“Cruel—most heartless—am I so low in thy sight?
See, I am at thy feet—trample me in the dust—I will
not shrink—I will not reproach thee.”

“Thou shouldst shame at this practice upon my
feelings. Thou, Hugh Grayson—with thy mind, with
thy pride—shouldst not aim to do by passionate entreaty
what thou mayst not do by sense and right reason.
Rise, sir—thou canst not move me now. Thou
hast undone thyself in my sight—thou needst not sink
at my feet to have me look down upon thee.”

Had a knife gone into the heart of the young man,
a more agonizing expression could not have overshadowed
his countenance. The firmness of the maiden
had taught him her strength not less than his own
weakness. He felt his error, and with the mind for
which she had given him credit, he rose, with a new
determination, to his feet.

“Thou art right, Miss Matthews—and in all that
has passed, mine has been the error and the wrong. I
will not ask for the regards which I should command;
but thou shalt hear well of me henceforward, and wilt
do me more grateful justice when we meet again.”

“I take thy promise, Hugh, for I know thy independence
of character, and such a promise will not be
necessary now for thy good. Take my hand—I forgive
thee. It is my weakness, perhaps, to do so—but
I forgive thee.”

He seized her hand, which she had, with a girlish
frankness, extended to him, carried it suddenly to his
lips, and immediately left the dwelling.

CHAPTER XVI.

“The storm cloud gathers fast, the hour's at hand,
When it will burst in fury o'er the land;
Yet is the quiet beautiful—the rush
Of the sweet south is all disturbs the hush,
While, like pure spirits, the pale night-stars brood
O'er forests which the Indian bathes in blood.”

[figure description] Page 124.[end figure description]

A brief and passing dialogue between Grayson and
the pastor, at the entrance, partially explained to the
latter the previous history. The disposition of Matthews
in regard to the pretensions of Grayson to his
daughter's hand—of which he had long been conscious—
was rather favourable than otherwise. In this
particular, the suit of Grayson derived importance from
the degree of ill-favour with which the old gentleman
had been accustomed to consider that of Harrison.
With strong prejudices, the pastor was quite satisfied
to obey an impression, and to mistake, as with persons
of strong prejudices is frequently the case, an impulse
for an argument. Not that he could urge any thing
against the suiter who was the favourite of his child—
of that he felt satisfied—but, coming fairly under the
description of the doggerel satirist, he did not dislike
Harrison a jot less for having little reason to dislike
him. And there is something in this.

It was, therefore, with no little regret, he beheld the
departure of Grayson under circumstances so unfavourable
to his suit. From his own, and the lips of
his daughter, alike, he had been taught to understand
that she had objections; but the emotion of Grayson,
and the openly-expressed indignation of Bess, at once
satisfied him of the occurrence of that which effectually
excluded the hope that time might effect some
change for the better. He was content, therefore,
simply to regret what his own good sense taught him

[figure description] Page 125.[end figure description]

he could not amend, and what his great regard for his
child's peace persuaded him not to attempt.

Grayson, in the meantime, hurried away under
strong excitements. He had felt deeply the denial,
but far more deeply the rebukes of the maiden. She
had searched narrowly into his inner mind—had probed
close its weaknesses—had laid bare to his own eyes
those silent motives of his conduct, which he had not
himself dared to analyze or encounter. His pride was
hurt by her reproaches, and he was ashamed of the
discoveries which she had made. Though mortified
to the soul, however, there was a redeeming principle
at work within him. He had been the slave of his
mood; but he determined, from that moment, upon the
overthrow of the tyranny. To this she had counselled
him; to this his own pride of character had also counselled
him; and, though agonized with the defeated
hopes clamouring in his bosom, he adopted a noble
decision, and determined to be at least worthy of the
love which he yet plainly felt he could never win.
His course now was to adopt energetic measures in
preparing for any contest that might happen with the
Indians. Of this danger he was not altogether conscious.
He did not imagine it so near at hand, and
had only given in to precautionary measures with regard
to his mother, in compliance with his brother's
wish, and as no great inconvenience could result from
their temporary removal. But the inflexible obstinacy
of the pastor in refusing to take the shelter of the contiguous
Block House, led him more closely to reflect
upon the consequent exposure of Bess Matthews; and,
from thus reflecting, the danger became magnified to
his eyes. He threw himself, therefore, upon the steed
of Harrison, as soon as he reached the Block House;
and without troubling himself to explain to any one his
intentions, for he was too proud for that, he set off at
once, and at full speed, to arouse such of the neighbouring
foresters as had not yet made their appearance
at the place of gathering, or had been too remotely
situated for previous warning.

[figure description] Page 126.[end figure description]

The old pastor, on parting with the disappointed
youth, re-entered the dwelling, and without being perceived
by his daughter. She stood in the middle of
the apartment, her finger upon her lips, and absorbed
in meditation as quiet as if she had never before been
disturbed for an instant; like some one of those fine
imbodiments of heavenward devotion we meet with
now and then in a Holy Family by one of the old masters.
He approached her, and when his presence became
evident, she knelt suddenly before him.

“Bless me, father—dear father—bless me, and let
me retire.”

“God bless you, Bess—and watch over and protect
you—but what disturbs you? You are troubled.”

“I know not, father—but I fear. I fear something
terrible, yet know not what. My thoughts are all in
confusion.”

“You need sleep, my child, and quiet. These excitements
and foolish reports have worried you; but a
night's sleep will make all well again. Go, now—go
to your mother, and may the good angels keep you.”

With the direction, she arose, threw her arms about
his neck, and with a kiss, affectionately bidding him
good night, she retired to her chamber, first passing
a few brief moments with her mother in the adjoining
room. Calling to the trusty negro who performed
such offices in his household, the pastor gave
orders for the securing of the house, and retired to his
chamber also. July—the name of the negro—proceeded
to fasten the windows, which was done by
means of a wooden bolt; and thrusting a thick bar of
knotted pine into hooks on either side of the door, he
coolly threw himself down to his own slumbers alongside
of it. We need scarcely add, knowing the susceptibility
of the black in this particular, that sleep was
not slow in its approaches to the strongest tower in the
citadel of his senses. The subtle deity soon mastered
all his sentinels, and a snore, not the most scrupulous
in the world, sent forth from the flattened but

[figure description] Page 127.[end figure description]

capacious nostrils, soon announced his entire conquest
over the premises he had invaded.

But though she retired to her chamber, Bess Matthews
in vain sought for sleep. Distressed by the
previous circumstances, and warmly excited as she
had been by the trying character of the scene through
which she had recently passed, she had vainly endeavoured
to find that degree of quiet, which she felt
necessary to her mental not less than to her physical
repose. After tossing fruitlessly on her couch for a
fatiguing hour, she arose, and slightly unclosing the
window, the only one in her chamber, she looked
forth upon the night. It was clear, with many stars—
a slight breeze bent the tree-tops, and their murmurs,
as they swayed to and fro, were pleasant to her melancholy
fancies. How could she sleep when she thought
of the voluntary risk taken by Harrison? Where
was he then—in what danger, surrounded by what
deadly enemies?—perhaps under their very knives,
and she not there to interpose—to implore for—to save
him. How could she fail to love so much disinterested
generosity—so much valour and adventure, taken, as
with a pardonable vanity, she fondly thought, so much
for her safety and for the benefit of hers. Thus musing,
thus watching, she lingered at the window, looking
forth, but half conscious as she gazed, upon the thick
woods, stretching away in black masses, of those old
Indian forests. Just then, the moon rose calmly and
softly in the east—a fresher breeze rising along with,
and gathering seemingly with her ascent. The river
wound partly before her gaze, and there was a long
bright shaft of light—a pure white gleam, which
even its ripples could not overcome or dissipate,
borrowed from the pale orb just then swelling above
it. Suddenly a canoe shot across the water in the
distance—then another, and another—quietly, and with
as little show of life, as if they were only the gloomy
shades of the past generation's warriors. Not a voice,
not a whisper—not even the flap of an oar, disturbed
the deep hush of the scene; and the little canoes that

[figure description] Page 128.[end figure description]

showed dimly in the river from afar, as soon as they
had overshot the pale gleamy bar of the moon upon
its bosom, were no longer perceptible. Musing upon
these objects, with a vague feeling of danger, and an
oppressive sense at the same time of exhaustion,
which forbade any thing like a coherent estimate of
the thoughts which set in upon her mind like so many
warring currents, Bess left the window, and threw
herself, listlessly yet sad, upon the side of the couch,
vainly soliciting that sleep which seemed so reluctant
to come. How slow was its progress—how long
before she felt the haze growing over her eyelids.
A sort of stupor succeeded—she was conscious of the
uncertainty of her perception, and though still, at intervals,
the beams from the fast ascending moon
caught her eyes, they flitted before her like spiritual
forms that looked on and came but to depart. These at
length went from her entirely as a sudden gust closed
the shutter, and a difficult and not very sound slumber
came at last to her relief.

A little before this, and with the first moment of the
rise of the moon on the eastern summits, the watchful
Hector, obedient to his orders, prepared to execute the
charge which his master had given him at parting.
Releasing Dugdale from the log to which he had been
bound, he led the impatient and fierce animal down
to the river's brink, and through the tangled route only
known to the hunter. The single track, imperfectly
visible in the partial light, impeded somewhat his progress,
so that the moon was fairly visible by the time
he reached the river. This circumstance was productive
of some small inconvenience to the faithful
slave, since it proved him something of a laggard in
his duty, and at the same time, from the lateness of
the hour, occasioned no little anxiety in his mind for
his master's safety. With a few words, well understood
seemingly by the well-trained animal, he cheered
him on, and pushing him to the slight trench made by
the horse's hoof, clearly defined upon the path, and
which had before been shown him, he thrust his nose

[figure description] Page 129.[end figure description]

gently down upon it, while taking from his head the
muzzle, without which he must have been a dangerous
neighbour to the Indians, for whose pursuit he had
been originally trained by the Spaniards, in a system,
the policy of which was still in part continued, or
rather, of late, revived, by his present owner.

“Now, gone—Dugdale, be off, da's a good dog, and
look for your mossa. Dis he track—hark—hark—
hark, dog—dis de track ob he critter. Nose 'em, old
boy—nose 'em well. Make yourself good nigger, for
you hab blessed mossa. Soon you go, now, better for
bote. Hark 'em, boy, hark 'em, and hole 'em fast.”

The animal seemed to comprehend—looked intelligently
up into the face of his keeper, then stooping
down, carefully drew a long breath, as he scented the
designated spot, coursed a few steps quickly around it,
and then, as if perfectly assured, sent forth a long deep
bay, and set off on the direct route with all the fleetness
of a deer.

“Da, good dog dat, dat same Dugdale. But he hab
reason—Hector no gib 'em meat for noting. Spaniard
no teach 'em better, and de Lord hab mercy 'pon dem
Ingin, eff he once stick he teet in he troat. He
better bin in de fire, for he nebber leff off, long as he
kin kick. Hark—da good dog, dat same Dugdale.
Wonder way mossa pick up da name for 'em; speck
he Spanish—in English, he bin Dogdale.”

Thus soliloquizing after his own fashion, the negro
turned his eyes in the direction of the strange vessel,
lying about a mile and a half above the bank upon
which he stood, and now gracefully outlined by the
soft light of the moon. She floated there, in the
bosom of the stream, still and silent as a sheeted
spectre, and to all appearance with quite as little life.
Built after the finest models of her time, and with a
distinct regard to the irregular pursuits in which she
was engaged, her appearance carried to the mind an
idea of lightness and swiftness which was not at
variance with her character. The fairy-like tracery
of her slender masts, her spars, and cordage,

[figure description] Page 130.[end figure description]

harmonized well with the quiet water upon which she rested
like some native bird, and with the soft and luxuriant
foliage covering the scenery around, just then coming
out from shadow into the gathering moonbeams.

While the black looked, his eye was caught by
a stir upon the bank directly opposite, and at length,
shooting out from the shelter of cane and rush which
thickly fringed a small lagune in that direction, he distinctly
saw eight or ten large double canoes making
for the side of the river upon which he stood. They
seemed filled with men, and their paddles were moved
with a velocity only surpassed by the silence which
accompanied their use. The mischief was now sufficiently
apparent, even to a mind so obtuse as that of the
negro; and without risking any thing by personal
delay, but now doubly aroused in anxiety for his master,
whose predictions he saw were about to be
verified, he took his way back to the Block House,
with a degree of hurry proportioned to what he felt
was the urgency of the necessity. It did not take
him long to reach the Block House, into which he soon
found entrance, and gave the alarm. Proceeding to
the quarter in which the wife of Granger kept her
abode, he demanded from her a knife—all the weapon
he wanted—while informing her, as he had already
done those having charge of the fortress, of the approaching
enemy.

“What do you want with the knife, Hector?”

“I want 'em, misses—da's all—I guine after mossa.”

“What! the captain?—why, where is he, Hector?”

“Speck he in berry much trouble. I must go see
arter 'em. Dugdale gone 'ready—Dugdale no better
sarbant dan Hector. Gib me de knife, misses—dat
same long one I hab for cut he meat.”

“But, Hector, you can be of very little good if the
Indians are out. You don't know where to look for
the captain, and you'll tread on them as you go through
the bush.”

“I can't help it, misses—I must go. I hab hand
and foot—I hab knife—I hab eye for see—I hab toot

[figure description] Page 131.[end figure description]

for bite—I 'trong, misses, and I must go look for
mossa. God! misses, if any ting happen to mossa,
wha Hector for do? where he guine—who be he new
mossa? I must go, misses—gib me de knife.”

“Well, Hector, if you will go, here's what you want.
Here's the knife, and here's your master's gun. You
must take that too,” said the woman.

“No—I tank you for noting, misses. I no want
gun; I fraid ob 'em; he kin shoot all sides. I no like
'em. Gib me knife. I use to knife—I kin scalp dem
Injin wid knife after he own fashion. But I no use to
gun.”

“Well, but your master is used to it. You must
carry it for him. He has no arms, and this may save
his life. Hold it so, and there's no danger.”

She showed the timid Hector how to carry the
loaded weapon so as to avoid risk to himself, and persuaded
of its importance to his master, he ventured to
take it.

“Well, dat 'nough—I no want any more. I gone,
misses, I gone—but 'member—ef mossa come back
and Hector loss—'member, I say, I no runway—'member
dat. I scalp—I drown—I dead—ebbery ting happen
to me—but I no runway.”

With these last words, the faithful black started
upon his adventure of danger, resolute and strong, in
the warm affection which he bore his master, to contend
with every form of difficulty. He left the garrison
at the Block House duly aroused to the conflict,
which they were now satisfied was not far off.

CHAPTER XVII.

“Oh! wherefore strike the beautiful, the young,
So innocent, unharming? Lift the knife,
If need be, 'gainst the warrior; but forbear
The trembling woman.”

[figure description] Page 132.[end figure description]

Let us now return to the chamber of Bess Matthews.
She slept not soundly, but unconsciously, and heard
not the distant but approaching cry—“Sangarrah-me—
Sangarrah-me!” The war had begun; and in the
spirit and with the words of Yemassee battle, the thirst
for blood was universal among their warriors. From
the war-dance, blessed by the prophet, stimulated by
his exhortations, and warmed by the blood of their
human sacrifice, they had started upon the war-path in
every direction. The larger division, led on by Sanutee
and the prophet, took their course directly for Charlestown,
while Ishiagaska, heading a smaller party, proceeded
to the frontier settlements upon the Pocota-ligo,
intending massacre along the whole line of the
white borders, including the now flourishing town
of Beaufort. From house to house, with the stealth
of a cat, he led his band to indiscriminate slaughter,
and diverging with this object from one settlement to
another, he continued to reach every dwelling-place of
the whites known to him in that neighbourhood. But
in many he had been foiled. The providential arrangement
of Harrison, wherever, in the brief time
allowed him, he had found it possible, had rendered
their design in great part innocuous throughout that
section, and duly angered with his disappointment, it
was not long before he came to the little cottage of the
pastor. The lights had been all extinguished, and,
save on the eastern side, the dwelling lay in the deepest
shadow. The quiet of the whole scene formed

[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]

an admirable contrast to the horrors gathering in perspective,
and about to destroy its sacred and sweet
repose for ever.

With the wonted caution of the Indian, Ishiagaska
led on his band in silence. No sound was permitted
to go before the assault. The war-whoop, with which
they anticipate or accompany the stroke of battle, was
not suffered in the present instance to prepare with a
salutary terror the minds of their destined victims.
Massacre, not battle, was the purpose, and the secret
stratagem of the marauder usurped the fierce habit of
the avowed warrior. Passing from cover to cover, the
wily savage at length approached the cottage with his
party. He stationed them around it, concealed each
under his tree. He alone advanced to the dwelling
with the stealth of a panther. Avoiding the clear
path of the moon, he availed himself, now of one and
now of another shelter—the bush, the tree—whatever
might afford a concealing shadow in his approach;
and where this was wanting, throwing himself flat
upon the ground, he crawled on like a serpent—now
lying snug and immoveable, now taking a new start
and hurrying in his progress, and at last placing himself
successfully alongside of the little white paling
which fenced in the cottage, and ran at a little distance
around it. He parted the thong which secured
the wicket with his knife, ascended the little avenue,
and then, giving ear to every quarter of the dwelling,
and finding all still, proceeded on tiptoe to try the
fastenings of every window. The door he felt was
secure—so was each window in the body of the house
which he at length encompassed, noting every aperture
in it. At length he came to the chamber where Bess
Matthews slept,—a chamber forming one half of the
little shed, or addition to the main dwelling—the other
half being occupied for the same purpose by her
parents. He placed his hand gently upon the shutter,
and with savage joy he felt it yield beneath his touch.

The moment Ishiagaska made this discovery, he
silently retreated to a little distance from the dwelling,

[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]

and with a signal which had been agreed upon—the
single and melancholy note of the whip-poor-will, he
gave notice to his band for their approach. Imitating
his previous caution, they came forward individually
to the cottage, and gathering around him, under the
shadow of a neighbouring tree, they duly arranged the
method of surprise.

This done, under the guidance of Ishiagaska, they
again approached the dwelling, and a party having
been stationed at the door in silence, another party
with their leader returned to the window which was
accessible. Lifted quietly upon the shoulders of two
of them, Ishiagaska was at once upon a level with it.
He had already drawn it aside, and by the light of the
moon which streamed into the little apartment, he was
enabled with a single glance to take in its contents.
The half-slumbering girl felt conscious of a sudden
press of air—a rustling sound, and perhaps a darkening
shadow; but the obtrusion was not sufficient to
alarm into action, faculties which had been so very
much unbraced and overborne by previous exertion,
under the exciting thoughts which had so stimulated,
and afterward so frustrated them. She lay motionless,
and the wily savage descended to the floor with all the
velvet-footed stealthiness of design, surveying silently
all the while the reclining and beautiful outline of his
victim's person. And she was beautiful—the ancient
worship might well have chosen such an offering in
sacrifice to his choice demon. Never did her beauty
show forth more exquisitely than now, when murder
stood nigh, ready to blast it for ever, hurrying the sacred
fire of life from the altar of that heart which had
maintained itself so well worthy of the heaven from
whence it came. Ishiagaska looked on, but with no
feeling inconsistent with the previous aim which had
brought him there. The dress had fallen low from
her neck, and in the meek, spiritual light of the moon,
the soft, wavelike heave of the scarce living principle
within her bosom was like that of some blessed thing
susceptible of death, yet at the same time strong in

[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]

the possession of the most exquisite developments
of life. Her long tresses hung about her neck, relieving,
but not concealing, its snowy whiteness. One arm
fell over the side of the couch, nerveless, but soft
and snowy as the frostwreath lifted by the capricious
wind. The other lay pressed upon her bosom above
her heart, as if restraining those trying apprehensions
which had formed so large a portion of her prayers
upon retiring. It was a picture for any eye but that
of the savage—a picture softening any mood but that
of the habitual murderer. It worked no change in the
ferocious soul of Ishiagaska. He looked, but without
emotion. Nor did he longer hesitate. Assisting
another of the Indians into the apartment, who passed
at once through it into the hall adjoining, the door of
which he was to unbar for the rest, Ishiagaska now
approached the couch, and drawing his knife from the
sheath, the broad blade was uplifted, shining bright
in the moonbeams, and the inflexible point bore down
upon that sweet, white round, in which all was loveliness,
and where was all of life—the fair bosom, the
pure heart, where the sacred principles of purity
and of vitality had at once their abiding place. With
one hand he lifted aside the long white finger that lay
upon it, and in the next instant the blow was given;
but the pressure of his grasp, and at the same moment
the dazzling light of the moon, directed from the blade
under her very lids, brought instant consciousness to
the maiden. It was an instinct that made her grasp
the uplifted arm with a strength of despairing nature,
not certainly her own. She started with a shriek, and
the change of position accompanying her movement,
and the unlooked-for direction and restraint given to
his arm, when, in that nervous grasp, she seized it, partially
diverted the down-descending weapon of death.
It grazed slightly aside, inflicting a wound of which
at that moment she was perfectly unconscious. Again
she cried out with a convulsive scream, as she saw
him transfer the knife from the one to the other hand.
For a few seconds her struggles were all-powerful, and

[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]

kept back for that period of time the fate which had
been so certain. But what could the frail spirit, the
soft hand, the unexercised muscles avail or achieve,
against such an enemy and in such a contest. With
another scream, as of one in a last agony, consciousness
went from her in the conviction of the perfect
fruitlessness of the contest. With a single apostrophe—

“God be merciful—father—Gabriel, save me—Gabriel—
Ah! God, God—he cannot—” her eye closed,
and she lay supine under the knife of the savage.

But the first scream which she uttered had reached
the ears of her father, who had been more sleepless
than herself. The scream of his child had been sufficient
to give renewed activity and life to the limbs of
the aged pastor. Starting from his couch, and seizing
upon a massive club which stood in the corner of his
chamber, he rushed desperately into the apartment of
Bess, and happily in time. Her own resistance had
been sufficient to give pause for this new succour, and
it ceased just when the old man, now made conscious
of the danger, cried aloud in the spirit of his faith,
while striking a blow which, effectually diverting
Ishiagaska from the maiden, compelled him to defend
himself.

“Strike with me, Father of Mercies,” cried the old
Puritan—“strike with thy servant—thou who struck
with David and with Gideon, and who swept thy waters
against Pharaoh—strike with the arm of thy poor instrument.
Make the savage to bite the dust, while I
strike—I slay in thy name, Oh! thou avenger—even
in the name of the Great Jehovah.”

And calling aloud in some such apostrophe upon the
name of the Deity at every effort which he made with
his club, the old pastor gained a temporary advantage
over the savage, who, retreating from his first furious
assault to the opposite side of the couch, enabled him
to place himself alongside of his child. Without
giving himself a moment even to her restoration, with
a paroxysm that really seemed from heaven, he

[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]

advanced upon his enemy—the club swinging over his
head with an exhibition of strength that was remarkable
in so old a man. Ishiagaska pressed thus, unwilling
with his knife to venture within its reach, had
recourse to his tomahawk, which hurriedly he threw
at the head of his approaching assailant. But the aim
was wide—the deadly weapon flew into the opposite
wall, and the blow of the club rung upon the head of
the Indian with sufficient effect, first to stagger, and
then to bring him down. This done, the old man
rushed to the window, where two other savages were
labouring to elevate a third to the entrance, and with
another sweep of his mace he defeated their design,
by crushing down the elevated person whose head
and hands were just above the sill of the window.
In their confusion, drawing to the shutter, he securely
bolted it, and then turned with all the aroused affections
of a father to the restoration of his child.

Meanwhile, the Indian who had undertaken to unclose
the main entrance for his companions, ignorant
of the sleeping negro before it, stumbled over him.
July, who, like most negroes suddenly awaking, was
stupid and confused, rose however with a sort of instinct,
and rubbing his eyes with the fingers of one
hand, he stretched out the other to the bar, and without
being at all conscious of what he was doing,
lifted it from its socket. He was soon brought to a
sense of his error, as a troop of half naked savages
rushed through the opening, pushing him aside with a
degree of violence which soon taught him his danger.
He knew now that they were enemies; and with the
uplifted bar still in his hand, he felled the foremost of
those around him—who happened to be the fellow who
first stumbled over him—and rushed bravely enough
among the rest. But the weapon he made use of
was an unwieldy one, and not at all calculated for such
a contest. He was soon taught to discover this, fatally,
when it swung uselessly around, was put aside by
one of the more wily savages, who, adroitly closing in
with the courageous negro, soon brought him to the

[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]

ground. In falling, however, he contrived to grapple
with his more powerful enemy, and down in a close
embrace they went together. But the hatchet was in
the hand of the Indian, and a moment after his fall it
crushed into the scull of the negro. Another and
another blow followed, and soon ended the struggle.
While the pulse was still quivering in his heart, and
ere his eyes had yet closed in the swimming convulsions
of death, the negro felt the sharp blade of the
knife sweeping around his head. The conqueror was
about to complete his triumph by taking off the scalp of
his victim, “as ye peel the fig when the fruit is fresh,”
when a light, borne by the half dressed lady of the
pastor, appeared at the door of her chamber, giving
life to the scene of blood and terror going on in the
hall. At the same moment, followed by his daughter,
who vainly entreated him to remain in the chamber,
the pastor rushed headlong forward, wielding the club,
so successful already against one set of enemies, in
contest with another.

“Go not, father—go not,” she cried earnestly, now
fully restored to the acutest consciousness, and clinging
to him passionately all the while.

“Go not, John, I pray you—” implored the old lady,
endeavouring to arrest him. But his impulse, under
all circumstances, was the wisest policy. He could
not hope for safety by hugging his chamber, and a bold
struggle to the last—a fearless heart, ready hand, and
teeth clinched with a fixed purpose—are true reason
when dealing with the avowed enemy. A furious inspiration
seemed to fill his heart as he went forward,
crying aloud—

“I fear not. The buckler of Jehovah is over his
servant. I go under the banner—I fight in the service
of God. Keep me not back, woman—has he not said—
shall I misbelieve—he will protect his servant. He
will strike with the shepherd, and the wolf shall be
smitten from the fold. Avoid thee, savage, avoid thee—
unloose thee from thy prey. The sword of the
Lord and of Gideon!”

[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]

Thus saying, he rushed like one inspired upon the
savage whose knife had already swept around the head
of the negro. The scalping of July's head was a more
difficult matter than the Indian had dreamed of, fighting
in the dark. It was only when he laid hands upon it
that he found the difficulty of taking a secure hold.
There was no war-tuft to seize upon, and the wool had
been recently abridged by the judicious scissors. He
had, accordingly, literally, to peel away the scalp by
the flesh itself. The pastor interposed just after he
had begun the operation.

“Avoid thee, thou bloody Philistine—give up thy
prey. The vengeance of the God of David is upon
thee. In his name I strike, I slay.”

As he shouted he struck a headlong, a heavy blow,
which, could it have taken effect, would most probably
have been fatal. But the pastor knew nothing of the
arts of war, and though on his knees over the negro,
and almost under the feet of his new assailant, the
Indian was too “cunning of fence,” too well practised in
strategy, to be overcome in this simple manner. With
a single jerk which completed his labour, he tore the
reeking scalp from the head of the negro, and dropping
his own at the same instant on a level with the floor,
the stroke of the pastor went clean over it; and the
assailant himself, borne forward incontinently by the
ill-advised effort, was hurried stunningly against the
wall of the apartment, and in the thick of his enemies.
In a moment they had him down—the club wrested
from his hands, and exhaustion necessarily following
such prodigious and unaccustomed efforts in so old a
man, he now lay without effort under the knives of his
captors.

With the condition of her father, all fear, all stupor,
passed away instantly from the mind of Bess Matthews.
She rushed forward—she threw herself between them
and their victim, and entreated their knives to her heart
rather than to his. Clasping the legs of the warrior
immediately bestriding the body of the old man, with
all a woman's and a daughter's eloquence, she prayed

[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]

for pity. But she spoke to unwilling ears, and to
senses that, scorning any such appeal in their own
cases, looked upon them with sovereign contempt when
made by others. She saw this in the grim smile with
which he heard her apostrophes. His white teeth,
peering out between the dusky lips which enclosed
them, looked to her fears like those of the hungry tiger
gnashing with delight at the banquet of blood at last
spread before it. While yet she spoke, his hand tore
away from her hair a long and glittering ornament
which had confined it—another tore from her neck the
clustering necklace which could not adorn it; and the
vain fancies of the savage immediately appropriated
them as decorations for his own person—her own
head-ornament being stuck most fantastically in the
long, single tuft of hair—the war-tuft, and all that is
left at that period—of him who had seized it. She
saw how much pleasure the bauble imparted, and a
new suggestion of her thought gave her a momentary
hope.

“Spare him—spare his life, and thou shalt have
more—thou shalt have beads, and rings. Look—look,”—
and the jewelled ring from her finger, and another,
a sacred pledge from Harrison, were given into his
grasp. He seized them with avidity.

“Good—good—more!” cried the ferocious but frivolous
savage, in the few words of broken English which
he imperfectly uttered in reply to hers, which he well
understood, for such had been the degree of intimacy
existing between the Yemassees and the settlers, that
but few of the former were entirely ignorant of some
portions of the language of the latter. So far, something
had been gained in pleasing her enemy. She
rushed to the chamber, and hurried forth with a little
casket, containing a locket, and sundry other trifles
commonly found in a lady's cabinet. Her mother, in
the meanwhile, having arranged her dress, hurriedly
came forth also, provided, in like manner, with all such
jewels as seemed most calculated to win the mercy
which they sought. They gave all into his hands,

[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]

and, possibly, had he been alone, these concessions
would have saved them,—their lives at least,—for
these, now the spoils of the individual savage to whom
they were given, had they been found in the sack of
the house, must have been common stock with all of
them. But the rest of the band were not disposed for
mercy when they beheld such an appropriation of their
plunder, and while they were pleading with the savage
for the life of the pastor, Ishiagaska, recovered from
the blow which had stunned him, entering the apartment,
immediately changed the prospects of all the
party. He was inflamed to double ferocity by the
stout defence which had been offered where he had
been taught to anticipate so little; and with a fierce
cry, seizing Bess by the long hair which, from the loss
of her comb, now streamed over her shoulders, he waved
the tomahawk in air, bidding his men follow his example
and do execution upon the rest. Another savage,
with the word, seized upon the old lady. These sights
re-aroused the pastor. With a desperate effort he
threw the knee of his enemy from his breast, and was
about to rise, when the stroke of a stick from one of
the captors descended stunningly, but not fatally, and
sent him once more to the ground.

“Father—father!—God of mercy—look, mother!
they have slain him—they have slain my father!” and
she wildly struggled with her captor, but without avail.
There was but a moment now, and she saw the hatchet
descending. That moment was for prayer, but the
terror was too great; for as she beheld the whirling arm
and the wave of the glittering steel, she closed her
eyes, and insensibility came to her relief, while she
sunk down under the feet of the savage—a simultaneous
movement of the Indians placing both of her parents
at the same moment in anticipation of the same awful
destiny.

CHAPTER XVIII.

“Captives, at midnight, whither lead you them,
Heedless of tears and pity, all unmoved
At their poor hearts' distress? Yet, spare their lives.”

[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]

The blow was stayed—the death, deemed inevitable,
was averted—the captives lived. The descending arm
was arrested—the weapon thrown aside, and a voice
of authority, at the most interesting juncture in the lives
of the prisoners, interposed for their safety. The new
comer was Chorley, the captain of the pirate, heading
his troop of marines, and a small additional force of
Indians. He was quite as much rejoiced as the captives,
that he came in time for their relief. It was not
here his policy to appear the man of blood, or to destroy,
though mercilessly destructive wherever he appeared
before. There were in the present instance many reasons
to restrain him. The feeling of “auld lang syne”
alone might have had its effect upon his mood; and,
though not sufficiently potent, perhaps, for purposes of
pity in a bosom otherwise so pitiless, yet, strengthened
by a passion for the person of Bess Matthews, it
availed happily to save the little family of the pastor.
Their safety, indeed, had been his object, and he had
hurried towards their dwelling with the first signal of
war, as he well knew the dangers to which they would
be exposed, should he not arrive in season, from the
indiscriminate fury of the savages. But the circuitous
route which he had been compelled to take, together
with the difficulties of the forest to sailors, to whom a
march through the tangled woods was something unusual,
left him considerably behind the party led on by
Ishiagaska. Arriving in time to save, however, Chorley
was not displeased that he had been delayed so
long. There was a merit in his appearance at a

[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]

moment so perilous, which promised him advantages he
had not contemplated before. He could now urge a
claim to the gratitude of the maiden, for her own and
the safety of her parents, upon which he built strongly
in his desire to secure her person, if not her heart. This,
at least, under all circumstances, he had certainly determined
upon.

He came at the last moment, but he came in time.
He was well fitted for such a time, for he was bold and
decisive. With a muscle of iron he grasped the arm
of the savage, and thrust him back from his more delicate
victim, while, with a voice of thunder, sustained
admirably by the close proximity of the muskets borne
by the marines, he commanded the savages to yield
their prisoners. A spear-thrust from one of his men
enforced the command, which was otherwise disregarded
in the case of the Indian bestriding Mr. Matthews,
and the old pastor stood once more erect. But
Ishiagaska, the first surprise being over, was not so
disposed to yield his captives.

“Will the white brother take the scalps from Ishiagaska?
Where was the white brother when Ishiagaska
was here? He was on the blind path in the woods—
I heard him cry like the lost child for the scouts of
Ishiagaska. It was Ishiagaska who crept into the
wigwam of the white prophet—look! The white
prophet can strike—the mark of his club is on the
head of a great chief—but not to slay. Ishiagaska has
won the English—they are the slaves of the Yemassee—
he can take their scalps—he can drink their blood—
he can tear out their hearts!”

“I'll be damned if he does, though, while I am here.
Fear not, Matthews, old boy—and you, my beauty
bird—have no fear. You are all safe—he takes my
life before he puts hands on you, by Santiago, as the
Spaniards swear. Hark ye, Ishiagaska—do you understand
what I say?”

“The Yemassee has ears for his brother—let him
speak,” replied the chief, sullenly.

“That means that you understand me, I suppose—

[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]

though it doesn't say so exactly. Well, then—listen.
I'll take care of these prisoners, and account for them
to the Governor of Saint Augustine.”

“The white prophet and the women are for Ishiagaska.
Let our brother take his own scalps. Ishiagaska
strikes not for the Spaniard—he is a warrior of
Yemassee.”

“Well, then, I will account to your people for them,
but they are my prisoners now.”

“Is not Ishiagaska a chief of the Yemassees—shall
the stranger speak for him to his people? Our white
brother is like a cunning bird that is lazy. He looks
out from the tree all day, and when the other bird
catches the green fly, he steals it out of his teeth.
Ishiagaska catches no fly for the teeth of the stranger.”

“Well, as you please; but, by God, you may give
them up civilly or not! They are mine now, and you
may better yourself as you can.”

The brow of the Indian, stormy enough before, put
on new terrors, and without a word he rushed fiercely
at the throat of the sailor, driving forward one hand for
that purpose, while the other aimed a blow at his head
with his hatchet. But the sailor was sufficiently
familiar with Indian warfare, not less than war of most
other kinds, and seemed to have anticipated some
such assault. His readiness in defence was fully
equal to the suddenness of the assault. He adroitly
evaded the direct attack, bore back the erring weapon
with a stroke that sent it wide from the owner's hand,
and grasping him by the throat, waved him to and fro
as an infant in the grasp of a giant. The followers of
the chief, not discouraged by this evidence of superiority,
or by the greater number of seamen with their
white ally, rushed forward to his rescue, and the probability
is that the affair would have been one of mixed
massacre but for the coolness of Chorley.

“Men—each his man! short work, as I order.
Drop muskets, and close handsomely.”

The order was obeyed with promptitude, and the

[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]

Indians were belted in, as by a hoop of iron, without
room to lift a hatchet or brandish a knife, while each
of the whites had singled out an enemy, at whose
breast a pistol was presented. The sailor captain in
the meanwhile appropriated Ishiagaska to himself,
and closely encircled him with one powerful arm,
while the muzzle of his pistol rested upon the Indian's
head. But the affair was suffered to proceed no further,
in this way, by him who had now the chief management.
The Indians were awed, and though they
still held out a sullen attitude of defiance, Chorley,
whose desire was that control of the savages without
which he could hope to do nothing, was satisfied
of the adequacy of what he had done towards his object.
Releasing his own captive, therefore, with a
stentorian laugh, he addressed Ishiagaska:—

“That's the way, chief, to deal with the enemy.
But we are no enemies of yours, and have had fun
enough.”

“It is fun for our white brother,” was the stern and
dry response.

“Ay, what else—devilish good fun, I say—though,
to be sure, you did not seem to think so. But I suppose
I am to have the prisoners.”

“If our brother asks with his tongue, we say no—
if he asks with his teeth, we say yes.”

“Well, I care not, damn my splinters, Ishy—
whether you answer to tongue or teeth, so that you
answer as I want you. I'm glad now that you speak
what is reasonable.”

“Will our brother take the white prophet and the
women, and give nothing to the Yemassee? The
English buy from the Yemassee, and the Yemassee
gets when he gives.”

“Ay, I see—you have learned to trade, and know
how to drive a bargain. But you forget, chief, you
have had all in the house.”

“Good—and the prisoners—they are scalps for
Ishiagaska. But our brother would have them for
himself, and will give his small gun for them.”

[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]

The offer to exchange the captives for the pistol in
his hand, caused a momentary hesitation in the mind
of the pirate. He saw the lurking malignity in the
eye of the savage, and gazed fixedly upon him, then,
suddenly seeming to determine, he exclaimed,—

“Well, it's a bargain. The captives are mine, and
here's the pistol.”

Scarcely had the weapon been placed in the hands
of the wily savage, than he hastily thrust it at the head
of the pirate, and crying aloud to his followers, who
echoed it lustily “Sangarrah-me—Yemassee,” he
drew the trigger. A loud laugh from Chorley was all
the response that followed. He had seen enough of
the Indian character to have anticipated the result of
the exchange just made, and gave him a pistol therefore
which had a little before been discharged. The
innocuous effort upon his life, accordingly, had been
looked for; and having made it, the Indian, whose
pride of character had been deeply mortified by the
indignity to which the sport of Chorley had just subjected
him, folded his arms patiently as if in waiting
for his death. This must have followed but for the
ready and almost convulsive laugh of the pirate; for
his seamen, provoked to fury by the attempt, would
otherwise undoubtedly have cut them all to pieces.
The ready laugh, however, so unlooked-for—so seemingly
out of place—kept them still; and, as much surprised
as the Indians, they remained as stationary too.
A slap upon the shoulder from the heavy hand of the
seaman aroused Ishiagaska with a start.

“How now, my red brother—didst thou think I
could be killed by such as thee? Go to—thou art a
child—a little boy. The shot can't touch me—the
sword can't cut—the knife can't stick—I have a charm
from the prophet of the Spaniards. I bought it and
a good wind, with a link of this blessed chain, and have
had no reason to repent my bargain. Those are the
priests, friend Matthews—now you don't pretend to
such a trade. What good can your preaching do to

[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]

sailors or soldiers, when we can get such bargains for
so little?”

The pastor, employed hitherto in sustaining the form
of his still but half conscious daughter, had been a
silent spectator of this strange scene. But he now,
finding as long as it lasted that the nerves of Bess
would continue unstrung, seized the opportunity afforded
by this appeal, to implore that they might be
relieved of their savage company.

“What, and you continue here?” replied the sailor.
“No, no—that's impossible. They would murder you
the moment I am gone.”

“What then are we to do—where go—where find
safety?'

“You must go with me—with my party, alone, will
you be safe, and while on shore you must remain with
us. After that, my vessel will give you shelter.”

“Never—never—dear father, say no—better that
we should die by the savage,” was the whispered and
hurried language of Bess to her father as she heard
this suggestion. A portion of her speech, only, was
audible to the seaman.

“What's that you say, my sweet bird of beauty—
my bird of paradise?—speak out, there is no danger.”

“She only speaks to me, captain,” said the pastor,
unwilling that the only protector they now had should
be offended by an indiscreet remark.

“Oh, father, that you had listened to Gabriel,” murmured
the maiden, as she beheld the preparations
making for their departure with the soldiers.

“Reproach me not now, my child—my heart is sore
enough for that error of my spirit. It was a wicked
pride that kept me from hearing and doing justice to
that friendly youth.”

The kind word in reference to her lover almost
banished all present fears from the mind of Bess Matthews;
and with tears that now relieved her, and
which before this she could not have shed, she buried
her head in the bosom of the old man.

“We are friends again, Ishiagaska,” extending his

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

hand while he spoke, was the address of the seaman to
the chief, as the latter took his departure from the
dwelling on his way to the Block House. The proffered
hand was scornfully rejected.

“Is Ishiagaska a dog that shall come when you
whistle, and put his tail between his legs when you
storm? The white chief has put mud on the head of
Ishiagaska.”

“Well, go and be d—d, who cares? By God,
but for the bargain, and that the fellow may be useful,
I could send a bullet through his red skin with appetite.”

A few words now addressed to his captives, sufficed
to instruct them as to the necessity of a present movement;
and a few moments put them in as great a
state of readiness for their departure as, under such
circumstances, they could be expected to make. The
sailor, in the meantime, gave due directions to his followers;
and picking up the pistol which the indignant
Ishiagaska had thrown away, he contented himself,
while reloading it, with another boisterous laugh at
the expense of the savage. Giving the necessary
orders to his men, he approached the group, and
tendered his assistance, especially to Bess Matthews.
But she shrunk back with an appearance of horror,
not surely justifiable, if reference is to be had only to
his agency on the present occasion. But the instinctive
delicacy of maidenly feeling had been more than
once outraged in her bosom by the bold, licentious
glance which Chorley had so frequently cast upon her
charms; and now, heightened as they were by circumstances—
by the dishevelled hair, and ill-adjusted
garments—the daring look of his eye was enough to
offend a spirit so delicately just, so sensitive, and so
susceptible as hers.

“What, too much of a lady—too proud, miss, to take
the arm of a sailor? Is it so, parson? Have you taught
so much pride to your daughter?”

“It is not pride, Master Chorley, you should know—
but Bess has not well got over her fright, and it's but

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

natural that she should look to her father first for protection.
It's not pride, not dislike, believe me,” was
the assiduous reply.

“But there's no sense in that, now—for what sort
of protection could you have afforded her if I hadn't
come? You'd ha' been all scalped to death, or there's
no snakes.”

“You say true, indeed, Master Chorley. Our only
hope was in God, who is above all,—to him we look—
he will always find a protector for the innocent.”

“And not much from him either, friend Matthews—
for all your prayers would have done you little good
under the knife of the red-skins, if I had not come at
the very moment.”

“True—and you see, captain, that God did send us
help at the last trying moment.”

“Why, that's more than my mother ever said for me,
parson—and more than I can ever say for myself.
What, Dick Chorley the messenger of God!—Ha! ha!
ha!—The old folks would say the devil rather, whose
messenger I have been from stem to stern, man and boy,
a matter now—but it's quite too far to go back.”

“Do not, I pray, Master Chorley,” said the old man,
gravely—“and know, that Satan himself is God's messenger,
and must do his bidding in spite of his own
will.”

“The deuse you say. Old Nick, himself, God's messenger!
Well, that's new to me, and what the Catechism
and old Meg never once taught me to believe.
But I won't doubt you, for as it's your trade, you ought to
know best, and we'll have no more talk on the subject.
Come, old boy—my good Mrs. Matthews, and you, my
sweet—all ready? Fall in, boys—be moving.”

“Where go we now, Master Chorley?” inquired
the pastor.

“With me, friend Matthews,” was the simple and
rather stern reply of the pirate, who arranged his
troop around the little party, and gave orders to move.
He would have taken his place alongside of the maiden,
but she studiously passed to the opposite arm of

[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]

her father, so as to throw the pastor's person between
them. In this manner the party moved on, in the direction
of the Block House, which the cupidity of Chorley
hoped to find unguarded, and to which he hurried,
with as much rapidity as possible, in order to be
present at the sack. He felt that it must be full of the
valuables of all those who had sought its shelter, and
with this desire he did not scruple to compel the captives
to keep pace with his party, as it was necessary,
before proceeding to the assault, that he should place
them in a condition of comparative safety. A small
cot lay on the banks of the river, a few miles from his
vessel, and in sight of it. It was a rude frame of
poles, covered with pine bark; such as the Indian
hunters leave behind them all over the country. To
this spot he hurried, and there, under the charge of
three marines, well armed, he left the jaded family
dreading every change of condition as full of death,
if not of other terrors even worse than death—and
with scarcely a smaller apprehension of that condition
itself. Having so done, he went onward to the work
of destruction, where we shall again come up with
him.