him that the living Indian was Nick. Then it was, that he gazed more steadily about him, and took in all the horrible truths of that fatal chamber. Mrs. Willoughby was seated in the chair where she had last been seen, perfectly dead. No mark of violence was ever found on her body, however, and there is no doubt that her constant spirit had followed that of her husband to the other world, in submission to the blow which had separated them. Beulah had been shot; not, as was afterwards ascertained, by any intentional aim, but by one of those random bullets, of which so many had been flying through the buildings. The missile had passed through her heart, and she lay pressing the little Evert to her bosom, with that air of steady and unerring affection which had marked every act of her innocent and feeling life. The boy himself, thanks to the tiger-like gallantry of Nick, had escaped unhurt. The Tuscarora had seen a party of six take the direction of this chamber, and he followed with an instinct of their intentions. When the leader entered the room, and found three dead bodies, he raised a yell that betokened his delight at the prospect of gaining so many scalps; at the next instant, while his fingers were actually entwined in the hair of Captain Willoughby, he fell by a blow from Wyandotté. Nick next extinguished the lamp, and then succeeded a scene, which none of the actors themselves could have described. Another Mohawk fell, and the remainder, after suffering horribly from the keen knife of Nick, as well as from blows received from each other, dragged themselves away, leaving the field to the Tuscarora. The latter met the almost bewildered gaze of the major with a smile of grim triumph, as he pointed to the three bodies of the beloved ones, and said "See-all got scalp! Deat' nothin'-scalp, ebberyt'ing." We shall not attempt to describe the outbreaking of an anguish from the husband and brother. It was a moment of wild grief that bore down all the usual restraints of manhood, though it was such a moment as an American frontier residence has often witnessed. The quiet but deep-feeling nature of Beekman received a shock that almost produced a dissolution of his earthly being. He succeeded, however, in raising the still warm body of Beulah from the floor, and folding it to his heart. Happily for his reason, a flood of tears, such as women shed, burst from his soul, rather than from his eyes, bedewing her still sweet and placid countenance. To say that Robert Willoughby did not feel the desolation which so suddenly alighted on a family that had often been quoted for its mutual affection and happiness, would be to do him great injustice. He even staggered under the blow; yet his heart craved further information. The Indian was gazing intently on the sight of Beekman's grief, partly in wonder, but more in sympathy, when he felt an iron pressure of his arm. 66 Maud-Tuscarora," the major rather groaned than whispered in his ear, “know you anything of Maud?" Nick made a gesture of assent; then motioned for the other to follow. He led the way to the storeroom, produced the key, and throwing open the door, Maud was weeping on Robert Willoughby's bosom in another instant. He would not take her to the chamber of death, but urged her, by gentle violence, to follow him to the library. "God be praised for this mercy!" exclaimed the ardent girl, raising her hands and streaming eyes to heaven. "I know not, care not, who is conqueror, since you are safe!" "Oh! Maud-beloved one-we must now be all in all to each other. Death has stricken the others." This was a sudden and involuntary announcement, though it was best it should be so under the circumstances. It was long before Maud could hear an outline even of the details, but she bore them better than Willoughby could have hoped. The excitement had been so high, as to brace the mind to meet any human evil. The sorrow that came afterwards, though sweetened by so many tender recollections and chastened hopes, was deep and enduring. Our picture would not have been complete without relating the catastrophe that befell the Hutted Knoll; but, having discharged this painful duty, we prefer to draw a veil over the remainder of that dreadful night. The cries of the negresses, when they learned the death of their old and young mistress, disturbed the silence of the place for a few minutes, and then a profound stillness settled on the buildings, marking them distinctly as the house of mourning. On further inquiry, too, it was ascertained that Great Smash, after shooting an Oneida, had been slain and scalped. Pliny the younger also fell fighting like a wild beast to defend the entrance to his mistress's apartments. The following day, when light had returned, a more accurate idea was obtained of the real state of the valley. All of the invading party, the dead and wounded excepted, had made a rapid retreat, accompanied by most of the deserters and their families. The name, known influence, and actual authority of Colonel Beekman had wrought this change; the irregular powers that had set the expedition in motion, preferring to conceal their agency in the transaction, rather than make any hazardous attempt to claim the reward of patriotic service, as is so often done in revolutions for merciless deeds and selfish acts. There had been no real design on the part of the whites to injure any of the family in their persons; but, instigated by Joel, they had fancied the occasion favourable for illustrating their own public virtue, while they placed themselves in the way of receiving fortune's favours. The assault that actually occurred was one of those uncontrollable outbreakings of Indian ferocity that have so often set at defiance the restraints of discipline. Nick was not to be found either. He had been last seen dressing his wounds, with Indian patience and Indian skill, preparing to apply herbs and roots, in quest of which he went into the forest about midnight. As he did not return, Willoughby feared that he might be suffering alone, and determined to have a search made as soon as he had performed the last sad offices for the dead. Two days occurred, however, before this melancholy duty was discharged. The bodies of all the savages who had fallen were interred the morning after the assault; but that of Jamie Allen, with those of the principal persons of the family, were kept for the pious purposes of affection until the time mentioned. The funeral was a touching sight. The captain, his wife, and daughter were laid side by side near the chapel; the first and last of their race that ever reposed in the wilds of America. Mr. Woods read the funeral service, summoning all his spiritual powers to sustain him as he discharged this solemn office of the church., Willoughby's arm was around the waist of Maud, who endeavoured to reward his tender assiduities by a smile, but could not. Colonel Beekman held little Evert in his arms, and stood over the grave with the countenance of a resolute man stricken with grief-one of the most touching spectacles of our nature. "I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord," sounded in the stillness of that valley like a voice from heaven, pouring out consolation on the bruised spirits of the mourners. Maud raised her face from Willoughby's shoulder, and lifted her blue eyes to the cloudless vault above her, soliciting mercy, and offering resignation in the look. The line of troops in the background moved, as by a common impulse, and then a breathless silence showed the desire of these rude beings not to lose a syllable. A round red spot formed on each of the cheeks of Mr. Woods as he proceeded, and his voice gathered strength, until its lowest intonations came clear and distinct on every ear. Just as the bodies were about to be lowered into their two receptacles, the captain, his wife, and daughter being laid in the same grave, Nick came with his noiseless step near the little group of mourners. He had issued from the forest only a few minutes before, and understanding the intention of the ceremony, he approached the spot as fast as weakness and wounds would allow. Even he listened with profound attention to the chaplain, never changing his eye from his face, unless to glance at the coffins as they lay in their final restingplace. "I heard a voice from Heaven, saying unto me, Write, From henceforth blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; even so saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labours," continued the chaplain, his voice beginning to betray a tremour; then the gaze of the Tuscarora became keen as the panther's glance at his discovered victim. Tears followed, and for a moment the voice was choked. 66 Why you woman?" demanded Nick, fiercely. "Save all'e scalp!" This strange interruption failed to produce any effect. First Beekman yielded; Maud and Willoughby followed; until Mr. Woods himself, unable to resist the double assaults of the power of sympathy and his own affection, closed the book and wept like a child. It required minutes for the mourners to recover their self-command. When the latter returned, however, all knelt on the grass, the line of soldiers included, and the closing prayers were raised to the throne of God. This act of devotion enabled the mourners to maintain an appearance of greater tranquillity until the graves were filled. The troops advanced, and fired three volleys over the captain's grave, when all retired towards the Hut. Maud had caught little Evert from the arms of his father, and, pressing him to her bosom, the motherless babe seemed disposed to slumber there. In this manner she walked away, attended closely by the father, who now cherished his boy as an only treasure. Willoughby lingered the last at the grave, Nick alone remaining near him. The Indian had been struck by the exhibition of deep sorrow that he had witnessed, and he felt an uneasiness that was a little unaccountable to himself. It was one of the caprices of this strange nature of ours, that he should feel a desire to console those whom he had so deeply injured himself. He drew near to Robert Willoughby, therefore, and, laying a hand on the latter's arm, drew his look in the direction of his own red and speaking face. 'Why so sorry, major?" he said. "Warrior nebber die but once -must die some time.' 66 "There lie my father, my mother, and my only sister, Indianis not that enough to make the stoutest heart bend? You knew them, too, Nick-did you ever know better?" 66 Squaw good-both squaw good-Nick see no pale-face squaw he like so much." 66 "I thank you, Nick! This rude tribute to the virtues of my mother and sister, is far more grateful to me than the calculating and regulated condolence of the world." 66 No squaw so good as ole one-she, all heart-love everybody but self." This was so characteristic of his mother, that Willoughby was startled by the sagacity of the savage, though reflection told him so long an acquaintance with the family must have made a dog familiar with this beautiful trait in his mother. "And my father, Nick!" exclaimed the major, with feeling-"my noble, just, liberal, gallant father!-He, too, you knew well, and must have loved.' "No so good as squaw," answered the Tuscarora, sententiously, and not altogether without disgust in his manner. "We are seldom as good as our wives, and_mothers, and sisters, Nick, else should we be angels on earth. But, allowing for the infirmities of us men, my father was just and good." "Too much flog," answered the savage, sternly, "make Injin's back sore. This extraordinary speech struck the major less at the time than it did years afterwards, when he came to reflect on all the events and dialogues of this teeming week. Such was also the case as to what followed. 66 You are no flatterer, Tuscarora, as I have always found in our intercourse. If my father ever punished you with severity, you will allow me, at least, to imagine it was merited." 66 66 'No Too much flog, I say," interrupted the savage, fiercely. difference, chief or not. Touch ole sore too rough. Good, some; bad, some. Like weather-now shine; now storm." "This is no time to discuss these points, Nick. You have fought nobly for us, and I thank you. Without your aid, these beloved ones would have been mutilated, as well as slain; and Maud-my own blessed Maud-might now have been sleeping at their sides.' Nick's face was now all softness again, and he returned the pressure of Willoughby's hand with honest fervour. Here they separated. The major hastened to the side of Maud, to fold her to his heart, and console her with his love. Nick passed into the forest, returning no more to the Hut. His path led him near the grave. On the side where lay the body of Mrs. Willoughby, he threw a flower he had plucked in the meadow; while he shook his finger menacingly at the other, which hid the person of his enemy. In this he was true to his nature, which taught him never to forget a favour, or forgive an injury. CHAPTER XXX. "I shall go on through all eternity, A FORTNIGHT elapsed ere Willoughby and his party could tear "Be happy while you can," he said, with bitter emphasis. “We live in troubled times, and heaven knows when we shall see better. Maud has not a blood-relation in all America, unless there may happen to be some in the British army. Though we should all be happy to protect and cherish the dear girl, she herself would probably prefer to be near those whom nature has appointed her friends. To me she will always seem a sister, as you must ever be a brother. By uniting yourselves at once all appearances of impropriety will be avoided; and, in time, God averting evil, you can introduce your wife to her English connexions." "You forget, Beekman, that you are giving this advice to one who is a prisoner on parole, and one who may possibly be treated as a spy. "No-that is impossible. Schuyler, our noble commander, is both just and a gentleman. He will tolerate nothing of the sort. Your exchange can easily be effected, and, beyond your present difficulties, I can pledge myself to be able to protect you." Willoughby was not averse to following this advice; and he urged it upon Maud, as the safest and most prudent course they could pursue. Our heroine, however, was so reluctant even to assuming the appearance of happiness, so recently after the losses she had experienced, that the lover's task of persuasion was by no means easy. Maud was totally free from affectation, while she possessed the keenest sense of womanly propriety. Her intercourse with Robert Willoughby had been of the tenderest and most confidential nature, above every pretence of concealment, and was rendered sacred by the scenes through which they had passed. |