of smoke, beginning slowly to rise
in various directions, as far as the eye could reach.
The land was a rich alluvial plain, extending many
miles, and constituting the most thickly settled, as

[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]

well as best cultivated portion of the colony. Here,
where every object was distinctly visible, he beheld
men, women, and children, white and black, fleeing
before the swift-footed Indian, brandishing his tomahawk,
painted like a demon, and yelling like a fiend.
Here he saw a white man bravely contending against
fearful odds, with all the energies of despair, at last
cut down, scalped, and hacked in pieces. There, and
everywhere, there crowded upon his sight scenes the
most horrible and inhuman—old men and little children,
women and half-blown blooming girls—all
shared the same fate in that bloody hour, and were
offered up a sacrifice to savage vengeance, perhaps
savage wrongs. It was another of the sore trials
which so often occur amid a conflict of painful duties,
that Langley was compelled to be a witness of this
scene of horrors, without the power of administering
aid to the wretched sufferers; for every moment a
similar attack was anticipated. Still he proposed to
his father to cross the river in the boat, if it were only
to rescue one single victim from the grasp of these
relentless barbarians.

“Impossible,” answered the old Cavalier—“It will
be fatal to us, without being of the least service to
them. The bloody scene will be over before we can
cross the river, and with only the assistance of the
overseer and Gregory, who is a notorious poltroon,
what could we do? Unless our information is erroneous,
we may expect an attack every moment, and
might soon be called to defend our own hearth. In

[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]

this case, at least, charity begins at home, and our first
duty is here. But, Langley,” added he, as if suddenly
recollecting himself—“there is yet a few moments, I
hope, for another effort to overcome the obstinacy of
that frost-bitten Crop-ear and his family. For himself,
I care not—let him pay the penalty of his folly. But
his poor wife, who really is a kind, good soul, though
a little fanatical—and little Miriam, who, for one of
the elect, is a good sort of a dowdy”—Dowdy! thought
Langley—“they are not to blame, and I don't like the
idea of their perishing miserably, as they most certainly
will, if they remain where they are.”

“Shall I go to him once more,” interrupted Langley
impetuously.”

“Yes—quick as lightning! take Fireblood, who I
have ordered to be kept saddled, and put him to whip
and spur. The distance is but small, and possibly the
sight of what is passing yonder may cool his confidence
in savage discriminations. If the Crop-ear resists,
knock him down, and run off with the women, whether
they will or not. This is no time for ceremony. Be
off instantly. I would go with you, only I am sure
the Crop-ear and I would get into a quarrel.”

Langley required no spur, and in less than ten
minutes had dismounted at Harold's door. He found
him contemplating the scene on the opposite shore with
deep and solemn emotion.

“You see, sir,” said Langley, “I am here again, and
on the same errand. You can no longer doubt what
will be the fate of yourself and family, if you remain

[figure description] Page 028.[end figure description]

here. Your only chance of safety is in coming over
and joining my father in defending his house, which
is in some measure prepared. Once more, I beseech
you to lose not a moment.”

“I have made up my mind, on principle,” replied
Harold. “I have not wronged these redmen, and I
anticipate no revenge.”

“Is this your determination?”

“Unalterably.”

“Where are the ladies, sir?” asked Langley, somewhat
sharply.

“Where they should be,” replied Harold; “at their
prayers.”

“Cannot I see them for one moment?”

“To what purpose? But no matter—they are not
to be seen.”

“But, by heaven, they shall be seen. Excuse me,
sir. This is no time for ceremony. Life and death
are on the moment”—and he darted past Harold into
an inner room, where sat, or rather kneeled, the mother
and daughter in silent devotion. The moment he
entered, they rose, and Langley exclaimed, pointing to
Harold, who had followed him—

“Your husband and your father is resolved you
shall stay here and perish by the hands of yonder
savages. I come, on the part of my father, to entreat—
to conjure him to take refuge in his house, which we
can defend, at least for a time. But he refuses—he is
determined that you shall both be murdered, scalped,
and consumed in the flames of his dwelling. Go to

[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]

him—fall on your knees to him—cling round his body—
clasp his knees, and pray him to avoid the double crime
of sacrificing you, and murdering himself.”

Thus saying, he took them each by the hand, and
led them to where the father stood, apparently unmoved.
They kneeled at his feet—they embraced his
knees—they caught his hands, bathed them with tears,
and besought him to accept the offered refuge.

“Harold,” sobbed the faithful wife, “remember we
are not now suffering for conscience' sake. We shall be
murdered, not martyred. If we die, it will not be an
offering to God, in testimony of the truth, but as victims
to the false confidence of a husband and a father
in the humanity of those who never spare. Ah! hark!”
An Indian yell of triumph was heard across the river,
announcing that the bloody work was done.

The iron frame of Harold shivered with emotion, and
his more than iron will was shaken to its centre by
this appeal. He contemplated the only two beings that
bound him to the earth, a few moments, in speechless
tenderness; and, as a second yell sounded in his ear,
raised up the pale supplicants, pressed them to his
heart, and the martial spirit of his youthful days being
once again aroused, exclaimed—

“Be it so. My own arm shall protect the wife of
my bosom and the daughter of my affections. I will
not trust them even to heaven.”

Few, very few preparations were made, and right
speedily they left the house they were never to revisit
more. The emigrants consisted of Harold, Susan,

[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]

Miriam, and Mildred—the affrighted slaves being dispersed
in all directions, no one knew whither. They
were received by the old Cavalier, with the warm welcome
of a frank and generous spirit. His excellent
wife—who we have not yet mustered among our active,
disposable force, because we have already as many
troops on hand as we can manage—his excellent
wife was no way behind her husband in hospitable demonstrations;
and the logical Gregory, who was suffering
under a severe fit of the ague, was greatly comforted
at the new recruits to the garrison, though they
added to its numbers more than its strength—for
“Misery loves company,” quoth Gregory Moth.

The dread repose which, for a brief period, followed,
was at length interrupted by the appearance of a band
of painted warriors, cautiously emerging from the thick
forest, that extended from some quarter of a mile distance
to heaven only knows where. Silent and cautious
as beasts of prey on their bloody midnight rounds, their
dark faces were seen peeping from behind the trees,
and their leaders exchanging vehement gestures with
each other. Being, at length, apparently satisfied that
no enemy lurked in ambush, they advanced warily
towards the mansion, exercising all their savage arts
in making their approaches, under cover of the outbuildings,
and keeping in the range of that part of the
house having the fewest windows and doors. Not a
mouse stirred, not a word was spoken above a whisper
within, and the savages at length concluded that the
place had been abandoned. Still with habitual caution

[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]

they advanced, crawling like serpents in the grass, with
the intention of plundering and setting it on fire.

The Cavalier had laid his plan of defence with great
skill, as became an old soldier. The few men were
placed at different loop-holes, primed and loaded, with
positive directions not to fire, till the order was given,
and the women, having refused to retire to an inner
apartment, were to supply the ammunition as it might
be wanted. The savage band was still sliding along
in the grass, their heads scarcely visible, and every
gun was pointed with deadly aim, each at its peculiar
victim, awaiting the word to fire, when Gregory,
who was placed at one of the loop-holes, in an ecstasy
of fear, unconsciously pulled the trigger, discharging
his piece at random, and without effect. The savages
uttered a yell, started up, and retreated under cover of
one of the outhouses.

“Victory! victory!” shouted Gregory, “I have
routed the copper-colored catiffs. See how they
scamper.”

His exultation was, however, speedily checked by
his master, who without saying a word, seized him by
the shoulder, conducted him to the cellar, and locking
him in, put the key in his pocket. An hour, or more
elapsed without the re-appearance of the redmen, and
it began to be hoped, that Gregory had indeed discouraged
them from any further attacks. But this
hope was soon dispelled by the advance of the enemy,
from behind the barn, each with a lighted torch. It
was evidently their intention to fire the house, and

[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]

force its inmates either to perish in the flames, or come
forth to meet even a more cruel death. Again every
gun was pointed with a steady aim, and at a signal
from the old Cavalier the fire was given—three
savages fell, and some others limped off in the rear, as
the main body retreated once more to their cover,
yelling with rage and disappointment.

Another pause ensued—a dreary pause—filled up
by the spectacle of the conflagration of Harold's residence,
which was distinctly seen from that of Master
Tyringham. A detachment from the beseiging party
had plundered, set it on fire, and were dancing like
demons around the ruins. The fugitives contemplated
the spectacle in silent sorrow; but the thought of
what would have happened had they been there, reconciled
them to their loss, and they were grateful. A
new and nearer danger now presented itself. The
savages were seen emerging from behind the stables,
pushing a wagon laden with straw before them, and
which almost completely protected them, as they
advanced. There was no doubt as to their object,
which was to set fire to the straw, when the wagon
was near enough to communicate it to the building.
This manœuvre at once baffled all their previous
arrangements for defence. There was no time to concert
means to counteract it, and each man was left to
his own resources. It was in vain they kept up a
continued fire; the Indians, sheltered behind the straw,
escaped their aim, and continued pushing the wagon
steadily in a direction to windward of the house. At

[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]

this moment of dread suspense and imminent peril,
Langley suddenly exclaimed—“There is but one
way”—and rushing towards the kitchen, returned
with a blazing firebrand.

“What now?” asked his father.

“Nothing—nothing, sir,”—replied he, hastily.
“Don't stop me—a moment and it will be too late.”

He then made for a door which opened in the direction
of the approaching danger, and in so doing, passed
close to Miriam, who had acted the part of a little
heroine, during the siege, and who suddenly grasped
his arm, as if to detain him. He paused at the interruption,
and Miriam, as if recollecting herself, snatched
away her hand, bent down her eyes, and spoke not a
word. Before any one was aware of his design, he
had hastily opened the door, which was fortunately in
a direction that hid it from the savages, advancing,
and tugging behind the load of straw, and darted forward
in the same line of direction until without being
seen, he had applied the brand to the dry straw, which
in an instant was in a blaze. He then retreated full
speed, but was detected in his flight, and saluted by a
shower of arrows, one of which lodged in his shoulder,
and remained quivering there, as he rushed in, and
closed the door. It was speedily drawn by the overseer,
who was one of the garrison, and like most of his
class, had a smattering of surgery; the blood was
staunched, and Langley, though suffering much pain,
persisted in remaining on duty, so long as he could
point a rifle, or draw a trigger.

[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]

But this daring diversion produced not its merited
consequences. The fire having been speedily extinguished
before it gained the mastery, the wagon was
pushed still nigher and nigher; and as if to aid the
savages in their design, the wind suddenly rose to a
gale. They redoubled their exertions, and at length
having succeeded in spite of the exertions of those
within, in placing the wagon in contact with the
house, they set it on fire, and stood under its cover,
shouting in triumph.

“Our time is come”—said Harold, in a calm, steady
voice—“death is inevitable, but there is at least a
choice how we shall die. How say you, friends, shall
we perish in the flames, or die fighting like men? It
is a righteous cause, when life and all that makes life
dear is at stake. This life is as often a choice of evils
as of good. Follow me, friends, and remember the race
is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. Come
Susan—come Miriam—if it please God, we will die
together. Keep close to me, both.”

Langley now stept forward, and offered his protection
to one or either of the poor desolate women,
whose habits of submission to the will of the husband
and father were so confirmed by long years, that they
spoke not a word, but bowed in silence to Harold's
behest. They had clung to him in life, and were willing
to follow him to death.

“You cannot protect them both,” said Langley.

“Both!” replied Harold; “God only can protect
them. Alas! a little while ago, I said I would not

[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]

trust them even to His keeping; I am punished for my
blasphemy.”

“But I entreat you, sir, for the sake of others, if
not for your own.”

“Enough—no more, Master Langley; in this hour
of mutual extremity, when all of us are destined to
one common fate, all differences should be forgotten,
at least for the present. I would accept thy offer;
but, look yonder! There,” said he, pointing to Mistress
Tyringham, “there bides your watch. A higher
and holier duty calls you. To her who owes her being
to me, I will give my care; to her who gave you
being, give thine, and die for or with her as Heaven
shall will. Now let us go forth and perish by the
tomahawk rather than by fire.

Langley bowed low, and placed himself beside his
mother. He exchanged a look with Miriam more
expressive than words, and all stood ready prepared to
sally forth in the last extremity. In the mean time
the flames rose, and spread throughout the mass of
straw; the dry pine boards began to smoke, and soon
the lively flames ran swiftly along their edges. The
moment for making a last desperate effort had arrived;
the father and children, the husband and wife, had
exchanged a last embrace, and Langley had whispered
something in Miriam's ear that changed her deadly
paleness into a ruddy glow; when, suddenly, a black
cloud, which had been approaching unheeded, sent
forth a vivid flash, followed by a burst of thunder that
seemed to announce the interposition of a higher power.

[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]

The cloud opened its bosom, and a deluge of rain
descended with such volume, as well as fury, as in
a few minutes entirely extinguished the spreading
flames, and drove the savages into the stables for
shelter, where they stood awed into silence, until the
chief addressed them:—

“The Great Spirit of the white man protects the
longknife, and says he must live. Let us return
home, lest he should be angry with us for opposing his
will. Let him live to tell the story of this day, and
teach his children how the redman avenges his
wrongs.”

Under the influence of this feeling they all assented;
and taking up their killed and wounded, retired into
the recesses of the forest, chaunting the song of death.

The little garrison, after awaiting in silent awe
the passing away of the providential shower, and finding
the savages did not make their appearance, proceeded
to consult on what was best to be done. It
was unanimously resolved to remain on the watch till
next morning, and if no attack was made in the
interim, it might be safely inferred that all danger
was over, at least for that time. The night passed
away in anxious suspense, but without any alarms;
and on the morrow, a party went warily forth without
meeting the enemy. On a careful examination
their tracks were traced in the wet ground till they
entered the forest, and it was the unanimous opinion
they had departed not to return.

Feeling now a sense of security, their thoughts

[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]

reverted to the melancholy scene they had witnessed
on the opposite shore, where every appearance of life
and animation had ceased. The savages had departed
after finishing their bloody business, leaving nothing
but ruin and death behind them. One dreary, deathlike
solitude extended for many miles along either side
of the river; and, save those of Master Tyringham,
not a single building was standing. The whole country
wes scathed with fire. The nest of the toiling emmet
was broken up; the labor of lives reduced to ashes;
the meed of dangers, hardships, exile and privation,
for long, suffering years, swept away in a single hour,
and the owner of the fields lay a mangled victim
among their ruins. A party from Master Tyringham's
passed over with a view to rescue any survivor that
might chance to have escaped, and to bury the dead.
The scene was equally calculated to awaken both pity
and vengeance. Here lay a grey-headed Cavalier, who
had fought bravely, for his hands were cut to the bone
in grasping the Indian knife; close by his side was
his wife, who had accompanied him to the New World
to share his fate; and between them a young woman,
doubtless their daughter, with her head cleft asunder
by a tomahawk, and reft of its crown of glossy hair.
Here and there lay little infants with their brains
dashed out; and more than once they encountered
one of these innocent victims clasped in the arms of
its mother, or its faithful black nurse, who had perished
with it. Last of all, lay a banished, wandering
Quaker, whose non-resistance little availed him here.

[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]

Some were basking in the burning sun, and some
lay half consumed in the still smoking ruins, and all
had undergone the bloody Indian rite of scalping.
Men, women, infants, not one was spared. Black and
white lay side by side; and the slave had ascended
with his master to the judgment seat of Him who
knows no distinction. So rolls the wheel of time, and
crushes as it rolls. Shall we while lolling in the lap
of security, enjoying the rich legacy of peace and prosperity
bequeathed us by our forefathers, who paid so
dearly for it, rise up in judgment against them, if in
avenging this bloody tragedy, they took care to prevent
its repetition? Forbid it, justice! or if not justice,
forbid it, gratitude! The pioneers of the New World
came here under the sanction of rights universally
recognized by all Christian nations; they occupied
their early possessions by purchase, or by donation of
the savages; and for a long time afterwards their
weakness placed them under the immediate obligation
of self-defence, the first law of nature.

p316-268 CHAPTER IV.

Resuscitation of Gregory Moth—How Accident sometimes Disconcerts
the Projects of Wise Men—Decisive Consequences of Turning
to the Right instead of the Left—Sensible Cogitations of a Young
Man about Falling in Love—Another Accident Leading to a Long
Talk, which, as Is commonly the Case, Ends in Nothing particular.

[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]

While the events recorded in the preceding chapter
were in progress, Gregory Moth had remained
ensconced in the dire donjon-keep to which he was
consigned by his master. Nor was he, in truth, at
first altogether discontented with his situation, as it
placed him entirely beyond the reach of the Indian
arrows. But there being no window on that side of
the cellar where the savages were making their
approaches, his solicitude to know what was going
forward soon became exceedingly troublesome, and in
process of time the dead silence that prevailed gave
rise to a thousand thronging apprehensions. He was
suffering the martyrdom of fear, when all of a sudden
his nostrils were grievously assailed by a strong effluvia
of smothered smoke, which threw him into an
agony, or rather an ague. He concluded at once that
the house was on fire, and gave himself up for a lost
man. The moment all hope was over, he quietly

[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]

resigned himself to his fate; for the desperation of
cowardice is often a substitute for manly resignation.

He was roused from this state of abject despair, by
the flashes of lightning that penetrated his dungeon,
and the loud peals of thunder that rolled over his head,
followed by the pelting shower, which occurred so
opportunely. After this, a dead silence again ensued,
and he was left to his own conjectures, which finally
ended in a profound sleep, produced by the struggles
of his mind and exhaustion of body. Here he lay
undisturbed, being forgotten by all amid the apprehensions
each one entertained for his own safety, and in
the contemplation of the desolation around.

It so happened, however, that early in the morning
of the day succeeding the raising of the seige, it
became necessary to procure some articles of comfort
or convenience from the cellar, and one of the colored
serfs, who it should have been before noted, had been
safely gathered in their master's fold, on the first alarm,
was dispatched for that purpose. Cuffee, or, as he was
usually called by Gregory, old King Cole, was a native
of Africa, with a face that glistened like a well-polished
boot, luxuriating in the splendors of patent blacking.
Descending into the cellar, which was rather darkish,
King Cole stumbled over the body of Master Gregory,
who was solacing his hunger, which now began to be
rather imperative, with another nap. Being taken by
surprise, the gentleman of color pitched head foremost
against the stone wall of the cellar, but being

[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]

providentially provided with a competency of woolly hair,
escaped without any material damage.

“Gosh!” exclaimed King Cole, rubbing his pate—
“what dat dare yeer?”

“I am a sort of living creature,” quoth Gregory,
“very like a man, I believe, though I can't be certain,
in this dubious light.”

“Hey! Masser Gregory—you hide away from
Indian here—hey?”

“I hide from the Indians! thou discolored specimen
of the genus man—I scorn your words. My master
sent me here to forfeit daylight, and starve in a dungeon,
because I did utterly discomfit and put to flight
the copper-colored catiffs, with my single arm, and he
wanted to get all the credit of the victory to himself.
But Cuffee—good Cuffee—if thou hast the bowels of
a woodcock, I do beseech thee in thy merciful cruelty,
and pitiful hardheartedness, to petition my master to
let me out. I am, as it were, on the extreme edge of
starvation, and could make a glorious meal on pickled
grasshoppers. Go now—do, mine honest Cuffee, and
solicit earnestly for my release. I will reward thee
with the stump of my old pipe.” King Cole graciously
condescended to this pleading, and communicated it
to his master.

“Bless my soul!” exclaimed the Cavalier—“I had
quite forgot poor Gregory, though some how or other,
I felt as if I missed something. Poor fellow—he must
be as hungry as a wolf by this time. Send him
hither—I must beg his pardon.”

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

King Cole obeyed with all the dignified solemnity
of a favorite household servant; but Master Gregory
instead of waiting to receive apologies, had made
tracks towards the kitchen, where finding breakfast
ready, he sat down without saying grace, to the great
discontent of Goody Mildred, and solaced himself with
a degree of satisfaction quite exemplary. And now,
having released friend Gregory, and placed him status
ante bellum, we feel at perfect liberty to proceed in
our narrative with a clear conscience. Some doers of
romances seem so entirely destitute of humanity, that
they will leave a man just on the point of drowning,
or with a house burning over his head, or a sword
through his body, while they lead the gentle reader a
dance no one knows where, leaving the poor victim all
the while in this imminent jeopardy. We remember
a grievous case of this kind, in which a very interesting
young lady fell overboard into the lake of Geneva,
in the first chapter of a romance, and was not rescued
till the middle of the second volume, the author being
occupied all that time in discussing a question of politics.
But, thank our stars, we were not born under
Saturn, to feel pleasure in devouring our own children,
for such we consider the personages of our story.

The destruction of the abode of Harold Habingdon
made it absolutely necessary for himself and family to
continue under the roof of Master Tyringham, until some
other refuge could be provided. Every other building
for a wide circuit around had been consumed; and
though the little capital of the colony had escaped, in

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

consequence of being protected by wooden defences,
guarded by a company of soldiers, it was at a distance
of many miles. Hospitality is the virtue of the new
world, and the old Cavalier, to do him justice, not
only frankly offered his house, but insisted on the
family remaining his guests, until provided with
another residence. Harold did not relish the proposal;
it went against the grain. But there seemed no other
alternative, and after a degree of hesitation that made
the old Cavalier feel quite belligerent, rather stiffly,
and ungraciously, signified his acceptance. Thus
Langley and Miriam became inmates of the same
home in spite of the stern decision of their fathers; and
thus did what could not be foreseen, baffle all the foresight
of these calculating worms. Were it not for fear
of being stigmatized as a turbaned Turk, one might
almost be tempted to believe that what is called the
chapter of accidents is the book of fate.

The wound of Langley Tyringham, though not
dangerous was slow and lingering in its cure. But
at the expiration of a week he was able to leave his
room, and sit out on the piazza, where the refreshing
breezes from the river seemed to infuse new life and
vigor into his frame. Here he was sometimes joined
by different members of the family, in social chat; we
cannot say cheerful chat; for the deep impression of
the recent massacre, joined to the wide-spread desolation
that everywhere presented itself, depressed the
jocund, airy spirit of youth, and turned the gravity of
age to sober melancholy. When Harold announced to

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

his wife and daughter the arrangement he had made,
he contented himself with gravely, almost sternly,
reminding the latter of his former conversation on the
subject of Langley, and repeating his prohibition of all
intercourse, as far as it could be avoided, without
direct offence to their host and his family. In spite of
filial duty, Miriam could not help thinking these
restrictions unreasonable, as regarded herself, and
ungrateful towards those who had opened their house
and their hearts to receive them. Still, she offered no
objection, but as usual acquiesced in his wishes with
silent resignation. She was obedient, as well from a
habit of duty, as from the dictates of conscience. The
deportment of Harold towards her, though in the main
kind and affectionate, was rigid and inflexible in all
matters involving what he termed principle. He
checked the vivacity of her youth, and was intolerant
of all those little amusements, or recreations that had
for their object merely whiling away the hour,
and dissipating that weary listlessness, always the lot
of childhood, when in the absence of all capacity to be
useful it resorts to trifles for amusements. Thus,
instead of growing up among the flowers, her early
days were passed in the shade of her father's pious
gloom. In her infancy, she was never a child, in her
youth, she was never young. Perhaps it was all for
the best, and that this stern discipline prepared her to
endure with patience the severe trials she was destined
to encounter.

Though she avoided Langley, as much as possible,

[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]

without absolute rudeness, strange as it may appear to
some, the less she enjoyed his society, the more she
thought of him. She dwelt on his daring courage in
venturing forth to almost certain death, to save the
lives of his parents, her parents and herself. Had he
risked his life for her alone, she could not have been
more grateful. Nay, her feelings were only the more
fervent, when she remembered that those she most
cherished on earth were involved in the fate from
which he had ventured his life to rescue her. Langley
remained for weeks pale and languid, and pity
allied itself with gratitude—a most formidable confederacy
in the heart of woman.

The robustuous Cavalier, who pitched head foremost
into everything, whether a stone wall, or a feather
bed, had in like manner, in his summary mode of intimating
his wishes, signified to Langley, that though as
a Virginia gentleman, he had invited the family of the
Roundhead to his house, after losing their own, he
must distinctly understand that the edict of non-intercourse
was still in full force. The wise old gentleman
concluded by positively prohibiting his son from falling
in love with the little Crop-ear, since he would
never consent to mix his blood or his name with that
of a rebel to his king, and an apostate from his mother
church. The reader is not to presume from this reference
to mother church, that Master Tyringham was a
very religious man. The honest truth of the matter
is, that though he had fought for the thirty-nine articles,
and was ready to fight again, it would have

[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]

puzzled him mightily to tell what they were. But
people may have a vast deal of bigotry without
much religion.

However this may be, Langley assured his father,
and that with sincerity, that he had not the least
intention of making love to Miriam; whereupon the
worthy Cavalier departed, highly satisfied with the
wisdom of his precaution. Left alone, the young gentleman
began to chafe a little on the bit. He was
now of age—witness the sturgeon's head, and the profound
nap in his chair. Without overrating himself,
he thought he was man enough to resist being treated
as a boy or tied to his father's watchchain. In short,
he waxed rebellious, and meditated an insurrection. It
was well, he thought, that he was not in love with
Miriam, else he might be tempted to woo her, if only
to assert his independence. Then by a very natural
transition, he recalled to mind the sweet and pious
composure, with which she had met the almost certain
approach of a horrible death. He dwelt on her
pale, placid brow, her deep, feeling eye, as it often
watched him in his efforts for her defence; nor did
he forget the involuntary eagerness with which she
grasped his arm, and suddenly relinquished it, as heretofore
related. There were certain looks she had
directed towards him, while the arrow was extracting
from his shoulder, which penetrated deeper than his
wound, and made a more lasting impression. Finally,
having lived much alone in his boyhood, he was accustomed
to soliloquize in thought, and the following may

[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]

serve as a specimen of what occurred to his mind
whenever he was at leisure and alone.

“How strange it seems, that those religious and
political antipathies, which set us together by the ears
in the old world, should extend to the new. What if
her father raised his arm against his lawful sovereign?
For all their claim to divine right, kings are but men,
for they die like other men, and if people are punished
with death for rebelling against their sovereign, I don't
see why a sovereign may not be punished for rebelling
against his people. It strikes me, that kings may
conspire against the just rights of their subjects, as
well as subjects against the lawful prerogative of the
sovereign. If you punish one, why not the other? As
to high church and low church, I don't see that there
is any great difference, where there are no loaves and
fishes to scramble about. Surely it is not only absurd,
but cruel to persecute those who have themselves fled
from persecution. How can people tell whether they
are treading in the paths of truth, or wandering in the
slough of error, except as the Bible teaches them, not
as the Bible is interpreted by those who with all their
arrogance, do not pretend to inspiration? As to poor
Miriam, she is a dear little soul, as innocent as a lamb,
and as pious as a saint. She follows the faith of her
father, as I do that of mine. If we were married—not
that I have the least inclination that way—but if by
some unaccountable accident we were to marry, we
might go to the same church, for we are both Christians,
without disputing about points of faith when we

[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]

came home. It is true, she sings rather long hymns,
but her voice is so sweet, it does my heart good to
hear her. To be sure, there might be some difficulty
about the children. Pshaw! what the deuce am I
thinking about”—and Master Langley concluded his
soliloquy in a huff, by setting forth to cool himself in
a contemplative walk.

It was verging towards sunset, and this was the
first time he had ventured to take a stroll, since he received
the arrow in his shoulder. He naturally bent
his way towards the water, for there is an irresistible
attraction in the running brooks, the silvery lake, and
the winding river. The playful child, happy in its
innocent thoughtlessness, loves to scamper along its
white, sandy shore, and ever and anon, bathe its feet
in the cold water; the lusty boy delights to hurl the
skipping stone athwart its glassy surface, and count
with exultation the number of its leaps; and the caretired
spirit, laden with tears and sorrows, is coaxed for
a while into resignation or forgetfulness, by its soothing
murmurs.

Just before the spirit moved the young philosopher
to indulge in an evening stroll, that mysterious sympathy,
which the reader must already have observed,
had unaccountably produced a concert of action,
between Langley and the little Crop-ear girl—had
impelled Miriam to put on her primitive bonnet, with
the self-same design. She had been accustomed to
walk abroad at will since the illness of Langley, feeling
no apprehension of meeting him, and Harold had

[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]

indulged her under a like conviction. Langley had
not proceeded far, when he saw something he took for
a woman, slowly pacing along, as if in deep contemplation.
He had a presentiment who it was, and
respecting the command of his father, changed his
course, several points of the compass, by which
manœuvre he placed a thick copse of wood betwixt
him and the enemy. Miriam had also seen him coming
towards her, and moved by a similar impulse of
duty, diverged a little at first, until she placed herself
under shelter of the self-same copse, after which she
turned short about, and bent her steps towards the
house, on the opposite side of the cover. Without a
map, we despair of giving a clear idea of their juxta-position;
but certain it is, that these mutual endeavors
to avoid each other suddenly brought them together,
face to face, in turning a sharp angle of the wood.
The truth is, there is no resisting destiny, and it is
useless to argue the point.

The face of Miriam, naturally pale, and that of
Langley rendered so by his late indisposition, both
became suddenly flushed at this awkward and unsought
meeting. To pass without speaking, or to speak without
stopping, would have savored of discourtesy, and
accordingly the young gentleman addressed the young
lady, halting at the same time. It is believed—nay,
it is certain, that his first remark had reference to the
weather, that never failing and—let people say what
they will—that interesting subject, which in some
way or other, enters into almost all the concerns of

[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]

life. Certain pert writers, aspiring to more fashionable
topics, have sneered at this common-place topic, but
after all, it is better to talk of the weather, than to
scandalize our neighbors, or play dummy, like two
John Bulls, when they meet together after a long
absence.

“What a delightful evening,” quoth Langley.

“Delightful,” echoed Miriam; and they rung the
changes on this head, reiterating the same ideas, if
not the same words, until it is believed they scarcely
knew what they were saying. Whether this unconsciousness
extended to what they were doing, is doubtful,
but certain it is, that contrary to all approved
canons of courtesy, instead of the gentleman turning
about with the lady, the lady turned back with him,
without being aware of her condescension; and in
place of returning to the house, they proceeded the
other way, still harping on the beauty of the evening.
All on a sudden, however, Miriam changed the subject,
and fixing her eyes on his face, said in a voice betokening
an interest in the subject—

“You are very pale, and must be tired with your
walk—let us return.”

“Tired, what makes you think so? Is it because
you are tired of me?” said Langley jestingly.

“Why—why—because you look so. You are so
pale and thin; I am sure you must be weak and
weary.”

“Indeed, you are mistaken, I never felt better in
health, or happier in spirit, than at this moment.”

[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]

There was probably something in the tone, manner,
or look, which accompanied these words, that caused a
slight suffusion on the cheek of Miriam.

“Do you think there is no danger from the savages?”
said she hastily.

“None. They will not return. They have pretty
well done their bloody business. Besides, they will
soon have enough to do in defending themselves. We
are preparing an expedition to avenge their cruelties,
and if possible forever prevent their repetition.”

“And do you go with it?”

“Certainly. Every man that can carry a weapon,
or put one foot before the other will go, and do his best
to avenge the blood of his kindred and friends.”

“By shedding his own. But you are not yet fit to
go on such an errand. You are scarcely recovered
from your wound, and should stay at home to protect
us poor women.”

“I am quite able to pull a trigger, and can best
protect you, by destroying your enemies.”

“Yes!”—answered she, with a deep feeling—“yes,
by leaving them alone to their fearful apprehensions,
awakened by every falling leaf, or whisper of the air;
to feed on their miserable anxieties for your fate—to
a conflict of hopes and fears, that only ends in the
certainty of a broken heart. Do not go—I entreat
thee not to go. Do not leave us—I—I—speak in
behalf of thy mother.”

“Would you have me stay at home to be despised
as a coward?” cried Langley, deeply moved by her

[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]

gentle solicitude—“would you have me called coward—
tell me, Miriam?”

“No,” replied she, firmly—“My father is a Christian
soldier, and has often told me that courage is the
great safeguard of the virtues of man, since without
it he may be frightened out of them all, and commit
the deepest crimes through the instigation of fear. I
would not have you be afraid of anything on earth,
but doing wrong. But I wish you could remain with
us, without incurring a name all women hate and
men despise. When do you go?”

“The day after to-morrow.”

“Indeed—so soon. And when do you return?”

“When it pleases Heaven. Perhaps never.”

“Perhaps so,” said Miriam in a low voice—“let us
return home. We have committed a fault to our
fathers. Let us go and ask forgiveness.”

Langley made no attempt to detain her, and they
turned towards the house, apparently little disposed
for further conversation.

p316-282 CHAPTER V.

Miriam Sets an Example to all Dutiful Daughters—Poses Her
Mother with a Knotty Question—Some Prosing about Humdrum
Domestic Matters—A Love Scene between Mildred and Gregory
Moth—Sketch of a Character, and sundry Other Matters.

[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]

Harold Habingdon was now busily employed in erecting
a temporary wooden building for the occupation
of his family, and had frequent occasion to visit the
capital to obtain supplies of materials. It was during
one of these journeys there that the accidental meeting
recorded in the preceding chapter occurred, and consequently,
Miriam, for the present, escaped a lecture for
her involuntary transgression. Like a dutiful daughter,
she, however, immediately disclosed it to Susan;
for her pure and innocent soul never once harbored
the idea of concealing any act or thought from her
mother. She, therefore, frankly told the whole story,
or at least intended to do so. But, somehow or other,
it was no more like what actually occurred, than the
practice of certain very moral and religious people is
to their professions. She said not a word about looks,
tones, and other accompaniments, which are as essential
to the proper understanding of a subject as the

[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]

expression of the face is to a likeness in a picture.
Susan was a kind, rather than an indulgent mother;
and though she seldom commanded her daughter,
expected obedience to her wishes. She gently chid
Miriam for not returning home immediately.

“Would you have done so, mother, if you had been
me?” said Miriam, with perfect simplicity.

“Why, I don't know whether I would, child. Come,
let us go spin.”

The period of departure for the capital to join the
garrison and the few planters that survived the massacre
in the expedition projected by the governor against
the hostile savages, had now arrived. Harold had
returned, and having been cured of his scruples by the
scene he had just witnessed, voluntarily consented to
be one of the party; and the old Cavalier and his son
panted for an opportunity of retaliating on the Indians
the murder of their friends and neighbors. It was felt
by all that a decisive struggle was at hand, which
might decide for ages, perhaps for ever, whether this
portion of the earth was to remain a wild, unfruitful
heritage of savage man, or the wilderness come in
time to blossom as the rose, by the magic of labor.

The evening preceding the morning of the departure
of these adventurous spirits on this fatiguing and dangerous
service was passed in grave and solemn converse,
interrupted by long pauses of painful thought
and gloomy anticipation. Many were the cautions of
the good dames to their helpmates to be careful of the
nightly dews, and morning fogs; and most especially

[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]

were they adjured to keep clear of all trees behind
which the prowling savage might lurk, and launch
his feathery arrows. Good Mistress Tyringham especially
reminded her husband that she had packed up
his nightcap and slippers; whereupon the old Cavalier
kissed her and, though not in merry mood, laughed in
his sleeve while telling her he did not think he should
have much occasion for such rarities.

The hour of parting came, for they were to start
bright and early next morning. It was brief, solemn,
and sad. At the last moment Miriam gave her hand
to Langley; he felt a warm tear fall on his, and heard
a soft tremulous whisper—“Take care of yourself for
all our sakes.” “The tear, thought he, may have been
for her father, but the words were for me;” and he
often dwelt on them as he lay awake in the deep forest
at night, listening to the wolf's long howl, or the shrill
hootings of the solitary owl. The Indian warfare is
no child's play. The American savage is equally crafty
and daring; he moves like a shadow, leaving no track
behind him; instinct and experience have endued him
with a sagacity which often puts to shame the boasted
reason of civilized man, and forces from him an
acknowledgment of his inferiority. In courage he is
a hero, in fortitude a martyr. A union of the virtues
of a North American Indian with those of a civilized
Christian white man would be a great improvement
in the human species. But experience has shown that
the mingling of the blood of the two races rather combines
their vices than their virtues, and produces a

[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]

being inferior to both. The white man is the great
aristocrat of the creation, and cannot amalgamate with
any other color without being soiled by the contact.

The march of our wayfarers was through a long
unbroken succession of woods and wilds, where no milestone
marked the distance, or fingerpost pointed out
the way. By the aid of Indian guides they were enabled
to follow the trail of the Indian party that had desolated
the colony, until, on the thirteenth day, they tracked
them to the village of the great chief who had led the
massacre. Crouching low in the thick forest that
approached to within a few hundred yards of the village,
they waited in breathless silence till the sun
went down, and the shadows of evening gathered
around. They could see that preparations had been
made for a grand feast in celebration of their victory
over the white man, and as soon as it was dark, hundreds
of wild savages, men, women, and children,
issued forth from their cabins carrying lighted torches,
with which they set fire to a vast pile of pine knots,
which anon lighted into a blaze that shed a red and
angry lustre on the scene. Painted like fiends, and
decorated with fantastic yet picturesque grace, the
warriors danced around the fire, to the music of triumphant
yells, brandishing the tomahawk, and howling
forth their exploits in the victory they were now
celebrating. One warrior sung in a sort of recitative
how he had slaughtered the long-knives, and cast them
still quivering with life into the burning flames; another
boasted of the women he had cut down and

[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]

scalped, as they shrieked with agony; and a third
acted over again the massacre of innocent babes, their
brains dashed out, and their bodies trampled in the
dust, or cast among the smoking ruins of the home
where they were born. The blood of the white man
boiled in his veins at hearing these bloody stories.
Some of the victims, whose fate was now rehearsed
with such triumphant exultation, had been their
friends; some their near relations; and among the
lookers on were those who mourned the loss of wives
and children. But for the near prospect of a surer
vengeance, it would have been impossible to restrain
them from instant action; for the scene and the recollections
it brought to mind almost made them mad.

The leaders urged, over and over again, that it
would be best to wait till the feast was over, and the
tired savages sleeping away their debauch; but when
at length they saw the scalps of their kindred, friends,
wives, children, brothers and fathers, brought forth,
and suspended from poles, round which the savages
danced in triumph, they could no longer be restrained.
Both Langley and Harold, in whispered tones of deep
determination, declared, that however bitter and bloody
the aggression, they could not bring themselves to
await the hour proposed, when the disarmed Indians,
become insensible from drunkenness, would be unworthy
victims, incapable of resistance or atonement. It
was true, they would at all events be taken by surprize,
but they were armed, and so far capable of
defending themselves, that it would not be rank

[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]

cowardice to attack them. The old Cavalier seconded
these remonstrances, and an immediate attack was
determined on. The plan of operations had been previously
settled, and the long-knives, who were not sufficiently
numerous to surround the village, emerging
from the forest with silent celerity, were upon the
savage revellers ere they were aware of their coming.

The Indians, though taken by surprise, did not fly,
with the exception of the women and children.
Elated by their late success, and by the boastings and
revellings of the night, they met their foes without
flinching. Man to man, teeth to teeth, they met, and
tugged and struggled for life. No quarter was asked
or given, for the long-knife well knew the tortures
inflicted by the savages on their prisoners, and the
savages felt that they were now about to atone for
their recent massacre. Death or victory was the only
alternative, and death or victory the only thought.
Each one fought for himself, and every man was a
unit. None heard, none heeded the word of command,
if any such was given, for now men had no ears to
hear, or eyes to see, aught but the groans of the dying,
or the bodies of their foes. The fires went out, and
still they fought by the light of the stars, that seemed
to shine brighter than ever on the bloody scene, unconscious
and uncaring. Many gallant deeds were done
that night, and many a gallant spirit, red and white,
never saw the morning. But we will not enter into
particulars. There is enough of bloodshed in the pages
of authentic history, one would think, to satiate the

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

keenest appetite, and we shall only say, that when the
sun rose that day, and smiled on the open space in
front of the village, he saw nothing but smoking ashes,
and earth smoking with blood. The women and
children had fled into the woods, at the first surprise;
but the red armed warriors, had died to a man on the
ground where they stood, and the village had been set
on fire. So ended for this time the war between the
white man and the red, a war “never ending, still
beginning, fighting still, and still destroying.” The
surprise had given the long-knives such a decided
advantage, that their loss was comparatively small.
Of the trio, in which the reader is doubtless most
interested, Langley escaped with a contusion received
by a blow from an Indian club; Harold with a few
hard knocks, and the old Cavalier came off scot free,
bringing home his night-cap and slippers in triumph.

During this brief campaign, Miriam and her mother
said their prayers and plied the needle or the spinning
wheel, while Mistress Tyringham seemed to forget her
anxieties for those abroad in kindly cares for those at
home. There were indeed hours and hours, especially
in the dead silence of night, when dismal fears would
beset them, and the whoop of the owl, or the chaunt
of the whippoorwill, came full charged with all those
omens ascribed to them by superstition, from long past
times. But the cheerful light of morning seldom failed
to assuage these gloomy forebodings, and those blessed
every day duties which must be attended to, in joy or
sorrow, sunshine or rain, forbade that constant, wilful

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

indulgence of care or sorrow, which is one among the
many penalties we pay for what is called the good fortune
of being in a situation that places us above the
necessity of exertion. Busy men, especially politicians,
and philanthropists by profession, with whom meddling
is a disease, are a mischievous race, and a great portion
of their time is spent in doing mischief. But little
busy bee, woman, is always gathering honey, when
employed within doors. Every stitch of the needle,
and every turn of the spinning wheel, administers to
the comfort of somebody; and every step she takes
is on some errand of domestic benevolence, tending
towards a happy household, provided always that she
avoids scolding, and the chimney does not smoke.

All would have gone on smoothly—for the anxious
cares and sad solicitude of the faithful wives and
pious daughters were too deep to ruffle the surface—
had it not been for Master Gregory Moth, who being a
man of notorious valor was left at home for the protection
of the ladies. There had grown up between this
worthy and dame Mildred, the faithful handmaid of
Susan, a desperate sectarian feud, arising from a
difference in politics and religion, similar to that of
their masters—and according to the old saying, “like
master like man,” they kept up a perpetual warfare.
Gregory, being an Oxford man, considered a bishop as
essential to the Protestant Church as a pope is to the
Catholic, and would as soon have turned Turk as give
up the hierarchy. Mildred, on the other hand, never
called the bishops anything but “wolves in sheep's

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

clothing,” and verily believed the mitre a device of
Satan himself. As to the principles of the two sects,
or the points of doctrine in which they differed, they
knew little or nothing and cared less.

Mildred was in the abstract an excellent woman;
practically she had some faults, and many weaknesses.
The great enemy of woman, who figured in the garden
of Eden, had persuaded her, that though not young,
she was still rather handsome, and she had lived so
long in the hope of finding a helpmate, that hope had
almost become a certainty. The vision had become
so familiar that it seemed actual reality. She was,
moreover, violently given to psalm singing, both in
season and out of season, though it must be confessed
her voice did not quite equal the music of the spheres,
as celebrated by the rascally Pagan bards. The fact
is, it was decidedly bad, inasmuch as it united the two
great requisites of shrillness and dissonance, besides
being occasionally as keen as hard cider. It was,
moreover, a most ungovernable and rebellious voice,
always out of the traces; sometimes too high, at
others too low, and continually breaking short off, from
a treble to a bass, without the slightest preliminary
gradation, like unto a desperately-ridden hack, who
suddenly varies his pace from a canter to a trot, from
a trot to a villanous wriggle, and finally ends in a
full stop. In addition to all this, poor Goody Mildred
sung through the nose, and made ugly wry faces just
like a prima donna.

Gregory Moth, who boasted of being not only an

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

Oxford scholar, but a Cavalier, had a special antipathy
to long psalms, most especially the one hundred and
nineteenth, a great favorite of Mildred. If, as the
most witty of all wits, the reverend author of Hudibras,
affirms, in the mischievous spirit of satire, the
Puritans were pious out of pure spite to the Cavaliers,
it may be affirmed with equal truth, that the Cavaliers
were licentious and profane in pure spite to the Puritans.
There was a curious contest—on one side
which should be the best, on the other which should
be the worst. However this may be, the feud which
deluged a nation with blood, and cost a monarch his
head, had somehow or other descended into Mistress
Tyringham's kitchen, and greatly disturbed its accustomed
serenity. These two bulwarks of the faith
scarcely ever met without a sparring, and, if the truth
must be told, Master Gregory often provoked a contest,
from which he always came off triumphant by preserving
his temper. His usual way of rousing the
lion was by singing a stave of some profane song, and
calling her Goody Mildred, a name she abhorred.

A day or two after the departure of the expedition
against the savages, Mildred was sitting in deep contemplation
of the enormities of the wolves in sheep's
clothing, and at the same time humming a stave,
which from long habit she could repeat without thinking.
At this moment Gregory approached her with
fell designs, singing a verse of an old song, to which
she had a special aversion, and which ran thus—

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

“Goody Mildred, I wish you would take a lesson
from me in singing, for you know I was one of the
chaunters at Saint Frydeswide's church, at Oxford. I
never heard an owl hoot with a worse grace. Listen
to me, I'll teach you the true cadenza:” and he roared
out—

“What dog is that, howling?” exclaimed Mildred.
“Get out, you cur;” and she stamped her foot significantly.

“Goody Mildred, of a truth, thou hast little taste
and no voice. Why, I have silenced a whole flock of
wolves with that very song. If you don't like it, I'll
sing you another—Fa, sol, la,—hem—my voice is a
little hoarse.”

“Hoarse!” said the other; “it's always hoarse. It
sounds for all the world like the songs they sing in
Tophet. I wish you'd go and frighten the wolves
again.”

“Well, but Goody Mildred—excellent, exemplary
Mildred—don't be so Crop-earish; and don't turn up

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

your devout, impatient nose at me, as if I was a
bishop. I've a great secret to tell you.”

“Well, what is it? do tell me.” Mildred was apt
to be a little curious.

“Why, marry, I declare I am almost afraid to tell
you, for I might as well expect a drum to keep a
secret. But, really now, as it were, peradventure, and
howbeit, if I am not greatly mistaken in the symptoms,
I am either grievously in love, or at least have
an awful presentiment that I shall soon meet with one
of those fatal accidents called matrimony, and that
without benefit of clergy.”

“Oh, Master Gregory! not without benefit of
clergy; that would be monstrous wicked. But you
are at your nonsense again. I know you are not
serious.”

“Serious and solemn as a toad sitting under his
umbrella, which is metaphorically called his stool.
Am not I a Cavalier, and you know they never tell
fibs like unto the Crop-ears.”

“I don't know any such thing, old Moth,” so she
always called him when out of humor.

“Well, don't be angry, it spoils your looks entirely,
and that is a great pity, seeing you can't well afford
it. So you won't hear my secret?”

“Well, out with it. I'm sure I don't hinder you.”

“As I was saying—no, now I recollect, I have not
yet said it—I am grievously tempted, whether in the
flesh or in the spirit, I know not—whether instigated

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

by the wicked Serpent or not, to commit the awful,
unpardonable, irrevocable sin of matrimony.”

“Now, you don't say so, Master Gregory. You
mean, then, to reform and marry.”

“No, I mean to marry and reform—that is the true
order of succession. To reform before marrying is
putting the cart before the horse; for, inasmuch as
that all men undergo a radical change after marriage,
if they were to wax good beforehand, ten to one they
would revolt afterwards and become little better than
the wicked. But, to return to my text:—I have
deeply pondered the subject for the last thirty years,
and if I could meet with a real bona-fide woman—
I mean a white woman, who has brought her pigs to
the same market,—'Slife, Mistress Mildred, I think
I would purchase one of the plantations over yonder,
that have no owners—for I have saved a little, skimmed
the cream—eh! Mistress Mildred—you understand?”
and Master Gregory slapped his pocket, where
he always carried a few pennies to make a jingling.

“Are you really serious?” asked Mildred, edging her
chair close to him.

“Quite serious, by all—but I won't swear. You
wouldn't like a swearing husband, would you?”

“Husband? Good la! Master Gregory, I never
think of such a thing. But I would exhort him at all
hours, by day and by night, sleeping or waking, eating
or drinking, to give up the practice; and if he
refused—”

“You'd convert him with a broomstick—hey?

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

Mistress Mildred. But to proceed—I have had serious,
nay, insurmountable difficulties in finding a suitable
person; for, you know, women are as scarce here as
swallows in winter. I have—forgive my presumption,
most exalted of women—I have all but determined to
cast myself and fortune at your feet,” and down he
plumped on his knees.

“La! Master Gregory, now you are making game
of me, I can see it in your eyes.”

“Distrust thy spectacles, divine spinster. Mine eyes
lie most impudently, if they convey any such diabolical
insinuations. In good faith, were it not for one
thing—”

“What is that?” cried Mildred, impatiently.

“Why, verily it is this—I will be candid with you,
for I scorn to deceive your unsuspecting innocence.
The fact is, you damsels of a certain age are too apt
to boast of your conquests; you go about like a hen,
cackling as if you had performed a great feat, and
wanted all the world to know it. Now, I am a modest
man, possessed of all the delicacy of my sex, and don't
like to be published in this manner. If it were not for
this serious objection, I do verily believe, I should be
tempted to offer Mistress Habingdon a few pounds of
tobacco, for the rich reversion of your remaining years,
seeing that in all probability you would break my
heart by dying a martyr, to prevent me from hanging
myself in despair.”

Towards the close of this aboriginal declaration,
Goody Mildred had gradually pushed her chair farther

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

and farther from Gregory, who sat with immovable
gravity waiting an answer, which came like a hailstorm.

“Marry come up!” cried she, in a rage. “You
talk of marrying—you talk of buying a plantation,
that can't muster as much as the hundredth part of a
fathom of wampum. You miserable bag of bones—
you smoked herring, that has hung up so long in the
chimney that rats won't touch it. You dried toadstool.
You—you—you—I boast of such a conquest—
I cackle like an old hen! You an Oxford scholar,
that never studied anything but how to make a ninny
of yourself. You a Cavalier—you pretend to have
kept company with gentlemen in London, that never
entered a decent house but to steal cheese-parings,
and never drank anything but two-penny ale, which
you never paid for, at the sign of the fool laughing at
a feather! But I can't live in the same house any
longer, and I'll go tell my mistress so, this blessed
minute.”

“Go say thy prayers, good Mildred, and aggravate
thine apathy,” said Gregory, and Mildred departed in
a rage.

These sparrings happened almost daily, and invariably
ended in an appeal to her mistress, on the part
of Mildred. This placed Susan in an awkward position,
somewhat similar to an exiled monarch, who has
taken refuge with one of his more fortunate neighbors,
and, if he is wise, never meddles with his domestic
concerns, lest he should wear out his welcome, and

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

receive a hint to mind his own business. The world
without, it is said, cannot bear two suns, neither can
the domestic world within doors bear a divided empire.
In that sphere the system of government should be
absolute, and the administration an unit. No division
of power is admissible; and the lordly garment
which has been from time immemorial the emblem of
man's supremacy, should always be hung up at the
outside of the door to indicate a temporary abdication.
The discreet Mistress Habingdon was well aware of
the extreme delicacy of any interference with the affairs
of the domestic empire, and especially with the
conduct of those household menials who exercise the
important functions of ladies of honor, gentlemen ushers,
lords of the bedchamber, and grooms of the stole,
in the courts of puissant monarchs.

Thus, though these frequent complaints of Mildred
were not only disagreeable but painful, still Susan
wisely declined any interference, awaiting with
patience the completion of the temporary building
preparing for their reception, until a better was
finished. By persevering in this prudent course of
non-intervention, it actually happened that the two
ladies, though placed in this dangerous juxta-position,
preserved the most amicable relations, and finally parted
the best friends in the world.

Other than these summer squalls, there was nothing
to disturb the even tenor of their daily routine, except
continued fears and anxieties, which were much
oftener felt than expressed. Nearly four weeks had

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

elapsed, without any tidings of their absent friends,
save certain vague rumors coming from no one knew
where, which only increased their apprehensions.
Buried in the boundless, pathless wilderness, these
hardy adventurers were lost to the world, and had no
means of giving or receiving information. Both parties
remained entirely ignorant of the fate of each other.
But the two matrons had been accustomed to these
trials, which, without hardening their hearts, had given
them firmness to endure either actual or anticipated
evils. Poor little Miriam suffered most, for she had
not been so well schooled in the rough discipline of the
world, and besides anxiety for her father, had now
begun to cherish in secret, and unknown to herself,
another feeling, which sometimes overmasters filial
love.

Notwithstanding the simplicity and self-denial which
formed the basis of her character, she resembled her
father in the depth of his enthusiasm, and the firmness
of his resolution. She was capable—nay, she was
formed for cherishing the most profound and lasting
impressions; and in the misty softness that seemed to
constitute the leading feature of her mind, as it certainly
formed its most touching attraction, there was
sleeping, as it were, a steady, calm resolution, which,
when once formed, and sanctioned by a conviction of
right, was capable of resisting temptation, danger,
violence and death. Her virtues had grown up and
been nourished in the solitude of youth, and like the
giants of the primeval forest, acquired a strength and

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

maturity never to be equalled by any after growth.
Had she been wicked, she would have been a monster;
had time and circumstance concurred, she might
have become a saint or a martyr, like those illustrious
virgins whose pure blood cemented the grand edifice
of the Christian Church. But in her present situation
she seemed far removed from such a destiny. Save
piety and filial love, no other strong feeling had ever
agitated her bosom, until she had frequent opportunities
of meeting Langley Tyringham, who stood before
her all alone, a tall, stately tree in some sandy desert,
without a companion, and without a rival. There was
no one near to compare with him, and the great solitude
around seemed, in her gentle fancy, animated by
him alone. She was not actually in love, or did not
know if she was. She had lately thought a great deal
of Langley, especially since his wound and his absence
on such a perilous adventure, for he accompanied
her father, and they were so closely associated in peril
that it was quite impossible to dwell on one without
recalling the other. But he had never spoke a word
of love to her, though sometimes her heart would
whisper sweetly in her ear, that once or twice at least
the tongueless eloquence of his eyes had flashed a
language more easily learned than our mother tongue,
and far more expressive than that of the flowers by
which the Persian youth conveys his secret love.

The time did indeed pass wearily, sometimes sadly,
with the lonely girl, and every day she found it more
difficult to fix her mind on the objects before her. It

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wandered away into the region of ideal fancies and
visionary anticipations, half shaped, and peering like
objects in a mist, half real, half a dream. Even her
devotions were often intruded on by worldly thoughts,
and anticipations that flitted past and led her away
into the wilderness; or, what was far more winsome
and alluring, into a region of dim visionary delights
such as are never realized in this world. She often
wandered along the river, careless of its smiling
banks or tuneful murmurs; and still oftener sat idle
at her wheel, until roused by catching the eyes of her
mother contemplating her with deep solicitude.

Ah! Miriam, thou hast a secret in that innocent
bosom, and remember what the poet sings:

p316-301 CHAPTER VI.

Return from the Wars—the Cavalier and Roundhead like Each Other
the Less the Better They Become Acquainted—Specific for Dispersing
a Fog—A Communication Ending with Something like a
Declaration.

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One evening, as the three Penelopes were sitting together,
beguiling the time in sober chat and sober
occupation, they were suddenly roused by the entrance
of those who were the subject of their thoughts and
conversation. It is unnecessary to describe the warm,
affectionate welcome they received, or repeat the
thousand eager questions dictated by curiosity or a
deeper interest, and which, contrary to the practice of
many lords of creation, were answered with exemplary
courtesy. All manner of married men should make a
point, when they return home from the daily round of
occupation or pleasure, to answer the inquiries of their
helpmates frankly and fully. They should recollect,
that women are household deities, who only see what
is passing in the world through the windows, and are,
consequently, more curious than the other sex. Nor
should they forget, that they have a right to know
what their husbands have been about during their

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absence. Who knows but that they may have been
carousing it lustily at a tavern, losing money at a
horse race, figuring among the young ladies, or, what
is still more provoking, actually making love to a
fashionable dame just returned from the land of Cicisbeos.
Yet we have seen brutes of husbands who, returning
home from fishing or hunting excursions, would
churlishly make a mystery of how many fish they had
caught, or woodcocks they had shot or missed. This
we affirm to be treason against the domestic queen;
but, like bigamy, it never fails to carry its own punishment
with it, as all men of experience know full well.
If not a storm, there will be a cloudy day after it, as
sure as the world. But a vehement and never-ceasing
desire to render our work highly instructive to all
classes of readers, we fear may draw upon us the indignation
of some and set the others yawning. It can't
be helped. We must have our say, and those who
don't like it may solace themselves with cheap literature
and picture books.

We have said nothing of the meeting of Miriam and
Langley, for the special reason that there was nothing
to say. Their behavior was exceedingly provoking.
Miriam only held out her hand timidly, and Langley,
as he gently pressed her finger ends, softly whispered,
“You see I have taken good care of myself.” The
little goosecap blushed, for she remembered these were
the last words she had spoken to him on his departure.
But there is no time for love scenes just now. We

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have a new house on our hands, and must finish it as
soon as possible.

So at least thought Harold Habingdon, the Roundhead,
who became every day more impatient to remove
from the domicile of the Cavalier, that never said grace
at meals, and ate a hot dinner on a Sunday. The fact
is, the more these two gentlemen saw, the less they liked
each other. Though both good men in their way, they
were continually ruffling each other, without intending
or knowing it. Like two burrs, they never came in
contact without pricking. It was not only a contrast
of opinion on those ticklish subjects, politics and
religion, but their medium of viewing almost everything,
as well as their habits and manners, not only
forbade anything like cordiality, but actually created
a mutual dislike. The Roundhead abhorred drinking,
even to tetotalism, and blasphemed against tobacco.
If asked to take a glass of wine, he declined, with an
air of scornful superiority, which almost amounted to
insult. It happened that just at this time the classical
beverage called mint-julep was invented by some
happy genius, whose name, according to custom, with
most of the great benefactors of mankind, has been
ungratefully forgotten. The inventor of the plough is
unknown, while he of the daguerreotype, who has been
the instrument of marring more human faces than all
the sign painters that ever existed, hath been embalmed
in divers works that will cause his name to last at
least as long as themselves. Well might the sage

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Gregory Moth liken fame unto water, which floats the
feather and lets the diamond sink to the bottom.

The old Cavalier was in truth a man egregiously
inclined to be jovial, though, to do him justice, he
never got “foxed,” as the phrase then was, except on
extraordinary occasions, such as birthdays, holidays,
election days, and friendly carousals among the chosen
few. If ever man had a fair excuse for sailing over
the Bay, it was him; for the juice of the grape and
the juleps did so harmonize with his good qualities,
that he was, if possible, thrice as kindhearted, forgiving,
generous, and loving in his cups, as when sober
as a deacon. With him the love of good wine was a
prelude to the love of his neighbor, not excepting the
Roundhead, whose name he sometimes toasted, when
the wine or the venison was especially good, with the
remark, that “though a Crop-ear, he was as honest as
the day, and as brave as Cæsar, that is to say, on particular
occasions.” But he always relapsed when he
became sober, and hated him mortally, a fact we
relate unwillingly, because it may be that evil-disposed
persons may draw from it an argument in favor of
drinking. Touching mint juleps, it is confidently
asserted, that he was the first man that achieved “a
hail storm,” by the aid of which he boasted he could
at any time disperse a great fog, and thus escape a fit
of the ague. It was with him an incontrovertible
axiom, that any man who would not volunteer a fit of
the gout now and then, for the sake of good fellowship,
was a skinflint, a flincher, and a milksop to boot.

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Finally, he was a devoted disciple of Sir Walter
Raleigh—glory to his name!—and smoked like an
aboriginal; was mighty quick on the trigger; exceedingly
loyal, though he eschewed passive obedience;
rigidly orthodox, in his way; and swore a little upon
occasion.

The Roundhead, it is well known, was neither loyal
nor orthodox, and agreed with King James in nothing
but his disloyalty to tobacco. He never fell into a
passion—that is, he never gave vent to it openly. He
rejected wine on principle; he despised tobacco on
principle; and in short, was fettered by so many principles,
that on the whole, though a man of real worth
he was a disagreeable companion, since he was not
content with abstaining himself and setting a good
example, but lectured others for not following it. With
these, and various other sharp points of contact, it is
no wonder that these two neighbors, when the time
came for Harold to take possession of his new house,
parted worse friends than they had met; the crowning
offence being given by that gentleman, in discovering
what the Cavalier considered an indecent anxiety
to quit his house as soon as possible. They verified
the old observation, that domestic association creates
either friends or enemies. The story goes, that two
men once retired into the wilderness to make maple
sugar. They occupied a large hollow tree, and there
was not another human being within a distance of
twenty miles. They agreed very well at first, but
soon fell to quarreling, and one of them finally

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murdered the other. So, when there was but one family
on the face of the earth, a brother slew his brother in
a religious quarrel. Let us not boast too much of
poor human nature.

After allowing a few days for putting things in
order in the new habitation, Langley Tyringham, considering,
or choosing to consider, the old prohibition
of intercourse abrogated, or superseded by the two
families having not only resided together in peace, but
made war as allies, strolled over one evening to make
a friendly visit of inquiry, and offer his services.
Entering without ceremony, as the door stood wide
open, he found Miriam sitting alone, apparently perfectly
idle—for it was just at that happy hour of twilight,
when all the world has leave to play awhile—
indulging a sort of indolent reverie, in which fancy
hovers like the butterfly from flower to flower without
lighting on any. She started at his entrance, and
though he was received not unkindly, her deportment
evinced a degree of awkward restraint, that
seemed to say he was not altogether welcome. But
soon her habitual calm self-possession returned, and
after a few minutes conversation on past events, she
addressed him with a melancholy gentleness, and her
eyes cast down—

“Langley Tyringham, I have all my life been
accustomed to obey the commands of my father, nor
will I wilfully disobey them but when my own reason
and conscience forbid my obedience.” Here she paused,
as if to take breath, or gather firmness to proceed, and

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Langley thought to himself, “What is coming now?”
She drew a long breath, that seemed almost a sigh,
and then with an effort at cheerfulness proceeded—

“I see thou art a patient listener, and will be as
brief as possible to reward thee. Dost thou remember
the conversation we had together, walking along the
river side?”

“Certainly I do. It has often been recalled to mind,
and I almost think I could repeat every word.”

“Thou rememberest, too, the commands of our—
of your father and mine, that we—that is, that thou
shouldst not seek me again; that we were to hold no
converse, and be as strangers to each other?”

“I do; but don't you know these commands are,
or should be, no longer in force. Have we not lived
together, shared dangers together, suffered and rejoiced
together, since that time? Surely our fathers
can be no longer enemies after having been thus
closely associated with each other, when all their
earthly interests were bound up together. I feel myself
free to come and go, unless you forbid me. If
my visits give you pain, I will see you no more.”

“They do indeed, and—”

“I am gone, then, Miriam”—said he, in a tone of
sadness—“If my presence, as I understand you, is
disagreeable, I will trouble you no more; for, however
deeply I may regret its loss, I would not seek your
society at such a price. Farewell!”

“Thou—thou dost not understand me, Langley.
Thy visits are not disagreeable, but painful to me,

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because they involve a breach of duty. O! were it
not for that, I should”—and here she checked herself
in some confusion.

“What then?” asked he, eagerly.

“No matter what; it is of little consequence. Let
me say what I have to say. I am commissioned by my
father, at my earnest request, to say to thee, that having
been sheltered under the roof of thy father from danger
and death—having been his guest and shared his generous
hospitality, he cannot bring himself to forbid your
seeing me in his own house. But he entreats thee,
for reasons of the deepest moment, reasons which can
never be overcome, and that become every day stronger,
that—that thou wouldst spare him the painful necessity
of forbidding thy visits, by voluntarily discontinuing
them.”

“Why, what, in the name of heaven, have I done to
awaken such strong antipathy? But, no matter; his
wishes and yours shall be obeyed. In my father's
house all are welcome, and his son is too proud to
intrude where that is wanting. Farewell, Miss Habingdon;
though you drive me away, I will still watch
over you, and be your protector, should protection be
required.”

“Alas! Langley, say not my wishes,” replied she,
sadly; “for why, now that we shall meet no more—
why should I not tell thee frankly, that but for that
unhappy feeling of dislike, I might almost call it antipathy,
between our fathers, it would have been a

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

pleasure to me to see you here, or elsewhere. But it is
forbidden, and obedience is my duty.

“Miriam—Miriam—does it indeed give you no pain
to think we shall meet no more?”

“It does, indeed. Why should I, who have all my
life considered it right to speak the truth, speak falsely
now? I shall be more lonely than ever. My feelings
and my thoughts will have no one to commune with,
and I shall prey upon myself. I shall be sorry so see
thee no more. But it must be so.”

There was a touching, plaintive simplicity and feeling
in this frank confession of innocent regard that
waked up all the latent enthusiasm of Langley's soul,
and caused him to pour it forth before her, without
control—

“Thanks, Miriam—dearest Miriam—a thousand
thanks, of love and gratitude, for your gentle kindness.
Nay, hear me before I go—hear me declare to
you that I love you better than any living being—that
you are dearer to my heart than all in this world
besides, and that nothing on earth shall prevent your
being mine but your own heart and your own will.
You say you have always been accustomed to tell the
truth, and I believe you. Tell me—the question imports
much, and your answer more—tell me, would
you, did no duty, no parental authority interfere—
would you forbid my visits after what I have now said.
Think what you say, and answer frankly.”

Miriam reflected a few minutes, as if to realize the
import of the question, and then firmly replied—

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