The Yemassee.

BUT Bess Matthews was not left to solitude, though left by her lover. A new party came upon the scene, in the person of Hugh Grayson, emerging from the neighbouring copse, from the cover of which he had witnessed the greater portion of the interview between Harrison and the maiden. This unhappy young man, always a creature of the fiercest impulses, in a moment of the wildest delirium of that passion for Bess which had so completely swallowed up his better judgment, not less than all sense of high propriety, had been guilty, though almost unconscious at the time of the woful error, of a degree of espionage, for which, the moment after, he felt many rebukings of shame and conscience. Hurried on, however, by the impetuous impulse of the passion so distracting him, the fine sense, which should have been an impassable barrier rising up like a wall in the way of such an act, had foregone its better control for the moment, and he had lingered sufficiently long under cover to incur the stigma, as he now certainly felt the shame, of having played the part of a spy. But his error had its punishment, even in its own progress. He had seen that which contributed still more to increase his mortification, and to imbitter his soul against the more successful rival, whose felicities he had beheld -- scarcely able to clinch the teeth in silence which laboured all the while to gnash in agony. With a cheek in which shame and a purposeless fury alike showed themselves, and seemed struggling for mastery, he now came forward; and approaching the maiden, addressed her as he did so with some common phrase of formal courtesy, which had the desired effect of making her pause for his coming. He steeled his quivering muscles into something like rigidity, while a vain and vague effort at a smile, like lightning from the cloud, strove visibly upon his features.

"It is not solitude, then," said he, "that brings Miss Matthews into the forest. Its shelter -- its secrecy alone, is perhaps its highest recommendation."

"What is it that you mean, Master Grayson, by your words?" replied the maiden, while something of a blush tinged slightly the otherwise pale and lily complexion of her face.

"Surely I have spoken nothing mysterious. My thought is plain enough, I should think, were my only evidence in the cheek of Miss Matthews herself."

"My cheek speaks nothing for me, Master Grayson, which my tongue should shame to utter; and if you have spoken simply in reference to Gabriel -- Master Harrison I mean -- you have been at much unnecessary trouble. Methinks too, there is something in your own face that tells of a misplaced watchfulness on your part, where your neighbour holds no watch to be necessary."

"You are right, Miss Matthews -- you are right. There is -- there should be, at least -- in my face, acknowledgment enough of the baseness which led me as a spy upon your path -- upon his path!" replied the young man, while his cheek grew once more alternately from ashes to crimson. "It was base, it was unmanly -- but it has had its punishment -- its sufficient punishment, believe me -- in the discovery which it has made. I have seen that, Miss Matthews, which I would not willingly have seen; and which the fear to see, alone, led to the accursed survey. Pardon me, then -- pity me, pity if you can -- though I can neither well pardon nor pity myself."

"I do pardon you, sir -- freely pardon you, for an error which I should not have thought it in your nature intentionally to commit; but what to pity you for, saving for the self reproach which must come with your consciousness, I do not so well see. Your language is singular, Master Grayson."

"Indeed! Would I could be so blind. You have not seen, then -- you know not? Look at me, Miss Matthews -- is there no madness in my eyes -- on my tongue -- in look, word, action? Have I not raved in your ears -- never?"

"No, as I live, never!" responded the astonished maiden. "Speak not in this manner, Master Grayson -- but leave me -- permit me to retire."

"Ha! you would go to him! Hear me, Bess Matthews. -- Do you know him -- this stranger -- this adventurer -- this haughty pretender, whose look is presumption? Would you trust to him you know not? What is he? Can you confide in one whom nobody speaks for -- whom nobody knows? Would you throw yourself upon ruin -- into the arms of a stranger -- a -- "

"Sir, Master Grayson -- this is a liberty -- "

"License, rather, lady! The license of madness; for I am mad, though you see it not -- an abandoned madman; degraded, as you have seen, and almost reckless of all things and thoughts, as all may see in time. God! is it not true? True it is, and you -- you, Bess Matthews -- you are the cause."

"I? -- " replied the maiden, in unmixed astonishment.

"Ay, you. Hear me. I love -- I loved you, Miss Matthews -- have long loved you. We have been together almost from infancy; and I had thought -- forgive the vanity of that thought, Bess Matthews -- I had thought that you might not altogether have been unkind to me. For years I had this thought -- did you not know it? -- for years I lived on in the sweet hope -- the dear promise which it hourly brought me -- for years I had no life, if I had not this expectation! In an evil hour came this stranger -- this Harrison -- it is not long since -- and from that moment I trembled. It was an instinct that taught me to fear, who had never feared before. I saw, yet dreaded to believe in what I saw. I suspected, and shrunk back in terror from my own suspicions. But they haunted me like so many damned spectres. They were everywhere around me, goading me to madness. In my mood, under their spur, I sunk into the spy. I became degraded, -- and saw all -- all! I saw his lip resting upon yours -- warmly, passionately -- and yours, -- yours grew to its pressure, Bess Matthews, and did not seek to be withdrawn."

"No more of this, Master Grayson -- thou hast thought strange and foolish things, and though they surprise me, I forgive them -- I forgive thee. Thou hadst no reason to think that I was more to thee than to a stranger, that I could be more -- and I feel not any self-reproach, for I have done naught and said naught which could have ministered to thy error. Thy unwise, not to say thy unbecoming and unmanly curiosity, Master Grayson, makes me the less sorry that thou shouldst know a truth which thou findest so painful to know."

"Oh, be less proud -- less stern, Bess Matthews. Thou hast taken from this haughty stranger some of his bold assumption of superiority, till thou even forgettest that erring affection may have its claim upon indulgence."

"But not upon justice. I am not proud -- thou dost me wrong, Master Grayson, and canst neither understand me nor the noble gentleman of whom thy words are disrespectful."

"And what is he, that I should respect him? Am I not as free -- a man, -- an honest man -- and what is he more, -- even if he be so much? Is he more ready to do and to dare for thee? -- Is he stronger? -- Will he fight for thee? Ha! if he will! -- "

"Thou shalt make me no game-prize, even in thy thought, Master Grayson -- and thy words are less than grateful to my ears. Wilt thou not leave me?"

"Disrespectful to him, indeed -- a proud and senseless swaggerer, presuming upon his betters. I -- "

"Silence, sir! think what is proper to manhood, and look that which thou art not," exclaimed the aroused maiden, in a tone which completely startled her companion, while she gathered herself up to her fullest height, and waved him off with her hand. "Go, sir -- thou hast presumed greatly, and thy words are those of the ruffian, as thy late conduct has been that of the hireling and the spy. Thou think that I loved thee! -- that I thought of a spirit so ignoble as thine; -- and it is such as thou that would slander and defame my Gabriel, -- he, whose most wandering thought could never compass the tithe of that baseness which makes up thy whole soul." And as she spoke words of such bitter import, her eye flashed and the beautiful lips curled in corresponding indignation, while her entire expression of countenance was that of a divine rebuke. The offender trembled with convulsive and contradictory emotions, and for a few moments after her retort had been uttered, remained utterly speechless. He felt the justice of her severity, though every thought and feeling, in that instant, taught him how unequal he was to sustain it. He had, in truth, spoken without clear intent, and his language had been in no respect under the dominion of reason. But he regained his energies as he beheld her, with an eye still flashing fire and a face covered with inexpressible dignity, moving scornfully away. He recovered, though with a manner wild and purposeless -- his hands and eyes lifted imploringly -- and chokingly, thus addressed her: -

"Leave me not -- not in anger, Bess Matthews, I implore you. I have done you wrong -- done him wrong:" with desperate rapidity he uttered the last passage -- "I have spoken unjustly, and like a madman. But forgive me. Leave me not therefore, with an unforgiving thought, since, in truth, I regret my error as deeply as you can possibly reprove it."

Proud and lofty in her sense, the affections of Bess Matthews were, nevertheless, not less gentle than lofty. She at once turned to the speaker, and the prayer was granted by her glance, ere her lips had spoken.

"I do -- I do forgive thee, Master Grayson, in consideration of the time when we were both children. But thou hast said bitter words in mine ear, which thou wilt not hold it strange if I do not over-soon forget. But doubt not that I do forgive thee; and pray thee for thy own sake -- for thy good name, and thy duty to thyself and to the good understanding which thou hast, and the honourable feeling which thou shouldst have, -- that thou stray not again so sadly."

"I thank thee -- I thank thee," -- was all he said, as he carried the frankly-extended hand of the maiden to his lips, and then rushed hurriedly into the adjacent thicket.

BRED UP amid privation, and tutored as much by its necessities as by a careful superintendence, Bess Matthews was a girl of courage, not less than of feeling. She could endure and enjoy; and the two capacities were so happily balanced in her character, that, while neither of them invaded the authority of the other, they yet happily neutralized any tendency to excess on either side. Still, however, her susceptibilities were great, for at seventeen the affections are not apt to endure much provocation; and deeply distressed with the previous scene, and, with that gentleness which was her nature, grieved sincerely at the condition of a youth, of whom she had heretofore thought so favourably -- but not to such a degree as to warrant the hope which he had entertained, and certainly without having held out to it any show of encouragement -- she re-entered her father's dwelling, and immediately proceeded to her chamber. Though too much excited by her thoughts to enter with her father upon the topic suggested by Harrison, and upon which he had dwelt with such emphasis, she was yet strong and calm enough for a close self-examination. Had she said or done any thing which might have misled Hugh Grayson? This was the question which her fine sense of justice, not less than of maidenly propriety, dictated for her answer; and with that close and calm analysis of her own thoughts and feelings, which must always be the result of a due acquisition of just principles in education, she referred to all those unerring standards of the mind which virtue and common sense establish, for the satisfaction of her conscience, against those suggestions of doubt with which her feeling had assailed it, on the subject of her relations with that person. Her feelings grew more and more composed as the scrutiny proceeded, and she rose at last from the couch upon which she had thrown herself, with a heart lightened at least of the care which a momentary doubt of its own propriety had inspired.

There was another duty to perform, which also had its difficulties. She sought her father in the adjoining chamber, and if she blushed in the course of the recital, in justice to maidenly delicacy, she at least did not scruple to narrate fully in his ears all the particulars of her recent meeting with Harrison, with a sweet regard to maidenly truth. We do not pretend to say that she dwelt upon details, or gave the questions and replies -- the musings and the madnesses of the conversation -- for Bess had experience enough to know that in old ears, such matters are usually tedious enough, and that in this respect, they differ sadly from young ones. She made no long story of the meeting, though she freely told the whole; and with all her warmth and earnestness, as Harrison had counselled, she proceeded to advise the old man of the dangers from the Indians, precisely as her lover had counselled herself.

The old man heard, and was evidently less than satisfied with the frequency with which the parties met. He had not denied Bess this privilege -- he was not stern enough for that; and, possibly, knowing his daughter's character not less than her heart, he was, no means unwilling to confide freely in her. But still he exhorted, in good set but general language, rather against Harrison than with direct reference to the intimacy between the two. He gave his opinion on that subject too, unfavourably to the habit, though without uttering any distinct command. As he went on and warmed with his own eloquence, his help-mate, excellent old lady, who loved her daughter too well to see her tears and be silent -- joined freely in the discourse, and on the opposite side of the question: so that, on a small scale, we are favoured with the glimpse of a domestic flurry, a slight summer gust, which ruffles to compose, and irritates to smooth and pacify. Rough enough for a little while, it was happily of no great continuance; for the old people had lived too long together, and were quite too much dependant upon their mutual sympathies, to suffer themselves to play long at cross purposes. In ceasing to squabble, however, Mrs. Matthews gave up no point; and was too much interested in the present subject readily to forego the argument upon it. She differed entirely from her husband with regard to Harrison, and readily sided with her daughter in favouring his pretensions. He had a happy and singular knack of endearing himself to most people; and the very levity which made him distasteful to the pastor, was, strange to say, one of the chief influences which commended him to his lady.

"Bess is wrong, my dear," at length said the pastor, in a tone and manner meant to be conclusive on the subject -- "Bess is wrong -- decidedly wrong. We know nothing of Master Harrison -- neither of his family nor of his pursuits -- and she should not encourage him."

"Bess is right, Mr. Matthews," responded the old lady, with a doggedness of manner meant equally to close the controversy, as she wound upon her fingers from a little skreel in her lap, a small volume of the native silk. * -- "Bess is right -- Captain Harrison is a nice gentleman -- always so lively, always so polite, and so pleasant. -- I declare, I don't see why you don't like him, and it must be only because you love to go against all other people."

"And so, my dear," gently enough responded the pastor, "you would have Bess married to a -- nobody knows who or what."

"Why, dear me, John -- what is it you don't know? I'm sure I know every thing I want to know about the captain. His name's Harrison -- and -- "

* The culture of silk was commenced in South Carolina as far back as the year 1702 and thirteen years before the date of this narrative. It was introduced by Sir Nathaniel Johnston, then holding the government of the province under the lords proprietors. This gentleman, apart from his own knowledge of the susceptibility, for its production, of that region, derived a stimulus to the prosecution of the enterprise from an exceeding great demand then prevailing in England for the article. The spontaneous and free growth of the mulberry in all parts of the southern country first led to the idea that silk might be made an important item in the improving list of its products. For a time he had every reason to calculate upon the entire success of the experiment, but after a while, the pursuit not becoming immediately productive, did not consort with the impatient nature of the southrons, and was given over -- when perhaps wanting but little of complete success. The experiment, however, was prosecuted sufficiently long to show,. though it did not become an object of national importance, how much might, with proper energy be done toward making it such. Of late days, a new impulse has been given to the trial, and considerable quantities of silk are annually made in the middle country of South Carolina.

"What more?" inquired the pastor with a smile, seeing that the old lady had finished her silk and speech at the same moment.

"Why nothing, John -- but what we do know, you will admit, is highly creditable to him; and so, I do not see why you should be so quick to restrain the young people, when we can so easily require to know all that is necessary before we consent, or any decisive step is taken."

"But, my dear, the decisive step is taken when the affections of our daughter are involved."

The old lady could say nothing to this, but she had her word.

"He is a nice, handsome gentleman, John."

"Beauty is, that beauty does," replied the pastor in a proverb.

"Well, but John, he's in no want of substance. He has money, good gold in plenty, for I've seen it myself -- and I'm sure that's a sight for sore eyes, after we've been looking so long at the brown paper that the assembly have been printing, and which they call money. Gold now is money, John, and Captain Harrison always has it."

"It would be well to know where it comes from," doggedly muttered the pastor.

"Oh, John, John -- where's all your religion? How can you talk so? You are only vexed now -- I'm certain that's it -- because Master Harrison won't satisfy your curiosity."

"Elizabeth!"

"Well, don't be angry now, John. I didn't mean that exactly, but really you are so uncharitable. It's neither sensible nor Christian in you. Why will you be throwing up hills upon hills in the way of Bess' making a good match?"

"I do not, Elizabeth; that is the very point which makes me firm."

"Stubborn, you mean.

"Well, perhaps so, Elizabeth, but stubborn I will be until it is shown to be a good match, and then he may have her with all my heart. It is true, I love not his smart speeches, and then he sometimes makes quite too free. But I shall not mind that, if I can find out certainly who he is, and that he comes of good family, and does nothing disreputable. Remember, Elizabeth, we come of good family ourselves, -- old England can't show a better; and we must be careful to do it no discredit by a connexion for our child."

"That is all true and very sensible, Mr. Matthews, and I agree with you whenever you talk to the point. Now you will admit, I think, that I know when a gentleman is a gentleman, and when he is not -- and I tell you that if Master Harrison is not a gentleman, then give me up, and don't mind my opinion again. I don't want spectacles to see that he comes of good family and is a gentleman."

"Yes, your opinion may be right, but if it is wrong -- what then? The evil will be past remedy."

"It can't be wrong. When I look upon him, I'm certain -- so graceful and polite, and then his dignity and good-breeding."

"Good-breeding, indeed!" and this exclamation the pastor accompanied with a most irreverend chuckle, which had in it a touch of bitterness. "Go to your chamber, Bess, my dear," he said, turning to his daughter, who, sitting in a corner rather behind her mother, with head turned downwards to the floor, had heard the preceding dialogue with no little interest and disquiet. She obeyed the mandate in silence, and when she had gone, the old man resumed his exclamation.

"Good-breeding, indeed! when he told me, to my face, that he would have Bess in spite of my teeth."

The old lady now chuckled in earnest, and the pastor's brow gloomed accordingly.

"Well, I declare, John, that only shows a fine-spirited fellow. Now, as I live, if I were a young man, in the same way, and were to be crossed after this fashion, I'd say the same thing. That I would. I tell you, John, I see no harm in it, and my memory's good, John, that you had some of the same spirit in our young days."

"Your memory's quite too good, Elizabeth, and the less you let it travel back the better for both of us," was the somewhat grave response. "But I have something to say of young Hugh -- Hugh Grayson, I mean. Hugh really loves Bess -- I'm certain quite as much as your Captain Harrison. Now, we know him!"

"Don't speak to me of Hugh Grayson, Mr. Matthews -- for it's no use. Bess don't care a straw for him."

"A fine, sensible young man, very smart, and likely to do well."

"A sour, proud upstart -- idle and sulky -- besides, he's got nothing in the world."

"Has your Harrison any more?"

"And if he hasn't, John Matthews -- let me tell you at least, he's a very different person from Hugh Grayson, besides being born and bred a gentleman."

"I'd like to know, Elizabeth, how you come at that, that you speak it so confidently."

"Leave a woman alone for finding out a gentleman bred from one that is not; it don't want study and witnesses to tell the difference betwixt them. We can tell at a glance."

"Indeed! But I see it's of no use to talk with you now. You are bent on having things all your own way. As for the man, I believe you are almost as much in love with him as your daughter." And this was said with a smile meant for compromise, but the old lady went on gravely enough for earnest.

"And it's enough to make me, John, when you are running him down from morning to night, though you know we don't like it. But that's neither here nor there. His advice is good, and he certainly means it for our safety. Will you do as Bess said, and shall we go to the Block House, till the Indians come quiet again?"

"His advice, indeed! You help his plans wondrously. But I see through his object if you do not. He only desires us at the Block House, in order to be more with Bess than he possibly can be at present. He is always there, or in the neighbourhood."

"And you are sure, John, there's no danger from the Indians?"

"None, none in the world. They are as quiet as they well can be, under the repeated invasion of their grounds by the borderers, who are continually hunting in their woods. By the way, I must speak to young Grayson on the subject. He is quite too frequently over the bounds, and they like him not."

"Well, well -- but this insurrection, John?"

"Was a momentary commotion, suppressed instantly by the old chief Sanutee, who is friendly to us; and whom they have just made their great chief, or king, in place of Huspah, whom they deposed. Were they unkindly disposed, they would have destroyed, and not have saved, the commissioners."

"But Harrison knows a deal more of the Indians than any body else; and then they say that Sanutee himself drove Granger out of Pocota-ligo "

"Harrison says more than he can unsay, and pretends to more than he can ever know, and I heed not his opinion. As for the expulsion of Granger, I do not believe a word of it."

"I wish, John, you would not think so lightly of Harrison. You remember he saved us when the Coosaws broke out. His management did every thing then. Now, don't let your ill opinion of the man stand in the way of proper caution. Remember, John, -- your wife -- your child."

"I do, Elizabeth; but you are growing a child yourself."

"You don't mean to say I'm in my dotage?" said the old lady, quickly and sharply.

"No, no, not that," and he smiled for an instant -- "only, that your timidity does not suit your experience. But I have thought seriously on the subject of this threatened outbreak, and, for myself, can see nothing to fear from the Yemassees. On the contrary, they have not only always been friendly heretofore, but they appear friendly now. Several of them, as you know, have professed to me a serious conviction of the truth of those divine lessons which I have taught them; and when I know this, it would be a most shameful desertion of my duty were I to doubt those solemn avowals which they have made, through my poor instrumentality, to the Deity."

"Well, John, I hope you are right, and that Harrison is wrong. To God I leave it to keep us from evil: in his hands there are peace and safety."

"Amen, amen!" fervently responded the pastor, as he spoke to his retiring dame, who, gathering up her working utensils, was about to pass into the adjoining chamber. "Amen, Elizabeth -- though, I must say, the tone of your expressed reliance upon God has still in it much that is doubtful and unconfiding. Let us add to the prayer, one for a better mood along with the better fortune."

Here the controversy ended; the old lady, as her husband alleged, still unsatisfied, and the preacher himself not altogether assured in his own mind that a lurking feeling of hostility to Harrison, rather than a just sense of his security, had not determined him to risk the danger from the Indians, in preference to a better hope of safety in the shelter of the Block House.

As soon as his interview was over with Bess Matthews, Harrison hurried back to the Block House. He there received confirmatory intelligence of what she had told him. The strange vessel had indeed taken up anchors and changed her position. Availing herself of a favouring breeze, she ascended the river, a few miles nigher the settlements of the Yemassees, and now lay fronting the left wing of the pastor's cottage; -- the right of it, as it stood upon the jutting tongue of land around which wound the river, she had before fronted from below. The new position could only have been chosen for the facility of intercourse with the Indians, which, from the want of a good landing on this side of the river, had been wanting to them where she originally lay. In addition to this intelligence, Harrison learned that which still farther quickened his anxieties. The wife of Granger, a woman of a calm, stern, energetic disposition, who had been somewhat more observant than her husband, informed him that there had been a considerable intercourse already between the vessel and the Indians since her remove -- that their boats had been around her constantly during the morning, and that boxes and packages of sundry kinds had been carried from her to the shore; individual Indians, too, had been distinguished walking her decks; a privilege which, it was well known, had been denied to the whites, who had not been permitted the slightest intercourse. All this confirmed the already active apprehensions of Harrison. He could no longer doubt of her intentions, or of the intentions of the Yemassees; yet, how to proceed -- how to prepare on whom to rely -- in what quarter to look for the attack, and what was the extent of the proposed insurrection; -- was it partial, or general? Did it include the Indian nations generally -- twenty-eight of which, at that time, occupied the Carolinas, or was it confined to the Yemassees and Spaniards? and if the latter were concerned, were they to be looked for in force, and whether by land or by sea? These were the multiplied questions, and to resolve them was the great difficulty in the way of Harrison. That there were now large grounds for suspicion, he could no longer doubt; but how to proceed in arousing the people, and whether it were necessary to arouse the colony at large, or only that portion of it more immediately in contact with the Indians -- and how to inform them in time for the crisis which he now felt was at hand, and involving the fate of the infant colony -- all depended upon the correctness of his acquired information, and yet his fugitive spy came not back, sent no word, and might have betrayed his mission.

The doubts grew with their contemplation. The more he thought of the recent Yemassee discontents the more he dreaded to think. He knew that this discontent was not confined to the Yemassee, but extended even to the waters of the Keowee and to the Apalachian mountains. The Indians had suffered on all sides from the obtrusive borderers, and had been treated, he felt conscious, with less than regard and justice by the provincial government itself. But a little time before, the voluntary hostages of the Cherokees had been treated with indignity and harshness by the assembly of Carolina; having been incarcerated in a dungeon under cruel circumstances of privation, which the Cherokees at large did not appear to feel in a less degree than the suffering hostages themselves, and were pacified with extreme difficulty. The full array of these circumstances to the mind of Harrison, satisfied him of the utter senselessness of any confidence in that friendly disposition of the natives, originally truly felt, but which had been so repeatedly abused as to be no longer entertained, or only entertained as a mask to shelter feelings directly opposite in character. The increasing consciousness of danger, and the failure of Occonestoga, on whose intelligence he had so greatly depended, momentarily added to his disquiet, by leaving him entirely at a loss as to the time, direction, and character of that danger which it had been his wish and province to provide against. Half soliloquizing as he thought, and half addressing Granger who stood beside him in the upper and habitable room of the Block House, the desire of Harrison thus found its way to his lips.

"Bad enough, Granger -- and yet what to do -- how to move -- for there's little use in moving without a purpose. We can do nothing without intelligence, and that we must have though we die for it. We must seek and find out their aim, their direction, their force, and what they depend upon. If they come alone we can manage theirs, unless they scatter simultaneously upon various points and take us by surprise, and this, if I mistake not, will be their course. But I fear this sailor-fellow brings them an ugly coadjutor in the power of the Spaniard. He comes from St. Augustine evidently; and may bring them men -- a concealed force, and this accounts for his refusal to admit any of our people on board. The boxes too, -- did you mark them well, Granger?"

"As well as I might, sir, from the Chief's Bluff."

"And what might they contain, think you?"

"Goods and wares, sir, I doubt not: blankets perhaps -- "

"Or muskets and gunpowder. Your thoughts run upon nothing but stock in trade, and the chance of too much competition. Now, is it not quite as likely that those boxes held hatchets, and knives, and fire-arms? Were they not generally of one size and shape -- long, narrow -- eh? Did you note that?"

"They were, my lord, all of one size, as you describe them. I saw that myself, and so said to Richard, but he did not mind." Thus spoke the wife of Granger, in reply to the question which had been addressed to her husband.

"Did you speak to me?" was the stern response of Harrison, in a tone of voice and severity not usually employed by the speaker, accompanying his speech by a keen penetrating glance, which, passing alternately from husband to wife, seemed meant to go through them both.

"I did speak to you, sir, -- and you will forgive me for having addressed any other than Captain Harrison," she replied, composedly and calmly, though in a manner meant to conciliate and excuse the inadvertence of which she had been guilty in conferring upon him a title which in that region it seemed his policy to avoid. Then, as she beheld that his glance continued to rest in rebuke upon the shrinking features of her husband, she proceeded thus -

"You will forgive him too, sir, I pray you, but it is not so easy for a husband to keep any secret from his wife, and least of all, such as that which concerns a person who has provoked so much interest in all."

"You are adroit, mistress, and your husband owes you much. A husband does find it difficult to keep any thing secret from his wife but his own virtues, and of those she seldom dreams. But pray, when was this wonderful revelation made to you?"

"You were known to me, sir, ever since the Foresters made you captain, just after the fight with the Coosaws at Tulifinnee Swamp."

"Indeed!" was the reply; "well, my good dame, you have had my secret long enough to keep it now. I am persuaded you can keep it better than your husband. How now, Granger! you would be a politician too, and I am to have the benefit of your counsels, and you would share mine. Is't not so and yet, you would fly to your chamber, and share them with a tongue, which, in the better half of the sex, would wag it on every wind, from swamp or sea, until all points of the compass grew wiser upon it."

"Why, captain," replied the trader, half stupidly, half apologetically -- "Moll is a close body enough."

"So is not Moll's worser half," was the reply. "But no more of this folly. There is much for both of us to do, and not a little for you if you will do it."

"Speak, sir, I will do much for you, captain."

"And for good pay. This it is. You must to the Yemassees -- to Pocota-ligo -- see what they do, find out what they design, and look after Occonestoga -- are you ready?"

"It were a great risk, captain."

"Why, true, and life itself is a risk. We breathe not an instant without hazard of its loss, and a plumstone, to an open mouth at dinner, is quite as perilous as the tenth bullet. Sleep is a risk, and one presses not his pillow o'nights, without a prayer against eternity before morning. Show me the land where we risk nothing, and I will risk all to get there."

"It's as much as my life's worth, captain."

"Psha! we can soon count up that. Thou art monstrous fond of thy carcass, now, and by this I know thou art growing wealthy. We shall add to thy gains, if thou wilt go on this service. The assembly will pay thee well, as they have done before. Thou hast not lost by its service."

"Nothing, sir -- but have gained greatly. In moderate adventure, I am willing to serve them now; but not in this. The Yemassees were friendly enough then, and so was Sanutee. It is different now, and all the favour I could look for from the old chief, would be a stroke of his hatchet, to save me from the fire-torture."

"But why talk of detection? I do not desire that thou shouldst allow thyself to be taken. Think you, when I go into battle, the thought of being shot ever troubles me? no! If I thought that, I should not perhaps go. My only thought is how to shoot others; and you should think, in this venture, not of your own, but the danger of those around you. You are a good Indian hunter, and have practiced all their skill. Take the swamp, hug the tree -- line the thicket, see and hear, nor shout till you are out of the wood. There's no need to thrust your nose into the Indian kettles."

"It might be done, captain; but if caught, it would be so much the worse for me. I can't think of it, sir."

"Caught indeed! A button for the man who prefers fear rather than hope. Will not an hundred pounds teach thee reason? Look, man, it is here with thy wife -- will that not move thee to it?"

"Not five hundred, captain, -- not five hundred," replied the trader, decisively. "I know too well the danger, and shan't forget the warning which old Sanutee gave me. I've seen enough of it to keep me back; and though I am willing to do a great deal, captain, for you as well as the assembly, without any reward, as I have often done before, -- for you have all done a great deal for me, -- yet it were death, and a horrible death for me to undertake this. I must not -- I do not say I will not -- but in truth I cannot -- I dare not."

Thus had the dialogue between Harrison and the trader gone on for some time, the former urging and the latter refusing. The wife of the latter all the while had looked on and listened in silence, almost unnoticed by either, but her countenance during the discussion was full of eloquent speech. The colour in her cheeks now came and went, her eye sparkled, her lip quivered, and she moved to and fro with emotion scarcely suppressed, until her husband came to his settled conclusion not to go, as above narrated, when she boldly advanced between him and Harrison, and with her eye settling scornfully upon him, where he stood, she thus addressed him: -

"Now out upon thee, Richard, for a mean spirit. Thou wouldst win money only when the game is easy and all thine own. Hast thou not had the pay of the assembly, time upon time, and for little risk? and because the risk is now greater, wilt thou hold back like a man having no heart? I shame to think of that thou hast spoken. But the labour and the risk thou fearest shall be mine. I fear not the savages -- I know their arts and can meet them, and so couldst thou, Granger, did thy own shadow not so frequently beset thee to scare. Give me the charge which thou hast, captain -- and, Granger, touch not the pounds. Thou wilt keep them, my lord, for other service. I will go without the pay."

"Thou shalt not, Moll -- thou shalt not," cried the trader, interposing.

"But I will, Richard, and thou knowest I will when my lips have said it. If there be danger, I have no children to feel my want, and it is but my own life, and even its loss may save many."

"Moll -- Moll!" exclaimed the trader, half entreating, half commanding in his manner, but she heeded him not.

"And now, my lord, the duty. What is to be done?" Harrison looked on as she spoke, in wonder and admiration, then replied, warmly seizing her hand as he did so.

"Now, by heaven, woman, but thou hast a soul -- a noble, strong, manly soul, such as would shame thousands of the more presumptuous sex. But thy husband has said right in this. Thou shalt not go, and thy words have well taught me that the task should be mine own."

"What! my lord!" exclaimed both the trader and his wife -- "you wilt not trust your person in their hands?"

"No -- certainly not. Not if I can help it -- but whatever be the risk that seems so great to all, I should not seek to hazard the lives of others, where my own is as easily come at, and where my own is the greater stake. So, Granger, be at rest for thyself and wife. I put thyself first in safety, where I know thou wishest it. For thee -- thou art a noble woman, and that free proffer of service is indeed good service this hour to me, since it brings me to recollect my own duty. The hundred pounds are thine, Granger!"

"My lord!"

"No lording, man -- no more of that, but hear me. In a few hours and with the dusk I shall be off. See that you keep good watch when I am gone, for the Block House will be the place of retreat for our people in the event of commotion, and will therefore most likely be a point of attack with the enemy. Several have been already warned, and will doubtless be here by night. Be certain you know whom you admit. Grimstead and Grayson, with several of the foresters, will come with their families, and with moderate caution you can make good defence. No more." Thus counselling, and directing some additional preparations to the trader and his wife, he called for Hector, who a moment after made his appearance, as if hurried away from a grateful employ, with a mouth greased from ear to ear, and a huge mass of fat bacon still clutched tenaciously between his fingers.

"Hector!"

"Sa, mossa."

"Hast fed Dugdale to-day?"

"Jist done feed 'em, mossa."

"See that you give him nothing more -- and get the horse in readiness. I go up the river-trace by the night."

"He done, mossa, as you tell me:" and the black retired to finish the meal, in the enjoyment of which he had been interrupted. At dusk, under the direction of his master, who now appeared gallantly mounted upon his noble steed, Hector led Dugdale behind him to the entrance of a little wood, where the river-trace began upon which his master was going. Alighting from his horse, Harrison played for a few moments with the strong and favourite dog, and thrusting his hand, among other things, down the now-and-then extended jaws of the animal, he seemed to practice a sport to which he was familiar. After this, he made the negro put Dugdale's nose upon the indented track, and then instructed him, in the event of his not returning by the moon-rise, to unmuzzle and place him upon the trace at the point he was leaving. This done, he set off in a rapid gait, Dugdale vainly struggling to go after him.

LEAVING Bess Matthews, as we have seen, under the influence of a fierce and feverish spirit, Hugh Grayson, as if seeking to escape the presence of a pursuing and painful thought, plunged deep and deeper into the forest, out of the pathway, though still in the direction of his own home. His mind was now a complete chaos, in which vexation and disappointment, not to speak of self-reproach, were active principles of misrule. He felt deeply the shame following upon the act of espionage of which he had been guilty, and though conscious that it was the consequence of a momentary paroxysm that might well offer excuse, he was nevertheless too highly gifted with sensibility not to reject those suggestions of his mind which at moments sought to extenuate it. Perhaps, too, his feeling of abasement was not a little exaggerated by the stern and mortifying rebuke which had fallen from the lips of that being whose good opinion had been all the world to him. With these feelings at work, his mood was in no sort enviable; and when at nightfall he reached the dwelling of his mother, it was in a condition of mind which drove him, a reckless savage, into a corner of the apartment opposite that in which sat the old dame croning over the pages of the sacred volume. She looked up at intervals and cursorily surveyed, in brief glances, the features of her son, whose active mind and feverish ambition, warring as they ever did against that condition of life imposed upon him by the necessities of his birth and habitation, had ever been an object of great solicitude to his surviving parent. He had been her pet in his childhood -- her pride as he grew older, and began to exhibit the energies and graces of a strongly-marked and highly original, though unschooled intellect. Not without ambition and an appreciation of public honours, the old woman could not but regard her son as promising to give elevation to the name of his then unknown family; a hope not entirely extravagant in a part of the world in which the necessities of life were such as to compel a sense of equality in all; and, indeed, if making an inequality anywhere, making it in favour rather of the bold and vigorous plebeian, than of the delicately-nurtured and usually unenterprising scion of aristocracy. Closing the book at length, the old lady turned to her son, and without remarking upon the peculiar unseemliness, not to say wildness, of his appearance, she thus addressed him: -

"Where hast thou been, Hughey, boy, since noon? Thy brother and thyself both from home -- I have felt lonesome, and really began to look for the Indians that the young captain warned us of."

"Still the captain -- nothing but the captain. Go where I may, he is in my sight, and his name within my ears. I am for ever haunted by his presence. His shadow is on the wall, and before me, whichever way I turn."

"And does it offend thee, Hughey, and wherefore? He is a goodly gentleman, and a gracious, and is so considerate. He smoothed my cushion when he saw it awry, and so well, I had thought him accustomed to it all his life. I see no harm in him."

"I doubt not, mother. He certainly knows well how to cheat old folks not less than young ones into confidence. That smoothing of thy cushion makes him in thy eyes for ever."

"And so it should, my son, for it shows consideration. What could he hope to get from an old woman like me, and wherefore should he think to find means to pleasure me, but that he is well-bred, and a gentleman?"

"Ay, that is the word, mother -- he is a gentleman -- who knows, a lord in disguise -- and is therefore superior to the poor peasant who is forced to dig his roots for life in the unproductive sands. Wherefore should his hands be unblistered, and mine a sore? Wherefore should he come, and with a smile and silly speech win his way into people's hearts, when I, with a toiling affection of years, and a love that almost grows into a worship of its object, may not gather a single regard from any? Has nature given me life for this? Have I had a thought given me, bidding me ascend the eminence and look down upon the multitude, only for denial and torture? Wherefore is this cruelty, this injustice? Can you answer, mother -- does the Bible tell you any thing on this subject?"

"Be not irreverent, my son, but take the sacred volume more frequently into your own hands if you desire an answer to your question. Why, Hughey, are you so perverse? making yourself and all unhappy about you, and still fevering with every thing you see."

"That is the question, mother, that I asked you but now. Why is it? Why am I not like my brother, who looks upon this Harrison as if he were a god, and will do his bidding, and fetch and carry for him like a spaniel? I am not so -- yet thou hast taught us both -- we have known no other teaching. Why does he love the laughter of the crowd, content to send up like sounds with the many, when I prefer the solitude, or if I go forth with the rest, go forth only to dissent and to deny, and to tutor my voice into a sound that shall be unlike any of theirs? Why is all this?"

"Nay, I know not, yet so it is, Hughey. Thou wert of this nature from thy cradle, and wouldst reject the toy which looked like that of thy brother, and quarrel with the sport which he had chosen."

"Yet thou wouldst have me like him -- but I would rather perish with my own thoughts in the gloomiest dens of the forest, where the sun comes not; and better, far better that it were so -- far better," he exclaimed, moodily.

"What say'st thou, Hughey -- why this new sort of language? what has troubled thee?" inquired the old woman, affectionately.

"Mother, I am a slave -- a dog -- an accursed thing, and in the worst of bondage -- I am nothing."

"How! -- "

"I would be, and I am not. They keep me down -- they refuse to hear -- they do not heed me, and with a thought of command and a will of power in me, they yet pass me by, and I must give way to a bright wand and a gilded chain. Even here in these woods, with a poor neighbourhood, and surrounded by those who are unhonoured and unknown in society, they -- the slaves that they are! -- they seek for artificial forms, and bind themselves with constraints that can only have a sanction in the degradation of the many. They yield up the noble and true attributes of a generous nature, and make themselves subservient to a name and a mark -- thus it is that fathers enslave their children; and but for this, our lords proprietors, whom God in his mercy take to himself, have dared to say, even in this wild land not yet their own, to the people who have battled its dangers -- ye shall worship after our fashion, or your voices are unheard. Who is the tyrant in this? -- not the ruler -- not the ruler -- but those base spirits who let him rule, -- those weak and unworthy, who, taking care to show their weaknesses, have invited the oppression which otherwise could have no head. I would my thoughts were theirs -- or, and perhaps it were better -- I would their thoughts were mine."

"God's will be done, my son -- but I would thou hadst this content of disposition -- without which there is no happiness."

"Content, mother -- how idle is that thought. Life itself is discontent -- hope, which is one of our chief sources of enjoyment, is discontent, since it seeks that which it has not. Content is a sluggard, and should be a slave -- a thing to eat and sleep, and perhaps to dream of eating and sleeping, but not a thing to live. Discontent is the life of enterprise, of achievement, of glory -- ay, even of affection. I know the preachers say not this, and the cant of the books tells a different story; but I have thought of it, mother, and I know! Without discontent -- a serious and unsleeping discontent -- life would be a stagnant stream as untroubled as the back water of the swamps of Edistoh, and as full of to vilest reptiles."

"Thou art for ever thinking strange things, Hugh, and different from all other people, and somehow I can never sleep after I have been talking with thee."

"Because I have thought for myself, mother -- in the woods, by the waters -- and have not had my mind compressed into the old time-mould with which the pedant shapes the sculls of the imitative apes that courtesy considers human. My own mind is my teacher, and perhaps my tyrant. It is some satisfaction that I have no other. It is some satisfaction that I may still refuse to look out for idols such as Walter loves to seek and worship -- demeaning a name and family which he thus can never honour."

"What reproach is this, Hughey? Wherefore art thou thus often speaking unkindly of thy brother? Thou dost wrong him."

"He wrongs me, mother, and the name of my father, when he thus for ever cringes to this captain of yours -- this Harrison -- whose name and image mingle in with his every thought, and whom he thrusts into my senses at every word which he utters."

"Let not thy dislike to Harrison make thee distrustful of thy brother. Beware, Hughey -- beware, my son, thou dost not teach thyself to hate where nature would have thee love!"

"Would I could -- how much more happiness were mine! Could I hate where now I love -- could I exchange affections, devotion, a passionate worship, for scorn, for hate, for indifference, -- any thing so it be change!" and the youth groaned at the conclusion of the sentence, while he thrust his face buried in his hands against the wall.

"Thou prayest for a bad spirit, Hugh; and a temper of sin -- hear now, what the good book says, just where I have been reading;" and she was about to read, but he hurriedly approached and interrupted her -

"Does it say why I should have senses, feelings, faculties of mind, moral, person, to be denied their aim, their exercise, their utterance? Does it say why I should live, for persecution, for shame, for shackles? If it explain not this, mother, -- read not -- I will not hear -- look! I shut my ears -- I will not hear even thy voice -- I am deaf, and would have thee dumb!"

"Hugh," responded the old woman, solemnly -- "have I loved thee or not?"

"Wherefore the question, mother?" he returned, with a sudden change from passionate and tumultuous emotion, to a more gentle and humble expression.

"I would know from thy own lips, that thou thinkest me worthy only of thy unkind speech, and look, and gesture. If I have not loved thee well, and as my son, thy sharp words are good, and I deserve them; and I shall bear them without reproach or reply."

"Madness, mother, dear mother -- hold me a madman, but not forgetful of thy love -- thy too much love for one so undeserving. It is thy indulgence that makes me thus presuming. Hadst thou been less kind, I feel that I should have been less daring."

"Ah! Hugh, thou art wrestling with evil, and thou lovest too much its embrace -- but stay, -- thou art not going forth again to-night?" -- she asked, seeing him about to leave the apartment.

"Yes, yes -- I must, I must go."

"Where, I pray -- "

"To the woods -- to the woods. I must walk -- out of sight -- in the air -- I must have fresh air, for I choke strangely."

"Sick, Hughey, -- my boy -- stay, and let me get thee some medicine."

"No, no, -- not sick, dear mother; keep me not back -- fear not for me -- I was never better -- never better." And he supported her, with an effort at moderation, back to her chair. She was forced to be satisfied with the assurance, which, however, could not quiet.

"Thou wilt come back soon, Hughey, for I am all alone, and Walter is with the captain."

"The captain! -- ay, ay, soon enough, soon enough," and as he spoke he was about to pass from the door of the apartment, when the ill-suppressed sigh which she uttered as she contemplated in him the workings of a passion too strong for her present power to suppress, arrested his steps. He turned quickly, looked back for an instant, then rushed toward her, and kneeling down by her side, pressed her hand to his lips, while he exclaimed -

"Bless me, mother -- bless your son -- pray for him, too -- pray that he may not madden with the wild thoughts and wilder hopes that keep him watchful and sometimes make him wayward."

"I do, Hughey -- I do, my son. May God in his mercy bless thee, as I do now!"

He pressed her hand once more to his lips and passed from the apartment.

FLYING from the house, as if by so doing he might lose the thoughts that had roused him there into a paroxysm of that fierce passion which too much indulgence had made habitual, he rambled, only half conscious of his direction, from cluster to cluster of the old trees, until the seductive breeze of the evening, coming up from the river, led him down into that quarter. The stream lay before him in the shadow of night, reflecting clearly the multitude of starry eyes looking down from the heavens upon it, and with but a slight ripple, under the influence of the evening breeze crisping its otherwise settled bosom. How different from his -- that wanderer! The disappointed love -- the vexed ambition -- the feverish thirst for the unknown, perhaps for the forbidden, increasing his agony at every stride which he took along those quiet waters. It was here in secret places, that his passion poured itself forth -- with the crowd it was all kept down by the stronger pride, which shrunk from the thought of making its feelings public property. With them he was simply cold and forbidding, or perhaps recklessly and inordinately gay. This was his policy. He well knew how great is the delight of the vulgar mind when it can search and tent the wound which it discovers you to possess. How it delights to see the victim writhe under its infliction, and, with how much pleasure its ears drink in the groans of suffering, particularly the suffering of the heart. He knew that men are never so well content, once apprized of the sore, as when they are probing it; unheeding the wincings, or enjoying them with the same sort of satisfaction with which the boy tortures the kitten -- and he determined, in his case at least, to deprive them of that gratification. He had already learned how much we are the sport of the many, when we become the victims of the few.

The picture of the night around him was not for such a mood. There is a condition of mind necessary for the due appreciation of each object and enjoyment, and harmony is the life-principle, as well of man as of nature. That quiet stream, with its sweet and sleepless murmur -- those watchful eyes, clustering in capricious and beautiful groups above, and peering down, attended by a thousand frail glories, into the mirrored waters beneath -- those bending trees, whose matted arms and branches, fringing in the river, made it a hallowed home for the dreaming solitary -- they chimed not in with that spirit, which, now ruffled by crossing currents, felt not, saw not, desired not their influences. At another time, in another mood, he had worshipped them; now, their very repose and softness, by offering no interruption to the train of his own wild musings, rather contributed to their headstrong growth. The sudden tempest had done the work -- the storm precedes a degree of quiet which in ordinary nature is unknown.

"Peace, peace -- give me peace!" he cried, to the elements. The small echo from the opposite bank, cried back to him, in a tone of soothing, "peace" -- but he waited not for its answer. "Wherefore do I ask?" he murmured to himself, "and what is it that I ask?" Peace, indeed! Repose, rather -- release, escape -- a free release from the accursed agony of this still pursuing thought. Is life peace, even with love attained, with conquest, with a high hope realized -- with an ambition secure in all men's adoration! Peace, indeed! Thou liest, thou life! thou art an imbodied lie, -- wherefore dost thou talk to me of peace? Ye elements, that murmur on in falsehood, -- stars and suns, streams, and ye gnarled monitors -- ye are all false. Ye would sooth; and ye excite, lure, encourage, tempt, and deny. The peace of life is insensibility -- the suicide of mind or affection. Is that a worse crime than the murder of the animal? Impossible. I may not rob the heart of its passion -- the mind of its immortality; and the death of matter is absurd. Ha! there is but one to care -- but one, -- and she is old. A year -- a month -- and the loss is a loss no longer. There is too much light here for that. Why need these stars see -- why should any see, or hear, or know ? When I am silent they will shine -- and the waters rove on, and she -- she will be not less happy that I come not between her and -- . A dark spot -- gloomy and still, where the groan will have no echo, and no eye may trace the blood which streams from a heart that has only too much within it.

Thus soliloquizing, in the aberration of intellect, which was too apt to follow a state of high excitement in the individual before us, he plunged into a small, dark cavity of wood, lying not far from the river road, but well concealed, as it was partly under the contiguous swamp. Here, burying the handle of his bared knife in the thick ooze of the soil upon which he stood, the sharp point upward, and so placed that it must have penetrated, he knelt down at a brief space from it, and, with a last thought upon the mother whom he could not then forbear to think upon, he strove to pray. But he could not -- the words stuck in his throat, and he gave it up in despair. He turned to the fatal weapon, and throwing open his vest, so as to free the passage to his heart of all obstructions, with a swimming and indirect emotion of the brain, he prepared to cast himself, from the spot where he knelt, upon its unvarying edge, but at that moment came the quick tread of a horse's hoof to his ear; and with all that caprice which must belong to the mind that, usually good, has yet even for an instant purposed a crime not less foolish than foul, he rose at once to his feet. The unlooked-for sounds had broken the spell of the scene and situation; and seizing the bared weapon, he advanced to the edge of the swamp, where it looked down upon the road which ran alongside. The sounds rapidly increased in force; and at length, passing directly along before him, his eye distinguished the outline of a person whom he knew at once to be Harrison. The rider went by, but in a moment after, the sounds had ceased. His progress had been arrested, and with an emotion, strange and still seemingly without purpose, and for which he did not seek to account, Grayson changed his position, and moved along the edge of the road to where the sounds of the horse had terminated. His fingers clutched the knife, bared for a different purpose, with a strange sort of ecstasy. A sanguinary picture of triumph and of terror rose up before his eyes; and the leaves and the trees, to his mind, seemed of the one hue, and dripping with gouts of blood. The demon was full in every thought A long train of circumstances and their concomitants crowded upon his mental vision -- circumstances of strife, concealment, future success -- deep, long-looked for enjoyment -- and still, with all, came the beautiful image of Bess Matthews -

"Thus the one passion subject makes of all,
And slaves of the strong sense -- "

There was a delirious whirl -- a rich, confused assemblage of the strange, the sweet, the wild, in his spirit, that in his morbid condition was a deep delight; and without an effort to bring order to the adjustment of this confusion, as would have been the case with a well-regulated mind -- without a purpose, in his own view, he advanced cautiously and well concealed behind the trees, and approached toward the individual whom he had long since accustomed himself only to regard as an enemy. Concealment is a leading influence of crime with individuals not accustomed to refer all their feelings and thoughts to the control of just principles, and the remoteness and the silence, the secrecy of the scene, and the ease with which the crime could be covered up, were among the moving causes that prompted the man to murder, who had a little before meditated suicide.

Harrison had alighted from his horse, and was then busied in fastening his bridle to a swinging branch of the tree under which he stood. Having done this, and carefully thrown the stirrups across the saddle, he left him, and sauntering back a few paces to a spot of higher ground, he threw himself with the composure of an old hunter, at full length upon the long grass, which tufted prettily the spot he had chosen. This done, he sounded merrily three several notes upon the horn which hung about his neck, and seemed then to await the coming of another.

The blast of the horn gave quickness to the approach of Hugh Grayson, who had been altogether unnoticed by Harrison; and he now stood in the shadow of a tree, closely observing the fine, manly outline, the graceful position, and the entire symmetry of his rival's extended person. He saw, and his passions grew more and more tumultuous with the survey. His impulses became stronger as his increasing thoughts grew more strange. There was a feeling of strife, and a dream of blood in his fancy -- he longed for the one, and his eye saw the other -- a rich, attractive, abundant stream, pouring, as it were, from the thousand arteries of some overshadowing tree. The reasoning powers all grew silent -- the moral faculties were distorted with the survey; and the feelings were only so many winged arrows goading him on to evil. For a time, the guardian conscience -- that high standard of moral education, without which we cease to be human, and are certainly unhappy -- battled stoutly; and taking the shape of a thought, which told him continually of his mother, kept back, nervously restless, the hand which clutched the knife. But the fierce passions grew triumphant, with the utterance of a single name from the lips of Harrison, -- that of Bess, -- linked with the tenderest epithets of affection. With a fierce fury as he heard it, Grayson sprung forth from the tree, and his form went heavily down upon the breast of the prostrate man.

"Ha! assassin, what art thou?" and he struggled manfully with the assailant "wherefore -- what wouldst thou? -- speak!"

"Thy blood -- thy blood!" was the only answer, as the knife was uplifted.

"Horrible! but thou wilt fight for it, murderer," was the reply of Harrison, while, struggling with prodigious effort, though at great disadvantage from the close-pressed form of Grayson, whose knee was upon his breast, he strove with one hand, at the same moment to free his own knife from its place in his bosom, while aiming to ward off with the other the stroke of his enemy. The whole affair had been so sudden, so perfectly unlooked-for by Harrison, who, not yet in the Indian country, had not expected danger, that he could not but conceive that the assailant had mistaken him for another. In the moment, therefore, he appealed to him.

"Thou hast erred, stranger. I am not he thou seekest."

"Thou liest," was the grim response of Grayson.

"Ha! who art thou?"

"Thy enemy -- in life, in death, through the past, and for the long future, though it be endless, -- still thine enemy. I hate -- I will destroy thee. Thou hast lain in my path -- thou hast darkened my hope -- thou hast doomed me to eternal wo. Shalt thou have what thou hast denied me? Shalt thou live to win where I have lost? No -- I have thee. There is no aid for thee. In another moment, and I am revenged. Die -- die like a dog, since thou hast doomed me to live, and to feel like one. Die!"

The uplifted eyes of Harrison beheld the blade descending in the strong grasp of his enemy. One more effort, one last struggle, for the true mind never yields. While reason lasts, hope lives, for the natural ally of human reason is hope. But he struggled in vain. The hold taken by his assailant was unrelaxing -- that of iron; and the thoughts of Harrison, though still he struggled, were strangely mingling with the prayer, and the sweet dream of a passion, now about to be defrauded of its joys for ever -- but, just at the moment when he had given himself up as utterly lost, the grasp of his foe was withdrawn. The criminal had relented -- the guardian conscience had resumed her sway in time for the safety of both the destroyer and his victim. And what a revulsion of feeling and of sense! How terrible is passion -- how terrible in its approach -- how more terrible in its passage and departure! The fierce madman, a moment before ready to drink a goblet-draught from the heart of his enemy, now trembled before him, like a leaf half detached by the frost, and yielding at the first breathings of the approaching zephyr. Staggering back as if himself struck with the sudden shaft of death, Grayson sunk against the tree from which he had sprung in his first assault, and covered his hands in agony. His breast heaved like a wave of the ocean when the winds gather in their desperate frolic over its always sleepless bosom; and his whole frame was rocked to and fro, with the moral convulsions of his spirit. Harrison rose to his feet the moment he had been released, and with a curiosity not unmingled with caution, the unhappy man.

"What! Master Hugh Grayson!" he exclaimed naturally enough, as he found out who he was, "what has tempted thee to this madness -- wherefore?"

"Ask me not -- ask me not -- in mercy, ask me not. Thou art safe, thou art safe. I have not thy blood upon my hands; thank God for that. It was her blessing that saved thee -- that saved me; oh, mother, how I thank thee for that blessing. It took the madness from my spirit in the moment when I would have struck thee, Harrison, even with as fell a joy as the Indian strikes in battle. Go -- thou art safe. -- Leave me, I pray thee. Leave me to my own dreadful thought -- the thought which hates, and would just now have destroyed thee."

"But wherefore that thought, Master Grayson? Thou art but young to have such thoughts, and shouldst take counsel -- and why such should be thy thoughts of me, I would know from thy own lips, which have already said, so much that is strange and unwelcome."

"Strange, dost thou say," exclaimed the youth with a wild arm, "not strange -- not strange. But go -- go -- leave me, lest the dreadful passion come back. Thou didst wrong me -- thou hast done me the worst of wrongs, though, perchance, thou knowest it not. But it is over now -- thou art safe. I ask thee not to forgive, but if thou wouldst serve me, Master Harrison -- "

"Speak!" said the other, as the youth paused.

"If thou wouldst serve me, -- think me thy foe, thy deadly foe; one waiting and in mood to slay, and so thinking, as one bound to preserve himself at all hazard, use thy knife upon my bosom now, as I would have used mine upon thee. Strike, if thou wouldst serve me." And he dashed his hand upon the bared breast violently as he spoke.

"Thou art mad, Master Grayson, -- to ask of me to do such folly. Hear me but a while" -

But the other heard him not, -- he muttered to himself half incoherent words and sentences.

"First suicide -- miserable wretch, -- and then, God of Heaven! that I should have been so nigh to murder," and he sobbed like a child before the man he had striven to slay, until pity had completely taken the place of every other feeling in the bosom of Harrison. At that moment the waving of a torch-light appeared through the woods at a little distance. The criminal started as if in terror, and was about to fly from the spot, but Harrison interposed and prevented him.

"Stay, Master Grayson -- go not. The light comes in the hands of thy brother, who is to put me across the river. Thou wilt return with him, and may thy mood grow gentler, and thy thoughts wiser. Thou hast been rash and foolish, but I mistake not thy nature, which I hold meant for better things. -- I regard it not, therefore, to thy harm; and to keep thee from a thought which will trouble thee more than it can harm me now, I will crave of thee to lend all thy aid to assist thy mother from her present habitation, as she has agreed, upon the advice of thy brother and myself. Thou wast not so minded this morning, so thy brother assured me; but thou wilt take my word for it that the remove has grown essential to her safety. Walter will tell thee all. In the meanwhile, what has passed between us we hold to ourselves; and if, as thou hast said, thou hast had wrong at my hands, thou shalt have right at thy quest, when other duties will allow."

"Enough, enough!" cried the youth in a low tone impatiently, as he beheld his brother, carrying a torch, emerge from the cover.

"How now, Master Walter -- thou hast been sluggard, and but for thy younger brother, whom I find a pleasant gentleman, I should have worn out good-humour in seeking for patience."

"What, Hugh here!" Walter exclaimed, regarding his brother with some astonishment, as he well knew the dislike in which he held Harrison.

"Ay," said the latter, "and he has grown more reasonable since morning, and is now, -- if I so understand him -- not unwilling to give aid in thy mother’s remove. But come -- let us away -- we have no time for the fire. Of the horse, thy brother will take charge -- keep him not here for me, but let him bear thy mother to the Block House. She will find him gentle. And now, Master Grayson -- farewell! I hope to know thee better on my return, as I desire thou shalt know me. Come."

Concealed in the umbrage of the depending shrubbery, a canoe lay at the water's edge, into which Harrison leaped, followed by the elder Grayson. They were soon off -- the skiff, like a fairy bark, gliding almost noiselessly across that Indian river. Watching their progress for a while, Hugh Grayson lingered, until the skiff became a speck, then, with strangely mingled feelings of humiliation and satisfaction, leaping upon the steed which had been given him in charge, he took his way to the dwelling of his mother.

AT dark, Sanutee, Ishiagaska, Enoree-Mattee, the prophet, and a few others of the Yemassee chiefs and leaders, having the same decided hostilities to the Carolinians, met at the lodge of Ishiagaska, in the town of Pocota-ligo, and discussed their farther preparations at some length. The insurrection was at hand. All the neighbouring tribes, without an exception, had pledged themselves for the common object, and the greater number of those extending over Georgia and Florida, were also bound in the same dreadful contract. The enemies of the settlement, in this conspiracy, extended from Cape Fear to the mountains of Apalachy, and the disposable force of the Yemassees, under this league, amounted to at least six thousand warriors. These forces were gathering at various points according to arrangement, and large bodies from sundry tribes had already made their appearance at Pocota-ligo, from which it was settled the first blow should be given. Nor were the Indians, thus assembling, bowmen merely. The Spanish authorities of St. Augustine, who were at the bottom of the conspiracy, had furnished them with a considerable supply of arms, and the conjecture of Harrison rightly saw in the boxes transferred by Chorley the seaman to the Yemassees, those weapons of massacre which the policy of the Carolinians had withheld. These, however, were limited to the forest nobility -- the several chiefs bound in the war; -- to the commons, a knife or tomahawk was the assigned, and, perhaps, the more truly useful present. A musket, at that period, in the hands of the unpractised savage, was not half so dangerous as a bow. To these warriors we must add the pirate Chorley -- a desperado in every sense of the word, a profligate boy, a vicious and outlawed man -- daring, criminal, and only engaging in the present adventure in the hope of the spoil and plunder which he hoped from it. In the feeble condition of the infant colony there was no great risk in his present position. Without vessels of war of any sort, and only depending upon the mother country for such assistance, whenever a French or Spanish invasion took place, while British aid was in the neighbourhood, the province was lamentably defenseless. The visit of Chorley, in reference to this weakness, had been admirably well-timed. He had waited until the departure of the Swallow, the English armed packet, which periodically traversed the ocean with advices from the sovereign to the subject. He then made his appearance, secure from that danger, and, indeed, if we may rely upon the historians of the period, almost secure from any other; for we are told that in their wild abodes, the colonists were not always the scrupulous moralists which another region had made them. They did not scruple at this or that sort of trade, so long as it was profitable; and Chorley, the pirate, would have had no difficulty, as he well knew by experience, so long as he avoided any overt performance, forcing upon the public sense a duty, which many of the people were but too well satisfied when they could avoid. It did not matter to many among those with whom he pursued his traffic, whether or not the article which they procured at so cheap a rate had been bought with blood and the strong hand. It was enough that the goods were to be had when wanted, of as fair quality, and fifty per cent. cheaper then those offered in the legitimate course of trade. To sum up all in little, our European ancestors were, in many respects, monstrous great rascals.

Chorley was present at this interview with the insurrectionary chiefs of Yemassee, and much good counsel he gave them. The meeting was preparatory, and here they prepared the grand mouvement, and settled the disposition of the subordinates. Here they arranged all those small matters of etiquette beforehand, by which to avoid little jealousies and disputes among their auxiliaries; for national pride, or rather the great glory of the clan, was as desperate a passion with the southern Indians, as with the yet more breechless Highlanders. Nothing was neglected in this interview which, to the deliberate mind, seemed necessary to success; and they were prepared to break up in order to the general assemblage of the people, to whom the formal and official announcement was to be given, when Ishiagaska recalled them to a matter which, to that fierce Indian, seemed much more important than any. Chorley looked on the animated glance -- the savage grin, -- and though he knew not the signification of the words, he yet needed no interpreter to convey to him the purport of his speech.

"The dog must smell the blood, or he tears not the throat. Ha! shall not the War-Manneyto have a feast?"

Sanutee looked disquieted but said nothing, while the eye of Ishiagaska followed his glance and seemed to search him narrowly. He spoke again, approaching the "well-beloved:"

"The Yemassee hath gone on the track of the Swift Foot, and the English has run beside him. They have taken a name from the pale-face and called him brother. Brother is a strong word for Yemassee, and he must taste of his blood, or he will not hunt after the English. The War-Manneyto would feast upon the heart of a pale-face, to make strong the young braves of Yemassee."

"It is good -- let the War-Manneyto have the feast upon the heart of the English!" exclaimed the prophet, and such seeming the general expression, Sanutee yielded, though reluctantly. They left the lodge, and in an hour a small party of young warriors, to whom, in his wild, prophetic manner, Enoree-Mattee had revealed the requisitions of the God he served, went forth to secure an English victim for the dreadful propitiatory sacrifice they proposed to offer, in the hope of success, to the Indian Moloch.

This done, the chiefs distributed themselves among the several bands of the people and their allies, stimulating by their arguments and eloquence, the fierce spirit which they now laboured to evoke in storm and tempest. We leave them to return to Harrison.

The adventure he was now engaged in was sufficiently perilous. He knew the danger, and also felt that there were particular responsibilities in his case which increased it greatly. With this consciousness came a proportionate degree of caution. He was shrewd to a proverb among those who knew him -- practised considerably in Indian manoeuvre -- had been with them in frequent conflict, and could anticipate their arts -- was resolute as well as daring, and with much of their circumspection, at the same time, had learned skilfully to imitate the thousand devices of stratagem and concealment which make the glory of the Indian brave. Having given as fair a warning as was in his power to those of his countrymen most immediately exposed to the danger, he was less reluctant to undertake the adventure. But had he been conscious of the near approach of the time fixed on by the enemy for the explosion -- could he have dreamed that it was so extensive and so near at hand, his attitude would have been very different indeed. But this was the very knowledge for the attainment of which he had taken his present journey. The information sought was important in determining upon the degree of effort necessary to the defence.

It was still early evening, when the canoe of Grayson, making into a little cove about a mile and a half below Pocota-ligo, enabled Harrison to land. With a last warning to remove as quickly as possible, and to urge as many more as he could to the shelter of the Block House, he left his companion to return to the settlement; then plunging into the woods, and carefully making a sweep out of his direct course, in order to come in upon the back of the Indian town, so as to avoid as much as practicable the frequented paths, he went fearlessly upon his way. For some time, proceeding with slow and heedful step, he went on without interruption, yet not without a close scrutiny into every thing he saw. One thing struck him, however, and induced unpleasant reflection. He saw that many of the dwellings which he approached were without fires, and seemed deserted. The inhabitants were gone -- he met with none; and he felt assured that a popular gathering was at hand or in progress. For two miles of his circuit he met with no sign of human beings; and he had almost come to the conclusion that Pocota-ligo, which was only a mile or so farther, would be equally barren, when suddenly a torch flamed across his path, and with an Indian instinct he snuck back into the shadow of a tree, and scanned curiously the scene before him. The torch grew into a blaze in a hollow of the wood, and around the fire he beheld, in various positions, some fifteen or twenty warriors, making a small war encampment. Some lay at length, some "squat, like a toad," and all gathered around the friendly blaze which had just been kindled in time to prevent him from running headlong into the midst of them. From the shadow of the tree, which perfectly concealed him, he could see, by the light around which they clustered, not only the forms but the features of the warriors; and he soon made them out to be the remnant of his old acquaintance, the Coosaws -- who, after the dreadful defeat which they sustained at his hands in the forks of Tulifinnee, found refuge with the Yemassees, settled the village of Coosaw-hatchie, and being too small in number to call for the farther hostility of the Carolinians, were suffered to remain in quiet. But they harboured a bitter malice toward their conquerors, and the call to the field against their ancient enemies was the sweetest boon that could be proffered to their hearts. With a curious memory which recalled vividly his past adventure with the same people, he surveyed their diminutive persons, their small, quick, sparkling eyes, the dusky, but irritably red features, and the querulous upward turn of the nose -- a most distinguishing feature with this clan, showing a feverish quarrelsomeness of disposition, and a want of becoming elevation in purpose. Harrison knew them well, and his intimacy had cost them dearly. It was probable, indeed, that the fifteen or twenty warriors then grouped before him were all that they could send into the field -- all that had survived, women and children excepted, the severe chastisement -- which had annihilated them as a nation. But what they lacked in number they made up in valour -- a fierce, sanguinary people, whose habits of restlessness and love of strife were a proverb even among their savage neighbours, who spoke of a malignant man -- one more so than usual, -- as having a Coosaw's tooth. But a single warrior of this party was in possession of a musket, a huge, cumbrous weapon, of which he seemed not a little proud. He was probably a chief. The rest were armed with bow and arrow, knife, and, here and there, a hatchet. The huge club stuck up conspicuously among them, besmeared with coarse paint, and surmounted with a human scalp, instructed Harrison sufficiently as to the purpose of the party. The war-club carried from hand to hand, and in this way transmitted from tribe to tribe, from nation to nation, by their swiftest runners, was a mode of organization not unlike that employed by the Scotch, for a like object, and of which the muse of Scott has so eloquently sung. The spy was satisfied with the few glances which he had given to this little party; and as he could gather nothing distinctly from their language, which he heard imperfectly, and as imperfectly understood, he cautiously left his place of concealment, and once more darted forward on his journey. Digressing from his path as circumstances or prudence required, he pursued his course in a direct line towards Pocota-ligo; but had not well lost sight of the fire of the Coosaws, when another blaze appeared in the track just before him. Pursuing a like caution with that already given, he approached sufficiently nigh to distinguish a band of Sewees, something more numerous than the Coosaws, but still not strong, encamping in like manner around the painted club, the common ensign of approaching battle. He knew them by the number of shells which covered their garments, were twined in their hair, and formed a peculiar and favourite ornament to their persons, while at the same time, declaring their location. They occupied one of the islands which still bear their name -- the only relics of a nation which had its god and its glories, and believing in the Manneyto and a happy valley, can have no complaint that their old dwellings shall know them no more. The Sewees resembled the Coosaws in their general expression of face, but in person they were taller and more symmetrical, though slender. They did not exceed thirty in number.

The precautions of Harrison were necessarily increased, as he found himself in such a dangerous neighbourhood, but still he felt nothing of apprehension. He was one of those men, singularly constituted, in whom hope becomes a strong exciting principle, perpetually stimulating confidence and encouraging adventure into a forgetfulness of risk and general disregard to difficulty and opposition. On he went, until at the very entrance to the village he came upon an encampment of the Santees, a troop of about fifty warriors. These he knew by their greater size and muscle, being generally six feet or more in height, of broad shoulders, full, robust front, and forming not less in their countenances, which were clear, open and intelligent, than in their persons, a singular and marked contrast to the Sewees and Coosaws. They carried, along with the bow, another -- and in their hands a more formidable weapon -- a huge mace, four or five feet in length, of the heaviest wood, swelling into a huge lump at the remote extremity, and hanging by a thong of skin or sinews around their necks. A glance was enough to show their probable number, and desiring no more, Harrison sunk away from farther survey, and carefully avoiding the town, on the skirts of which he stood, he followed in the direction to which he was led by a loud uproar and confused clamour coming from it. This was the place of general encampment, a little above the village, immediately upon the edge of the swamp from which the river wells, being the sacred ground of Yemassee, consecrated to their several Manneytos of war, peace, punishment, and general power -- which contained the great tumulus of Pocota-ligo, consented by a thousand awful sacrifices, for a thousand years preceding, and already known to us as the spot where Occonestoga, saved from perdition, met his death from the hands of his mother.

THE preparatory rites of battle were about to take place around the tumulus. The warriors were about to propitiate the Yemassee God of War -- the Battle-Manneyto -- and the scene was now, if possible, more imposing than ever. It was with a due solemnity that they approached the awful rites with which they invoked this stern principle -- doubly solemn, as they could not but feel that the existence of their nation was the stake at issue. They were prostrate -- the thousand warriors of Yemassee -- their wives, their children -- their faces to the ground, but their eyes upward, bent upon the cone of the tumulus, where a faint flame, dimly flickering under the breath of the capricious winds, was struggling doubtfully into existence. Enoree-Mattee the prophet stood in anxious attendance -- the only person in the neighbourhood of the fire -- for the spot upon which he stood was holy. He moved around it, in attitudes now lofty, now grotesque -- now impassioned and now humbled -- feeding the flame at intervals as he did so with fragments of wood, which had been consecrated by other rites, and sprinkling it at the same time with the dried leaves of the native and finely odorous vanella, which diffused a grateful perfume upon the gale. All this time he muttered a low, monotonous chant, which seemed an incantation -- now and then, at pauses in his song, turning to the gathered multitude, over whose heads, as they lay in thick groups around the tumulus, he extended his arms as if in benediction. The flame all this while gathered but slowly, and this was matter of discontent to both prophet and people; for the gathering of the fire was to indicate the satisfaction of the Manneyto with their proposed design. While its progress was doubtful, therefore, a silence entirely unbroken, and full of awe, prevailed throughout the crowd. But when it burst forth, growing and gathering -- seizing with a ravenous rapidity upon the sticks and stubble with which it had been supplied licking the long grass as it increased, and running down the sides of the tumulus, until it completely encircled the gorgeously decorated form of Enoree-Mattee as with a wreath of fire -- when it sent its votive and odorous smoke in a thick, direct column, up to the heavens -- a single, unanimous shout, that thrilled through and through the forest, even as the sudden uproar of one of its own terrible hurricanes, burst forth from that now exhilarated assembly, while each started at once to his feet, brandished his weapons with a fierce joy, and all united in that wild chorus of mixed strife and adoration, the battle-hymn of their nation:

"Sangarrah-me, Yemassee,
Sangarrah-me -- Sangarrah-me --
Battle-god Manneyto,
Here's a scalp, here's a scull,
This is blood, 'tis a heart,
Scalp, scull, blood, heart,
'Tis for thee, battle-god,
'Tis to make the feast for thee,
Battle-god, battle-god."

And as they repeated the fierce cry of onset, the war-whoop of the Yemassees, another shout in chorus followed from the great mass of the people beyond. This cry, carried onward by successive groups previously stationed for that purpose, was announced to the various allies in their different encampments, and was equivalent to a permission of the Yemassee god that they should appear, and join in the subsequent ceremonial -- a ceremonial which now affected them equally with the Yemassees.

They came at length, the great body of that fierce but motley gathering. In so many clans, each marched apart, with the distinct emblem of its tribe. There came the subtle and the active Coosaw, with his small flaming black eye, in which gathered the most malignant fires. A stuffed rattlesnake in coil, with protruded fang, perched upon a staff, formed their emblem, and no bad characteristic, for they were equally fearless and equally fatal with that reptile. Then came the Combahee and the Edistoh, the Santee and the Seratee -- the two latter kindred tribes bearing huge clubs which they wielded with equal strength and agility, in addition to the knife and bow. Another and another cluster forming around, completed a grouping at once imposing and unique, -- each body, as they severally came to behold the sacred fire, swelling upwards from the mound, precipitating themselves upon the earth where first it met their sight. The prophet still continued his incantations, until, at a given signal, when Sanutee, as chief of his people, ascended the tumulus, and bending his form reverently as he did so, approached him to know the result of his auguries. The appearance of the old chief was haggard in the extreme -- his countenance bore all the traces of that anxiety which, at such a moment, the true patriot would be likely to feel -- and a close eye might discern evidences of a deeper feeling working at his heart equally vexing and of a more personal nature. Still his manner was firm and nobly commanding. He hastened to the words of the prophet, which were in their own language. Then advancing in front, the Chief delivered his response to the people. It was auspicious -- Manneyto had promised them success against their enemies, and their offerings had all been accepted. He required but another, and that the prophet assured them was at hand. Again the shout went up to heaven, and the united warriors clashed their weapons, and yelled aloud the triumph which they anticipated over their foes.

In a neighbouring copse, well concealed by the thicket, lay the person of Harrison. From this spot he surveyed the entire proceedings. With the aid of their numerous fires, he calculated their numbers and the different nations engaged, whose emblems he generally knew, and listened impatiently for some evidences of their precise intention; but as they spoke only in their own, or a mixed language of the several tribes, he almost despaired of any discovery of this kind, which would serve him much, when a new party appeared upon the scene, in the person of Chorley the captain of the sloop. He appeared dressed in a somewhat gaudy uniform -- a pair of pistols stuck in his belt -- a broad short sword at his side, and dagger -- and, though evidently in complete military array, without having discarded the rich golden chain, which hung suspended ostentatiously from his thick, short, bull-shaped neck. The guise of Chorley was Spanish, and over his head, carried by one of his seamen in a group of twenty of them, which followed him, he bore the flag of Spain, and this confirmed Harrison in all his apprehensions. He saw that once again the Spaniard was about to strike the colony, in assertion of an old claim put in by his monarch to all the country then in the possession of the English, northward as far as Virginia, and to the southwest the entire range, including the Mississippi and some even of the territory beyond it, in the vague vastness of geographical imaginings at that period. In support of this claim, which, under the existing circumstances of European convention, the Spanish monarch could not proceed to urge by arms in any other manner -- the two countries being then at peace at home -- the governor of the one colony, that of Spain, was suffered and instigated to do that which his monarch immediately dared not; and from St. Augustine innumerable inroads were daily projected into Georgia and the Carolinas, penetrating with their Indian allies, in some instances almost to the gates of Charlestown. The Carolinians were not idle, and similar inroads were made upon Florida; the two parents looking quietly the strife of the colonies, as it gratified the national animosity of either nation, who, seeming quiet enough at home yet mutually contributed to the means of annoyance and defence, as their colonies severally needed them. This sort of warfare had been continued almost from the commencement of either settlement, and the result was a system of foray into the enemy's province from time to time -- now of the Spaniards, and now of the Carolinians.

Harrison was soon taught to see by the evidence before him, that the Spaniard on the present occasion had more deeply matured his plans than he had ever anticipated; and that -- taking advantage of the known discontents among the Indians, and of that unwise cessation of watchfulness, which too much indicated the confiding nature of the Carolinians, induced by a term of repose, protracted somewhat longer than usual -- he had prepared a mine which he fondly hoped, and with good reason, would result in the utter extermination of the intruders, whom they loved to destroy, as on one sanguinary occasion their own inscription phrased it, not so much because they were Englishmen, as "because they were heretics." His success in the present adventure, he felt assured, and correctly, would place the entire province in the possession, as in his thought it was already in the right, of his most Catholic Majesty.

Captain Chorley, the bucanier and Spanish emissary, for, in those times and that region, the two characters were not always unlike, advanced boldly into the centre of the various assemblage. He was followed by twenty stout seamen, the greater part of his crew. These were armed chiefly with pikes and cutlasses. A few carried pistols, a few muskets; but, generally speaking, the larger arms seemed to have been regarded as unnecessary, and perhaps inconvenient, in an affair requiring despatch and secrecy. As he approached, Sanutee descended from the mound and advanced toward him, with a degree of respect, which, while it was marked and gracious, subtracted nothing from the lofty carriage and the towering dignity which at the same time accompanied it. In a few words of broken English, he explained to Chorley sundry of their present and future proceedings -- detailed what was required of him, in the rest of the ceremony; and having made him understand, which he did with some difficulty, he reascended the mound, resuming his place at the side of the prophet, who, all the while, as if without noticing any thing going on around, had continued those fearful incantations to the war-god, which seemed to make of himself a victim; for his eye glared with the light of madness -- his tongue hung forth between his clinched teeth, which seemed every moment, when parting and gnashing, as if about to sever it in two, while the slaver gathered about his mouth in thick foam, and all his features were convulsed. At a signal which he gave, while under this fury, a long procession of women, headed by Malatchie, the executioner, made their appearance from behind the hill, and advanced into the area. In their arms six of them bore a gigantic figure, rudely hewn out of a tree, with a head so carved as in some sort to resemble that of a man. The hatchet and fire had chopped out the face, if such it may be called, and by means of one paint or another, it had been stained into something like expression. The scalp of some slaughtered enemy was stuck upon the scull, and made to adhere, with pitch extracted from the pine. The body, from the neck, was left unhewn. This figure was stuck up in the midst of the assembly, in the sight of all, while the old women danced in wild contortions around it, uttering, as they did so, a thousand invectives in their own wild language. They charged it with all offenses comprised in their system of ethics. It was a liar, and a thief -- a traitor, and cheat -- a murderer, and without a Manneyto -- in short, in a summary of their own -- they called it "English -- English -- English." Having done this, they receded, leaving the area clear of all but the unconscious image which they had so denounced, and sinking back behind the armed circle, they remained in silence.

Previously taught in what he was to do, Chorley now advanced alone, and striking a hatchet full in the face of the image, he cried aloud to the warriors around,

"Hark, at this English dog! I strike my hatchet in his scull. Who will do thus for the King of Spain?" Malatchie acted as interpreter in the present instance, and the words had scarcely fallen from his lips, when Chinnabar, a chief of the Coosaws, his eyes darting fire, and his whole face full of malignant delight, rushed out from his clan, and seizing the hatchet, followed up the blow by another, which sunk it deeply into the unconscious block, crying aloud, as he did so, in his own language,

"The Coosaw, -- ha! look, he strikes the scull of the English!" and the fierce war-whoop of "Coosaw -- Sangarrah-me," followed up the speech.

"So strikes the Cherah! -- Cherah-hah, Cherah-me!" cried the head warrior of that tribe, following the example of the Coosaw, and flinging his hatchet also in the scull of the image. Another and another, in like manner came forward, each chief, representing a tribe or nation, being required to do so, showing his assent to the war; until, in a moment of pause, believing that all were done, Chorley reapproached, and baring his cutlass as he did so, with a face full of the passion which one might be supposed to exhibit, when facing a deadly and a living foe, with a single stroke he lodged the weapon so deeply into the wood, that for a while its extrication was doubtful -- at the same time exclaiming fiercely,

"And so strikes Richard Chorley, not for Spain, nor France, nor Indian -- not for any body, but on his own log -- for his own wrong, and so would he strike again if the necks of all England lay under his arm."

A strong armed Santee, who had impatiently waited his turn while Chorley spoke, now came forward with his club -- a monstrous mace, gathered frown the swamps, under the stroke of which the image went down prostrate. Its fall was the signal for a general shout and tumult among the crowd, scarcely quieted, as a new incident was brought in to enliven a performance, which, though of invariable exercise among the primitive Indians, preparatory to all great occasions like the present, was yet too monotonous not to need, in the end, some stirring variation.

BLOOD makes the taste for blood -- we teach the hound to hunt the victim, for whose entrails he acquires an appetite. We acquire such tastes ourselves from like indulgences. There is a sort of intoxicating restlessness in crime that seldom suffers it to stop at a solitary excess. It craves repetition -- and the relish so expands with indulgence, that exaggeration becomes essential to make it a stimulant. Until we have created this appetite, we sicken at its bare contemplation. But once created, it is impatient of employ, and it is wonderful to note its progress. Thus, the young Nero wept when first called upon to sign the warrant commanding the execution of a criminal. But the ice once broken, he never suffered it to close again. Murder was his companion -- blood his banquet -- his chief stimulant licentiousness -- horrible licentiousness. He had found out a new luxury.

The philosophy which teaches this, is common to experience all the world over. It was not unknown the Yemassees. Distrusting the strength of their hostility to the English, the chief instigators of the proposed insurrection, as we have seen deemed it necessary to appeal to this appetite, along with a native superstition. Their battle-god called for a victim, and the prophet promulgated the decree. A chosen band of warriors was despatched to secure a white man; and in subjecting him to the fire-torture, the Yemassees were to feel the provocation of that thirsting impulse which craves a continual renewal of its stimulating indulgence. Perhaps one of the most natural and necessary agents of man, in his progress through life, is the desire to destroy. It is this which subjects the enemy -- it is this that prompts him to adventure -- which enables him to contend with danger, and to flout at death -- which carries him into the interminable forests, and impels the ingenuity into exercise, which furnishes him with a weapon to contend with its savage possessors. It is not surprising, if prompted by dangerous influences, in our ignorance, we pamper this natural agent into a disease, which preys at length upon ourselves.

The party despatched for this victim had been successful. The peculiar cry was heard indicating their success; and as it rung through the wide area, the crowd gave way and parted for the new comers, who were hailed with a degree of satisfaction, extravagant enough, unless we consider the importance generally attached to their enterprise. On their procuring this victim alive, depended their hope of victory in the approaching conflict. Such was the prediction of the prophet -- such the decree of their god of war -- and for the due celebration of this terrible sacrifice, the preparatory ceremonies had been delayed.

They were delayed no longer. With shrill cries and the most savage contortions, not to say convulsions of body, the assembled multitude hailed the entree of the detachment sent forth upon this expedition. They had been eminently successful; having taken their captive, without themselves losing a drop of blood. Upon this, the prediction had founded their success. Not so the prisoner. Though unarmed he had fought desperately, and his enemies were compelled to wound in order to secure him. He was only overcome by numbers, and the sheer physical weight of their crowding bodies.

They dragged him into the ring, the war-dance all the time going on around him. From the copse, close at hand, in which he lay concealed, Harrison could distinguish, at intervals, the features of the captive. He knew him at a glance, as a poor labourer, named Macnamara, an Irishman, who had gone jobbing about, in various ways, throughout the settlement. He was a fine-looking, fresh, muscular man -- not more than thirty -- and sustaining well, amid that fierce assemblage, surrounded with foes, and threatened with a torture to which European ingenuity could not often attain, unless in the Inquisitoral dungeons, the fearless character, which is a distinguishing feature with his countrymen. His long, black hair, deeply saturated and matted with his blood, which oozed out from sundry bludgeon-wounds upon the head, was wildly distributed in masses over his face and forehead. His full, round cheeks, were marked by knife-wounds, also the result of his fierce defence against his captors. His hands were bound, but his tongue was unfettered; and as they danced and howled about him, his eye gleamed forth in fury and derision, while his words were those of defiance and contempt.

"Ay -- screech and scream, ye red divils -- ye'd be after seeing how a jontleman would burn in the fire, would ye, for your idification and delight. But its not Tedd Macnamara, that your fires and your arrows will scare, ye divils; so begin, boys, as soon as ye've a mind to, and don't be too dilicate in your doings."

He spoke a language, so far as they understood it. perfectly congenial with their notion of what should become a warrior. His fearless contempt of death, his haughty defiance of their skill in the arts of torture -- his insolent abuse -- were all so much in his favour. They were proofs of the true brave, and they found, under the bias of their habits and education, an added pleasure in the belief, that he would stand well the torture, and afford them a protracted enjoyment of it. His execrations, poured forth freely as they forced him into the area, were equivalent to one of their own death-songs, and they regarded it as his.

He was not so easily compelled in the required direction. Unable in any other way to oppose them, he gave them as much trouble as he could, and in no way sought to promote his locomotion. This was good policy, perhaps, for this passive resistance -- the most annoying of all its forms, -- was not unlikely to bring about an impatient blow, which might save him from the torture. In another case, such might have been the result of the course taken by Macnamara; but now, the prophecy was the object, and though roughly handled enough, his captors yet forbore any excessive violence. Under a shower of kicks, cuffs, and blows from every quarter, the poor fellow, still cursing them to the last, hissing at and spitting upon them, was forced to a tree; and in a few moments tightly lashed back against it. A thick cord secured him around the body to its overgrown trunk, while his hands, forced up in a direct line above his head, were fastened to the tree with withes -- the two palms turned outwards, nearly meeting, and so well corded as to be perfectly immovable.

A cold chill ran through all the veins of Harrison and he grasped his knife with a clutch as tenacious as that of his fast-clinched teeth, while he looked, from his place of concealment, upon these dreadful preparations for the Indian torture. The captive was seemingly less sensible of its terrors. All the while, with a tongue that seemed determined to supply, so far as it might, the forced inactivity of all other members, he shouted forth his scorn and execrations.

"The pale-face will sing his death-song," -- in his own language cried a young warrior.

"Ay, ye miserable red nagers, -- ye don't frighten Tedd Macnamara now so aisily," he replied, though without comprehending what they said, yet complying as it were with their demand; for his shout was now a scream, and his words were those of exulting superiority.

"It aint your bows and your arrows, ye nagers, nor your knives, nor your hatchets, that's going to make Teddy beg your pardon, and ax for your mercies. I don't care for your knives, and your hatchets, at all at all, ye red divils. Not I -- by my faith, and my own ould father, that was Teddy before me."

They took him at his word, and their preparations were soon made for the torture. A hundred torches of the gummy pine were placed to kindle in a neighbouring fire -- a hundred old women stood ready to employ them. These were to be applied as a sort of cautery, to the arrow and knife-wounds which the more youthful savages were expected, in their sports, to inflict. It was upon their captives in this manner, that the youth of the nation was practised. It was in this school that the boys were prepared to become men -- to inflict pain as well as to submit to it. To these two classes, -- for this was one of the peculiar features of the Indian torture, -- the fire-sacrifice, in its initial penalties, was commonly assigned; and both of them were ready at hand to commence it. How beat the heart of Harrison with conflicting emotions, in the shelter of the adjacent bush, as he surveyed each step in the prosecution of these horrors.

They began. A dozen youth, none over sixteen, came forward and ranged themselves in front of the prisoner.

"And what for do ye face me down after that sort, ye little red nagers?" cried the sanguine prisoner.

They answered him with a whoop -- a single shriek -- and the face paled then, with that mimicry of war, of the man, who had been fearless throughout the real strife, and amid the many terrors which preceded it. The whoop was followed by a simultaneous discharge of all their arrows, aimed, as would appear from the result, at those portions of his person which were not vital. This was the common exercise, and their adroitness was wonderful. They placed the shaft where they pleased. Thus, the arrow of one penetrated one palm, while that of another, almost at the same instant, was driven deep into the other. One cheek was grazed by a third, while a fourth scarified the opposite. A blunted shaft struck him full in the mouth, and arrested, in the middle his usual execration -- "You bloody red nagers," and there never were fingers of a hand so evenly separated one from the other, as those of Macnamara, by the admirably-aimed arrows of those embryo warriors. But the endurance of the captive was proof against all their torture; and while every member of his person attested the felicity of their aim, he still continued to shout his abuse, not only to his immediate assailants, but to the old warriors, and the assembled multitude, gathering around, and looking composedly on -- now approving this or that peculiar hit, and encouraging the young beginner with a cheer. He stood all, with the most unflinching fortitude, and a courage that, extorting their freest admiration, was quite as much the subject of cheer with the warriors as were the arrow-shots which sometimes provoked its exhibition.

At length, throwing aside the one instrument, they came forward with the tomahawk. They were far more cautious with this fatal weapon, for, as their present object was not less the prolonging of their own exercises than of the prisoner's tortures, it was their wish to avoid wounding fatally or even severely. Their chief delight was in stinging the captive into an exhibition of imbecile and fruitless anger, or terrifying him into ludicrous apprehensions. They had no hope of the latter source of amusement from the firmness of the victim before them; and to rouse his impotent rage, was the study in their thought.

With words of mutual encouragement, and boasting, garrulously enough, each of his superior skill, they strove to rival one another in the nicety of their aim and execution. The chief object was barely to miss the part at which they aimed. One planted the tomahawk in the tree so directly over the head of his captive, as to divide the huge tuft of hair which grew massively in that quarter; and great was their exultation and loud their laughter, when the head thus jeoparded, very naturally, under the momentary impulse, was writhed about from the stroke, just at the moment when another aimed to lie on one side of his cheek, clove the ear which it would have barely escaped had the captive continued immoveable. Bleeding and suffering as he must have been with such infliction, not a solitary groan however escaped him. The stout-hearted Irishman continued to defy and to denounce his tormentors in language which, if only partially comprehended by his enemies, was yet illustrated with sufficient animation by the fierce light gleaming from his eye with a blaze like that of madness, and in the unblenching firmness of his cheek.

"And what for do ye howl, ye red-skinned divils, as if ye never seed a jontleman in your born days before? Be aisy, now, and shoot away with your piinted sticks, ye nagers, -- shoot away and be cursed to ye; sure it isn't Tedd Macnamara that's afeard of what ye can do, ye divils. If it's the fun ye're after now, honeys, -- the sport that's something like -- why, put your knife over this thong, and help this dilicate little fist to one of the bit shilalahs yonder. Do now, pretty crathers, do -- and see what fun will come out of it. Ye'll not be after loving it at all at all, I'm a thinking, ye monkeys, and ye alligators, and ye red nagers, and them's the best names for ye, ye ragamuffin divils that ye are."

It happened, however, as it would seem in compliance with a part of one of his demands, that one of the tomahawks, thrown so as to rest between the two uplifted palms of the captive, fell short, and striking the hide, a few inches below, which fastened his wrists to the tree, entirely separated it, and gave freedom to his arms. Though still incapable of any effort for his release, as the thongs tightly girdled his body, and were connected on the other side of the tree, the fearless sufferer, with his emancipated fingers, proceeded to pluck from his hands, amid a shower of darts, the arrows which had penetrated them deeply. These with a shout of defiance, he hurled back upon his assailants, they answering in similar style with another shout and a new discharge of arrows, which penetrated his person in every direction, inflicting the greatest pain, though carefully avoiding any vital region. And now, as if impatient of their forbearance, the boys were made to give way, and each armed with her hissing and resinous torch, the old women approached, howling and dancing, with shrill voices and an action of body frightfully demoniac. One after another they rushed up to the prisoner, and with fiendish fervour, thrust the blazing torches to his shrinking body, wherever a knife, an arrow, or a tomahawk had left a wound. The torture of this infliction greatly exceeded all to which he had been previously subjected; and with a howl, the unavoidable acknowledgment forced from nature by the extremity of pain, scarcely less horrible than that which they unitedly sent up around him, the captive dashed out his hands, and grasping one of the most forward among his unsexed tormentors, he firmly held her with one hand, while with the other he possessed himself of the blazing torch she bore. Hurling her backward, in the next moment, among the crowd of his enemies, with a resolution from despair, he applied the torch to the thongs which bound him to the tree, and while his garments shrivelled and flamed, and while the flesh blistered and burned with the terrible application, resolute as desperate, he maintained it on the spot, until the withes crackled, blazed, and separated.

His limbs were free -- a convulsion of joy actually rushed through his heart, and he shouted with a new tone, the result of a new and unimagined sensation. He leaped forward, and though the flames grasped and gathered in a thick volume, rushing from his waist to his extremities, completely enveloping him in their embrace, they offered no obstacle to the fresh impulse which possessed him. He bounded onward, with that over-head-and-heel evolution which is called the somerset, and which carried him, a broad column of fire, into the very thickest of the crowd. They gave way to him on every side -- they shrunk from that living flame, which mingled the power of the imperial element with the will of its superior, man. Panic-stricken for a few moments at the novel spectacle, they shrunk away on either hand before the blazing body, and offered no obstacle to his flight.

But the old warriors now took up the matter. They had suffered the game to go on as was their usage, for the tutoring of the youthful savage in those arts which are to be the employment of his life. But their own appetite now gave them speed, and they soon gathered upon the heels of the fugitive. Fortunately, he was still vigorous, and his hurts were those only of the flesh. His tortures only stimulated him into a daring disregard of any fate which might follow, and, looking once over his shoulder, and with a halloo not unlike their own whoop, Macnamara bounded forward directly upon the coppice which concealed Harrison. The latter saw his danger from this approach, but it was too late to retreat. He drew his knife and kept close to the cover of the fallen tree alongside of which he had laid himself down. Had the flying Macnamara seen this tree so as to have avoided it, Harrison might still have maintained his concealment. But the fugitive, unhappily, looked out for no such obstruction. He thought only of flight, and his legs were exercised at the expense of his eyes. A long-extended branch, shooting from the tree, interposed, and he saw it not. His feet were suddenly entangled, and he fell between the arm and the trunk of the tree. Before he could rise or recover, his pursuers were upon him. He had half gained his feet, and one of his hands, in promoting this object, rested upon the tree itself, on the opposite side of which Harrison lay quiet, while the head of Macnamara was just rising above it. At that moment a tall chief of the Seratees, with a huge club, dashed the now visible scull down upon the trunk. The blow was fatal -- the victim uttered not even a groan, and the spattering brains were driven wide, and into the upturned face of Harrison.

There was no more concealment for him after that, and starting to his feet, in another moment his knife was thrust deep into the bosom of the astonished Seratee before he had resumed the swing of his ponderous weapon. The Indian sunk back, with a single cry, upon those who followed him -- half paralyzed, with himself, at the new enemy whom they had conjured up. But their panic was momentary, and the next instant saw fifty of them crowding upon the Englishman. He placed himself against a tree, hopeless, but determined to struggle to the last. But he was surrounded in a moment -- his arms pinioned from behind, and knives from all quarters glittering around him, and aiming at his breast. What might have been his fate under the excitement of the scene and circumstances could well be said; for, already, the brother chief of the Seratee had rushed forward with his uplifted mace, and as he had the distinct claim to revenge, there was no interference. Fortunately, however, for the captive, the blow was stricken aside and intercepted by the huge staff of no less a person than the prophet.

"He is mine -- the ghost of Chaharattee, my brother, is waiting for that of his murderer. I must hang his teeth on my neck," was the fierce cry, in his own language, of the surviving Seratee, when his blow was thus arrested. But the prophet had his answer in a sense not to be withstood by the superstitious savage.

"Does the prophet speak for himself or for Manneyto? Is Manneyto a woman that we may say, Wherefore thy word to the prophet? Has not Manneyto spoken, and will not the chief obey? Lo! this is our victim, and the words of Manneyto are truth. He hath said one victim -- one English for the sacrifice, -- and but one before we sing the battle-song -- before we go on the war-path of our enemies. Is not his word truth? This blood says it is truth. We may not slay another, but on the red trail of the English. The knife must be drawn and the tomahawk lifted on the ground of the enemy, but the land of Manneyto is holy, save for his sacrifice. Thou must not strike the captive. He is captive to the Yemassee."

"He is the captive to the brown lynx of Seratee -- is he not under his club?" was the fierce reply.

"Will the Seratee stand up against Manneyto? Hear! That is his voice of thunder, and see, the eye which he sends forth in the lightning!"

Thus confirmed in his words by the solemn auguries to which he referred, and which, just at that moment came, as if in fulfilment and support of his decision, the Seratee obeyed, while all around grew silent and serious. But he insisted that, though compelled to forbear his blood, he was at least his captive. This, too, the prophet denied. The prisoner was made such upon the sacred ground of the Yemassees, and was, therefore, doubly their captive. He was reserved for sacrifice to the Manneyto at the conclusion of their present enterprise, when his doom would add to the solemnity of their thanksgiving for the anticipated victory.

THE war-dance was begun in the presence of the prisoner. He looked down upon the preparations for a conflict, no longer doubtful, between the savages and his people. He watched their movements, heard their arrangements, saw their direction, knew their design, yet had no power to strike in for the succour or the safety of those in whom only he lived. What were his emotions in that survey? Who shall describe them?

They began the war-dance, the young warriors, the boys, and women -- that terrible but fantastic whirl -- regulated by occasional strokes upon the uncouth drum and an attenuated blast from the more flexible native bugle. That dance of death -- a dance, which, perfectly military in its character, calling for every possible position or movement common to Indian strategy, moves them all with an extravagant sort of grace; and if contemplated without reference to the savage purposes which it precedes, is singularly pompous and imposing; wild, it is true, but yet exceedingly unaffected and easy, as it is one of the most familiar practices of Indian education. In this way, by extreme physical exercise, they provoke a required degree of mental enthusiasm. With this object the aborigines have many kinds of dances, and others of even more interesting character. Among many of the tribes these exhibitions are literally so many chronicles. They are the only records, left by tradition, of leading events in their history which they were instituted to commemorate. An epoch in the national progress -- a new discovery -- a new achievement was frequently distinguished by the invention of a dance or game, to which a name was given significant of the circumstance. Thus, any successful hunt, out of their usual routine, was imbodied in a series of evolutions or the gathering for a feast, exhibiting frequently in sport, what had really taken place. In this way, handed from tribe to tribe, and from generation to generation, it constituted a portion, not merely of the history of the past, but of the education of the future. This education fitted them alike for the two great exercises of most barbarians, -- the battle and the chase. The weapons of the former were also those of the latter pursuit, and the joy of success in either object was expressed in the same manner. The dance and song formed the beginning, as they certainly made the conclusion of all their adventures; and whether in defeat or victory, there was no omission of the practice. Thus we have the song of war -- of scalp-taking -- of victory -- of death, not to speak of the thousand various forms by which their feelings were expressed in the natural progress of the seasons. These songs, in most cases, called for corresponding dances, and the Indian warrior, otherwise seeming rather a machine than a mortal, adjusted, on an inspiring occasion, the strain of the prophet and the poet, to the wild and various action of the Pythia. The elements of all uncultivated people are the same. The early Greeks, in their stern endurance of torment, in their sports and exercises, were exceedingly like the North American savages. The Lacedæmonians went to battle with songs and dances; a similar practice obtained among the Jews; and one peculiarity, alike, of the Danes and Saxons, was to usher in the combat with wild and discordant anthems.

The survey was curious to Harrison, but it was also terrible. Conscious as he was, not merely of his own, but of the danger of the colony, he could not help feeling the strange and striking romance of his situation. Bound to a tree -- helpless, hopeless -- a stranger, a prisoner, and destined to the sacrifice. The thick night around him -- a thousand enemies, dark, dusky, fierce savages, half intoxicated with that wild physical action which has its drunkenness, not less than wine. Their wild distortions -- their hell-enkindled eyes, their barbarous sports and weapons -- the sudden and demoniac shrieks from the women -- the occasional burst of song, pledging the singer to the most diabolical achievements, mingled up strangely in a discord which had its propriety, with the clatter of the drum, and the long melancholy note of the bugle. And then, that high tumulus, that place of sculls -- the bleached bones of centuries past peering through its sides, and speaking for the abundant fulness of the capacious mansion-house of death within. The awful scene of torture, and the subsequent unscrupulous murder of the heroic Irishman -- the presence of the gloomy prophet in attendance upon the sacred fire, which he nursed carefully upon the mound -- the little knot of chiefs, consisting of Sanutee, Ishiagaska, and others, not to speak of the Spanish agent, Chorley -- in close council in his sight, but removed from hearing -- these, and the consciousness of his own situation, while they brought to his heart an added feeling of hopelessness, could not fail to awaken in his mind a sentiment of wonder and admiration, the immediate result of his excited thoughts and fancy.

But the dance was over at a signal from the prophet. He saw that the proper feeling of excitation had been attained. The demon was aroused, and, once aroused, was sleepless. The old women waved their torches and rushed headlong through the woods -- shouting and shrieking -- while the warriors, they struck their knives and hatchets into the neighbouring trees, giving each the name of an Englishman, and howling out the sanguinary promise of the scalp-song, at every stroke inflicted upon the unconscious trunk.

"Sangarrah-me, -- Sangarrah-me, Yemassee," was the cry of each chief to his particular division; and as they arranged themselves under their several commands, Harrison was enabled to form some idea of the proposed destination of each party. To Ishiagaska and Chorley, he saw assigned a direction which he readily conjectured would lead them to the Block House, and the settlement in the immediate neighbourhood. This was also to be inferred from the connexion of Chorley with the command of Ishiagaska, as it was not reasonable to suppose that the former would desire any duty carrying him far from his vessel. To another force the word Coosaw sufficiently indicated Beaufort as the point destined for its assault; and thus party after party was despatched in one direction or another, until but a single spot of the whole colony remained unprovided with an assailant, -- and that was Charlestown. The reservation was sufficiently accounted for, as Sanutee, and the largest division of the Yemassees, remained unappropriated. The old chief had reserved this, the most dangerous and important part of the adventure, to himself. A shrill cry -- an unusual sound -- broke upon the silence, and the crowd was gone in that instant; -- all the warriors, with Sanutee at their head. The copse concealed them from the sight of Harrison, who, in another moment, found himself more closely grappled than before. A couple of tomahawks waved before his eyes in the glare of the torches borne in the hands of the warriors who secured him. No resistance could have availed him, and cursing his ill fortune, and suffering the most excruciating of mental griefs as he thought of the progress of the fate which threatened his people, he made a merit of necessity, and offering no obstacle to their will, he was carried to Pocota-ligo -- bound with thongs and destined for the sacrifice which was to follow hard upon their triumph. Such was the will of the prophet of Manneyto, and ignorance does not often question the decrees of superstition.

Borne back with the crowd, Harrison entered Pocota-ligo under a motley guard and guidance. He had been intrusted to the care of a few superannuated old warriors, who were deemed sufficient for the service of keeping him a prisoner; but they were numerously attended. The mob of the Yemassees -- for they had their mobs as well as the more civilized -- consisted of both sexes; and when we reflect upon the usual estimation placed upon women by all barbarous people, we shall not be surprised to know that, on the present occasion, the sex were by far the most noisy if not the most numerous. Their cries -- savage and sometimes indecent gestures -- their occasional brutality, and the freedom and frequency with which they inflicted blows upon the captive as he approached them on his way to prison, might find, with no little appropriateness, a choice similitude in the blackguardism of the Eleusinian mysteries -- the occasional exercises of a far more pretending people than that under our eye. They ran, many of them, with torches waving wildly above their heads, on each side of the prisoner, some urging him with blows and stripes, less dangerous, it is true, than annoying. Many of them, in their own language, poured forth all manner of strains -- chiefly of taunt and battle, but frequently of downright indecency. And here we may remark, that it is rather too much the habit to speak of the Indians, at home and in their native character, as sternly and indifferently cold -- people after the fashion of the elder Cato, who used to say that he never suffered his wife to embrace him, except when it thundered -- adding, by way of jest, that he was therefore never happy except when Jupiter was pleased to thunder. We should be careful not to speak of them as we casually see them, -- when, conscious of our superiority, and unfamiliar with our language, they are necessarily taciturn, as it is the pride of an Indian to hide his deficiencies. With a proper policy, which might greatly benefit upon circulation, he conceals his ignorance in silence. In his own habitation, uninfluenced by drink or any form of degradation, and unrestrained by the presence of superiors, he is sometimes even a jester -- delights in a joke, practical or otherwise, and is not scrupulous about its niceness or propriety. In his council he is fond of speaking -- glories in long talks, and, as he grows old, if you incline a willing ear, even becomes garrulous. Of course, all these habits are restrained by circumstance. He does not chatter when he fights or hunts, and when he goes to make a treaty, never presumes to say more than he has been taught his people.

The customary habit of the Yemassees was not departed from on the present occasion. The mob had nothing of forbearance toward the prisoner, and they showed but little taciturnity. Hootings and howlings -- shriekings and shoutings -- confused cries -- yells of laughter -- hisses of scorn -- here and there a fragment of song, either of battle or ridicule, gathering, as it were, by a common instinct, into a chorus of fifty voices -- most effectually banished silence from her usual night dominion in the sacred town of Pocota-ligo. In every dwelling -- for the hour was not yet late -- the torch blazed brightly -- the entrances were thronged with their inmates, and not a tree but gave shelter to its own peculiar assemblage. Curiosity to behold a prisoner, destined by the unquestionable will of the prophet to the great sacrifice which gave gratitude to the Manneyto for the victory which such a pledge was most confidently anticipated to secure, -- led them forward in droves; so that, when Harrison arrived in the centre of the town, the path became almost entirely obstructed by the dense and still gathering masses pressing upon them. The way, indeed, would have been completely impassable but for the hurrying torches carried forward by the attending women; who, waving them about recklessly over the heads of the crowd, distributed the melted gum in every direction, and effectually compelled the more obtrusive to recede into less dangerous places.

Thus marshalled, his guards bore the captive onward to the safe-keeping of a sort of block house -- a thing of logs, rather more compactly built than was the wont of Indian dwellings usually, and without any aperture save the single one at which he was forced to enter. Not over secure, however, as a prison, it was yet made to answer the purpose, and what it lacked in strength and security was, perhaps, more than supplied in the presence of the guard put upon it. Thrusting their prisoner, through the narrow entrance, into a damp apartment, the earthen floor of which was strewn with pine trash, they secured the door with thongs on the outside, and with the patience of the warrior, they threw themselves directly before it. Seldom making captives unless as slaves, and the punishments of their own people being usually of a summary character, will account for the want of skill among the Yemassees in the construction of their dungeon. The present answered all their purposes, simply, perhaps, because it had answered the purposes of their fathers. This is reason enough, in a thousand respects, with the more civilized. The prison-house to which Harrison was borne, had been in existence a century.

HARRISON was one of those true philosophers who know always how to keep themselves for better times. As he felt that resistance, at that moment, must certainly be without any good result, he quietly enough suffered himself to be borne to prison. He neither halted nor hesitated, but went forward, offering no obstacle, with as much wholesome good-will and compliance as if the proceeding was perfectly agreeable to him. He endured, with no little show of patience, all the blows and buffetings so freely bestowed upon him by his feminine enemies; and if he did not altogether smile under the infliction, he at least took good care to avoid any ebullition of anger, which, as it was there impotent, must necessarily have been a weakness, and would most certainly have been entirely thrown away. Among the Indians, this was by far the better policy. They can admire the courage, though they hate the possessor. Looking round amid the crowd, Harrison thought he could perceive many evidences of this sentiment. Sympathy and pity he also made out, in the looks of a few. One thing he did certainly observe -- a generous degree of forbearance as well of taunt as of buffet, on the part of all the better looking among the spectators. Nor did he deceive himself. The insolent portion of the rabble formed a class especially for such purposes as the present, and to them, its duties were left exclusively. The forbearance of the residue looked to him like kindness, and with the elasticity of his nature, hope came with the idea.

Nor was he mistaken. Many eyes in that assembly looked upon him with regard and commiseration. The firm but light tread of his step -- the upraised, unabashed, the almost laughing eye -- the free play into liveliness of the muscles of his mouth -- sometimes curled into contempt, and again closely compressed, as in defiance -- together with his fine, manly form and even carriage -- were all calculated to call for the respect, if for no warmer feeling, of the spectators. They all knew the bravery of the Coosah-moray-te, or the Coosaw-killer -- many of them had felt his kindness and liberality, and but for the passionate nationality of the Indian character, the sympathy of a few might, at that moment, have worked actively in his favour, and with the view to his release.

There was one in particular, among the crowd, who regarded him with a melancholy satisfaction. It was Matiwan. As the whole nation had gathered to the sacred town, in which, during the absence of the warriors, they found shelter, she was now a resident of Pocota-ligo. One among, but not of the rabble, she surveyed the prisoner with an emotion which only the heart of the bereaved mother may define. "How like," she muttered to herself in her own language -- "how like to the boy Occonestoga." And as she thought thus, she wondered if Harrison had a mother over the great waters. Sympathy has wings as well as tears, and her eyes took a long journey in imagination to that foreign land. She saw the mother of the captive with a grief at heart like her own: and her own sorrows grew deeper at the survey. Then came a strange wish to serve that pale mother -- to save her from an anguish such as hers: then she looked upon the captive, and her memory grew active; she knew him -- she had seen him before in the great town of the pale-faces -- he appeared a chief among them, and so had been called by her father, the old warrior Etiwee, who, always an excellent friend to the English, had taken her, with the boy Occonestoga -- then a mere boy -- on a visit to Charlestown. She had there seen Harrison, but under another name. He had been kind to her father -- had made him many presents, and the beautiful little cross of red coral, which, without knowing any thing of its symbolical associations, she had continued to wear in her bosom, had been the gift of him who was now the prisoner to her people. She knew him through his disguise -- her father would have known -- would have saved him -- had he been living. She had heard his doom denounced to take place on the return of the war-party: -- she gazed upon the manly form, the noble features, the free, fearless carriage -- she thought of Occonestoga -- of the pale mother of the Englishman -- of her own bereavement -- and of a thousand other things belonging naturally to the same topics. The more she thought, the more her heart grew softened within her -- the more aroused her brain -- the more restless and unrestrainable her spirit.

She turned away from the crowd as the prisoner was hurried into the dungeon. She turned away in anguish of heart, and a strange commotion of thought. She sought the shelter of the neighbouring wood, and rambled unconsciously, as it were, among the old forests. But she had no peace -- she was pursued by the thought which assailed her from the first. The image of Occonestoga haunted her footsteps, and she turned only to see his bloody form and gashed head for ever at her elbow. He looked appealingly to her, and she then thought of the English mother over the waters. He pointed in the direction of Pocota-ligo, and she then saw the prisoner, Harrison. She saw him in the dungeon, she saw him on the tumulus -- the flames were gathering around him -- a hundred arrows stuck in his person, and she beheld the descending hatchet, bringing him the coup de grace. These images were full of terror, and their contemplation still more phrensied her intellect. She grew strong and fearless with the desperation which they brought, and rushing through the forest, she once more made her way into the heart of Pocota-ligo.

The scene was changed. The torches were either burnt out or decaying, and scattered over the ground. The noise was over -- the crowd dispersed and gone. Silence and sleep had resumed their ancient empire. She trod, alone, along the great thoroughfare of the town. A single dog ran at her heels, baying at intervals; but him she hushed with a word of unconscious soothing -- ignorant when she uttered it. There were burning feelings in her bosom, at variance with reason -- at variance with the limited duty which she owed to society -- at variance with her own safety. But what of these? There is a holy instinct that helps us, sometimes, in the face of our common standards. Humanity is earlier in its origin, and holier in its claims than society. She felt the one, and forgot to obey the other.

She went forward, and the prison-house of the Englishman, under the shelter of a father-oak -- the growth of a silent century -- rose dimly before her. Securely fastened with stout thongs on the outside, the door was still farther guarded by a couple of warriors lying upon the grass before it. One of them seemed to sleep soundly, but the other was wakeful. He lay at length, however, his head upraised, and resting upon one of his palms -- his elbow lifting it from the ground. The other hand grasped the hatchet, which he employed occasionally in chopping the earth just before him He was musing rather than meditative, and the action of his hand and hatchet, capricious and fitful, indicated a want of concentration in his thought. This was in her favour. Still there was no possibility of present approach unperceived; and to succeed in a determination only half-formed in her bosom, and in fact, undesigned in her head, the gentle but fearless woman had resource to some of those highly ingenious arts, so well known to the savage, and which he borrows in most part from the nature around him. Receding, therefore, to a little distance, she carefully sheltered herself in a small clustering clump of bush and brush, at a convenient distance for her purpose, and proceeded more definitely to the adjustment of her design.

Meanwhile, the yet wakeful warrior looked round upon his comrade, who lay in a deep slumber between himself and the dungeon entrance. Fatigue and previous watchfulness had done their work with the veteran. The watcher himself began to feel these influences stealing upon him, though not in the same degree, perhaps, and with less rapidity. But, as he looked around, and witnessed the general silence, his ear detecting with difficulty the drowsy motion of the zephyr among the thick branches over head, as if that slept also -- his own drowsiness crept more and more upon his senses. Nature is thronged with sympathies, and the undiseased sense finds its kindred at all hours and in every situation.

Suddenly, as he mused, a faint chirp, that of a single cricket, swelled upon his ear from the neighbouring grove. He answered it, for great were his imitative faculties. He answered it, and from an occasional note, it broke out into a regular succession of chirpings, sweetly timed, and breaking the general silence of the night with an effect utterly indescribable, except to watchers blessed with a quick imagination. To these, still musing and won by the interruption, he sent back a similar response, and his attention was suspended, as if for some return. But the chirping died away in a click scarcely perceptible. It was succeeded after a brief interval, by the faint note of a mock-bird -- a sudden note, as if the minstrel, starting from sleep, had sent it forth unconsciously, or, in a dream, had thus given utterance to some sleepless emotion. It was soft and gentle as the breathings of a flower Again came the chirping of the cricket -- a broken strain -- capricious in time, and now seeming near at hand, now remote and flying. Then rose the whizzing hum, as of a tribe of bees suddenly issuing from the hollow of some neighbouring tree; and then, the clear, distinct tap of the woodpecker -- once, twice, and thrice. Silence, then, -- and the burden of the cricket was resumed, at the moment when a lazy stir of the breeze in the branches above him seemed to solicit the torpor from which it occasionally started. Gradually, the successive sounds, so natural to the situation, and so grateful and congenial to the ear of the hunter, hummed his senses into slumber. For a moment, his eyes were half re-opened, and he looked round vacantly upon the woods, and upon the dying flame of the scattered torches -- and then upon his fast sleeping comrade. The prospect gave additional stimulant to the dreamy nature of the influences growing about and gathering upon him. Finally, the trees danced away from before his vision -- the clouds came down close to his face; and, gently accommodating his arm to the support of his dizzy and sinking head, he gradually and unconsciously sunk beside his companion, and, in a few moments, enjoyed a slumber as oblivious.

With the repose to slumber of the warrior -- the cricket and the bee, the mock-bird and the woodpecker, at once, grew silent. A few moments only had elapsed, when, cautious in approach, they made their simultaneous appearance from the bush in the person of Matiwan. It was her skill that had charmed the spirit of the watcher into sleep, by the employment of associations so admirably adapted to the spirit of the scene. With that ingenuity which is an instinct with the Indians, she had imitated, one after another, the various agents, whose notes, duly timed, had first won, then soothed, and then relaxed and quieted the senses of the prison-keeper. She had rightly judged in the employment of her several arts. The gradual beatitude of mind and lassitude of body, brought about with inevitable certainty, when once we have lulled the guardian watchers of the animal, must always precede their complete unconsciousness; and the art of the Indian, in this way, is often employed, in cases of mental excitation and disease, with a like object. The knowledge of the power of soothing, sweet sounds over the wandering mind, possessed, as the Hebrew strongly phrased it, of devils, was not confined to that people, nor to the melodious ministerings of their David. The Indian claims for it a still greater influence, when, with a single note, he bids the serpent uncoil from his purpose, and wind unharmingly away from the bosom of his victim.

She emerged from her place of concealment with a caution which marked something more of settled purpose than she had yet exhibited. She approached in the dim, flickering light, cast from the decaying torches which lay scattered without order along the ground. A few paces only divided her from the watchers, and she continued to approach, when one of them turned with a degree of restlessness, which led her to apprehend that he had awakened. She sunk back like a shadow, as fleet and silently, once more into the cover of the brush. But he still slept. She again approached -- and the last flare of the torch burning most brightly before, quivered, sent up a little gust of flame, and then went out, leaving her only the star-light for her farther guidance. This light was imperfect, as the place of imprisonment lay under a thickly branching tree, and her progress was therefore more difficult. But, with added difficulty, to the strong mood, comes added determination. To this determination the mind of Matiwan brought increased caution; and treading with the lightness of some melancholy ghost, groping at midnight among old and deserted chambers of the heart, the Indian woman stepped onward to her purpose over a spot as silent, if not so desolate. Carefully placing her feet so as to avoid the limbs of the sleeping guard -- who lay side by side and directly across the door-way -- a design only executed with great difficulty, she at length reached the door; and drawing from her side a knife, she separated the thick thongs of skin which had otherwise well secured it. In another moment she was in the centre of the apartment and in the presence of the captive.

He lay at length, though not asleep, upon the damp floor of the dungeon. Full of melancholy thought, and almost prostrate with despair, his mind and imagination continued to depict before his eyes the thousand forms of horror to which savage cruelty was probably, at that very moment, subjecting the form most dear to his affections, and the people at large, for whose lives he would freely have given up his own. He saw the flames of their desolation -- he heard the cries of their despair. Their blood gushed along before his eyes, in streams that spoke to him appealingly, at least, for vengeance. How many veins, the dearest in his worship, had been drained perchance to give volume to their currents. The thought was horrible, the picture too trying and too terrible for the contemplation of a spirit, which, fearless and firm, was yet gentle and affectionate. He covered his eyes with his extended palms, as if to shut from his physical what was perceptible only to his mental vision.

A gust aroused him. The person of Matiwan was before him, a dim outline, undistinguishable in feature by his darkened and disordered sight. Her voice, like a murmuring water lapsing away among the rushes, fell soothingly upon his senses. Herself half dreaming -- for her proceeding had been a matter rather of impulse than premeditation -- the single word, so gently yet so clearly articulated, with which she broke in upon the melancholy musings of the captive, and first announced her presence, proved sufficiently the characteristic direction of her own maternal spirit.

"Occonestoga!"

"Who speaks?" was the reply of Harrison, starting to his feet, and assuming an attitude of defiance and readiness, not less than doubt; for he had now no thought but that of fight, in connexion with the Yemassees. "Who speaks?"

"Ha!" and in the exclamation, we see the restored consciousness which taught her that not Occonestoga, but the son of another mother, stood before her.

"Ha! the Coosah-moray-te shall go," she said, in broken English.

"Who -- what is this?" responded the captive, as he felt rather than understood the kindness of the tones that met his ear; and he now more closely approached the speaker.

"Hush," -- she placed her hand upon his wrist, and looked to the door with an air of anxiety -- then whisperingly, urged him to caution.

"Big warriors -- tomahawks -- they lie in the grass for the English."

"And who art thou, -- woman? Is it freedom -- life? cut the cords, quick, quick -- let me feel my liberty." And as she busied herself in cutting the sinews that tightly secured his wrists, he scarcely forbore his show of impatience.

"I am free -- I am free. I thank thee, God -- great, good Father, this is thy providence! I thank -- I praise thee! And thou -- who art thou, my preserver -- but wherefore ask? Thou art -- "

"It is Matiwan!" she said humbly.

"The wife of Sanutee -- how shall I thank -- how reward thee, Matiwan!"

"Matiwan is the woman of the great chief, Sanutee -- she makes free the English, that has a look and a tongue like the boy Occonestoga."

"And where is he, Matiwan -- where is the young warrior? I came to see after him, and it is this brought me into my present difficulty."

"Take the knife, English -- take the knife. Look! the blood is on the hand of Matiwan. It is the blood of the boy."

"Woman, thou hast not slain him -- thou hast not slain the child of thy bosom!"

"Matiwan saved the boy," she said proudly.

"Then he lives."

"In the blessed valley with the Manneyto. He will build a great lodge for Matiwan."

"Give me the knife."

He took it hurriedly from her grasp, supposing her delirious, and failing utterly to comprehend the seeming contradiction in her language. She handed it to him with a shiver as she gave it up; then, telling him to follow, and at the same time pressing her hand upon his arm by way of caution, she led the way to the entrance, which she had carefully closed after her on first entering. With as much, if not more caution than before, slowly unclosing it, she showed him, in the dim light of the stars, the extended forms of the two keepers. They still slept, but not soundly; and in the momentary glance which she required the captive to take, with all Indian deliberateness, she seemed desirous of familiarizing his glance the condition of the scene, and with all those difficulties in the aspect of surrounding objects with which he was probably destined to contend. With the strong excitement of renewed hope, coupled with his consciousness of freedom, Harrison would have leaped forward; but she restrained him, and just at that moment, a sudden, restless movement of one of the sleepers warned them to be heedful.. Quick as thought, in that motion, Matiwan sunk back into the shadow of the dungeon, closing the door with the same impulse. Pausing, for a few moments, until the renewed and deep breathings from without reassured her, she then again led the way; but, as she half opened the door, turning quietly, she said in a whisper to the impatient Harrison,

"The chief of the English -- the pale mother loves him over the water?"

"She does, Matiwan -- she loves him very much."

"And the chief -- he keeps her here -- " pointing to her heart.

"Always -- deeply. I love her too, very much."

"It is good. The chief will go on the waters -- he will go to the mother that loves him. She will sing like a green bird for him, when the young corn comes out of the ground. So Matiwan sings for Occonestoga. Go, English -- but look! -- for the arrow of Yemassee runs along the path."

He pressed her hand warmly, but his lips refused all other acknowledgment. A deep sigh attested her own share of feeling in those references which she had made to the son in connexion with the mother. Then, once more unclosing the entrance, she stepped fearlessly and successfully over the two sleeping sentinels.

He followed her, but with less good fortune. Whether it was that he saw not distinctly in that unaccustomed light, and brushed one of the men with his foot, or whether he had been restless before, and only in an imperfect slumber just then broken, may not now be said; but at that inauspicious moment he awakened. With waking comes instant consciousness to the Indian, who differs in this particular widely from the negro. He knew his prisoner at a glance, and grappled him, as he lay, by the leg. Harrison, with an instinct quite as ready, dashed his unobstructed heel into the face of the warrior, and though released, would have followed up his blow by a stroke from his uplifted and bared knife; but his arm was held back by Matiwan. Her instinct was gentler and wiser. In broken English, she bade him fly for his life. His own sense taught him in an instant the propriety of this course, and before the aroused Indian could recover from the blow of his heel, and while he strove to waken his comrade, the Englishman bounded down, with a desperate speed, along the great thoroughfare leading to the river. The warriors were soon at his heels, but the generous mood of Matiwan did not rest with what she had already done. She threw herself in their way, and this gained him some little additional time. But they soon put her aside, and their quick tread in the pathway taken by the fugitive warned him to the exercise of all his efforts. At the same time he coolly calculated his course and its chances. As he thought thus he clutched the knife given him by Matiwan, with an emotion of confidence which the warrior must always feel, having his limbs, and grasping a weapon with which his hand has been familiar. "At least," thought he, fiercely, -- "they must battle for the life they take. They gain no easy prey." Thus did he console himself in his flight with his pursuers hard behind him. In his confidence he gained new strength, and thus the well-exercised mind gives strength to the body which it informs. Harrison was swift of foot, also, -- few of the whites were better practiced or more admirably formed for the events and necessities of forest life. But the Indian has a constant exercise which makes him a prodigy in the use of his legs. In a journey of day after day, he can easily outwind any horse. Harrison knew this, -- but then he thought of his knife. They gained upon him, and, as he clutched the weapon firmly in his grasp, his teeth grew tightly fixed, and he began to feel the rapturous delirium which prefaces the desire for the strife. Still the river was not far off, and though galled at the necessity of flight, he yet felt what was due to his people, at that very moment, most probably, under the stroke of their savage butchery. He had no time for individual conflict, in which nothing might be done for them. The fresh breeze now swelled up from the river, and re-encouraged him.

"Could I gain that," he muttered to himself, -- "could I gain that, I were safe. Of God's surety, I may."

A look over his shoulder, and a new start. They were behind him, but not so close as he had thought. Coolly enough he bounded on, thinking aloud: -

"They cannot touch, but they may shoot. Well -- if they do, they must stop, and a few seconds more will give me a cover in the waters. Let them shoot -- let them shoot. The arrow is better than the stake;" and thus muttering to himself, but in tones almost audible to his enemies, he kept his way with a heart somewhat lighter from his momentary effort at philosophy. He did not perceive that his pursuers had with them no weapon but the tomahawk, or his consolations might have been more satisfactory.

In another moment he was upon the banks of the river; and there, propitiously enough, a few paces from the shore, lay a canoe tied to a pole that stood upright in the stream. He blessed his stars as he beheld it, and pausing not to doubt whether a paddle lay in its bottom or not, he plunged incontinently forward, wading almost to his middle before he reached it. He was soon snug enough in its bottom, and had succeeded in cutting the thong with his knife when the Indians appeared upon the bank. Dreading their arrows, for the broad glare of the now rising moon gave them sufficient light for their use had they been provided with them, he stretched himself at length along the bottom of the boat, and left it to the current which set strongly downward. But a sudden plunge into the water of one and then the other of his pursuers, left him without the hope of getting off so easily. The danger came in a new shape, and he promptly rose to meet it. Placing himself in a position which would enable him to turn readily upon any point which they might assail, he prepared for the encounter. One of the warriors was close upon him -- swimming lustily, and carrying his tomahawk grasped by the handle in his teeth. The other came at a little distance, and promised soon to be up with him. The first pursuer at length struck the canoe, raised himself sufficiently on the water for that purpose, and his left hand grasped one of the sides, while the right prepared to take the hatchet from his jaws. But with the seizure of the boat by his foe came the stroke of Harrison. His knife drove half through the hand of the Indian, who released his grasp with a howl that made his companion hesitate. Just at that instant a third plunge into the water, as of some prodigious body, called for the attention of all parties anew. The pursuers now became the fugitives, as their quick senses perceived a new and dangerous enemy in the black mass surging toward them, with a power and rapidity which taught them the necessity of instant flight, and with no half effort. They well knew the fierce appetite and the tremendous jaws of the native alligator, the American crocodile, -- one of the largest of which now came looming toward them. Self-preservation was the word. The captive was forgotten altogether in their own danger; and swimming with all their strength, and with all their skill, in a zigzag manner, so as to compel their unwieldy pursuer to make frequent and sudden turns in the chase, occasionally pausing to splash the water with as much noise as possible -- a practice known to discourage his approach when not over-hungry -- they contrived to baffle his pursuit, and half exhausted, the two warriors reached and clambered up the banks, just as their ferocious pursuer, close upon their heels, had opened his tremendous jaws, with an awful compass, ready to ingulf them. They were safe, though actually pursued even upon the shore for a brief distance by the voracious and possibly half-starved monster. But so was he safe -- their captive. Paddling as well as he could with a broken flap-oar lying in the bottom of the boat, he shaped his course to strike at a point as far down the river as possible, without nearing the pirate craft of Chorley. In an hour, which seemed to him an age, he reached the opposite shore, a few miles from the Block House, not much fatigued, and so far in perfect safety.

LET US somewhat retrace our steps, and go back to the time, when, made a prisoner in the camp of the Yemassees, Harrison was borne away to Pocota-ligo, a destined victim for the sacrifice to their god of victory. Having left him, as they thought, secure, the war-party, consisting, as already described, of detachments from a number of independent, though neighbouring nations, proceeded to scatter themselves over the country. In small bodies, they ran from dwelling to dwelling with the utmost rapidity -- in this manner, by simultaneous attacks, everywhere preventing anything like union or organization among the borderers. One or two larger parties were designed for higher enterprises, and without permitting themselves to be drawn aside to these smaller matters, pursued their object with Indian inflexibility. These had for their object the surprise of the towns and villages; and so great had been their preparations, so well conducted their whole plan of warfare, that six thousand warriors had been thus got together, and, burning and slaying, they had made their way, in the progress of this insurrection, to the very gates of Charlestown -- the chief, indeed the only town, of any size or strength, in the colony. But this belongs not to the narrative immediately before us.

Two parties of some force took the direction given to our story, and making their way along the river Pocota-ligo, diverging for a few miles on the European side, had, in this manner, assailed every dwelling and settlement in their way to the Block House. One of these parties was commanded by Chorley, who, in addition to his seamen, was intrusted with the charge of twenty Indians. Equally savage with the party which he commanded, the path of this ruffian was traced in blood. He offered no obstacle to the sanguinary indulgence, on the part of the Indians, of their habitual fury in war; but rather stimulated their ferocity by the indulgence of his own. Unaccustomed, however, to a march through the forests, the progress of the seamen was not so rapid as that of the other party despatched on the same route; and many of the dwellings, therefore, had been surprised and sacked some time before the sailor commander could make his appearance. The Indian leader who went before him was Ishiagaska, one of the most renowned warriors of the nation. He, indeed, was one of those who, making a journey to St. Augustine, had first been seduced by the persuasions of the Spanish governor of that station -- a station denounced by the early Carolinians, from the perpetual forays upon their borders, by land and sea, issuing from that quarter -- as another Sallee. He had sworn fidelity to the king of Spain while there, and from that point had been persuaded to visit the neighbouring tribes of the Creek, Apalatchie, Euchee, and Cherokee Indians, with the war-belt, and a proposition of a common league against the English settlements -- a proposition greedily accepted, when coming with innumerable presents of hatchets, knives, nails, and gaudy dresses, furnished by the Spaniards, who well knew how to tempt and work upon the appetites and imagination of the savages. Laden with similar presents, the chief had returned home, and with successful industry had succeeded, as we have seen, aided by Sanutee, in bringing many of his people to a similar way of thinking with himself. The frequent aggressions of the whites, the cheats practiced by some of their traders, and other circumstances, had strongly co-operated to the desired end; and with his desire satisfied, Ishiagaska now headed one of the parties destined to carry the war to Port Royal Island, sweeping the track of the Pocota-ligo settlements in his progress, and at length uniting with the main party of Sanutee before Charlestown.

He was not slow in the performance of his mission; but, fortunately for the English, warned by the counsels of Harrison, the greater number had taken timely shelter in the Block House, and left but their empty dwellings to the fury of their invaders. Still, there were many not so fortunate; and plying their way from house to house in their progress, with all the stealth and silence of the cat, the Indians drove their tomahawk into many of the defenseless cotters who came imprudently to the door in recognition of the conciliating demand which they made for admission. Once in possession, their aim was indiscriminate slaughter, and one bed of death not unfrequently comprised the forms of an entire family -- husband, wife, and children. Sometimes they fired the dwelling into which caution denied them entrance, and as the inmates fled from the flames, stood in watch and shot them down with their arrows. In this way, sparing none, whether young or old, male or female, the band led on by Ishiagaska appeared at length at the dwelling of the pastor. Relying upon his reputation with the Indians, and indeed unapprehensive of any commotion, for he knew nothing of their arts of deception, we have seen him steadily skeptical, and almost rudely indifferent to the advice of Harrison. Regarding the cavalier in a light somewhat equivocal, it is more than probable that the source of the counsel was indeed the chief obstacle, with him, in the way of its adoption. Be that as it may, he stubbornly held out in his determination to abide where he was, though somewhat staggered in his confidence, when, in their flight from their own more exposed situation to the shelter of the Block House, under Harrison's counsel, the old dame Grayson, with her elder son, stopped at his dwelling. He assisted the ancient lady to alight from her horse, and helped her into the house for refreshments, while her son busied himself with the animal.

"Why, what's the matter, dame? What brings you forth at this late season? To my mind, at your time of life, the bed would be the best place, certainly," was the address of the pastor as he handed her some refreshment.

"Oh, sure, parson, and it's a hard thing for such as me to be riding about the country on horseback at any time, much less at night -- though to be sure Watty kept close to the bridle of the creature, which you see is a fine one, and goes like a cradle."

"Well, but what brings you out? -- you have not told me that, yet. Something of great moment, doubtless."

"What, you haven't heard? Hasn't the captain told you? Well, that's strange! I thought you'd be one of the first to hear it all, -- seeing that all say he thinks of nobody half so much as of your young lady there. Ah! my dear -- well, you needn't blush now, nor look down, for he's a main fine fellow, and you couldn't find a better in a long day's journey."

The pastor looked grave, while the old dame, whose tongue always received a new impulse when she met her neighbours, ran on in the most annoying manner. She stopped at last, and though very readily conjecturing now the occasion of her flight, he did not conceive it improper to renew his question.

"Well, as I said, it's all owing to the captain's advice -- Captain Harrison, you know -- a sweet gentleman that, as ever lived. He it was -- he came to me this morning, and he went to all the neighbours, and looked so serious -- you know he don't often look serious -- but he looked so serious as he told us all about the savages -- the Yemassees, and the Coosaws -- how they were thinking to rise and tomahawk us all in our beds; and then he offered to lend me his horse, seeing I had no creature, and it was so good of him -- for he knew how feeble I was, and his animal is so gentle and easy."

"And so, with this wild story, he has made you travel over the country by night, when you should be in your bed. It is too bad -- this young man takes quite too many liberties."

"Why, how now, parson -- what's the to-do betwixt you and the captain?" asked the old lady in astonishment.

"None -- nothing of any moment," was the grave reply. "I only think that he is amusing himself at our expense, with a levity most improper, by alarming the country."

"My! -- and you think the Indians don't mean to attack and tomahawk us in our beds?"

"That is my opinion, dame -- I see no reason why they should. It is true, they have had some difficulties with the traders of late, but they have been civil to us. One or more have been here every day during the last week, and they seemed then as peaceably disposed as ever. They have listened with much patience to my poor exhortations, and, I flatter myself, with profit to their souls and understandings. I have no apprehensions myself; though, had it been left to Bess and her mother, like you, we should have been all riding through the woods to the Block House, with the pleasure of riding back in the morning."

"Bless me! how you talk -- well, I never thought to hear so badly of the captain. He did seem so good a gentleman, and was so sweetly spoken."

"Don't mistake me, dame, -- I have said nothing unfavourable to the character of the gentleman -- nothing bad of him. I know little about him, and this is one chief objection which I entertain to a greater intimacy. Another objection is that wild and indecorous levity, of which he never seems to divest himself, and which I think has given you to-night a fatiguing and unnecessary ramble."

"Well, if you think so, I don't care to go farther, for I don't expect to be at all comfortable in the Block House. So, if you can make me up a truck here -- "

"Surely, dame, -- Bess, my dear -- "

But the proposed arrangement was interrupted by Walter Grayson, who just then appeared, and who stoutly protested against his mother's stopping short of the original place of destination. The elder Grayson was a great advocate for Captain Harrison, who imbodied all his ideal of what was worthy and magnificent, in whom his faith was implicit -- and he did not scruple to dilate with praiseworthy eloquence upon the scandal of such a proceeding as that proposed.

"You must not think of it, mother. How will it look? Besides, I'm sure the captain knows what's right, and would't say what was not certain. It's only a mile and a bit -- and when you can make sure, you must not stop short."

"But, Watty, boy -- the parson says it's only the captain's fun, and we'll only have to take a longer ride in the morning if we go on farther to-night."

The son looked scowlingly upon the pastor, as he responded: -

"Well, perhaps the parson knows better than any body else, but give me the opinion of those whose business it is to know. Now, I believe in the captain whenever fighting's going on, and I believe in the parson whenever preaching's going on -- so as it's fighting and not preaching now, I don't care who knows it, but I believe in the captain, and I won't believe in the parson. If it was preaching and not fighting, the parson should be my man."

"Now, Watty, don't be disrespectful. I'm sure the parson must be right, and so I think we had all better stay here when there's no use in going."

"Well now, mother, I'm sure the parson's wrong, and if you stay, it will only be to be tomahawked and scalped."

"Why alarm your mother with such language, young man? You are deceived -- the Yemassees were never more peaceable than they are at present" -- Matthews here broke in, but commanded little consideration from the son, and almost provoked a harsh retort: -

"I say, Parson Matthews -- one man knows one thing, and another man another -- but, curse me, if I believe in the man that pretends to know every thing. Now fighting's the business, the very trade as I may say of Captain Harrison, of the Foresters, and I can tell you, if it will do you any good to hear, that he knows better how to handle these red-skins than any man in Granville county, let the other man come from whatever quarter he may. Now preaching's your trade, though you can't do much at it, I think; yet, as it is your trade, nobody has a right to meddle -- it's your business, not mine. But, I say, parson -- I don't think it looks altogether respectful to try and undo, behind his back, the trade of another; and I think it little better than backbiting for any one to speak disreputably of the captain, just when he's gone into the very heart of the nation, to see what we are to expect, and all for our benefit."

Grayson was mightily indignant, and spoke his mind freely. The parson frowned and winced at the rather novel and nowise sparing commentary, but could say nothing precisely to the point beyond what he had said already. Preaching, and not fighting, was certainly his profession; and, to say the least of it, the previous labours of Harrison among the Indians, his success, and knowledge of their habits and character, justified the degree of confidence in his judgment, upon which Grayson so loudly insisted, and which old Matthews so sturdily withheld. A new speaker now came forward, however, in the person of Bess Matthews, who, without the slightest shrinking, advancing from the side of her mother, thus addressed the last speaker: -

"Where, Master Grayson, did you say Captain Harrison had gone?"

"Ah, Miss Betsey, I'm glad to see you. But you may well ask, for it's wonderful to me how any body can undervalue a noble gentleman just at the very time he's doing the best, and risking his own life for us all. Who knows but just at this moment the Yemassees are scalping him in Pocota-ligo, for its there he is gone to see what we may expect."

"You do not speak certainly, Master Grayson -- it is only your conjecture?" was her inquiry, while the lip of the maiden trembled, and the colour fled hurriedly from her cheek.

"Ay, but I do, Miss Betsey, for I put him across the river myself, and it was then he lent me the horse for mother. Yes, there he is, and nobody knows in what difficulty -- for my part, I'm vexed to the soul to hear people running down the man that's doing for them what they can't do for themselves, and all only for the good-will of the thing, and not for any pay."

"Nobody runs down your friend, Mr. Grayson."

"Just the same thing -- but you may talk as you think proper; and if you don't choose to go, you may stay. I don't want to have any of mine scalped, and so mother, let us be off."

The old woman half hesitated, and seemed rather inclined once more to change her decision and go with her son, but happening to detect a smile upon the lips of the pastor, she grew more obstinate than ever, and peremptorily declared her determination to stay where she was. Grayson seemed perfectly bewildered, and knew not what to say. What he did say seemed only to have the effect of making her more dogged in her opposition than ever, and he was beginning to despair of success, when an influential auxiliary appeared in the person of his younger brother. To him the elder instantly appealed, and a close observer might have detected another change in the countenance of the old dame at the approach of her younger son. The features grew more feminine, and there was an expression of conscious dependence in the lines of her cheek and the half parted lips, which necessarily grew out of the greater love which she bore to the one over the other child.

"And what do you say, Hughey, my son?" inquired the old dame, affectionately.

"What have I said, mother?" was the brief response.

"And we must go to the Block House, Hughey?"

"Did we not set out to go there?"

"But the parson thinks there is no danger, Hughey."

"That is, doubtless, what he thinks. There are others having quite as much experience, who think there is danger, and as you have come so far, it will not be much additional trouble to go farther and to a place of safety. Remember my father -- he thought there was no danger, and he was scalped for it."

The young man spoke gravely and without hesitation, but with a manner the most respectful. His words were conclusive with his mother, whose jewel he unquestionably was, and his last reference was unnecessary. Drawing the strings of her hat, with a half suppressed sigh, she prepared to leave a circle somewhat larger and consequently somewhat more cheerful than that to which she had been accustomed. In the meantime, a little by-play had been going on between the elder brother and Bess Matthews, whose apprehensions, but poorly concealed, had been brought into acute activity on hearing of the precarious adventure which her lover had undertaken. This dialogue, however, was soon broken by the departure of Dame Grayson, attended by her elder son, the younger remaining behind, much against the desire of the anxious mother, though promising soon to follow. Their departure was succeeded by a few moments of profound and somewhat painful silence, for which each of the parties had a particular reason. The pastor, though obstinately bent not to take the counsel given by Harrison, was yet not entirely satisfied with his determination; and the probability is, that a single circumstance occurring at that time, so as to furnish a corresponding authority from another, might have brought about a change in his decision. His lady was a taciturn body, who said little then, but looked much discontent; and Bess, who was too much absorbed with the voluntary exposure of her lover to the ferocity of those whom he esteemed enemies, kept her thoughts entirely from the subject of their late discussion. Young Grayson, too, had his peculiar cause of disquiet, and, with a warm passion, active yet denied, in his heart -- and a fierce mood for ambition, kept within those limits which prescription and social artifice so frequently weld, as with the coil of the constrictor around the lofty mind and the upsoaring spirit, keeping it down to earth, and chaining it in a bondage as degrading as it is unnatural -- he felt in no humour to break through the restraints which fettered the goodly company about him. Still, the effort seemed properly demanded of him, and referring to the common movement, he commenced the conversation by regretting, with a commonplace phraseology, the prospect held forth, so injurious to the settlement by any approaching tumult among the Indians. The old pastor fortified his decision not to remove, by repeating his old confidence in their quiet: -

"The Indians," said he, "have been and are quiet enough. We have no reason to anticipate assault now. It is true, they have the feelings of men, and as they have been injured by some of our traders, and perhaps by some of our borderers, they may have cause of complaint, and a few of them may even be desirous of revenge. This is but natural. But, if this were the general feeling, we should have seen its proofs before now. They would seek it in individual enterprises, and would strike and slay those who wronged them. Generally speaking, they have nothing to complain of; for, since that excellent man, Charles Craven, has been governor, he has been their friend, even in spite of the assembly, who, to say truth, have been nowise sparing of injustice wherever the savage has been concerned. Again, I say, I see not why we should apprehend danger from the Yemassees at this moment."

As if himself satisfied with the force of what he had said, the pastor threw himself back in his chair, and closed his eyes and crossed his hands in that starched and canting manner, quite too common among a class of professional worshippers, and in which self-complaisance makes up quite as much of the feature as sincerity of devotion. Grayson replied briefly: -

"Yet there are some evidences which should not be disregarded. Sanutee, notoriously friendly as he has been to us, no longer visits us -- he keeps carefully away, and when seen, his manner is restrained, and his language any thing but cordial. Ishiagaska, too, has been to St. Augustine, brought home large presents, for himself and other of the chiefs, and has paid a visit to the Creeks, the Apalatchies, and other tribes -- besides bringing home with him Chigilli, the celebrated Creek war-chief, who has been among the Yemassees ever since. Now, to say the least of it, there is much that calls for attention in the simple intercourse of foes so inveterate hitherto as the Spaniards and Yemassees. Greater foes have not often been known, and this new friendship is therefore the more remarkable; conclusive, indeed, when we consider the coldness of the Yemassees toward us just as they have contracted this new acquaintance; the fury with which they revolutionized the nation, upon the late treaty for their lands, and the great difficulty which Sanutee had in restraining them from putting our commissioners to death."

"Ah, that was a bad business, but the fault was on our side. Our assembly would inveigle with the young chiefs, and bribe them against the will of the old, though Governor Craven told them what they might expect, and warned them against the measure. I have seen his fine letter to the assembly on that very point."

"We differ, Mr. Matthews, about the propriety of the measure, for it is utterly impossible that the whites and Indians should ever live together and agree. The nature of things is against it, and the very difference between the two, that of colour, perceptible to our most ready sentinel, the sight, must always constitute them an inferior caste in our minds. Apart from this, an obvious superiority in arts and education must soon force upon them the consciousness of their inferiority. When this relationship is considered, in connexion with the uncertainty of their resources and means of life, it will be seen that, after a while, they must not only be inferior, but they must become dependent. When this happens, and it will happen with the diminution of their hunting lands, circumscribed, daily, more and more, as they are by our approaches, they must become degraded and sink into slavery and destitution. A few of them have become so now, and one chief cause of complaint among the Yemassees, is the employment by our people of several of their warriors to carry messages and hunt our runaway slaves -- both of them employments, which their own sense readily informs them, are necessarily degrading to their character, and calculated to make them a nation of mercenaries. To my mind, the best thing we can do for them is to send them as far as possible from contact with our people."

"What! and deny them all the benefits of our blessed religion?"

"By no means, sir. The old apostles would have gone along with, or after them. Unless the vocation of the preacher be very much changed in times present from times past, they will not, therefore, be denied any of the benefits of religious education."

The answer somewhat silenced the direction of our pastor's discourse, who, though a very well meaning, was yet a very sleek and highly providential person; and, while his wits furnished no ready answer to this suggestion, he was yet not prepared himself for an utter remove from all contact with civilization, and the good things known to the economy of a Christian kitchen. As he said nothing in reply, Grayson proceeded thus: -

"There is yet another circumstance upon which I have made no remark, yet which seems important at this moment of doubt, and possibly of danger. This guarda costa, lying in the river for so many days, without any intercourse with our people, and seemingly with no object, is at least singular. She is evidently Spanish; and the report is, that on her way, she was seen to put into every inlet along the coast -- every bay and creek along the rivers -- and here we find her, not coming to the shore, but moored in the stream, ready to cut cable and run at a moment. What can be her object?"

"You have been at some pains, Master Hugh Grayson, I see, to get evidence; but so far as this vessel or guarda costa is concerned, I think I may venture to say she is harmless. As to her putting into this creek or that, I can say nothing -- she may have done so, and it is very probable, for she comes especially to get furs and skins from the Indians. I know her captain -- at least I knew him when a boy -- a wild youth from my own county -- who took to the sea for the mere love of roving. He was wild, and perhaps a little vicious, when young, and may be so now; but I have his own word that his object is trade with the Indians for furs and skins, as I have told you."

"And why not with the whites for furs and skins? No, sir! He needs no furs, and of this I have evidence enough. I had a fine parcel, which I preferred rather to sell on the spot than send to Charlestown, but he refused to buy from me on the most idle pretence. This, more than any thing else, makes me doubt; and, in his refusal, I feel assured there is more than we know of. Like yourself, I have been slow to give ear to these apprehensions, yet they have forced themselves upon me, and precaution is surely better, even though at some trouble, when safety is the object. My brother, from whom I have several facts of this kind within the last hour, is himself acquainted with much in the conduct of the Indians, calculated to create suspicion, and from Captain Harrison he gets the rest."

"Ay, Harrison again -- no evidence is good without him. He is everywhere, and with him a good jest is authority enough at any time."

"I love him not, sir, any more than yourself," said Grayson, gloomily, "but there is reason in what he tells us now."

"Father!" said Bess, coming forward, and putting her hand tenderly on the old man's shoulder -- "hear to Master Grayson -- he speaks for the best. Let us go to the Block, only for the night, or at most two or three nights -- for Gabriel said the danger would be soon over."

"Go to, girl, and be not foolish. Remember, too, to speak of gentlemen by their names in full, with a master before them, or such as the law or usage gives them. Go!"

The manner in which Harrison had been referred to by the daughter, offended Grayson not less than it did her father, and, though now well satisfied of the position in which the parties stood, he could not prevent the muscles of his brow contracting sternly, and his eyes bending down sullenly upon her. The old lady now put in: -

"Really, John, you are too obstinate. Here are all against you, and there is so little trouble, and there may be so much risk. You may repent when it is too late."

"You will have something then to scold about, dame, and therefore should not complain. But all this is exceedingly childish, and you will do me the favour, Master Grayson, to discourse of other things, since, as I see not any necessity to fly from those who have been friends always, I shall, for this good night at least, remain just where I am. For you, wife, and you, Bess, if you will leave me, you are both at liberty to go."

"Leave you, father," exclaimed Bess, sinking on one knee by the old man's side -- "speak not unkindly. I will stay, and if there be danger, will freely share it with you, in whatever form it may chance to come."

"You are a good girl, Bess -- a little timid, perhaps, but time will cure you of that," and patting her on the head, the old man rose, and took his way from the house into his cottage enclosure. Some household duties at the same moment demanding the consideration of the old lady in another room, she left the young people alone together.

THIS departure of the pastor and his lady was productive of some little awkwardness in those who remained. For a few moments, a deathlike stillness succeeded. Well aware that her affections for Harrison were known to her present companion, a feeling not altogether unpleasant, of maiden bashfulness, led the eyes of Bess to the floor, and silenced her speech. A harsher mood for a time produced a like situation on the part of Grayson, but it lasted not long. With a sullen sort of resolution, gathering into some of that energetic passion as he proceeded which so much marked his character he broke the silence at length with a word -- a single word -- uttered desperately, as it were, and with a half choking enunciation: -

"Miss Matthews -- "

She looked up at the sound, and as she beheld the dark expression of his eye, the concentrated glance, the compressed lip -- as if he dared not trust himself to utter that which he felt at the same time must be uttered -- she half started, and the "Sir" with which she acknowledged his address was articulated timorously.

"Be not alarmed, Miss Matthews; be not alarmed. I see what I would not see. -- I see that I am an object rather of fear, rather of dislike -- detestation it may be -- than of any other of those various feelings I would freely give my life to inspire in your heart."

"You wrong me, Master Grayson, indeed you do. I have no such feeling like those you speak of. I do not dislike or detest you, and I should be very sorry to have you think so. Do not think so, I pray you."

"But you fear me -- you fear me, Miss Matthews, and the feeling is much the same. Yet why should you fear me -- what have I done, what said?"

"You startle me, Master Grayson -- not that I fear you, for I have no cause to fear when I have no desire to harm. But, truth, sir -- when you look so wildly and speak so strangely, I feel unhappy and apprehensive, and yet I do not fear you."

He looked upon her as she spoke with something of a smile -- a derisive smile.

"Yet, if you knew all, Miss Matthews -- if you had seen and heard all -- ay, even the occurrences of the last two hours, you would both fear and hate me."

"I do not fear to hear, Master Grayson, and therefore I beg that you will speak out. You cannot, surely, design to terrify me? Let me but think so, sir, but for a moment, and you will as certainly fail."

"You are strong, but no: strong enough to hear, without terror, the story I could tell you. I said you feared, and perhaps hated me -- more -- perhaps you despise me. I despise myself, sincerely, deeply, for some of my doings, of which you -- my mad passion for you, rather -- has been the cause."

"Speak no more of this, Master Grayson -- freely did I forgive you that error -- I would also forget it, sir."

"That forgiveness was of no avail -- my heart has grown more black, more malignant than ever; and, no need for wonder! Let your thoughts go back and examine, along with mine, its history; for, though in this search, I feel the accursed probe irritating anew at every touch the yet bleeding wound, I am not unwilling that my own hand should direct it. Hear me. We were children together, Bess Matthews. -- In our infancy, in another land, we played happily together. When we came to this, unconscious almost of our remove, for at first we were not separated, -- when the land was new, and our fathers felled the old trees and made a cabin common, for three happy years, to them both, we played together under the same shelter. Day by day found us inseparate, and, at that time, mutual dependants. Each day gave us new consciousness, and every new consciousness taught us a most unselfish division of our gains. I feel that such was your spirit, Bess Matthews -- do me the justice to say, you believe such was my spirit also."

"It was -- I believe it, Hugh -- Master Grayson, I mean."

"Oh, be not so frigid -- say Hugh -- Hugh as of old you used to say it," exclaimed the youth, passionately, as she made the correction.

"Such was your spirit then, Hugh, I willingly say it. You were a most unselfish playmate. I have always done you justice in my thought. I am glad still to do so."

"Then our school-mate life -- that came -- three months to me in the year, with old Squire Downie, while you had all the year. -- I envied you that, Bess, though I joyed still in your advantages. What was my solace the rest of the year, when, without a feeling for my labour, I ran the furrows, and following my father's footsteps, dropped the grain into them? -- what was my solace then? Let me answer, as perhaps you know not. The thought of the night, when, unwearied by all exertion, I should fly over to your cottage, and chat with you the few hours between nightfall and bedtime. I loved you then. -- That was love, though neither of us knew it. It was not the search after the playmate, but after the playmate's heart, that carried me there; for my brother, with whom you played not less than with myself, -- he sunk wearied to his bed, though older and stronger than myself. I was unfatigued, for I loved; and thus it is that the body, taking its temper from the affections, is strong or weak, bold or timid, as they warm into emotion, or freeze with indifference. But day after day, and night after might, I came; unrelaxing, unchanging, to watch your glance, to see the play of your lips -- to be the adoring boy, afraid sometimes even to breathe certainly to speak, through fear of breaking the spell, or possibly of offending the divinity to whom I owed so much, and sent up feelings in prayer so devoutly."

"Speak not thus extravagantly, Master Grayson, or I must leave you."

"Hugh -- call me Hugh, will you not? It bears me back -- back to the boyhood I would I had never risen from."

"Hugh, then, I will call you, and with a true pleasure. Ay, more, Hugh, I will be to you again the sister you found me then; but you must not run on so idly."

"Idly, indeed, Bess Matthews, when for a dearer and a sweeter name I must accept that of sister. But let me speak ere I madden. Time came with all his changes. The neighbourhood thickened, we were no longer few in number, and consequently no longer dependant upon each other. The worst change followed then, Bess Matthews -- the change in you."

"How, Hugh -- you saw no change in me. I have surely been the same always."

"No, no -- many changes I saw in you. Every hour had its change, and most of them were improving changes. With every change you grew more beautiful; and the auburn of your hair in changing to a deep and glossy brown, and the soft pale of your girlish cheek in putting on a leaf of the most delicate rose, and the bright glance of your eye in assuming a soft and qualifying moisture in its expression, -- were all so many exquisite changes of lovely to lovelier, and none of them unnoticed by me. My eyes were sentinels that slept not when watching yours. I saw every change, however unimportant -- however unseen by others! Not a glance -- not a feature -- not a tone -- not an expresssion did I leave unstudied; and every portraiture, indelibly fixed upon my memory, underwent comparison in my lingering reflection before slumbering at night. Need I tell you, that watching your person thus, your mind underwent a not less scrupulous examination? I weighed every sentence of your lips -- every thought of your sense -- every feeling of your heart. I could detect the unuttered emotion in your eyes; and the quiver of your lip, light as that of the rose when the earliest droppings of the night dew steal into its bosom, was perceptible to that keen glance of love which I kept for ever upon you. How gradual then was the change which I noted day by day. He came at length, and with a prescience which forms no small portion of the spirit of a true affection, I cursed him when I saw him. You saw him too, and then the change grew rapid -- dreadfully rapid, to my eyes. He won you, as you had won me. There was an instinct in it. You no longer cared whether I came to you or not -- "

"Nay, Hugh -- there you are wrong again -- I was always glad -- always most happy to see you."

"You think so, Bess; -- I am willing to believe you think so -- but it is you who are wrong. I know that you cared not whether I came or not, for on the subject your thought never rested for a moment, or but for a moment. I soon discovered that you were also important in his sight, and I hated him the more from the discovery -- I hated him the more for loving you. Till this day, however, I had not imagined the extent to which you had both gone -- I had not feared, I had not felt all my desolation. I had only dreamed of and dreaded it. But when, in a paroxysm of madness, I looked upon you and saw -- saw your mutual lips -- "

"No more, Master Grayson," -- she interposed with dignity.

"I will not -- forgive me; -- but you know how it maddened me, and how I erred, and how you rebuked me. How dreadful was that rebuke! -- but it did not restrain the error -- it impelled me to a new one -- " "What new one, Hugh?"

"Hear me! This man Harrison -- that I should speak his name! -- that I should speak it praisefully too! -- he came to our cottage -- showed our danger from the Yemassees to my mother, and would have persuaded her to fly this morning -- but I interfered and prevented the removal. He saw my brother, however, and as Walter is almost his worshipper, he was more successful with him. Leaving you in a mood little short of madness this afternoon, I hurried home, but there I could not rest, and vexed with a thousand dreadful thoughts, I wandered from the house away into the woods. After a while came the tread of a horse rapidly driving up the river-trace, and near the spot where I wandered. The rider was Harrison. He alighted at a little distance from me, tied his horse to a shrub, and threw himself just before me upon the grass. A small tree stood between us, and my approach was unnoticed. I heard him murmuring, and with the same base spirit which prompted me to look down on your meeting to-day, I listened to his language. His words were words of tenderness and love -- of triumphant love, and associated with your name -- he spoke of you -- God curse him! as his own."

The word "Gabriel" fell unconsciously from the lips of the maiden as she heard this part of the narrative. For a moment Grayson paused, and his brow grew black, while his teeth were compressed closely; but as she looked up, as if impatient for the rest of his narrative, he went on: -

"Then I maddened. Then I grew fiendish. I know not whence the impulse, but it must have been from hell. I sprang upon him, and with the energies of a tiger and with more than his ferocity, I pinioned him to the ground, my knee upon his breast -- one hand upon his throat, and with my knife in the other -- "

"Stay! -- God -- man -- say that you slew him not! You struck not -- oh! you kept back your hand -- he lives!" Convulsed with terror, she clasped the arm of the speaker, while her face grew haggard with affright, and her eyes seemed starting from their sockets.

"I slew him not!" he replied solemnly.

"God bless you -- God bless you!" was all that she could utter, as she sunk back fainting upon the floor of the apartment.

PASSIONATE and thoughtless, Hugh Grayson had not calculated the consequences of his imprudent and exciting narrative upon a mind so sensitive. He was now aware of his error, and his alarm at her situation was extreme. He lifted her from the floor, and supported her to a seat, endeavouring, as well as he could, with due care and anxiety, to restore her to consciousness. While thus employed the pastor re-entered the apartment, and his surprise may be imagined.

"Ha! what is this -- what have you done, Master Grayson? Speak, sir -- my child? Bess -- Bess, dear -- look up. See -- 'tis thy old father that holds and looks on thee. Look up, my child -- look up and speak to me."

Without answering, Grayson resigned her to the hands of the pastor, and with folded arms and a face full of gloomy expression, stood gazing upon the scene in silence. The father supported her tenderly, and with a show of fervency not common to a habit which, from constant exercise, and the pruderies of a form of worship rather too much given to externals, had, in progress of time, usurped dominion over a temper originally rather passionate than phlegmatic. Exclaiming all the while to the unconscious girl -- and now and then addressing Grayson in a series of broken sentences, the old man proved the possession of a degree of regard for his child which might have appeared doubtful before. Grayson, meanwhile, stood by, -- an awed and silent spectator, -- bitterly reproaching himself for his imprudence in making such a communication, and striving, in his own mind, to forge or force an apology, at least to himself, for the heedlessness which had marked his conduct.

"What, Master Grayson, has been the cause of this? Speak out, sir -- my daughter is my heart, and you have trifled with her. Beware, sir. -- I am an old man, and a professor of a faith whose essence is peace; but I am still a man, sir -- with the feelings and the passions of a man; and sooner than my child should suffer wrong, slight as a word, I will even throw aside that faith and become a man of blood. Speak, sir, what has made all this?"

The youth grew firmer under such an exhortation, for his was the nature to be won rather than commanded. He looked firmly into the face of the speaker, and his brow gathered to a frown. The old man saw it, and saw in the confidence his glance expressed, that however he might have erred, he had at least intended no disrespect. As this conviction came to his mind, he immediately addressed his companion in a different character, while returning consciousness in his daughter's eyes warned him also to moderation.

"I have been harsh, Master Grayson -- harsh, indeed my son; but my daughter is dear to me as the fresh blood around my heart, and suffering with her is soreness and more than suffering to me. Forbear to say, at this time -- I see that she has misunderstood you, or her sickness may have some other cause. Look -- bring me some water, my son."

"My son!" muttered Grayson to himself as he proceeded to the sideboard where stood the pitcher. Pouring some of its contents into a glass, he approached the maiden, whose increasing sighs indicated increasing consciousness. The old man was about to take the glass from his hands when her unclosing eye rested upon him. With a shriek she started to her feet, and lifting her hand as if to prevent his approach, and averting her eye as if to shut his presence from her sight, she exclaimed --

"Away! thou cruel murderer -- come not nigh me -- look not on me -- touch me not with thy hands of blood. Touch me not -- away."

"God of Heaven!" exclaimed Grayson, in like horror, -- "what, indeed have I done? Forgive me, Miss Matthews, forgive me -- I am no murderer. He lives -- I struck him not. Forgive me!"

"I have no forgiveness -- none. Thou hast lifted thy hand against God's image -- thou hast sought to slay a noble gentleman to whom thou art as nothing. Away -- let me not look upon thee!"

"Be calm, Bess -- my daughter. Thou dost mistake. This is no murderer -- this is our young friend, thy old playmate, Hugh Grayson."

"Ay! he came with that old story, of how we played together, and spoke of his love and all -- and then showed me a knife, and lifted his bloody hands to my face, and -- Oh! it was too horrible." And she shivered at the association of terrible objects which her imagination continued to conjure up.

"Thou hast wrought upon her over much, Master Grayson, and though I think with no ill intent, yet it would seem with but small judgment."

"True, sir -- and give me, I pray you, but a few moments with your daughter -- a few moments alone, that I may seek to undo this cruel thought which she now appears to hold me in. But a few moments -- believe me -- I shall say nothing unkind or offensive."

"Leave me not, father -- go not out -- rather let him go where I may not see him, for he has been a base spy, and would have been a foul murderer, but that the good spirit held back his hand."

"Thou sayest rightly, Bess Matthews -- I have been base and foul -- but thou sayest ungently and against thy better nature, for I have scorned myself that I was so. Give me leave -- let thy father go -- turn thy head -- close thine eyes. I ask thee not to look upon me, but hear me and the quest, which I claim rather from thy goodness than from any meritings of mine own."

There was a gloomy despondence in his looks, and a tone of perfect abandon in his voice, that went to the heart of the maiden, as, while he spoke, she turned, and her eyes were bent upon him. Looking steadfastly upon his face for a few moments after he had ceased speaking, she appeared slowly to deliberate; then, as if satisfied, she turned to her father, and with a motion of her hand signified her consent. The old man retired, and Grayson would have led her to a seat; but rejecting his proffered aid with much firmness, she drew a chair, and motioning him also to one at a little distance, she prepared to hear him.

"I needed not this, Miss Matthews, to feel how deeply I had erred -- how dreadfully I have been punished. When you know that I have had but one stake in life -- that I have lived but for one object -- and have lived in vain and am now denied, -- you will not need to be told how completely unnecessary to my torture and trial is the suspicion of your heart, and the coldness of your look and manner. I came to-night and sought this interview, hopeless of any thing beside, at least believing myself not altogether unworthy of your esteem. To prove this more certainly to your mind, I laid bare my own. I suppressed nothing -- you saw my uncovered soul, and without concealment I resolutely pointed out to you all its blots -- all its deformities. I spoke of my love for you, of its extent, not that I might claim any from you in return -- for I saw that such hope was idle; and, indeed, knowing what I do, and how completely your heart is in the possession of another, were it offered to me at this moment, could I accept of it on any terms? Base as I have been for a moment -- criminal, as at another moment I would have been, I value still too deeply my own affections to yield them to one who cannot make a like return, and with as few reservations. But I told you of my love that you should find something in its violence -- say its madness -- to extenuate, if not to excuse, the errors to which it has prompted me. I studiously declared those errors, the better to prove to you that I was no hypocrite, and the more certainly therefore to inspire your confidence in one who, if he did not avoid, was at least as little willing to defend them. I came to you for your pardon; and, unable to win your love, I sought only for your esteem. I have spoken."

"Master Hugh Grayson -- I have heard you, and am willing to believe in much that you have said; but I am not prepared to believe that in much that you have said you have not been practising upon yourself. You have said you love me, and I believe it -- sorry I am that you should love unprofitably anywhere -- more sorry still that I should be the unwitting occasion of a misspent and profitless passion. But, look closely into yourself -- into your own thoughts, and then ask how you have loved me? Let me answer -- not as a woman -- not as a thinking and a feeling creature -- but as a plaything, whom your inconsiderate passion might practice upon at will, and move to tears or smiles, as may best accord with a caprice that has never from childhood been conscious of any subjection. Even now, you come to me for my confidence -- my esteem. Yet you studiously practice upon my affections and emotions -- upon my woman weaknesses. You saw that I loved another -- I shame not to say it, for I believe and feel it -- and you watched me like a spy. You had there no regulating principle keeping down impulse, but with the caprice of a bad passion, consenting to a meanness, which is subject to punishment in our very slaves. Should I trust the man who, under any circumstances save those of another's good and safety, could deserve the epithet of eaves-dropper?"

"Forbear -- forbear -- in mercy!"

"No, Master Grayson -- let me not forbear. Were it principle and not pride that called upon me to forbear, I should obey it; but I have known you from childhood, Hugh, and I speak to you now with all the freedom -- and, believe me -- with all the affection of that period. I know your failing, and I speak to it. I would not wound your heart, I only aim at the amendment of your understanding. I would give it a true direction. I believe your heart to be in the right place -- it only wants that your mind should never swerve from its place. Forgive me, therefore, if, speaking what I hold to be just, I should say that which should seem to be harsh also."

"Go on -- go on, Miss Matthews -- I can bear it all -- any thing from you."

"And but small return, Master Grayson, for I have borne much from you. Not content with the one error, which freely I forgave -- so far as forgiveness may be yielded without amendment or repentance -- you proceeded to another -- to a crime, a dark, a dreadful crime. You sought the life of a fellow-creature, without provocation, and worse still, Master Grayson, without permitting your enemy the common footing of equality. In that one act were malignity, murder, and -- "

"No more -- no more -- speak it not -- "

"Cowardice!"

"Thou art bent to crush me quite, Bess Matthews -- thou wouldst have me in the dust -- thy foot on my head, and the world seeing it. This is thy triumph."

"A sad one, Hugh Grayson -- a sad one -- for thou hast thy good -- thy noble qualities, wert thou not a slave."

"Slave, too -- malignant, murderer, coward, slave."

"Ay, to thy baser thoughts, and from these would I free thee. With thee -- I believe -- it is but to know the tyranny to overthrow it. Thy pride of independence would there be active, and in that particular most nobly exercised. But let me proceed."

"Is there more?"

"Yes, -- and thou wilt better prove thy regard for my esteem, when thou wilt stand patiently to hear me out. Thou didst not kill, but all the feeling of death -- the death of the mind -- was undergone by thy destined victim. He felt himself under thee, he saw no hope, he looked up in the glance of thy descending knife, and knew not that the good mood would so soon return to save him from death, and thee from perdition. In his thought thou didst slay him, though thou struck no blow to his heart."

"True, true -- I thought not of that."

"Yet thou camest to me, Hugh Grayson, claiming merit for thy forbearance. Thou wert confident, because thou didst not all the crime thy first criminal spirit proposed to thee. Shall I suggest that the good angel which interposed was thy weakness -- art thou sure that the dread of punishment, and not the feeling of good, stayed thee not?"

"No! as I live, -- as I stand before thee, Bess Matthews, thou dost me wrong. God help me, no! I was bad enough, and base enough, without that -- it was not the low fear of the hangman -- not the rope -- not the death. I am sure it was any thing but that."

"I believe you; but what was it brought you to me with all this story -- the particulars at full, -- the dreadful incidents one upon the other, until thou saw'st my agony under the uplifted knife aiming at the bosom of one as far above thee, Hugh Grayson, in all that makes the noble gentleman, as it is possible for principle to be above passion, and the love of God and good works superior to the fear of punishment? -- Where was thy manliness in this recital? Thou hast no answer here."

"Thou speakest proudly for him, Bess Matthews -- it is well he stands so high in thy sight."

"I forgive thee that sneer, too, Master Grayson, along with thy malignity, thy murder, and thy -- manliness. Be thou forgiven of all -- but let us say no more together. My regards are not with me to bestow -- they belong to thy doings, and thou mayst command, not solicit, whenever thou dost deserve them. Let us speak no more together."

"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 have 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.

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 suitor 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 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.

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 along side 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 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 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 pitted 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 hoot; clearly defined upon the path, and which had before been shown him, he thrust his nose 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, 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 he 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 den Hector. Gib me de knife, misses -- dad 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 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

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 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 close 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, 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 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 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 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 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!"

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 practiced 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 for pity. But she spoke to unwilling ears, and to senses that, scorning any such appeal in their own case 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, 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 defiance 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 other 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.

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 may 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 toward 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 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 moments 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 so 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 dammed 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 -- 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 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 farther, 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 toward 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."

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, when 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 thou? 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 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 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 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 beside the maiden, but she studiously passed to the opposite arm of 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.

THE inmates of the Block House, as we remember had been warned by Hector of the probable approach of danger, and preparation was the word in consequence. But what was the preparation meant? Under no distinct command, every one had his own favourite idea of defence, and all was confusion in their councils. The absence of Harrison, to whose direction all parties would most willingly have turned their ears, was now of the most injurious tendency, as it left them unprovided with any head, and just at the moment when a high degree of excitement prevailed against the choice of any substitute. Great bustle and little execution took the place of good order, calm opinion, deliberate and decided action. The men were ready enough to fight, and this readiness was an evil of itself, circumstanced as they were. To fight would have been madness then -- to protract the issue and gain time was the object; and few among the defenders of the fortress at that moment were sufficiently collected to see this truth. In reason, there was really but a single spirit in the Block House, sufficiently deliberate for the occasion -- that spirit was a woman's -- the wife of Granger. She had been the child of poverty and privation -- the severe school of that best tutor, necessity, had made her equable and intrepid. She had looked suffering so long in the face, that she now regarded it without a tear. Her parents had never been known to her, and the most trying difficulties clung to her from infancy up to womanhood. So exercised, her mind grew strong in proportion to its trials, and she had learned, in the end, to regard them with a degree of fearlessness far beyond the capacities of any well-bred heir of prosperity and favouring fortune. The same trials attended her after marriage -- since the pursuits of her husband carried her into dangers, to which even he could oppose far less ability than his wife. Her genius soared infinitely beyond his own, and to her teachings was he indebted for many of those successes which brought him wealth in after years. She counselled his enterprises, prompted or persuaded his proceedings, managed for him wisely and economically; in all respects proved herself unselfish; and if she did not at any time appear above the way of life they had adopted, she took care to maintain both of them from falling beneath it -- a result too often following the exclusive pursuit of gain. Her experience throughout life, hitherto, served her admirably now, when all was confusion among the councils of the men. She descended to the court below, where they made a show of deliberation, and, in her own manner, with a just knowledge of human nature, proceeded to give her aid in their general progress. Knowing that any direct suggestion from a woman, and under circumstances of strife and trial, would necessarily offend the amour propre of the nobler animal, and provoke his derision, she pursued a sort of management which an experienced woman is usually found to employ as a kind of familiar -- a wily little demon, that goes unseen at her bidding, and does her business, like another Ariel, the world all the while knowing nothing about it. Calling out from the crowd one of those whom she knew to be not only the most collected, but the one least annoyed by any unnecessary self-esteem, she was in a moment joined by Grayson, and leading him aside, she proceeded to suggest various measures of preparation and defence, certainly the most prudent that had yet been made. This she did with so much unobtrusive modesty, that the worthy woodman took it for granted, all the while, that the ideas were properly his own. She concluded with insisting upon his taking the command.

"But Nichols will have it all to himself. That's one of our difficulties now."

"What of that? You may easily manage him Master Grayson."

"How?" he asked.

"The greater number of the men here are of the 'Green Jackets?' "

"Yes -- "

"And you are their lieutenant -- next in command to Captain Harrison, and their first officer in his absence?"

"That's true

"Command them as your troop exclusively, and don't mind the rest."

"But they will be offended."

"And if they are, Master Grayson, is this a time to heed their folly when the enemy's upon us? Let them. You do with your troop without heed to them, and they will fall into your ranks -- they will work with you when the time comes."

"You are right," was the reply; and immediately going forward with a voice of authority, Grayson, calling only the "Green Jackets" around him, proceeded to organize them, and put himself in command, as first lieutenant of the only volunteer corps which the parish knew. The corps received the annunciation with a shout, and the majority readily recognised him. Nichols alone grumbled a little, but the minority was too small to offer any obstruction to Grayson's authority, so that he soon submitted with the rest. The command, all circumstances considered, was not improperly given. Grayson, though not overwise, was decisive, and in matters of strife, wisdom itself must be subservient to resolution. Resolution in war is wisdom. The new commander numbered his force, placed the feeble and the young in the least trying situations -- assigned different bodies to different stations, and sent the women and children into the upper and most sheltered apartment. In a few moments, things were arranged for the approaching conflict with tolerable precision.

The force thus commanded by Grayson was small enough -- the whole number of men in the Block House not exceeding twenty-five. The women and children within its shelter were probably twice that number. The population had been assembled in great part from the entire extent of country lying between the Block House and the Indian settlements. From the Block House downward to Port Royal Island, there had been no gathering to this point; the settlers in that section, necessarily, in the event of a like difficulty, seeking a retreat to the fort on the island, which had its garrison already, and was more secure, and in another respect much more safe, as it lay more contiguous to the sea. The greater portion of the country immediately endangered from the Yemassees had been duly warned, and none but the slow, the indifferent, and the obstinate, but had taken sufficient heed of the many warnings given them, as to have put themselves in safety. Numbers, however, coming under one or other of these classes, had fallen victims to their folly or temerity in the sudden onslaught which followed the first movement of the savages sent among them, who, scattering themselves over the country, had made their attack so nearly at the same time, as to defeat any thing like unity of action in the resistance which might be offered them.

Grayson's first care in his new command was to get the women and children fairly out of the way. The close upper apartment of the Block House had been especially assigned them; and there they had assembled generally. But some few of the old ladies were not to be shut up; and his own good Puritan mother gave the busy commandant no little trouble. She went to and fro, interfering in this, preventing that, and altogether annoying the men to such a degree, that it became absolutely necessary to put on a show of sternness which it was the desire of all parties to avoid. With some difficulty and the assistance of Granger's wife, he at length got her out of the way, and to the great satisfaction of all parties, she worried herself to sleep in the midst of a Psalm, which she croned over to the dreariest tune in her whole collection. Sleep had also fortunately seized upon the children generally, and but few, in the room assigned to the women, were able to withstand the approaches of that subtle magician. The wife of the trader, almost alone, continued watchful; thoughtful in emergency, and with a ready degree of common sense, to contend with trial, and to prepare against it. The confused cluster of sleeping forms, in all positions, and of all sorts and sizes, that hour, in the apartment so occupied, was grotesque enough. One figure alone, sitting in the midst, and musing with a concentrated mind, gave dignity to the ludicrous grouping -- the majestic figure of Mary Granger -- her dark eye fixed upon the silent and sleeping collection, in doubt and pity -- her black hair bound closely upon her head, and her broad forehead seeming to enlarge and grow with the busy thought at work within it. Her hand, too -- strange association -- rested upon a hatchet.

Having completed his arrangements with respect to the security of the women and children, and put them fairly out of his way, Grayson proceeded to call a sort of council of war for farther deliberation; and having put sentinels along the picket, and at different points of the building, the more "sage, grave men" of the garrison proceeded to their farther arrangements. These were four in number -- one of them was Dick Grimstead, the blacksmith, who, in addition to a little farming, carried on when the humour took him, did the horse-shoeing and ironwork for his neighbours of ten miles round, and was in no small repute among them. He was something of a woodman too; and hunting, and perhaps drinking, occupied no small portion of the time which might, with more profit to himself, have been given to his farm and smithy. Nichols, the rival leader of Grayson, was also chosen, with the view rather to his pacification than with any hope of good counsel to be got out of him. Granger, the trader, made the third; and presiding somewhat as chairman, Grayson the fourth. We may add that the wife of the trader, who had descended to the lower apartment in the meantime, and had contrived to busy herself in one corner with some of the wares of her husband, was present throughout the debate. We may add, too, that at frequent periods of the deliberation, Granger found it necessary to leave the consultations of the council for that of his wife.

"What are we to do?" was the general question.

"Let us send out a spy, and see what they are about," was the speech of one.

"Let us discharge a few pieces, to let them know that the servants of the people watch for them," said waste, after that fashion, the powder for which a buck would say, thank you. If we are to shoot, let's put it to the red-skins themselves. What do you say, Master Grayson?"

"I say, keep quiet, and make ready."

"Wouldn't a spy be of service?" suggested Granger, with great humility, recurring to his first proposition.

"Will you go?" was the blunt speech of the blacksmith. "I don't see any good a spy can do us."

"To see into their force."

"That won't strengthen ours. No! I hold, Wat Grayson, to my mind. We must give the dogs powder and shot when we see 'em. There's no other way -- for here we are, and there they are. They're for fight, and will have our scalps, if we are not for fight too. We can't run, for there's no place to go to; and besides that, I'm not used to running, and won't try to run from a red-skin. He shall chaw my bullet first."

"To be sure," roared Nichols, growing remarkably valorous. "Battle, say I. Victory or death."

"Well, Nichols, don't waste your breath now -- you may want it before all's over -- " growled the smith, with a most imperturbable composure of countenance, -- "if it's only to beg quarter."

"I beg quarter -- never!" cried the doctor, fiercely.

"It's agreed, then, that we are to fight -- is that what we are to understand?" inquired Grayson, desirous to bring the debate to a close, and to hush the little acerbities going on between the doctor and the smith.

"Ay, to be sure -- what else?" said Grimstead.

"What say you, Granger?"

"I say so too, sir -- if they attack us -- surely."

"And you, Nichols?"

"Ay, fight, I say. Battle to the last drop of blood -- to the last moment of existence. Victory or death, ay, that's my word."

"Blast me, Nichols -- what a bellows," shouted the smith.

"Mind your own bellows, Grimstead -- it will be the better for you. Don't trouble yourself to meddle with mine -- you may burn your fingers," retorted the demagogue, angrily.

"Why, yes, if your breath holds hot long enough," was the sneering response of the smith, who seemed to enjoy the sport of teasing his windy comrade.

"Come, come, men, no words," soothingly said the commander. "Let us look to the enemy. You are all agreed that we are to fight; and, to say truth, we didn't want much thinking for that; but how, is the question -- how are we to do the fighting? Can we send out a party for scouts -- can we spare the men?"

"I think not," said the smith, soberly. "It will require all the men we have, and some of the women too, to keep watch at all the loop-holes. Besides, we have not arms enough, have we?"

"Not muskets, but other arms in abundance. What say you, Nichols -- can we send out scouts?"

"Impossible! we cannot spare them, and it will only expose them to be cut up by a superior enemy. No, sir, it will be the nobler spectacle to perish, like men, breast to breast. I, for one, am willing to die for the people. I will not survive my country."

"Brave man!" cried the smith -- "but I'm not willing to die at all, and therefore I would keep snug and stand 'em here. I can't skulk in the bush, like Granger; I'm quite too fat for that. Though I'm sure, if I were such a skeleton sort of fellow as Nichols there, I'd volunteer as a scout, and stand the Indian arrows all day."

"I won't volunteer," cried Nichols, hastily. "It will set a bad example, and my absence might be fatal."

"But what if all volunteer?" inquired the smith, scornfully.

"I stand or fall with the people," responded the demagogue, proudly. At that moment, a shrill scream of the whip-poor-will smote upon the senses of the council.

"It is the Indians -- that is a favourite cry of the Yemassees," said the wife of Granger. The company started to their feet, and seized their weapons. As they were about to descend to the lower story, the woman seized upon the arm of Grayson, and craved his attendance in the adjoining apartment. He followed; and leading him to the only window in the room, without disturbing any around her, she pointed out a fallen pine-tree, evidently thrown down within the night, which barely rested upon the side of the log house with all its branches, and but a few feet below the aperture through which they looked. The tree must have been cut previously, and so contrived as to fall gradually upon the dwelling. It was a small one, and by resting in its descent upon other intervening trees its approach and contact with the dwelling had been unheard. This had probably taken place while the garrison had been squabbling below, with all the women and children listening and looking on. The apartment in which they stood, and against which the tree now depended, had been made, for greater security, without any loop-holes, the musketry being calculated for use in that adjoining and below. The danger arising from this new situation was perceptible at a glance.

"The window must be defended. Two stout men will answer. But they must have muskets," spoke the woman.

"They shall have them," said Grayson, in reply to the fearless and thoughtful person who spoke. "I will send Mason and your husband."

"Do -- I will keep it till they come."

"You?" with some surprise, inquired Grayson.

"Yes, Master Grayson -- is there any thing strange in that? I have no fears. Go -- send your men."

"But you will close the shutter."

"No -- better, if they should come -- better it should be open. If shut, we might be too apt to rest satisfied. Exposure compels watchfulness, and men make the best fortresses."

Full of his new command, and sufficiently impressed with its importance, Grayson descended to the arrangement of his forces; and, true to his promise, despatched Granger and Mason with muskets to the defence of the window, as had been agreed upon with the wife of the trader. They prepared to do so; but, to their great consternation, Mason, who was a bulky man, had scarcely reached midway up the ladder leading to the apartment, when, snapping off in the middle, down it came, in its destruction, breaking off all communication between the upper and lower stories of the house until it could be repaired. To furnish a substitute was a difficult task, about which several of the men were set immediately. This accident deeply impressed the wife of the trader, even more than the defenders of the house below, with the dangers of their situation; and in much anxiety, watchful and sad, she paced the room in which they were now virtually confined, in momentary expectation of the enemy.

HUGH GRAYSON, with all his faults, and they were many, was in reality a noble fellow. Full of a high ambition -- a craving for the unknown and the vast, which spread itself vaguely and perhaps unattainably before his imagination -- his disappointments very naturally vexed him somewhat beyond prudence, and now and then beyond the restraint of a right reason. He usually came to a knowledge of his error, and his repentance was not less ready than his wrong. So in the present instance. The stern severity of those rebukes which had fallen from the lips of Bess Matthews, had the effect upon him which she had anticipated. They brought out the serious determination of his manhood, and with due effort he discarded those feeble and querulous fancies which had been productive of so much annoyance to her and others, and so much unhappiness to himself. He strove to forget the feelings of the jealous and disappointed lover, in the lately recollected duties of the man and citizen.

With the good steed of Harrison, which, in the present service, he did not scruple to employ, he set off on the lower route, in order to beat up recruits for the perilous strife which he now began to believe, the more he thought of it, was in reality at hand. The foresters were ready, for one condition of security in border life was the willingness to volunteer in defence of one another; and a five mile ride gave him as many followers. But his farther progress was stopped short by an unlooked-for circumstance. The tread of a body of horse reached the ears of his party, and they slunk into cover. Indistinctly, in the imperfect light, they discovered a mounted force of twenty or thirty men. Another survey made them out to be friends.

"Who goes there?" cried the leader, as Grayson emerged from the bush.

"Friends -- well met. There is still time," was the reply.

"I hope so -- I have pushed for it," said the commander, "as soon as Sir Edmund gave the orders."

"Ha! you were advised then of this, and come from" -

"Beaufort," cried the officer, "with a detachment of twenty-eight for the upper Block House. Is all well there?"

"Ay, when I left, but things are thought to look squally, and I have just been beating up volunteers for preparation."

" 'Tis well -- fall in, gentlemen, and good speed -- but this cursed road is continually throwing me out. Will you undertake to guide us, so that no time may be lost?"

"Ay -- follow -- we are now seven miles from the Block, and I am as familiar with the road, dark and light, as with my own hands."

"Away then, men -- away" -- and, led by the younger Grayson, now fully aroused by the spirit of the scene, they hurried away at full speed, through the narrow trace leading to the Block House. They had ridden something like two thirds of the distance, when a distant shot, then a shout, reached their ears, and compelled a pause for counsel, in order to avoid rushing into ambuscade.

"A mile farther," cried Grayson -- "a mile farther, and we must hide our horses in the woods, and take the bush on foot. Horse won't do here; we shall make too good a mark; and besides, riding ourselves, we should not be able to hear the approach of an enemy."

A few moments after and they descended, each fastening his horse to a tree in the shelter of a little bay; and, hurriedly organizing under Grayson's direction, they proceeded, alive with expectation, in the direction of the fray.

It is high time that we now return to our fugitive, whose escape from his Indian prison has already been recorded. Paddling his canoe with difficulty, Harrison drew a long breath as it struck the opposite bank in safety. He had escaped one danger, but how many more, equally serious, had he not reason to anticipate in his farther progress! He knew too well the character of Indian warfare, and the mode of assault proposed by them at present, not to feel that all the woods around him were alive with his enemies. That they ran along in the shadow of the trees, and lay in waiting for the steps of the flyer, alongside of the fallen tree. He knew his danger, but he had a soul well calculated for its trials.

He leaped to the shore, and at the very first step which he took, a bright column of flame rose above the forests in the direction of the Graysons' cottage. It lay, not directly in his path, but it reminded him of his duties, and he came to all the full decision marking his character as he pushed forward in that quarter. He was not long in reaching it, and the prospect realized many of his fears. The Indians had left their traces, and the dwelling was wrapped in flame, illuminating with a deep glare the surrounding foliage. He looked for other signs of their progress, but in vain. There was no blood, no mark of struggle, and his conclusion was, therefore, that the family had been able to effect its escape from the dwelling before the arrival of the enemy. This conviction was instantaneous, and he gave no idle time in surveying a scene, only full of a terrible warning. The thought of the whole frontier, and more than all, to his heart, the thought of Bess Matthews, and of the obstinate old father, drove him onward -- the blazing ruins lighting his way some distance through the woods. The rush of the wind, as he went forward, brought to his ears, at each moment and in various quarters, the whoops of the savage, reduced to faintness by distance or cross currents of the breeze, that came here and there, through dense clusters of foliage. Now on one side and now on the other, they ascended to his hearing, compelling him capriciously to veer from point to point in the hope of avoiding them. He had not gone far when a second and sudden volume of fire rushed up on one hand above the trees, and he could hear the crackling of the timber. Almost at the same instant, in an opposite direction; another burst of flame attested the mode of warfare adopted by the cunning savages, who, breaking into small parties of five or six in number, thus dispersed themselves over the country, making their attacks simultaneous. This was the mode of assault best adapted to their enterprise; and, but for the precautions taken in warning the more remote of the borderers to the protection of the Block House, their irruption, throughout its whole progress, had been marked in blood. But few of the settlers could possibly have escaped their knives. Defrauded however of their prey, the Indians were thus compelled to wreak their fury upon the unoccupied dwellings.

Dreading to make new and more painful discoveries, but with a spirit nerved for any event, Harrison kept on his course with unrelaxing effort, till he came to the dwelling of an old German, an honest but poor settler, named Van Holten. The old man lay on his threshold insensible. His face was prone to the ground, and he was partially stripped of his clothing. Harrison turned him over, and discovered a deep wound upon his breast, made seemingly with a knife -- a hatchet stroke appeared upon his forehead, and the scalp was gone -- a red and dreadfully lacerated scull presented itself to his sight, and marked another of those features of war so terribly peculiar to the American border struggles. The man was quite dead; but the brand thrown into his cabin had failed, and the dwelling was unhurt by the fire. On he went, roused into new exertion by this sight, yet doubly apprehensive of his discoveries in future. The cries of the savages grew more distinct as he proceeded, and his caution was necessarily redoubled. They now stood between him and the white settlements, and the probability of coming upon his enemies was increased at every step in his progress. Apart from this, he knew but little of their precise position -- now they were on one, and now on the other side of him -- their whoops sounding with the multiplied echoes of the wood in every direction, and inspiring a hesitating dread, at every moment, that he should find himself suddenly among them. The anxiety thus stimulated was more decidedly painful than would have been the hand-to-hand encounter. It was so to the fearless heart of Harrison. Still, however, he kept his way, until, at length, emerging from the brush and foliage, a small lake lay before him, which he knew to be not more than three miles from the dwelling of Bess Matthews. He immediately prepared to take the path he had usually taken, to the left, which carried him upon the banks of the river. At that moment his eye caught the motion of a small body of the savages in that very quarter. One third of the whole circuit of the lake lay between them and himself, and he now changed his course to the right, in the hope to avoid them. But they had been no less watchful than himself. They had seen, and prepared to intercept him. They divided for this purpose, and while with shouts and fierce halloos one party retraced their steps and came directly after him, another, in perfect silence, advanced on their course to the opposite quarter of the lake, in the hope to waylay him in front. Of this arrangement Harrison was perfectly unaware, and upon this he did not calculate. Having the start considerably of those who came behind, he did not feel so deeply the risk of his situation; but, fearless and swift of foot, he cheerily went forward, hoping to fall in with some of the whites, or at least to shelter himself in a close cover of the woods before they could possibly come up with him. Through brake and bush, heath and water, he went forward, now running, now walking, as the cries behind him of his pursuers influenced his feelings. At length the circuit of the lake was made, and he dashed again into the deeper forest, more secure, as he was less obvious to the sight than when in the glare of the now high ascending moon. The woods thickened into copse around him, and he began to feel something more of hope. He could hear more distinctly the cries of war, and he now fancied that many of the shouts that met his ears were those of the English. In this thought he plunged forward, and as one fierce halloo went up which he clearly felt to be from his friends, he could not avoid the impulse which prompted him to shout forth in response. At that moment, bounding over a fallen tree, he felt his course arrested. His feet were caught by one who crouched beside it, and he came heavily to the ground. The Indian who had lain in ambush was soon above him, and he had but time to ward with one arm a blow aimed at his head, when another savage advanced upon him. These two formed the detachment which had been sent forward in front, for this very purpose, by the party in his rear. The prospect was desperate, and feeling it so, the efforts of Harrison were Herculean. His only weapon was the knife of

Page 165 Matiwan, but he was a man of great muscular power and exceedingly active. His faculties availed him now. With a sudden evolution, he shook one of his assailants from his breast, and opposed himself to the other while recovering his feet. They drove against him with their united force, and one hatchet grazed his cheek. The savage who threw it was borne forward by the blow, and received the knife of Harrison in his side, but not sufficiently deep to disable him. They came to it again with renewed and increased ferocity, one assailing him from behind, while the other employed him in front. He would have gained a tree, but they watched and kept him too busily employed to allow of his design. A blow from a club for a moment paralyzed his arm, and he dropped his knife. Stooping to recover it they pressed him to the ground, and so distributed themselves upon him, that farther effort was unavailing. He saw the uplifted hand, and felt that his senses swam with delirious thought -- his eyes were hazy, and he muttered a confused language. At that moment -- did he dream or not! -- it was the deep bay of his own favourite hound that reached his ears. The assailants heard it too -- he felt assured of that, as, half starting from their hold upon him, they looked anxiously around. Another moment, and he had no farther doubt; the cry of thirst and anger -- the mixed moan and roar of the well-known and evidently much-aroused animal, was closely at hand. One of the Indians sprang immediately to his feet -- the other was about to strike, when, with a last effort, he grasped the uplifted arm and shouted "Dugdale!" aloud. Nor did he shout in vain. The favourite, with a howl of delight, bounded at the well-known voice, and in another instant Harrison felt the long hair and thick body pass directly over his face, then a single deep cry rung above him, and then he felt the struggle. He now strove, again, to take part in the fray, though one arm hung motionless beside him. He partially succeeded in freeing himself from the mass that had weighed him down; and looking up, saw the entire mouth and chin of the Indian in the jaws of the ferocious hound. The savage knew his deadliest enemy, and his struggle was, not to destroy the dog, but, under the sudden panic, to free himself from his hold. With this object his hatchet and knife had been dropped. His hands were vainly endeavouring to loosen the huge, steely jaws of his rough assailant from his own. The other Indian had fled with the first bay of the animal -- probably the more willing to do so, as the momentary fainting of Harrison had led them to suppose him beyond farther opposition. But he recovered, and with recovering consciousness resuming the firm grasp of his knife which had fallen beside him, seconded the efforts of Dugdale by driving it into the breast of their remaining enemy, who fell dead, with his chin still between the teeth of the hound. Staggering as much with the excitement of such a conflict, as with the blow he had received, Harrison with difficulty regained his feet. Dugdale held on to his prey, and before he would forego his hold, completely cut the throat which he had taken in his teeth. A single embrace of his master attested the deep gratitude which he felt for the good service of his favourite. But there was no time for delay. The division which pursued him was at hand. He heard their shout from a neighbouring copse, and bent his steps forward. They were soon apprised of the movement. Joined by the fugitive, and having heard his detail, what was their surprise to find their own warrior a victim, bloody and perfectly dead upon the grass, where they had looked to have taken a scalp! Their rage knew no bounds, and they were now doubly earnest in pursuit. Feeble from the late struggle, Harrison had not his previous vigour -- besides, he had run far through the woods, and though as hardy as any of the Indians, he was not so well calculated to endure a race of this nature. But though they gained on him, he knew that he had a faithful ally at hand on whom he felt he might safely depend. The hound too, trained as was the custom, was formidable to the fears of the Indians. Like the elephant of old, he inspired a degree of terror, among the American aborigines, which took from them courage and conduct, in great degree; and had there been less inequality of force, the dog of Harrison alone would have been sufficient to have decided his present pursuers to choose a more guarded course, if not to a complete discontinuance of pursuit. But they heard the shouts of their own warriors all around them, and trusting that flying from one, he must necessarily fall into the hands of some other party, they were stimulated still farther in the chase. They had not miscalculated. The wild whoop of war -- the "Sangarrah-me, Yemassee," rose directly in the path before him, and, wearied with flight, the fugitive prepared himself for the worst. He leaned against a tree in exhaustion, while the dog took his place beside him, obedient to his master's command, though impatient to bound forward. Harrison kept him for a more concentrated struggle, and wreathing his hands in the thick collar about his neck, he held him back for individual assailants. In the meantime his pursuers approached, though with caution. His dog was concealed by the brush, on the skirts of which he had studiously placed him. They heard at intervals his long, deep bay, and it had an effect upon them not unlike that of their own war-whoop upon the whites. They paused, as if in council. Just then their party in front set up another shout, and the confusion of a skirmish was evident to the senses as well of Harrison as of his pursuers. This, to him, was a favourable sign. It indicated the presence of friends. He heard at length one shot, then another, and another, and at the same time the huzzas of the Carolinians. They inspired him with new courage, and with an impulse which is sometimes, and, in desperate cases, may be almost always considered wisdom, he plunged forward through the brush which separated him from the unseen combatants, loudly cheering in the English manner, and prompting the hound to set up a succession of cries, sufficiently imposing to inspire panic in the savages. His movement was the signal to move also on the part of those who pursued him. But a few steps changed entirely the scene. He had rushed upon the rear of a band of the Yemassees, who, lying behind brush and logs, were skirmishing at advantage with the corps of foresters which we have seen led on by the younger Grayson. A single glance sufficed to put Harrison in possession of the true facts of the case, and though hazarding every chance of life, he bounded directly among and through the ambushed Indians. Never was desperation more fortunate in its consequences. Not knowing the cause of such a movement, the Yemassees conceived themselves beset front and rear. They rose screaming from their hiding-places, and yielding on each side of the fugitive. With an unhesitating hand he struck with his knife one of the chiefs who stood in his path. The hound, leaping among them like a hungry panther, farther stimulated the panic, and for a moment all were paralyzed. The fierce and forward advance of that portion of their own allies which had been pursuing Harrison, still farther contributed to impress them with the idea of an enemy in the rear; and before they could recover so as to arrest his progress and discover the true state of things, he had passed them, followed by the obedient dog. In another instant, almost fainting with fatigue, to the astonishment but satisfaction of all, he threw himself with a laugh of mingled triumph and exhaustion into the ranks of his sturdy band of foresters. Without a pause he commanded their attention. Fully conscious of the confusion among the ambushers, he ordered an advance, and charged resolutely through the brush. The contest was now hand to hand, and the foresters took their tree when necessary, as well as their enemies. The presence of their captain gave them new courage, and the desperate manner in which he had charged through the party with which they fought, led them to despise their foes. This feeling imparted to the Carolinians a degree of fearlessness, which, new to them in such warfare, was not less new to the Indians. Half frightened before, they needed but such an attack to determine them upon retreat. They faltered, and at length fled -- a few fought on alone, but wounded and without encouragement, they too gave way, sullenly and slowly, and at length were brought up with their less resolute companions in the cover of a neighbouring and denser wood.

Harrison did not think it advisable to pursue them. Calling off his men, therefore, he led them on the route toward the Block House, which he relied upon as the chief rallying point of the settlers in that quarter. His anxieties, however, at that moment, had in them something selfish, and he proceeded hurriedly to the house of old Matthews. It was empty -- its inmates were gone, and the marks of savage devastation were all around them. The building had been plundered, and a hasty attempt made to burn it by torches, but without success, the floors being only slightly scorched. He rushed through the apartments in despair, calling the family by name. What had been their fate -- and where was she? The silence of every thing around spoke to him so loudly, and with the faintest possible hope that they had been sufficiently apprised of the approach of the Indians to have taken the shelter of the Block House, he proceeded to lead his men to that designated point.

LET us go back once more to the Block House, and look into the condition of its defenders. We remember the breaking of the ladder, the only one in their possession, which led to the upper story of the building. This accident left them in an ugly predicament; since some time must necessarily be taken up in its repair, and in the meanwhile, the forces of the garrison were divided in the different apartments, above and below. In the section devoted to the women and children, and somewhat endangered, as we have seen, from the exposed window and the fallen tree, they were its exclusive occupants. The opposite chamber held a few of the more sturdy and common sense defenders, while in the great hall below a miscellaneous group of fifteen or twenty -- the inferior spirits -- were assembled. Two or three of these were busied in patching up the broken ladder, which was to renew the communication between the several parties, thus, of necessity, thrown asunder.

The watchers of the fortress, from their several loop-holes, looked forth, east and west, yet saw no enemy. All was soft in the picture, all was silent in the deep repose of the forest. The night was clear and lovely, and the vague and dim beauty with which, in the perfect moonlight, the foliage of the woods spread away in distant shadows, or clung and clustered together as in groups, shrinking for concealment from her glances, touched the spirits even of those rude foresters. With them, its poetry was a matter of feeling -- with the refined, it is an instrument of art. Hence it is, indeed, that the poetry of the early ages speaks in the simplest language, while that of civilization, becoming only the agent for artificial enjoyment, is ornate in its dress, and complex in its form and structure. Far away in the distance, like glimpses of a spirit, little sweeps of the river, in its crooked windings, flashed upon the eye, streaking, with a sweet relief, the sombre foliage of the swampy forest through which it stole. A single note -- the melancholy murmur of the chuck-will's-widow -- the Carolina whippoorwill, broke fitfully upon the silence, to which it gave an added solemnity. That single note indicated to the keepers of the fortress a watchfulness, corresponding with their own, of another living creature. Whether it were human or not -- whether it were the deceptive lure and signal of the savage, or, in reality, the complaining cry of the solitary and sad bird which it so resembled, was, however, matter of nice question with those who listened to the strain.

"They are there -- they are there," cried Grayson -- "I'll swear it. I've heard them quite too often not to know their cunning now. Hector was right, after all, boys."

"What! where?" -- asked Nichols.

"There, in the bush to the left of the blasted oak -- now, down to the bluff -- and now, by the bay on the right. They are all round us."

"By what do you know, Wat?"

"The whippoorwill -- that is their cry -- their signal."

"It is the whippoorwill," said Nichols, -- "there is but one of them; you never hear more than one at a time."

"It is the Indian," responded Grayson -- "for though there is but one note, it comes, as you perceive, from three different quarters. Now it is at the Chief's Bluff -- and now -- it comes immediately from the old grove of scrubby oak. A few shot there would get an answer."

"Good! that is just my thought -- let us give them a broadside, and disperse the scoundrels," cried Nichols.

"Not so fast, Nichols -- you swallow your enemy without asking leave of your teeth. Have you inquired first whether we have powder and shot to throw away upon bushes that may be empty?" now exclaimed the blacksmith, joining in the question.

"A prudent thought, that, Grimstead," said Grayson -- "we have no ammunition to spare in that way. But I have a notion that may prove of profit. Where is the captain's straw man -- here, Granger, bring out Dugdale's trainer."

The stuffed figure already described was brought forward, the window looking in the direction of the grove supposed to shelter the savages thrown open, and the perfectly indifferent head of the automaton thrust incontinently through the opening. The ruse

Page 172 was completely successful. The foe could not well resist this temptation, and a flight of arrows, penetrating the figure in every portion of its breast and face, attested the presence of the enemy and the truth of his aim. A wild and shivering cry rung through the forest at the same instant -- that cry, well known as the fearful war-whoop, the sound of which made the marrow curdle in the bones of the frontier settler, and prompted the mother with a nameless terror to hug closer to her bosom the form of her unconscious infant. It was at once answered from side to side, wherever their several parties had been stationed, and it struck terror even into the sheltered garrison which heard it -- such terror as the traveller feels by night, when the shrill rattle of the lurking serpent, with that ubiquity of sound which is one of its fearful features, vibrates all around him, leaving him at a loss to say in what quarter his enemy lies in waiting, and teaching him to dread that the very next step which he takes may place him within that coil which is death.

"Ay, there they are, sure enough -- fifty of them at least, and we shall have them upon us, after this, monstrous quick, in some way or other," was the speech of Grayson, while a brief pause in all the party marked the deep influence upon them of the summons which they had heard.

"True -- and we must be up and doing," said the smith; "we can now give them a shot, Hugh Grayson, for they will dance out from the cover now, thinking they have killed one of us. The savages -- they have thrown away some of their powder at least." As Grimstead spoke, he drew three arrows with no small difficulty from the bosom of the figure in which they were buried.

"Better there than in our ribs. But you are right. Stand back for a moment, and let me have that loop -- I shall waste no shot. Ha! I see -- there is one -- I see his arm and the edge of his hatchet -- it rests upon his shoulder, I reckon, but that is concealed by the brush. He moves -- he comes out, and slaps his hand against his thigh. The red devil, but he shall have it. Get ready, now, each at his loop, for if I hurt him they will rush out in a fury."

The sharp click of the cock followed the words of Grayson, who was an able shot, and the next moment the full report came burdened with a dozen echoes from the crowding woods around. A cry of pain -- then a shout of fury, and the reiterated whoop followed, and as one of their leaders reeled and sunk under the unerring bullet, the band in that station, as had been predicted by Grayson, rushed forth to where he stood, brandishing their weapons with ineffectual fury, and lifting their wounded comrade, as is their general custom, to bear him to a place of concealment, and preserve him from being scalped, by secret burial, in the event of his being dead. They paid for their temerity. Following the direction of their leader, whose decision necessarily commended their obedience, the Carolinians took quite as much advantage of the exposure of their enemies, as the member of the loopholes in that quarter of the building would admit. Five muskets told among the group, and a reiterated shout of fury indicated the good service which the discharge had done, and taught the savages a lesson of prudence, which, in the present instance, they had been too ready to disregard. They sunk back into cover, taking care however to remove their hurt companions, so that, save by the peculiar cry which with them marks a loss, the garrison were unable to determine what had been the success of their discharges Having driven them back into the brush, however, without loss to themselves, the latter were now sanguine where, before, their confined and cheerless position had taught them a feeling of despondency not calculated to improve the comforts of their case.

The Indians had made their arrangements on the other hand with no little precaution. But they had been deceived and disappointed. Their scouts, who had previously inspected the fortress, had given a very different account of the defences and the watchfulness of their garrison, to what was actually the fact upon their appearance. The scouts, however, had spoken truth, and but for the discovery made by Hector, the probability is that the Block House would have been surprised with little or no difficulty. Accustomed to obey Harrison as their only leader, the foresters present never dreamed of preparation for conflict unless under his guidance; and but for the advice of the trader's wife, and the confident assumption of command on the part of Walter Grayson, a confusion of councils, not less than of tongues, would have neutralized all action, and left them an easy prey, without head or direction, to the knives of their insidious enemy. Calculating upon surprise and cunning as the only means by which they could hope to balance the numerous advantages possessed by European warfare over their own, the Indians had relied rather more on the suddenness of their onset, and the craft peculiar to their education, than on the force of their valour. They felt themselves baffled, therefore, in their main hope, by the sleepless caution of the garrison, and now prepared themselves for other means. They had made their disposition of force with no little judgment. Small bodies, at equal distances under cover, had been stationed all about the fortress. With the notes of the whippoorwill they had carried on their signals, and indicated the several stages of their preparation; while, in addition to this, another band -- a sort of forlorn hope, consisting of the more desperate, who had various motives for signalizing their valour -- creeping singly, from cover to cover, now reposing in the shadow of a log along the ground, now half buried in a clustering bush, made their way at length so closely under the walls of the log house as to be completely concealed from the garrison, which, unless by the window, had no mode of looking directly down upon them. As the windows were well watched by their comrades -- having once attained their place of concealment -- it followed that their position remained entirely concealed from those within. They lay in waiting for the favourable moment -- silent as the grave, and sleepless -- ready, when the garrison should determine upon a sally, to fall upon their rear, and in the meanwhile quietly preparing dry fuel in quantity, gathered from time to time, and piling it against the logs of the fortress, they prepared thus to fire the defences that shut them out from their prey.

There was yet another mode of finding entrance which has been partially glimpsed at already. The scouts had done their office diligently in more than the required respects. Finding a slender pine twisted by a late storm, and scarcely sustained by a fragment of its shaft, they applied fire to the rich turpentine oozing from the wounded part of the tree, and carefully directing its fall, as it yielded to the fire, they lodged its extremest branches, as we have already seen, against the wall of the Block House and just beneath the window -- the only one looking from that quarter of the fortress. Three of the bravest of their warriors were assigned for scaling this point and securing their entrance, and the attack was forborne by the rest of the band, while their present design, upon which they built greatly, was in progress.

Let us then turn to this quarter. We have already seen that the dangers of this position were duly estimated by Grayson, under the suggestion of Granger's wife. Unhappily for its defence, the fate of the ladder prevented that due attention to the subject, at first, which had been imperatively called for; and the subsequent excitement following the discovery of the immediate proximity of the Indians, had turned the consideration of the defenders to the opposite end of the building, from whence the partial attack of the enemy as described, had come. It is true that the workmen were yet busy with the ladder; but the assault had suspended their operations, in the impatient curiosity which such an event would necessarily induce, even in the bosom of fear.

The wife of Grayson, fully conscious of the danger, was alone sleepless in that apartment. The rest of the women, scarcely apprehensive of attack at all, and perfectly ignorant of the present condition of affairs, with all that heedlessness which marks the unreflecting character, had sunk to the repose, without an effort at watchfulness, which previous fatigues had, perhaps, made absolutely necessary. She alone sat thoughtful and silent, musing over present prospects -- perhaps of the past -- but still unforgetful of the difficulties and the dangers before her. With a calm temper she awaited the relief which, with the repair of the ladder, she looked for from below. In the meantime, hearing something of the alarm, together with the distant war-whoop, she had looked around her for some means of defence, in the event of any attempt being made upon the window before the aid promised could reach her. But a solitary weapon met her eye, in the long heavy hatchet, a clumsy instrument, rather more like the cleaver of the butcher than the light and slender tomahawk so familiar to the Indians. Having secured this, with the composure of that courage which had been in great part taught her by the necessities of fortune, she prepared to do without other assistance, and to forego the sentiment of dependence, which is perhaps one of the most marked characteristics of her sex. Calmly looking round upon the sleeping and defenseless crowd about her, she resumed her seat upon a low bench in a corner of the apartment, from which she had risen to secure the hatchet, and, extinguishing the only light in the room, fixed her eye upon the accessible window, while every thought of her mind prepared her for the danger which was at hand. She had not long been seated when she fancied that she heard a slight rustling of the branches of the fallen tree just beneath the window. She could not doubt her senses, and her heart swelled and throbbed with the consciousness of approaching danger. But still she was firm -- her spirit grew more confirmed with the coming trial; and coolly throwing the slippers from her feet, grasping firmly her hatchet at the same time, she softly arose, and keeping close in the shadow of the wall, she made her way to a recess, a foot or so from the entrance, to which it was evident some one was cautiously approaching along the attenuated body of the yielding pine. In a few moments and a shadow darkened the opening. She edged more closely to the point, and prepared for the intruder. She now beheld the head of the enemy -- a fierce and foully painted savage -- the war-tuft rising up into a ridge, something like a comb, and his face smeared with colours in a style the most ferociously grotesque. Still she could not strike, for, as he had not penetrated the window, and as its entrance was quite too small to enable her to strike with any hope of success at any distance through it, she felt that it would be folly; and though excited with doubt and determination alike, she saw the error of any precipitation. But, the next moment, he laid his hand upon the sill of the window, the better to raise himself to his level. In that instant she struck at the broad arm lying across the wood. The blow was given with all her force, and would certainly have separated the hand from the arm had it taken effect. But the quick eye of the Indian caught a glimpse of her movement at the very moment in which it was made, and the hand was withdrawn before the hatchet descended. The steel sunk deep into the soft wood -- so deeply that skip could not disengage it. To try at this object would have exposed her at once to his weapon, and leaving it where it stuck, she sunk back again into shadow.

What now was she to do? To stay where she was would be of little avail; but to cry out and to fly, equally unproductive of good, besides warning the enemy of the defenselessness of their condition, and thus inviting a renewal of the attack. The thought came to her with the danger, and, without a word, she maintained her position, in waiting for the progress of events. As the Indian had also sunk from sight, and some moments had now elapsed without his reappearance, she determined to make another effort for the recovery of the hatchet. She grasped it by the handle, and in the next moment the hand of the savage was upon her own. He felt that it was that of a woman, and in a brief word and something of a chuckle, while he still maintained his hold on it, conveyed intelligence of the fact to those below. But it was a woman with a man's spirit with whom he contended, and her endeavour was successful to disengage herself. The same success did not attend her effort to recover the weapon. In the brief struggle with her enemy it had become disengaged from the wood and while both strove to seize it, it slipped from their mutual hands, and sliding over the sill, in another instant was heard rattling through the intervening bushes. Descending upon the ground below, it became the spoil of those without, whose murmurs of gratulation she distinctly heard. But now came the tug of difficulty. The Indian, striving at the entrance, necessarily encouraged by the discovery that his opponent was not a man, and assured, at the same time, by the forbearance, on the part of those within, to strike him effectually down from the tree, now resolutely endeavoured to effect his entrance. His head was again fully in sight of the anxious woman -- then his shoulders, and at length, resting his hand upon the sill, he strove to elevate himself by its muscular strength, so as to secure him sufficient purchase for the object at which he aimed. What could she do -- weaponless, hopeless? The prospect was startling and terrible enough; but she was a strong-minded woman, and impulse served her when reflection would most probably have taught her to fly. She had but one resource; and as the Indian gradually thrust one hand forward for the hold upon the sill, and raised the other up to the side of the window, she grasped the one nighest to her own. She grasped it firmly and to advantage, as, having lifted himself on tiptoe for the purpose of ascent, he had necessarily lost much of the control which a secure hold for his feet must have given him. Her grasp sufficiently assisted him forward, to lessen still more greatly the security of his feet, while, at the same time, though bringing him still farther into the apartment, placing him in such a position as to defeat much of the muscular exercise which his limbs would have possessed in any other situation. Her weapon now would have been all-important; and the strong woman mentally deplored the precipitancy with which she had acted in the first instance, and which had so unhappily deprived her of its use. But self-reproach was unavailing now, and she was satisfied if she could retain her foe in his present position, by which, keeping him out, or in and out, as she did, she necessarily excluded all other foes from the aperture which he so completely filled up. The intruder, though desirous enough of entrance before, was rather reluctant to obtain it now, under existing circumstances. He strove desperately to effect a retreat, but had advanced too far, however, to be easily successful; and, in his confusion and disquiet, he spoke to those below in their own language, explaining his difficulty and directing their movement to his assistance. A sudden rush along the tree indicated to the conscious sense of the woman the new danger, in the approach of additional enemies, who must not only sustain but push forward the one with whom she contended. This warned her at once of the necessity of some sudden procedure, if she hoped to do any thing for her own and the safety of those around her, whom, amid all the contest, she had never once alarmed. Putting forth all her strength, therefore, though nothing in comparison with that of him whom she opposed, had he been in a condition to exert it, she strove to draw him still farther across the entrance, so as to exclude, if possible, the approach of those coming behind him. She hoped to gain time -- sufficient time for those preparing the ladder to come to her relief; and with this hope, for the first time, she called aloud to Grayson and her husband. The Indian, in the meanwhile, derived the support for his person as well from the grasp of the woman, as from his own hold upon the sill of the window. Her effort necessarily drawing him still farther forward, placed him so completely in the way of his allies that they could do him little service while things remained in this situation, and, to complete the difficulties of his predicament, while they busied themselves in several efforts at his extrication, the branches of the little tree, resting against the dwelling, yielding suddenly to the unusual weight upon it -- trembling and sinking away at last -- cracked beneath the burden, and snapping off from their several holds, fell from under them, dragging against the building in their progress down, thus breaking their fall, and finally settling heavily upon the ground. Down went the three savages who had so readily ascended to the assistance of their comrade -- bruised and very much hurt; -- while he, now without any support but that which he derived from the sill, and what little his feet could secure from the irregular crevices between the logs of which the house had been built, was hung in air, unable to advance except at the will of his woman opponent, and dreading a far worse fall from his eminence than that which had already happened to his allies. Desperate with his situation, he thrust his arm, as it was still held by the woman, still farther into the window, and thus enabled her with both hands to secure and strengthen the grasp which she had originally taken upon it. This she did with a new courage, and strength derived from the voices below, by which she understood a promise of assistance. Excited and nerved, she drew the extended arm of the Indian, in spite of all his struggles, directly over the sill, so as to turn the elbow completely down upon it. With her whole weight employed, bending down to the floor to strengthen herself to the task, she pressed the arm across the window until her ears heard the distinct, clear, crack of the bone -- until she heard the groan, and felt the awful struggles of the suffering wretch, twisting himself round with all his effort to obtain for it a natural and relaxed position, and, with this object, leaving his hold upon every thing, only sustained, indeed, by the grasp of his enemy. But the movement of the woman had been quite too sudden, her nerves too firm, and her strength too great to suffer him to succeed. The jagged splinters of the broken limb were thrust up, lacerating and tearing through flesh and skin, while a howl of the acutest agony attested the severity of that suffering which could extort such an acknowledgment from the American savage. He fainted in his pain, and as the weight increased upon her arm, the nature of her sex began to resume its sway. With a shudder of every fibre, she released her hold upon him. The effort of her soul was over -- a strange sickness came upon her, and she was just conscious of a crashing fall of the heavy body among the branches at the foot of the window, when she staggered back, fainting, into the arms of her husband, who, just at that moment, ascended to her relief.

THESE slight defeats were sufficiently annoying in themselves to the invaders -- they were more so as they proved not only the inadequacy of their present mode of assault, but the watchfulness of the beleaguered garrison. Their hope had been to take the borderers by surprise. Failing to succeed in this, they were now thrown all aback. Their fury was consequently more than ever exaggerated by their losses, and rushing forward in their desperation, through, and in defiance of, the fire from the Carolinians, the greater number placed themselves beneath the line of pickets with so much celerity as to baffle, in most respects, the aim of the defenders. A few remained to bear away the wounded and slain to a place of safe shelter in the thick woods, while the rest lay, either in quiet under the walls of the Block House, secure there from the fire of the garrison, or amused themselves in unavailing cries of sarcasm to those within, while impotently expending blows upon the insensible logs between them. The elder Grayson, who directed solely the movements of the beleaguered, was not unwilling that the assailants should amuse themselves after this fashion, as the delay of the Indians was to them the gain of time, which was all they could expect at such a period, and perhaps in a predatory warfare like the present, all they could desire.

But Ishiagaska with his force now came upon the scene, and somewhat changed the aspect of affairs. He took the entire command, reinvigorated their efforts, and considerably altered the mode and direction of attack. He was a subtle partisan, and the consequences of his appearance were soon perceptible in the development of events. The force immediately beneath the walls, and secure from the shot of the garrison, were reinforced, and in so cautious a manner, that the Carolinians were entirely ignorant of their increased strength in that quarter. Creeping, as they did, from bush to bush -- now lying prone and silent to the ground, in utter immobility -- now rushing, as circumstances prompted, with all rapidity -- they put themselves into cover, crossing the intervening space without the loss of a man. Having thus gathered in force beneath the walls of the fortress, the greater number, while the rest watched, proceeded to gather up in piles, as they had begun to do before, immense quantities of the dry pine trash and the gummy turpentine wood which the neighbourhood readily afforded. This they clustered in thick masses around the more accessible points of the pickets; and the first intimation which the garrison had of their proceeding was a sudden gust of flame, blazing first about the gate of the area, on one side of the Block House, then rushing from point to point with amazing rapidity, sweeping and curling widely around the building itself. The gate, and the pickets all about it, studiously made as they had been of the rich pine, for its great durability, was as ready an ally of the destructive element as the Indians could have chosen; and, licked greedily by the fire, were soon ignited. Blazing impetuously, it soon aroused the indwellers to a more acute consciousness of the danger now at hand. A fierce shout of their assailants, as they beheld the rapid progress of the experiment, warned them to greater exertion if they hoped to escape the dreadful fate which threatened to ingulf them. To remain where they were, was to be consumed in the flames; to rush forth, was to encounter the tomahawks of an enemy four times their number.

It was a moment of gloomy necessity, that which assembled the chief defenders of the fortress to a sort of war-council. They could only deliberate -- to fight was out of the question. Their enemy now was one to whom they could oppose

" -- Nor subtle wile
Nor arbitration strong."

The Indians showed no front for assault or aim, while the flames, rushing from point to point, and seizing upon numerous places at once, continued to advance with a degree of celerity which left it impossible, in the dry condition of its timber, that the Block House could possibly, for any length of time, escape. Upon the building itself the savages could not fix the fire at first. But two ends of it were directly accessible to them, and these were without any entrance, had been pierced with holes for musketry, and were well watched by the vigilant eyes within. The two sides were enclosed by the line of pickets, and had no need of other guardianship. The condition of affairs was deplorable. The women wept and prayed, the children screamed, and the men, gathering generally in the long apartment of the lower story, with heavy hearts and solemn faces, proceeded to ask counsel of each other in the last resort. Some lay around on the loose plank -- here and there along the floor a bearskin formed the place of rest for a huge and sullen warrior, vexed with the possession of strength which he was not permitted to employ. A few watched at the musket holes, and others busied themselves in adjusting all things for the final necessity, so far as their thoughts or fancies could possibly divine its shape.

The principal men of the garrison were gathered in the centre of the hall, sitting with downcast heads and fronting one another, along two of the uncovered sleepers; their muskets resting idly between their legs, their attitudes and general expression of abandon signifying clearly the due increase of apprehension in their minds with the progress of the flames. Broad flashes of light from the surrounding conflagration illuminated, but could not enliven, the sombre character of that grouping. A general pause ensued after their assemblage -- none seeming willing or able to offer counsel, and Grayson himself, the brave forester in command, evidently at fault in the farther business before them. Nichols was the only man to break the silence, which he did in his usual manner.

"And why, my friends, are we here assembled?" was his sagacious inquiry, looking round as he spoke upon his inattentive coadjutors. A forced smile on the faces of several, but not a word, attested their several estimates of the speaker. He proceeded.

"That is the question, my friends -- why are we here assembled? I answer, for the good of the people. We are here to protect them if we can, and to perish for and with them if we must. I cannot forget my duties to my country, and to those in whose behalf I stand before the hatchet of the Indian, and the cannon of the Spaniard. These teach me, and I would teach it to you, my friends -- to fight, to hold out to the last. We may not think of surrender, my friends, until other hope is gone. Whatever be the peril, till that moment be it mine to encounter it -- whatever be the privation, till that moment I am the man to endure it. Be it for me, at least, though I stand alone in this particular, to do for the people whatever wisdom or valour may do until the moment comes which shall call on us for surrender. The question now, my friends, is simply this -- has that moment come or not? I pause for a reply."

"Who talks of surrender?" growled the smith, as he cast a glance of ferocity to the speaker. "Who talks of surrender at all, to these cursed bloodhounds; the red-skins that hunt for nothing but our blood. We cannot surrender if we would -- we must fight, die, do any thing but surrender!"

"So say I -- I am ready to fight and die for my country. I say it now, as I have said it a hundred times before, but -- " The speech which Nichols had thus begun, the smith again interrupted with a greater bull-dog expression than ever.

"Ay, so you have, and so will say a hundred times more -- with as little sense in it one time as another. We are all here to die, if there's any need for it; but that isn't the trouble. It's how we are to die -- that's the question. Are we to stay here and be burnt to death like timber-rats -- to sally out and be shot, or to volunteer, as I do now, axe in hand, to go out and cut down the pickets that immediately join the house? By that we may put a stop to the fire, and then we shall have a clear dig at the savages that lie behind them. I'm for that. If anybody's willing to go along with me, let him up hands -- no talk -- we have too much of that already."

"I'm ready -- here!" cried Grayson, and his hands were thrust up at the instant.

"No, Wat," cried the smith -- "not you -- you must stay and manage here. Your head's the coolest, and though I'd sooner have your arm alongside of me in the rough time than any other two that I know of, 'twon't do to take you from the rest on this risk. Who else is ready? -- let him come to the scratch and no long talk about it. What do you say, Nichols? that's chance enough for you, if you really want to die for the people." And as Grimstead spoke, he thrust his head forward, while his eyes peered into the very bosom of the little doctor, and his axe descended to the joist over which he stood with a thundering emphasis that rung through the apartment.

"I can't use the axe," cried Nichols, hurriedly. "It's not my instrument. Sword or pistol for me. In their exercise I give way to no man, and in their use I ask for no leader. But I am neither woodman nor blacksmith."

"And this is your way of dying for the good of the people!" said the smith, contemptuously.

"I am willing even now -- I say it again, as I have before said, and as now I solemnly repeat it. But I must die for them after my own fashion, and under proper circumstances. With sword in hand, crossing the perilous breach -- with weapon befitting the use of a noble gentleman, I am ready; but I know not any rule in patriotism that would require of me to perish for my country with the broad-axe of a wood-chopper, the cleaver of a butcher, or the sledge of a blacksmith in my hands."

"Well, I'm no soldier," retorted the smith; "but I think a man, to be really willing to die for his country, shouldn't be too nice as to which way he does it. Now the sword and the pistol are of monstrous little use here. The muskets from these holes above and below will keep off the Indians, while a few of us cut down the stakes; so, now, men, as time grows short, Grayson, you let the boys keep a sharp look-out with the ticklers, and I'll for the timber, let him follow who will. There are boys enough, I take it, to go with Dick Grimstead, though they may none of them be very anxious to die for their country."

Thus saying, and having received the sanction of Grayson to this, the only project from which any thing could be expected, the blacksmith pushed forward, throwing open the door leading to the area which the fire in great part now beleaguered -- while Grayson made arrangements to command the ground with his musketry, and to keep the entrance, thus opened for Grimstead and his party, with his choicest men. The blacksmith was one of those blunt, burly fellows, who take with the populace. It was not difficult for him to procure three men where twenty were ready. They had listened with much sympathy to the discussion narrated, and as the pomposity and assumption of Nichols had made him an object of vulgar ridicule, a desire to rebuke him, not less than a willingness to go with the smith, contributed readily to persuade them to the adventure. In a few moments the door was unbarred, and the party sallied forth through the entrance, which was kept ajar for their ingress, and well watched by half a dozen of the stoutest men in the garrison, Grayson at their head. Nichols went above to direct the musket-men, while his mind busied itself in conning over the form of a capitulation, which he thought it not improbable he should have to frame with the chiefs of the besieging army. In this labour he had but one cause of vexation, which arose from the necessity he would be under, in enumerating the prisoners, of putting himself after Grayson, the commander.

In the meanwhile, with sleeves rolled up, jacket off, and face that seemed not often to have been entirely free from the begriming blackness of his profession, Grimstead commenced his tremendous blows upon the contiguous pickets, followed with like zeal, if not equal power, by the three men who had volunteered along with him. Down went the first post beneath his arm, and as, with resolute spirit, he was about to assail another, a huge Santee warrior stood in the gap which he had made, and with a powerful blow from the mace which he carried, had our blacksmith been less observant, would have soon finished his career. But Grimstead was a man of agility as well as strength and spirit, and leaping aside from the stroke, as his eye rose to the corresponding glance from that of his enemy, he gave due warning to his axe-men, who forbore their strokes under his command. The aperture was yet too small for any combat of the parties; and, ignorant of the force against him, surprised also at their appearance, he despatched one of his men to Grayson, and gave directions, which, had they been complied with, had certainly given them the advantage.

"Now, boys, you shall have fun -- I have sent for some hand-to-hand men to do the fighting, while we do the chopping, -- and Nichols, who loves dying so much, can't help coming along with them. He's the boy for sword and pistol -- he's no woodcutter. Well, many a better chap than he's had to chop wood for an honest living. But we'll see now what he is good for. Let him come."

"Oh, he's all flash in the pan, Grimstead. His tongue is mustard-seed enough, but it 'taint the shot. But what's that -- ?"

The speaker, who was one of Grimstead's comrades, might well ask, for first a crackling, then a whirling crash, announced the fall at length of the huge gate to the entrance of the court. A volume of flame and cinders, rising with the gust which it created, rushed up, obscuring for a moment and blinding all things around it; but, as it subsided, the Indians lying in wait on the outside, and whom no smoke could blind, leaped with uplifted tomahawks through the blazing ruins, and pushed forward to the half-opened entrance of the Block House. The brave blacksmith, admirably supported, threw himself in the way, and was singled out by the huge warrior who had struck at him through the picket. The savage was brave and strong, but he had his match in the smith, whose courage was indomitable and lively, while his strength was surpassed by that of few. Wielding his axe with a degree of ease that, of itself, warned the enemy what he had to expect, it was but a moment before the Indian gave way before him. But the smith was not disposed to allow a mere acknowledgment of his superiority to pass for a victory. He pressed him back upon his comrades, while his own three aids, strong and gallant themselves, following his example, drove the intruders upon the blaze which flamed voluminously around them. Already a severe wound, which almost severed the arm of the Santee warrior from its trunk, had confirmed the advantage gained by the whites, while severe hatchet wounds had diminished not a little the courage of his Indian fellows, when, of a sudden, a new party came upon the scene of combat, changing entirely its face and character, and diminishing still more the chances of the Carolinians. This was Chorley, the captain of the pirate. Having lodged his captives, as we have seen, in a little hovel on the river's brink, under a small guard of his own seamen, he had proceeded with all due speed upon the steps of Ishiagaska. He arrived opportunely for the band which had been placed along the walls of the Block House, in ambush, and whose daring had at length carried them into the outer defences of the fortress. A single shot from one of his men immediately warned the smith and his brave comrades of the new enemy before them, and while stimulating afresh the courage of their savage assailants, it materially diminished their own. They gave back -- the three survivors -- one of the party having fallen in the first discharge. The Indians rushed upon them, and thus throwing themselves between, for a time defeated the aim of Chorley's musketeers. Fighting like a lion, as he retreated to the door of the Block House, the brave smith continued to keep unharmed, making at the same time some little employment in the shape of ugly wounds to dress, in the persons of his rash assailants. Once more they gave back before him, and again the musketry of Chorley was enabled to tell upon him. A discharge from the Block House in the meantime retorted with good effect the attack of the sailors, and taught a lesson of caution to Chorley, of which he soon availed himself. Three of his men bit the dust in that single fire; and the Indians, suffering more severely, fled at the discharge. The brave smith reached the door with a single unwounded follower, himself unhurt. His comrades threw open the entrance for his reception, but an instant too late. A parting shot from the muskets of the seamen was made with a fatal effect. Grimstead sunk down upon the threshold as the bullet passed through his body -- the axe fell from his hand -- he grasped at it convulsively, and lay extended in part upon the sill of the door, when Grayson drew him in safety within, and again securely closed it.

"You are not hurt, Dick, my old fellow," exclaimed Grayson, his voice trembling with the apprehensions which he felt.

"Hurt enough, Wat -- bad enough. No more grist ground at that mill. But, hold in -- don't be frightened -- you can lick 'em yet. Ah," he groaned, in a mortal agony.

They composed his limbs, and pouring some spirits down his throat, he recovered in a few moments, and convulsively inquired for his axe.

"I wouldn't lose it -- it was dad's own axe, and must go to brother Tom when I die."

"Die indeed, Dick -- don't think of such a thing," said Grayson.

"I don't, Wat -- I leave that to Nichols -- but get the axe -- ah! God -- it's here -- here -- where's Tom?"

His brother, a youth of sixteen, came down to him from the upper apartment where he had been stationed and kneeling over him, tried to support his head -- but the blood gushed in a torrent from his mouth. He strove to speak, but choked in the effort. A single convulsion, which turned him upon his face, and the struggle was all over. The battles of the smith were done.

THE force brought up by the younger Grayson, and now led by Harrison, came opportunely to the relief of the garrison. The flames had continued to rage, unrestrained, so rapidly around the building, that its walls were at length greedily seized upon by the furious element, and the dense smoke, gathering through all its apartments, alone was sufficient to compel the retreat of its defenders. Nothing now was left them in their desperation but to sally forth even upon the knives and hatchets of their merciless and expecting foe; and for this last adventure, so full of danger, so utterly wanting in a fair promise of any successful result, the sturdy foresters prepared. Fortunately for this movement, it was just about this period that the approach of Harrison, with his party, compelled the besiegers to change their position, in order the better to contend with him; and, however reluctant to suffer the escape of those so completely in their power, and for whose destruction they had already made so many sacrifices of time and life, they were compelled to do so in the reasonable fear of an assault upon two sides -- from the garrison before them, impelled by desperation, and from the foe in their rear, described by their scouts as in rapid advance to the relief of the Block House. The command was shared jointly between Chorley and Ishiagaska. The former had fared much worse than his tawny allies; for, not so well skilled in the artifices of land and Indian warfare, seven out of the twenty warriors whom he commanded had fallen victims in the preceding conflicts. His discretion had become somewhat more valuable, therefore, when reminded by the scanty force remaining under his command, not only of his loss, but of his present weakness; a matter of no little concern, as he well knew that his Indian allies, in their capricious desperation, might not be willing to discriminate between the whites who had befriended, and those who had been their foes.

Thus, counselled by necessity, the assailing chiefs drew off their forces from the Block House, and sinking into cover, prepared to encounter their new enemies, after the fashion of their warfare. Ignorant in the meantime of the approach of Harrison or the force under him, Grayson wondered much at this movement of the besiegers, of which he soon had intelligence, and instantly prepared to avail himself of the privilege which it gave to the garrison of flight. He called his little force together, and having arranged, before leaving its shelter, the progress and general movement of his party, he carefully placed the women and children in the centre of his little troop, sallied boldly forth into the woods, conscious of all the dangers of the movement, but strengthened with all those thoughts of lofty cheer with which the good Providence, at all times, inspires the spirit of adventure, in the hour of its trying circumstance. There was something of pleasure in their very release from the confined circuit of the Block House, though now more immediately exposed to the tomahawk of the Indian; and with the pure air, and the absence of restraint, the greater number of the foresters grew even cheerful and glad -- a change of mood in which even the women largely partook. Some few indeed, of the more Puritanical among them, disposed to think themselves the especial charge of the Deity, and holding him not less willing than strong to save, under any circumstances, even went so far as to break out into a hymn of exultation and rejoicing, entirely forgetting the dangers still hanging around them, and absolutely contending warmly with Grayson when he undertook to restrain them. Not the least refractory of these was his own mother, who, in spite of all he could say, mouthed and muttered continually, and every now and then burst forth into starts of irrepressible psalmody, sufficient to set the entire tribe of Indians unerringly upon their track. The remonstrance of Grayson had little effect, except when he reminded her of his younger brother. The idolized Hugh, and his will, were her law in most things. Appealing to his authority, and threatening complaint to him, he succeeded in making her silent, at least to a certain extent. Entire silence was scarcely possible with the old dame, who likened her escape from the flaming Block House, and, so far, from the hands of the savage, to every instance of Providential deliverance she had ever read of in the sacred volume; and still, under the stimulus of such a feeling, broke out every now and then, with sonorous emphasis, into song, from an old collection of the period, every atom of which she had familiarly at the end of her tongue. A moment had not well elapsed after the first suggestion of Grayson, when, as if unconsciously, she commenced again: -

" 'The Lord hath fought the foe for us,
And smote the heathen down.' "

"Now, mother, in the name of common sense, can't you be quiet?"

"And wherefore should we not send up the hymn of rejoicing and thanksgiving for all his mercies, to the Father who has stood beside us in the hour of peril? Wherefore, I ask of you, Walter Grayson? Oh, my son, beware of self-conceit and pride of heart; and because you have here commanded earthly and human weapons, think not, in the vanity of your spirit, that the victory comes from such as these. The Saviour of men, my son -- it is he that has fought this fight. It is his sword that has smitten the savage hip and thigh, and brought us free out of the land of bondage, even as he brought his people of old from the bondage of the Egyptians. He is mighty to save, and therefore should we rejoice with an exceeding strong voice." And as if determined to sustain amply the propriety she insisted on, her lungs were never more tasked than when she sung: -

                " 'The Lord he comes with mighty power, 
                        The army of the saints is there --
                        He speaks -- ' " 

"For Heaven's sake, mother -- hush your tongue -- if it be in you to keep it quiet for a moment. Let it rest only for a little while, or we shall all be scalped. Wait till daylight, and you may then sing to your heart's content. It can't be long till daylight, and you can then begin, but not till then, or we shall have the savages on our track, and nothing can save us."

"Oh! thou of little faith -- I tell thee, Walter, thou hast read but too little of thy Bible, and dependest too much upon the powers of earth -- all of which are wicked and vain defences. Put thy trust in God; he is strong to save. Under his hand I fear not the savage -- for, does he not tell us -- " and she quavered again: -

                " 'Unfold thine eye and see me here 
                        I do the battle for the just, 
                        My people nothing have to fear -- ' " 

"Mother, in the name of common sense." But she went on with double fervour, as if vexed with the interruption: -

                " 'If faithful in my word -- ' " 

"Mother, mother, I say -- " But she was bent seemingly to finish the line: --

                " ' -- they trust.' " 

"Was there ever such an obstinate! I say, mother -- "

"Well, my son?"

"Are you my mother?"

"Of a certainty, I am. What mean you by that question, Walter?"

"Do you want to see my scalp dangling upon the long pole of a savage?"

"God forbid, Walter, my son. Did I not bear thee -- did I not suffer for thee?"

"Then, if thou dost not really desire to see me scalped, put some stop on thy tongue, and move along as if death lay under every footstep. If the savages surround us now, we are gone, every mother's son of us -- and all the saints, unless they are accustomed to Indian warfare, can do nothing in our behalf."

"Speak not irreverently, son Walter. The saints are blessed mediators for the sinner, and may move eternal mercy to save. Have they not fought for us already to-night -- and are we not saved by their ministry from the bloody hands of the savage?"

"No -- it's by our own hands, and our own good handiwork, mother. I owe the saints no thanks, and shall owe you still less, unless you stop that howling."

"Oh, Father, forgive him, he knows not what he says -- he is yet in the bondage of sin -- " and she hymned her prayer from her collection: -

                " 'Strike not the sinner in his youth, 
                        But bear him in thy mercy on 
                        Till in the path of sacred truth 
                        He sees -- ' " 

"Mother, if thou hush not, I will tell Hugh of thy obstinacy. He shall know how little thou mindest his counsel."

"Well, well, Walter, my son, I am done. Thou art too hasty, I'm sure. -- Oh, bless me -- "

Her speech was cut short by a sudden and fierce whoop of the Indians, followed by the huzzas of the whites at a greater distance, and the rapid fire of musketry, scattered widely along the whole extended range of forest around them.

"Down, down, all hands to your knees -- one and all -- " was the cry of Grayson to his party; and, accustomed to most of the leading difficulties and dangers of such a fight, the order was obeyed as if instinctively by all except Dame Grayson, who inflexibly maintained her position, and refused to move, alleging her objection to any prostration except for the purposes of prayer. Maddened by her obstinacy, Grayson, with very little scruple, placing his hand upon her shoulder, bore her down to the earth, exclaiming, -

"Then say your prayers, mother -- do any thing but thwart what you cannot amend."

Thus humbled, the party crept along more closely into cover, until, at a spot where the trees were clustered along with underwood, into something like a copse, he ordered a halt, and proceeded to arrange his men and their weapons for active conflict. The war approached at intervals, and an occasional shot whistled over the heads of the party, conclusively proving the necessity of their position. The Indians seemed to lie betwixt them and the advancing Carolinians; and perceiving this to be the case, Grayson threw the non-combatants under shelter in such a manner as to interpose those who fought in the way of the coming Indians, in the event of their being driven back upon them. His party in the meanwhile, well prepared, lay quietly under cover, and with their weapons ready to take advantage of any such event.

Harrison, as we may remember, had taken the command of the greater body of the force which had been brought up through the industrious and prodigious exertions of Hugh Grayson. This young man, stung and mortified as he had been by the rebuke of Bess Matthews, with a degree of mental concentration, rather indicative of his character -- though hopeless of those affections, which of all other human hopes he had most valued -- had determined to do himself justice by doing his duty. Throwing aside, therefore, as well as he might, the passionate mood, which was active in his soul, he had gone forth from the house of the pastor, resolute to make every exertion in procuring a force that might protect the family from an attack, which he had at length learned, as well as Harrison, greatly to anticipate. His pride suggested to him the gratification of saving the life of her who had scorned him, as an honourable revenge, not less than a fair blotting out of those errors of which, on her account, he had suffered himself to be guilty. His efforts, so far, had been crowned with success; but he had come too late for his prime object. The dwelling of the pastor had been sacked before his arrival, and, like Harrison, he was under the most horrible apprehensions for her safety. The latter person came upon him opportunely, in time to keep him from falling into the ambuscade through which he had himself so singularly passed in safety -- and with more knowledge of Indian strife, Harrison took the command of a party, confident in his skill, and, of necessity, with a courage heightened proportionably when under his direction.

The cautious yet bold management of Harrison soon gave him the advantage. The foresters, guided by him, each took his tree after the manner of the Indians, and with the advantage of weapons more certain to kill, and equally, if not more certain, in aim. Apart from this, the Carolinian woodman knew enough of the savages to know that they were no opponents, generally speaking, to be feared in a trial of respective muscular strength. The life of the hunter fits him to endure rather than to contend. The white borderer was taught by his necessities to do both. He could wield the axe and overthrow the tree -- a labour to which the Indian is averse. He could delve and dig, and such employment was a subject of scorn and contempt with the haughty aboriginal warrior. At the same time he practised the same wanderings and the same felicity of aim, and in enduring the toils of the chase, he was fairly the equal of his tawny but less enterprising neighbour. The consciousness of these truths -- a consciousness soon acquired from association -- was not less familiar to the Indian than to the Carolinian; and the former, in consequence, despaired his charm, when opposing the white man hand to hand. His hope was in the midnight surprise -- in the sudden onslaught -- in the terror inspired by his fearful whoop -- and in the awful scalp-song with which he approached, making the imagination of his foe an auxiliar to his own, as he told him how he should rend away the dripping locks from his scull, while his eyes swam in darkness, and the pulses were yet flickering at his heart.

From cover to cover -- from tree to tree -- the individual Carolinians rushed on against their retreating enemies. In this manner the fight became somewhat pell-mell, and the opponents grew strangely mingled together. Still, as each was busy with his particular enemy, no advantage could well be taken of the circumstance on either side; and the hatchets of the individual combatants clashed under neighbouring trees, and their knives were uplifted in the death-struggle over the same stump, without any hope of assistance from their friends in any form of their difficulty.

In this general state of things, there was one exception in the case of Harrison himself. He was approached resolutely in the course of the conflict by a Coosaw warrior -- a man of inferior size, even with his tribe, the individuals of which were generally diminutive. The dark eye of the swarthy foe, as he advanced upon Harrison, was lighted up with a malignant audacity, to be understood only by a reference to the history of his people. That people were now almost exterminated. He was one of the few survivors -- a chief -- a bold, brave man -- subtle, active, and distinguished for his skill as a warrior and hunter. He recognised in Harrison the renowned Coosah-moray-te -- the leader of the force which had uprooted his nation, and had driven the warriors to the degrading necessity of merging their existence as a people with that of a neighbouring tribe. The old feeling of his country, and a former war, was at work in his bosom, and through all the mazes of the conflict he steadily kept his eye on the course of Harrison. He alone sought him -- he alone singled him out for the fight. For a long time, the nature of the struggle had prevented their meeting; but he now approached the spot where Harrison stood, holding at bay a tall Chestatee warrior from the interior of Georgia. The Chestatee was armed with the common war-club, and had no other weapon. This weapon is chiefly useful when confusion has been introduced by the bowmen into the ranks of an enemy. It is about two feet in length, and bears at its end, and sometimes at both ends, a cross-piece of iron, usually without any distinct form, but sometimes resembling the blade of a spear, and not infrequently that of a hatchet. Harrison was armed with a sword, and had besides, in his possession, the knife -- the same broad, cimeter-like weapon -- which had been given him by Matiwan in his flight from Pocota-ligo. His rifle, which he had not had time to reload, leaned against a tree, at the foot of which stood Hector, with difficulty restraining, and keeping back, with all his might, the impatient dog Dugdale, which, by his master's orders, he had remuzzled. This had been done in order to his safety. It was only in pursuit that his services would have been of avail; for though he might be of use in the moment of strife, the chances were that he would have been shot. Thus reposing, Hector was enabled to see the approach of the Coosaw, and by an occasional exhibition of his own person and that of the dog, to deter him from the attack which he had long meditated. But the strife between Harrison and the Chestatee was about to cease. That warrior, aiming a fierce blow at the person of his enemy, drove the spear-head of club into the tree, and failing at the moment to disengage it, fell a victim to the quicksightedness of his opponent. Harrison's sword in that instant was sheathed in the bosom of the Chestatee, who, as he received the wound, sprung upward from the ground, snapping the slender weapon short at the hilt, the blade still remaining buried in his body. Harrison drew his knife, and having for some time seen the purpose of the Coosaw, he fortunately turned to meet him at the very instant of his approach. Somewhat surprised at the fearlessness with which his enemy advanced to the conflict, he spoke to him as they both paused at a few paces from each other.

"Thou art a Coosaw," -- exclaimed Harrison, -- "I know thee."

"Chinnabar is the last chief of the Coosaw. He wants blood for his people."

"Thou knowest me, then?" said Harrison.

"Coosah-moray-te!" was the simple response; and the dark eye glared, and the teeth of the savage gnashed like those of the hungered wolf, as the name stirred up all the associations in his mind of that war of extermination which the warrior before him had waged against his people.

"Ay -- the Coosah-moray-te is before thee. -- Would Chinnabar follow his people?" exclaimed the Englishman.

"Chinnabar would have much blood for his people. He would drink blood from the scull of Coosah-moray-te -- he would show the scalp of the Coosah-moray-te to the warriors of Coosaw, that wait for him in the Happy Valley."

"Thou shalt have no scalp of mine, friend Chinnabar. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I must -- I can't spare it. Come! I know you of old for a cunning snake -- a snake lying in the dried bush. The foot of the Coosah-moray-te will trample on thy head."

Harrison spoke fearlessly, for who, contrasting the appearance of the two, would have thought the contest doubtful? The Indian was scarcely over five feet in height, slender, and not well set; while his opponent, fully six feet in height, a fine specimen of symmetrical manhood, seemed able to crush him with a finger. The Coosaw simply responded with something like a smile of scorn, -- throwing himself at the same moment like a ball at the feet of his enemy -

"Good! -- the snake is in the bush. Look! Coosah-moray-te -- put the foot on his head."

The Englishman looked down upon him with something like surprise mingled with his contempt, and made no show of assault; but he was too well acquainted with Indian trick and manoeuvre to be thrown off his guard by this movement. Curious to see what would be the next effort of one who had studiously singled him out, he watched him carefully, and the Indian, something balked that the enemy had not taken him at his word and approached him while in his prostrate condition, slowly uncoiled him from his cluster, and had partially regained his feet, when Harrison, who had been looking for him fully to do so, was surprised in the next moment to find his wily enemy directly between his legs. The suddenness of such a movement, though it failed to throw him, as the Coosaw had calculated, yet disordered his position not a little; and before he could strike a blow, or do more than thrust one of his feet down upon him, his active adversary had passed from his reach, having made a desperate effort with his knife to hamstring his adversary, as he leaped aside and turned suddenly upon him. The rapidity of Harrison's movement alone saved him, though even then not entirely, since the knife grazed his leg, inflicting a sharp, though not dangerous wound. He barely turned in time to meet the preparation of the Coosaw for a second assault of similar character; and something more ready at this novel mode of attack, and vexed at its partial success, Harrison looked with some impatience for his enemy's approach, and felt a thrill of fierce delight as he saw him leave with a bound the spot upon which he stood. Sinking upon his knee as the savage rolled towards him, he presented his knife, edge upward, to his advance. What was his surprise to find that in so stooping, he had only evaded a blow upon his bosom, which, from his position, and the direction which the Indian pursued, had he stood, the heels of his foe would certainly have inflicted. He saw from this that he must now become the assailant; particularly as he perceived that his men were successfully pressing upon the enemy in every direction, and that the battle was progressing towards the river, and between it and the Block House. Active as most men, Harrison was also a man of ready decision; and with the thought came the execution. With a bound he grappled the Coosaw, who had not looked for an attack so sudden, and no doubt had been fatigued by previous efforts. Harrison drove him back against a tree with all the muscle of an extended arm, and thus forced the combat upon him on his own terms. But even then the subtlety of the savage did not fail him. He evaded the grasp and contrived to double once or twice completely under the body of his opponent, until, exasperated by his pertinacity not less than at the agility with which the Indian eluded him, without stooping to where he wriggled like a snake around him, the Englishman leaped upon him with both feet, striking his heel securely down upon the narrow of his sinuous back, and in this way fastening him to the earth. In another instant and the knife would have finished the combat, when the conqueror received a severe blow with a club, upon his shoulder, from some unseen hand, which completely staggered him; and before he could recover, he was confronted by another warrior of the Coosaws, crying to him in his own language in the exultation of success deemed secure, and thus cheering his prostrate chief, Chinnabar -

"Coosah-moray-te, -- I drink his blood, I tear his throat, I have his scalp -- I hear his groan -- Hi-chai! -- 'tis a dog for Opitchi-Manneyto!"

At the cry, his former opponent rose from the ground, not so much injured but that he could recommence the battle. They advanced at the same moment upon the Englishman, though from different quarters. They came upon him with all their subtlety and caution, for the two together could scarce have contended with the superior strength of Harrison. Taking his tree, he prepared for the worst; and with his left arm so severely paralyzed by the blow that he could do little more than throw it up in defence, he yet held a good heart, and while he saw with what malignity the two Coosaws had singled him out, he had hope to meet them individually by the exercise of some of those adroit arts which he too could employ not less than the savage. But he was spared this trial. The very instant of their simultaneous approach, a gun-shot from the rear brought down the second assailant. The survivor, Chinnabar, as if exasperated beyond reason at the event, now precipitated himself forward, tomahawk in hand, upon his foe, was foiled by the ready agility which encountered him, put aside, and almost in the same instant hurled like a stone to the around by the now fully aroused Englishman.

"Coosaw -- thou art the last chief of thy people. The cunning serpent will die by the Coosah-moray-te, like the rest," said Harrison, addressing the conquered savage, who lay motionless, but still alive, at his feet.

"The Coosah-moray-te will strike. Chinnabar is the last chief of the Coosaw -- his people have gone -- they wait for him with the cry of a bird. Let the pale-face strike. Ah! ah!"

The knife was in his heart. Vainly the eyes rolled in a fruitless anger -- the teeth fixed for ever, while gnashing in fury, in the death spasm. A short groan -- a word, seemingly of song -- and the race of the Coosaws was for ever ended.

Harrison rose and looked round for the person whose timely shot had saved him from the joint attack of the two warriors. He discovered him advancing in the person of Hector, who, having fastened Dugdale to a sapling, had reloaded the musketoon of his master, and by his intervention at the proper moment, had no doubt preserved his life. Unaccustomed, however, to the use of gunpowder, the black had overcharged the piece, and the recoil had given him a shock which, at the moment, he was certain could not have been a jot less severe than that which it inflicted upon the Coosaw he had slain. His jaws ached, he bitterly alleged, whenever, years after, he detailed the fight with the Yemassee on the banks of the Pocota-ligo.

"Hector -- thou hast saved my life," said Harrison, as he came up to him.

"I berry glad, mossa," was the natural reply.

"Where's Dugdale?"

"In de tree -- I hook 'em wid rope, when I load for shoot de Injin."

"Bring him, and set him loose."

The black did as he was told, and harking him on the track of the flying Indians, Harrison seized and reloaded his rifle, while Hector possessed himself of a knife and hatchet which he picked up upon the field. They then proceeded hastily to overtake the Carolinians, who, at a little distance, were pressing upon the retreating enemy. Harrison came in time to give his influence and energy where they were most needed. The flying force were met by the party from the Block House, under Ishiagaska and the pirate, and the fight commenced anew -- a sort of running fight, however, for the Indians grew weary of a contest in which they had none of those advantages of number or circumstance that usually encourage them to war, and so trifling was the force of whites now remaining with them under Chorley, that their presence rather induced despondency than hope. The pirate himself was much discouraged by the nature of the strife, for which he did not dream that the Carolinians would have been so well prepared; and the loss which he had sustained, so disproportioned to his force, had not a little exaggerated his discontent. His disquiet was destined to find still farther increase in the new assault; two more of his men, not so well sheltered as they should have been, or more venturous, having been shot down near a tree immediately adjoining that behind which he stood; and though the Indians still continued to fight, he saw that they could not be encouraged to do so long; as, even if successful in killing, they had no opportunity of obtaining the scalps of the slain, the best evidence with them of their triumph. The Carolinians still pressed on, their numbers greatly increased by the presence of several slaves, who, volunteering even against the will of their masters, had armed themselves with knives or clubs, and by their greater numbers held forth a prospect of ultimately hemming in the smaller force of their enemy. This was an ally upon which the Spaniards had largely calculated. They had no idea of that gentler form of treatment which, with the Carolinians, won the affections of their serviles; and knowing no other principle in their own domestic government than that of fear, and assured of the instability of any confidence built upon such a relationship between the ruler and the serf, they had miscalculated greatly when they addressed their bribes and promises to the negroes, as well as to the Indians of Carolina. But few joined them -- the greater number, volunteering for their owners, were taken actually into the employment of the colony, and subsequently rewarded in proportion to their services and merits.

The engagement became a flight. From point to point the Carolinians pursued their enemy -- Chorley the seaman, and Ishiagaska, alone endeavouring, by the most ardent effort, to stimulate the courage of their followers, and maintain the show of fight. But in vain. The whites pressed closely upon the heels of the fugitives, who were at length suddenly brought up by a severe fire directly upon their path from the concealed party under Grayson. This completed their panic; and each darting in the direction given him by his fears, sought for individual safety. There was no longer the form of a battle array among them, and the negroes cleared the woods with their clubs, beating out the brains of those they overtook almost without having any resistance offered them. The day dawned upon the forest, and every step of the route taken by the combatants was designated by blood.

DAY dawned, and the sun rose clearly and beautifully over the scattered bands of the forest. The Indians were fairly defeated, Ishiagaska slain, and Chorley, the pirate, uninfluenced by any of those feelings of nationality in the present case, which would have prompted him to a desperate risk of his own person in a struggle so utterly unlooked-for, as soon as he saw the final and complete character of the defeat, silently withdrew, with his few remaining followers, from farther conflict. He had another care upon his hands beside that of his own safety. There was one reward -- one spoil -- with which he consoled himself for his disaster -- and that was Bess Matthews. Filled with a fierce passion, as he thought of her, he took his way, unseen by the victorious Carolinians, toward the little cot on the river's edge, in which he had left his prisoners. Circumstances had materially altered from what they were at the time when they became so. He was no longer able to control, with an imposing and superior force, the progress, either of his Indian allies or of his Carolinian enemies. He had not foreseen, any more than the Yemassees, the state of preparation in which the settlers about the Pocota-ligo had met the invasion. He had looked to find invasion and conquest one -- and had never dreamed of opposition, much less of a defence which would prove so completely successful. The energies of a single man, his address, farsightedness, and circumspection, had done all this. To the perseverance and prudence of Harrison -- his devotedness to the cause he had undertaken, the borderers owed their safety. But of this the pirate chief knew nothing; and, anticipating no such provident management, he had fearlessly leagued himself with the savages, stimulated by passions as sanguinary as theirs, and without that redeeming sense of national character and feeling -- that genuine love of country, which not only accounted for, but exculpated the people of whom he was the unworthy ally. But he had lost all that he came for -- all objects but one. His best followers had fallen victims -- his hope of spoil had in great part been defeated, and though he had shed blood the quantity was as nothing to one with whom such had been a familiar indulgence. Yet, with a voluptuous appetite, he had won a prize which promised him enjoyment, if it could not compensate his losses. The beautiful Bess Matthews -- the young, the budding, the sweet. She was in his power -- a trembling dove in the grasp of the fowler. The thought was as so much fire to his fancy, and he sought the cottage in which he had secured her with a fierce and feverish thirst -- a brutal sense at work in his mind, stimulating him to an utter disregard of humanity, and prompting the complete violation of all ties of kindred, as he meditated to tear her away from the bosom of her parents.

About a mile from the hovel in which the family of the pastor was immured lay the guarda-costa. There was an air of bustle on board of her, in the unreeling of sails, and the waving and rustling of her ropes. The tide of battle had alternated from spot to spot along the banks of the river -- now lost in the density of the forest, and now finding a full reverberation from the bosom of the water. The firing had alarmed all parties, the seamen remaining on board, not less than the old pastor and his timid wife and trembling daughter, who, only conscious of the struggle, and not of its results, were filled with a thousand tearful anticipations. To Bess Matthews, however, the strife brought with it a promise, since it proved that the Carolinians were prepared, in part at least, for their invaders -- and many were the fluctuations of hope and fear in her soul, as the gathering clamour now approached and now receded in the distance. Love taught her that Harrison was the leader making such bold head against the enemy -- love promised her, as the battle dissipated, that he would come and rescue her from a position in which she did not well know whether to regard herself as a captive to the seaman, or as one owing him gratitude for her own and the preservation of her family. She remembered his lustful eye and insolent speech and gesture, and she trembled as she thought of it. True, her father knew him in his boyhood, but his account of him was rather tolerant than favourable; and the subsequent life and conduct of the licentious rover -- not to speak of the suspicions openly entertained of his true character by her lover, all taught her to fear the protection which he had given, and to dread, while she seemed to anticipate, the price of it.

She had no long time for doubt, and but little for deliberation. He came -- bloody with conflict -- covered with dust, blackened with gunpowder -- the fierce flame of war in his eye, and in his hand the bared weapon, streaked with fresh stains, only partially covered with the sand through which it had been drawn. His manner was impatient and stern, as, without addressing either of his captives, he called aside and gave directions to his seamen. The pastor craved his attention, but he waved his hand impatiently, nor turned to him for an instant, until he had despatched two of his men to the edge of the stream, where, well concealed by the shrubbery upon its banks, lay the small boat of the vessel, which had been carefully placed there by his orders. They gave him a shrill whistle as they reached it, which he immediately returned -- then approaching the pastor, he scrupled not an instant in the development of the foul design which he had all along meditated.

"Hark ye, Matthews -- this is no place for us now -- I can't protect ye any longer. I havn't the men -- they are cut up -- slashed -- dead -- eleven of the finest fellows -- best men of my vessel -- by this time, without a scalp among them. I have done my best to save you, but it's all over, and there's but one way -- you must go with us on board."

"How, Chorley -- go with you -- and wherefore? I cannot -- I will not."

"What, will not? Do you think I'll let you stay to lose your scalps, and this sweet darling here? No, by my soul, I were no man to suffer it. You shall go."

"What mean you, Chorley? Are the savages successful -- have they defeated our men? -- And you -- wherefore do you fly -- how have you fought -- with us -- for our people?"

The old pastor, half bewildered, urged these questions incoherently, but yet with such directness of aim as almost to bewilder the person he addressed, who could not well answer them. How, as he argued, if the Yemassees had defeated the Carolinians -- how was it that Chorley, who had evidently been their ally, could not exert his power and protect them? and, on the other hand, if the Carolinians had been the victors, wherefore should they fly from their own people? Unable well to meet these propositions, the native fierce impetuosity of the pirate came to his relief, and throwing aside entirely the conciliatory manner of his first address, he proceeded in a style more congenial with his true character.

"Shall I stay all day disputing with you about this nonsense? I tell you, you shall go, whether you will or not. Look, I have the power -- look at these men -- can you withstand them? In a word, they force you to the ship, and all your talking -- ay, and all your struggling, will help you nothing. Come -- away."

"Never -- never! Oh father, let us die first!" was the involuntary exclamation of the maiden, convulsively clinging to the old man's arm as the ruffian took a step toward her.

"Captain Chorley, I cannot think you mean this violence!" said the old man with dignity.

"May I be d-d," said he fiercely, "but I do! What, old man, shall I leave you here to be made mincemeat of by the Indians? No, no! I love you and your pretty daughter too well for that. Come, sweetheart, don't be shy -- what! do you fear me, then!"

"Touch me not -- touch me not with your bloody hands. Away! I will not go -- strike me dead first -- strike me dead, but I will not go."

"But you shall! what! think you I am a child to be put off with words and pretty speeches? What, ho! there, boys -- do as I have told you."

In a moment, the pastor and his child were torn asunder.

"Father -- help -- help! I lose thee -- mother -- father -- Gabriel!"

"Villain, release me -- give me back my child. Undo your hold -- you shall suffer for this. Ha! ha! ha! -- they come -- they come! Hurry, hurry, my people. Here -- here -- we are here -- they tear away my child. Where are you -- oh, Harrison, but come now -- come now, and she is yours -- only save her from the hands of this fierce ruffian. They come -- they come!"

They did come -- the broad glare of sunlight on the edge of the forest was darkened by approaching shadows. A shot -- another and another were heard -- and the fugitives, who were Indians flying from the pursuing Carolinians, rushed forward headlong; but as they saw the group of whites on the river's brink, thinking them new enemies, they darted aside, and taking another route, buried themselves in the forest out of sight just as their pursuers came forth upon the scene. A single glance of Bess Matthews, as the ruffian suddenly seized upon and bore her to the boat, distinguished the manly form of her lover darting out of the thicket and directly upon the path approaching them. That glance gave her new hope -- new courage -- new strength! She shrieked to him in a voice delirious with terror and hope, as the pirate, steadying himself in the water, placed her in the boat in which sat two of his seamen.

"Come to me, Gabriel -- save me, save me, or I perish. It is I -- thy own Bess -- ever thine -- save me, save me."

She fell back fainting with exhaustion and excitement, and lay nerveless and almost senseless in the arms of her abductor. He sustained her with perfect ease with one arm upon his bosom, while, standing erect, for the boat scarce permitted him with his burden to do otherwise, he placed his foot upon the slender rudder and guided its progress, his men looking round occasionally and suggesting the course of the vessel. In this way, he kept his eye upon shore, and beheld the progress of events in that quarter.

The cries of his betrothed had taught Harrison the condition of affairs. He saw her precarious situation at a glance, and rushing down to the beach, followed by his men, the seamen fled along the banks higher up the river, and were soon out of sight, leaving the old pastor and his lady free. The scene before him was too imposing in the eye of Harrison to permit of his giving the fugitives a thought. But the pastor, now free from restraint, with a speechless agony rushed forward to him, and clasping his arm, pointed with his finger to the form of his daughter, hanging like a broken flower, supine, and almost senseless, upon the shoulder of her Herculean captor. The action of Harrison was immediate, and in a moment, the musketoon was lifted to his shoulder, his eye ranging upon the sight, and singling out the exposed breast of the pirate, which lay uncovered, but just alongside of the drooping head of the maiden. As the seaman saw the movement, he changed her position -- she saw it too, and lifting her hand, placed it, with an emphasis not to be mistaken, upon her heart. The old man rushed forward, and seizing Harrison, cried to him convulsively, while the tears trickled down his cheeks -

"Stay thy hand -- stay thy hand -- shoot not; rather let me lose her, but let her live -- thou wilt slay her, thou wilt slay my child -- my own, my only child," and he tottered like an infant in his deep agony.

"Away, old man -- away!" and with the words, with a terrible strength, Harrison hurled him headlong upon the sands. Without a pause the fearful instrument was again uplifted -- the aim was taken, -- his finger rested on the trigger, but his heart sickened -- his head swam -- his eyes grew blind and dizzy ere he drew it; and with a shiver of convulsion, he let the weapon descend heavily to the ground. The weakness was only momentary. A faint scream came to his ears over the water, and brought back with it all his strength. The maiden had watched closely all his motions, and the last had given her energy somewhat to direct them. That scream aroused him. He resumed his position and aim; and fixing the sight upon that part of the bosom of his enemy least concealed, nerved himself to all the hazard, and resolutely drew the trigger. The effect was instantaneous. The next instant the maiden was seen released from the pirate's grasp and sinking down in the bottom of the boat, while he stood erect. The venerable pastor fainted, while, on her knees, his aged wife bent over him in silent prayer. That moment was more than death to Harrison; but what was his emotion of delight when, at the next, he beheld the pirate, like some gigantic tree that has kept itself erect by its own exceeding weight, fall, like a tower, headlong over the side of the boat, stiff and rigid, and without a struggle, sink deeply and silently down beneath the overclosing waters. But a new danger awaited the maiden; for in his fall, destroying the equipoise of the skiff, its entire contents were at the next instant precipitated into the stream; and while the two seamen, unhurt, struck off toward the vessel, the maiden lay in sight, sustained above the surface only by the buoyancy of her dress, and without exhibiting any other motion. A dozen sinewy arms from the shore at once struck the water, but which of all, nerved as he was by the highest stimulant of man's nature, could leave the fearless Harrison behind him? On he dashes, on -- on -- now he nears her, -- another moment and she is saved; but while every eye was fixed as with a spell upon the prospect with an anxiety inexpressible, the sullen gushing waters went over her, and a universal cry of horror arose from the shore. -- But she rose again in an instant, and with a show of consciousness, stretching out her hand, the name of "Gabriel," in a tone of imploring love, reached the ears of her lover. That tone, that word, was enough, and the next moment found her insensible in his arms. She was a child in his grasp, for the strength of his fearless and passionate spirit, not less than of his native vigour, was active to save her.

"Help -- help," was his cry to the rest, and to the shore, -- he sustained her till it came. It was not long ere she lay in the arms of her parents, whose mutual tears and congratulations came sweetly, along with their free consent, to make her preserver happy with the hand hitherto denied him.

HARRISON, thus blessed with happiness, appropriated but little time, however, to its enjoyment. His mind was of that active sort, that even the sweets of love were to be enjoyed by him as a stimulant, rather than a clog to exertion. Conveying the little family to a recess in the woods, and out of sight of the craft of the pirate, he immediately proceeded, having first led the foresters aside, to explain his farther desires to them in reference to their common duties.

"Joy, my brave fellows, and thanks to you, for this last night's good service. You have done well, and risked yourselves nobly. Grayson, give me your hand -- you are a good soldier. Where's your brother?"

"Here!" was the single word of response given from the rear by the lips of Hugh Grayson, the younger. The tone of the monosyllable was melancholy, but not sullen. Harrison advanced to him, and extended his hand.

"Master Grayson, to you we owe most of our safety to-day. But for you, the sun would have found few of us with a scalp on. Your activity in bringing up the men has saved us; for, though otherwise safe enough, the firing of the Block House must have been fatal to all within. For myself, I may freely acknowledge, my life, at this moment, is due to your timely appearance. Your command, too, was excellently managed for so young a soldier. Accept my thanks, sir, in behalf of the country not less than of myself. I shall speak to you again on this subject, and in regard to other services in which your aid will be required, after a while."

The youth looked upon Harrison with a degree of surprise, which prevented him from making any adequate answer. Whence came that air of conscious superiority in the speaker -- that tone of command of a power unquestionable, and held as if born with it in his possession. The manner of Harrison had all the ease and loftiness of a prince and, scarcely less than the crowd around him, the proud-spirited youth felt a degree of respectful awe stealing over him, of which he began to grow ashamed. But before he could recover in time to exhibit any of that rash and imperious rusticity which the lowlier born of strong native mind is so apt to show in the presence of the conventional superior, the speaker had again addressed the crowd.

"And you, men, you have all done well for the country, and it owes you its gratitude."

"Ay, that it does, captain," said Nichols, advancing -- "that it does. We have stood by her in the hour of her need. We have resisted the approach of the bloody invader, and with liberty or death for our motto, we have rushed to the conflict, sir, defying consequences."

"Ah, Nichols -- you are welcome, both in what you have done and what you have said. I might have known that the country was safe in your hands, knowing as I do your general sentiments on the subject of the liberties of the people. Granville county, Nichols, must make you her representative after this, and I'm sure she will." The speaker smiled sarcastically as he spoke, but Nichols had no sight or such an expression. He replied earnestly: --

"Ah, captain -- 'twere an honour; -- and could my fellow-countrymen be persuaded to look upon me with your eyes, proud would I be to stand up for their rights, and with the thunders of my voice, compel that justice from the assembly which, in denying representation to all dissenters, they have most widely departed from. Ay, captain -- fellow-citizens -- permit me to address you now upon a few topics most important to your own liberties, and to the common benefit of humanity. My voice -- "

"Must just at this moment be unheard," interrupted Harrison; "we have need of other thunders now. Hear me, gentlemen, for this I have called you together. I want from among you thirty volunteers -- hardy, whole-souled fellows, who do not count heads in a scuffle. The enterprise is dangerous, and must be executed -- very dangerous I say, and I beg that none may offer but those who are perfectly ready at any moment -- to use the words of Dr. Nichols -- to die for the country. The doctor himself, however, must not go, as he is too important to us in his surgical capacity."

Nichols, well pleased with the exception thus made, was not however willing to appear so, and, glad of the opportunity, could not forbear making something of a popular hit.

"How, captain -- this may not be. I am not one of those, sir, altogether content to be denied the privilege of dying for my country when occasion calls for it. Let me go on this service -- I insist. I am one of the people, and will forego none of their dangers."

"Oh, well, if you insist upon it, of course I can say nothing -- we hold you pledged, therefore. There are now three of us -- Master Hugh Grayson, I presume to place you, as one with myself and Dr. Nichols, volunteering upon this service. I understand you so."

The high compliment, and the delicate manner in which it was conveyed, totally disarmed young Grayson, who, softened considerably by the proceeding, bowed his head in assent, approaching by degrees to where Harrison stood. Nichols, on the other hand, had not contemplated so easily getting the permission which he called for, and well knowing his man, Harrison barely gave it, as he foresaw it would not be long before he would assume new ground, which would bring about a ready evasion of his responsibility. The elder Grayson meanwhile volunteered also, followed by several others, and in a little time the required number was almost complete. But the surgeon now demanded to know the nature of the service.

"What matters it, doctor -- it is an honourable, because a dangerous service. You shall know in time."

"That does not suit me, captain. What, -- shall I suffer myself to be led blindfold upon a duty, the propriety of which may be doubtful, not less than the policy? Sir -- I object upon principle?"

"Principle -- indeed, doctor," said Harrison, smiling. "Why, what in the name of pounds and shillings has principle to do in this business?"

"Enough, sir -- the rights of man -- of the people of the country, are all involved. Do I not, sir, in thus volunteering upon a service of which I know nothing, put myself under the control of one who may make me a traitor to my country -- a defier of the laws, and probably a murderer of my fellow-man? Sir, what security have I of the morality and the lawfulness of your proceeding?"

"Very true -- you are right, and such being your opinions, I think you would err greatly to volunteer in this business," was the grave response of Harrison.

"Ah, I knew you would agree with the, captain -- I knew it," cried the doctor, triumphantly.

"I want another man or two -- we are something short."

As the leader spoke Hector came forward, his head hanging on one shoulder, as if he feared rebuff for his presumption, in the unlooked-for proffer of service which he now made.

"Mossa -- you let Hector go, he glad too much. He no want stay here wid de doctor and de 'omans."

His reference to the demagogue, accompanied as it was with an ill-concealed chuckle of contempt, provoked the laughter of the crowd; and observing that the greater number looked favourably upon the proposal of the negro, Harrison consented.

"You will knock a Spaniard on the head, sir, if I bid you?"

"Yes, mossa, and scalp 'em too, jist like dem Injin."

"You shall go."

"Tankee -- dat's a good mossa. Hello, da -- " and perfectly overjoyed, he broke out with a stanza of negro minstrelsy common, even now, to the slaves of Carolina -

                "He come rain -- he come shine, 
                        Hab a good mossa, who da care? 
                        De black is de white and de white is de black, 
                        Hab a good mossa, who da care? 
                        But look out, nigger, when misses come -- 
                        Hah! den de wedder will alter some -- 
                        If she cross, -- Oh! -- who for say, 
                        You ebber again see sunshine day?" 

How long Hector might have gone on with his uncouth, and, so far as the sex is interested, ungallant minstrelsy, may not well be said; but seeing its direction, his master silenced it in a sufficiently potent manner.

"Be still, sirrah, or you shall feed on hickory."

"No hab stomach for 'em, mossa. I dumb."

" 'Tis well. Now, men, see to your weapons -- hatchets and knives for all -- we shall need little else, but fearless hearts and strong hands. Our purpose is to seize upon that pirate vessel in the river."

The men started with one accord.

"Ay, no less. It's a perilous service, but not so perilous as it appears. I happen to know that there are now not two men on board of the vessel accustomed to the management of the guns -- not fifteen on board in all. Granger has got us boats in plenty, and I have conceived a plan by which we shall attack her on all points. Something of our success will depend upon their consciousness of weakness. They are without a commander, and their men accustomed to fighting are in our woods dead or running, and in no ability to serve them. The show of numbers, and ten or a dozen boats with stout men approaching them, will do much with their fears. We shall thus board them with advantage; and though I hope not to escape with all of us unhurt, I am persuaded we shall be successful without much loss. Master Hugh Grayson will command three of the boats, Master Walter Grayson three others, and the rest will be with me. You have now heard. If, like the doctor here, any of you object to proceeding, on principle, against this pirate who has sought the destruction of our people well and good -- they are at liberty to withdraw, and we shall look for other men less scrupulous. Who is ready?"

The confident, -- almost careless manner of the speaker, was of more effect than his language. The cry was unanimous: "Lead on -- we are ready."

"I thank you, my merry men, and old England for ever! Master Hugh Grayson, and you, friend Walter, -- let us counsel here a moment."

He led them aside, and together they matured the plan of attack. Then leaving them to parcel off the men, Harrison stole away for a few moments into the silent grove where the pastor's family was sheltered. As we have no business there, we can only conjecture the motive of his visit. A press of the hand from the beloved one were much to one about to go upon an adventure of life and death. He returned in a few moments with increased alacrity, and led the way to the boats, eleven in number, which Granger in the meantime had selected from those employed by the Indians in crossing the preceding night. They were small, but sufficiently large for the men apportioned to each. In their diminutiveness, too, lay much of their safety from the great guns of the vessel.

Leading the way, the boat of Harrison, followed by those in his charge, shot ahead of the rest, bearing down full upon the broadside of the pirate. This was the most dangerous point of approach. The two Graysons led their separate force, the one to reach the opposite side, the other at the stern lights, in order that the attack should be simultaneous at all vulnerable places. In this manner the six boats covered the various assailable points of the vessel, and necessarily, by dividing their force for the protection of each quarter, weakened the capacity of the seamen to contend with them.

The pirate lay at about a mile and a half below them upon the river -- her form in perfect repose -- and even weaker in her force than Harrison had conjectured. Bewildered with his situation, and unaccustomed to command, the inferior officer, left in temporary charge of her by Chorley, had done nothing, and indeed could do nothing toward the defence of his vessel. The few men left with him had become refractory; and with the reputed recklessness of men in their way of life, had proceeded, during the absence of Chorley, whom they feared rather than respected to all manner of excess. Liquor, freely distributed by the commanding officer, with the hope to pacify, had only the effect of stimulating their violence; and the approach of the assailing party, magnified by their fears and excesses, found them without energy to resist, and scarcely ability to fly. The lieutenant did indeed endeavour to bring them to some order and show of defence. With his own hand he rigged up a gun, which he pointed among the approaching boats. The scattering and whizzing shot would have been fatal, had the aim been better; but apprehension and excitement had disturbed too greatly the mental equilibrium of officer and men alike; and not anticipating such a result to their adventure, and having no thought themselves of being attacked where they had come to be assailants, they fell into a panic from which they did not seek to recover. The failure of the shot to injure their enemies completed their apprehension; and, as the little squadron of Harrison continued to approach, without fear and without obstruction, the refractory seamen let down their own boats in the direction of the opposite shore, and, so considerably in advance of the Carolinians as to defy pursuit, were seen by them pulling with all industry toward the Indian country. A single man, the lieutenant, appeared on board for a few moments after they had left the vessel; but whether he remained from choice, or that they refused to take him with them, was at that time a mystery to the assailing party. His design may be guessed at in the sequel.

Despatching the Graysons in pursuit of the flying pirates, whose number did not exceed ten men, Harrison brought his boat alongside the vessel, and resolutely leaped on board. But where was the lieutenant he had seen but a few minutes before? He called aloud, and traversed the deck in search of him, but in vain. He was about to descend to the cabin, when he felt himself suddenly seized upon by Hector, who, with looks of excited terror, dragged him forward to the side of the vessel, and with a directing finger and a single word, developed their full danger to his master.

"Mossa -- de ship da burn -- look at de smoke -- jump, mossa, for dear life -- jump in de water." It needed no second word -- they sprang over the side of the vessel at the same instant that an immense body of dense sulphureous vapour ascended from below. The river received them, for their boat had been pushed off; with a proper precaution, to a little distance. Ere they were taken up, the catastrophe was over -- the explosion had taken place, and the sky was blackened with the smoke and fragments of the vessel upon which, but a few moments before, they had stood in perfect safety. But where was the lieutenant? -- where? He had been precipitate in his application of the match, and his desperation found but a single victim in himself!

A MOTLEY assemblage gathered at the Chief's Bluff, upon the banks of the Pocota-ligo, at an early hour on the day so full of incident. A fine day after so foul a promise -- the sun streamed brightly, and the skies without a cloud looked down peacefully over the settlement. But there was little sympathy among the minds of the borderers with such a prospect. They had suffered quite too much, and their sufferings were quite too fresh in their minds, properly to feel it. Worn out with fatigue, and not yet recovered from their trials and terrors -- now struggling onward with great effort and now borne in the arms of the more able-bodied among the men, came forward the women and children who had been sheltered in the Block House. That structure was now in ashes -- so indeed, generally speaking, were all the dwellings between that point and Pocota-ligo. Below the former point, however, thanks to the manful courage and ready appearance of Hugh Grayson with the troop he had brought up, the horrors of the war had not extended. But in all other quarters, the insurrection had been successful. Far and wide, scattering themselves in bands over every other part of the colony, the Yemassees and their numerous allies were carrying the terrors of their arms through the unprepared and unprotected settlement, down to the very gates of Charlestown -- the chief town and principal rallying point of the Carolinians, and there the inhabitants were literally walled in, unable to escape unless by sea, and then, only from the country. But this belongs elsewhere. The group now assembled upon the banks of the Pocota-ligo, absorbed as they were in their own grievances, had not thought of the condition of their neighbours. The straits and sufferings of the other settlements were utterly unimagined by them generally. But one person of all the group properly conjectured the extent of the insurrection -- that was Harrison. He had been a part witness to the league -- had counted the various tribes represented in that gloomy dance of death -- the club and scalp-dance -- the rites of demoniac conception and origin; -- and he felt that the very escape of the people around him only arose from the concentration of the greater force of the savages upon the more populous settlements of the Carolinians. Full of satisfaction that so many had been saved, his mind was yet crowded with the thousand apprehensions that came with his knowledge of the greater danger to which the rest of the colony was exposed. He knew the strong body commanded by Sanutee to be gone in the direction of the Ashley river settlement. He knew that a force of Spaniards was expected to join them from St. Augustine, but whether by sea or land was yet to be determined. He felt the uncertainty of his position, and how doubtful was the condition of the province under such an array of enemies; but with a mind still cheerful, he gave his orders for the immediate remove, by water, to the city; and having completed his preparations as well as he might, and while the subordinates were busied in procuring boats, he gave himself, for a brief time, to the family of Bess Matthews. Long and sweet was the murmuring conversation carried on between the lovers. Like a stream relieved from the pressure of the ice, her affections now poured themselves freely into his. The consent of her father had been given, even if his scruples had not been withdrawn, and that was enough. Her hand rested in the clasp of his, and the unrebuking eyes of the old Puritan gave it a sufficient sanction. Matthews may have sought, in what he then said, to satisfy himself of the necessity for his consent, if he had failed to satisfy his conscience.

"She is yours, Captain Harrison -- she is yours! But for you, but for you, God knows, and I dread to think, what would have been her fate in the hands of that bad man. Bad from his cradle, for I knew him from that time, and knew that, mischief then, and crime when he grew older, were his familiar playmates, and his most companionable thoughts."

"You were slow in discovering it, sir," was the reply of Harrison -- "certainly slow in acknowledging it to me."

"I had a hope, Master Harrison, that he had grown a wiser and a better man, and was therefore unwilling to mortify him with the recollection of the past, or to make it public to his ill-being. But let us speak of him no more. There are other topics far more grateful in the recollection of our escape from this dreadful night; and long and fervent should be our prayers to the benevolent Providence who has had us so affectionately in his care. But what now are we to do, Captain Harrison -- what is our hope of safety, and where are we to go?"

"I have thought of all this, sir. There is but one course for us, and that is to place the young and feeble safely in Charlestown. There is no safety short of that point."

"How -- not at Port Royal Island?"

"No! not even there -- we shall be compelled to hurry past it now as rapidly as possible in our way to the place of refuge -- the only place that can now certainly be considered such."

"What -- shall we go by water?"

"There is no other way. By this time, scarce a mile of wood between Pocota-ligo and Charlestown itself but is filled by savages. I saw the force last night, and that with which we contended was nothing to the numbers pledged in this insurrection. They did not look for resistance here, and hence the smallness of their numbers in this quarter."

"And to your wise precautions, Master Harrison, we owe all this. How unjust I have been to you, sir!"

"Speak not of it, Master Matthews -- you have more than atoned in the rich possession which I now hold. Ah, Bess! -- I see you look for the promised secret. Well, it shall be told. But stay -- I have a duty. -- Pardon me a while."

He rose as he spoke, and made a signal to Hector, who now came forward with the dog Dugdale, which had been wounded with an arrow in the side, not seriously, but painfully, as was evident from the writhings and occasional moanings of the animal, while Hector busied himself plastering the wound with the resinous gum of the pine-tree.

"Hector," said his master, as he approached -- "give me Dugdale. Henceforward I shall take care of him myself."

"Sa! mossa," exclaimed the negro, with an expression almost of terrified amazement in his countenance.

"Yes, Hector, -- you are now free. -- I give you your freedom, old fellow. Here is money too, and in Charlestown you shall have a house to live in for yourself."

"No, mossa. -- I can't, sir -- I can't be free," replied the negro, shaking his head, and endeavouring to resume possession of the strong cord which secured the dog, and which Harrison had taken into his own hand.

"Why can't you, Hector? What do you mean? Am I not your master? Can't I make you free, and don't I tell you that I do make you free? From this moment you are your own master."

"Wha'-for, mossa? Wha' Hector done, you guine turn um off dis time o' day?"

"Done! You have saved my life, old fellow -- you have fought for me like a friend, and I am now your friend, and not any longer your master."

"Ki, mossa! enty you always been frien' to Hector? Enty you gib um physic when he sick, and come see and talk wid um, and do ebbery ting he want you for do? What more you guine do, now?"

"Yes, Hector, I have done for you all this -- but I have done it because you were my slave, and because I was bound to do it."

"Ah, you no want to be boun' any longer. Da's it! I see. You want Hector for eat acorn wid de hog, and take de swamp wid de Injin, enty?"

"Not so, old fellow -- but I cannot call you my slave when I would call you my friend. I shall get another slave to carry Dugdale, and you shall be free."

"I dam to hell, mossa, if I guine to be free!" roared the adhesive black, in a tone of unrestrainable determination. "I can't loss you company, and who de debble Dugdale will let feed him like Hector? 'Tis unpossible, mossa, and dere's no use to talk 'bout it. De ting aint right; and enty I know wha' kind of ting freedom is wid black man? Ha! you make Hector free, he come wuss more nor poor buckrah -- he tief out of de shop -- he get drunk and lie in de ditch -- den, if sick come, he roll, he toss in de wet grass of de stable. You come in de morning, Hector dead -- and, who know -- he no take physic, he no hab parson -- who know, I say, mossa, but de debble fine em 'fore anybody else? No, mossa -- you and Dugdale berry good company for Hector. I tank God he so good -- I no want any better."

The negro was positive, and his master, deeply affected with this evidence of his attachment, turned away in silence, offering no farther obstruction to the desperate hold which he again took of the wounded Dugdale. Approaching the little group from which but a few moments before he had parted, he stood up in earnest conversation with the pastor, while the hand of Bess, in confiding happiness and innocence, was suffered to rest passively in his own. It was a moment of delicious rapture to both parties. But there was one who stood apart, yet surveying the scene, to whom it brought a pang little short of agony. This was the younger Grayson. Tears started to his eyes as he beheld them, and he turned away from the group in a suffering anguish, that, for the moment, brought back those sterner feelings which he had hitherto so well suppressed. The eye of Harrison caught the movement, and readily divined its cause. Calling Granger to him, he demanded from him a small packet which he had intrusted to his care on leaving the Block House for Pocota-ligo the evening before. The question disturbed the trader not a little, who, at length, frankly confessed he had mislaid it.

"Say not so, man! think! -- that packet is of value, and holds the last treaty of the colony with the Queen of St. Helena, and the Cassique of Combahee -- not to speak of private despatches, set against which thy worthless life would have no value! Look, man, as thou lovest thy quiet!"

"It is here, sir -- all in safety, as thou gavest it him," said the wife of the trader, coming forward. "In the hurry of the fight he gave it me for safe-keeping, though too much worried to think afterward of the trust."

"Thou art a strong-minded woman -- and 'tis well for Granger that thou hast him in charge. Take my thanks for thy discharge of duties self-assumed, and not assigned thee. Thou shalt be remembered."

Possessing himself of the packet, he approached Hugh Grayson, who stood sullenly apart, and drawing from its folds a broad sheet of parchment, he thus addressed him: -

"Master Grayson, the colony owes thee thanks for thy good service, and would have more from thee. I know not one in whom, at such a time, its proprietary lords can better confide, in this contest, than in thee. Thou hast courage, enterprise, and conduct -- art not too rash, nor yet too sluggard -- but, to my poor mind, thou combinest happily all the materials which should make a good captain. Thou hast a little mistaken me in some things, and, perhaps, thou hast something erred in estimating thyself. But thou art young, and responsibility makes the man -- nothing like responsibility! So thinking, and with a frank speech, I beg of thee to accept this commission. It confers on thee all military command in this county of Granville, to pursue the enemies of the colony with fire and sword -- to control its people for the purposes of war in dangerous times like the present -- and to do, so long as this insurrection shall continue, whatever may seem wise to thy mind, for the proprietors and for the people, as if they had spoken through thy own mouth. Is the trust agreeable to thee?"

"Who art thou?" was the surprised response of the youth, looking a degree of astonishment, corresponding with that upon the faces of all around, to whom the speaker had hitherto only been known as Gabriel Harrison.

"True -- let me answer that question. The reply belongs to more than one. Bess, dearest, thou shalt now be satisfied; but in learning my secret, thou losest thy lover. Know, then, thou hast Gabriel Harrison no longer! I am Charles Craven, Governor and Lord Palatine of Carolina!"

She sunk with a tearful pleasure into his arms as he spoke, and the joyful shout of all around attested the gratification with which the people recognised in an old acquaintance the most popular governor of the Carolinas, under the lords-proprietors, which the Carolinians ever had.

"I take your commission, my lord," replied Grayson, with a degree of firm manliness superseding his gloomy expression and clearing it away -- "I take it, sir, and will proceed at once to the execution of its duties. Your present suggestions, sir, will be of value."

"You shall have them, Master Grayson, in few words," was the reply of the palatine. "It will be your plan to move down with your present force along the river, taking with you, as you proceed, all the settlers, so as to secure their safety. Your point of rest and defence will be the fort at Port Royal, which now lacks most of its garrison from the draught made on it by my orders to Bellinger, and which gave you command of the brave men you brought up last night. I shall be at Port Royal before you, and will do what I may there, in the meanwhile, toward its preparation, whether for friend or foe. With your present force, and what I shall send you on my arrival at Charlestown, you will be adequate to its defence."

"Ahem, ahem! -- My lord," cried Nichols, awkwardly approaching -- "My lord, permit me, with all due humility, to suggest that the duties so assigned Master Grayson are heavy upon such young hands. Ahem! my lord -- it is not now that I have to say that I have never yet shrunk from the service of the people. I would -- "

"Ay, ay, Nichols -- I know what you would say, and duly estimate your public spirit; but, as you are the only surgeon -- indeed, the only medical man in the parish -- to risk your life unnecessarily, in a command so full of risk as that assigned Master Grayson, would be very injudicious. We may spare a soldier -- or even an officer -- but the loss of a doctor is not so easily supplied -- and" -- here his voice sunk into a whisper, as he finished the sentence hi the ears of the patriot -- "the probability is, that your commander, from the perilous service upon which he goes, will be the very first to claim your skill."

"Well, my lord, if I must, I must -- but you can understand, though it does not become me to say, how readily I should meet death in behalf of the people."

"That I know -- that I know, Nichols. Your patriotism is duly estimated enough, now -- and farewell, gentlemen -- God speed, and be your surety. Granger, let us have boats for the city."

"Young missis," whispered Hector, taking Bess Matthews aside -- "let me beg you call Hector your sarbant -- tell mossa you must hab me -- dat you can't do widout me, and den, you see, misses, he wun't bodder me any more wid he long talk 'bout freedom. Den, you see, he can't turn me off, no how." She promised him as he desired, and he went off to the boats singing: --

                "Go hush you tongue, black nigger, 
                        Wha' for you grumble so? 
                        You hab you own good mossa, 
                        And you hab good misses too: 
                        'Che-weet, che-weet,' de little bird cry, 
                        When he put he nose under he wing, 
                        But he hab no song like Hector make, 
                        When de young misses yerry um sing." 

"Well, good-by, Mossa Doctor, good-by! Dem Ingins 'member you long time -- dem dat you kill!"

"What do you mean, you black rascal!" cried Constantine Maximilian to the retreating negro, who saw the regretful expression with which the medical man surveyed the preparation for a departure from the scene of danger, in the securities of which he was not permitted to partake. Three cheers marked the first plunge of the boats from the banks, bearing off the gallant palatine with his peerless forest-flower.

OUR tale becomes history. The web of fiction is woven -- the romance is nigh over. The old wizard may not trench upon the territories of truth. He stops short at her approach with a becoming reverence. It is for all things, even for the upsoaring fancy, to worship and keep to the truth. There is no security unless in its restraints. The fancy may play capriciously only with the unknown. Where history dare not go, it is then for poetry, borrowing a wild gleam from the blear eye of tradition, to couple with her own the wings of imagination, and overleap the boundaries of the defined and certain. We have done this in our written pages. We may do this no longer. The old chronicle is before us, and the sedate muse of history, from her graven tablets, dictates for the future. We write at her bidding now.

In safety, and with no long delay, Harrison, -- or, as we should now call him, -- the palatine, -- reached Charlestown, the metropolis of Carolina. He found it in sad dilemma and dismay. As he had feared, the warlike savages were at its gates. The citizens were hemmed in -- confined to the shelter of the seven forts which girdled its dwellings -- half-starved, and kept in constant watchfulness against hourly surprise. The Indians had ravaged with fire and the tomahawk all the intervening country. Hundreds of the innocent and unthinking inhabitants had perished by deaths the most painful and protracted. The farmer had been shot down in the furrows where he sowed his corn. His child had been butchered upon the threshold, where, hearing the approaching footsteps, it had run to meet its father. The long hair of his young wife, grasped in the clutches of the murderer, became an agent of torture, which had once been an attraction and a pride. Death and desolation smoked along the wide stretch of country bordering the coast, and designating the route of European settlement in the interior. In the neighbourhood of Pocota-ligo alone, ninety persons were destroyed. St. Bartholomew's parish was ravaged -- the settlement of Stono, including the beautiful little church of that place, was entirely destroyed by fire, while but few of the inhabitants, even of the surrounding plantations, escaped the fury of the invaders. All the country about Dorchester, then new as a settlement, and forming the nucleus of that once beautiful and attractive, but thrice-doomed village, shared the same fate, until the invaders reached Goose Creek, when the sturdy militia of that parish, led on by Captain Chiquang, a gallant young Huguenot, gave them a repulse, and succeeding in throwing themselves between the savages and the city, reached Charlestown, in time to assist in the preparations making for its defence.

The arrival of the palatine gave a new life and fresh confidence to the people. His course was such as might have been expected from his decisive character. He at once proclaimed martial law -- laid an embargo, preventing the departure of any of the male citizens and the exportation of clothes, provisions, or any thing which might be useful to the colonists in their existing condition. Waiting for no act of assembly to authorize his proceedings, but trusting to their subsequent sense of right to acknowledge and ratify what he had done, as was indeed the case, he proceeded by draught, levy, and impressment, to raise an army of eleven hundred men, in addition to those employed in maintaining the capital. In this proceeding he still more signally showed his decision of character, by venturing upon an experiment sufficiently dangerous to alarm those not acquainted with the condition of the southern negro. Four hundred of the army so raised consisted of slaves, drawn from the parishes according to assessment. Charlestown gave thirty -- Christ Church, sixteen -- St. Thomas and St. Dennis, fifty-five -- St. James, Goose Creek, fifty-five -- St. Andrews, eighty -- St. John's, Berkley, sixty -- St. Paul's, forty-five -- St. James', Santee, thirty-five -- St. Bartholomew's, sixteen -- St. Helena, eight -- making up the required total of four hundred. To these, add six hundred Carolinians and one hundred friendly Indians or allies; these latter being Tuscaroras, * from North Carolina, almost the only Indian nation in the south not in league against the colony. Other bodies of men were also raised for stations, keeping possession of the Block Houses at points most accessible to the foe, and where the defence was most important. At the Savano town, a corps of forty men were stationed -- a similar force at

* Apart from his pay in this war, each Tuscarora received, on returning home, as a bounty, one gun, one hatchet; and for every slave which he may have lost, an enemy's slave in return!

Page 232 Rawlin's Bluff on the Edistoh; at Port Royal; on the Combahee; at the Horseshoe -- and other places, in like manner, forming so many certain garrisons to the end of the war. All other steps taken by the palatine were equally decisive; and such were the severe and summary penalties annexed to the non-performance of the duties required from the citizen, that there was no evasion of their execution. Death was the doom, whether of desertion from duty, or of a neglect to appear at the summons to the field. The sinews of war in another respect were also provided by the palatine. He issued bills of credit for £30,000. to raise supplies; the counterfeiting of which, under the decree of the privy council, was punishable by death without benefit of clergy. Having thus prepared for the contest, he placed himself at the head of his rude levies, and with a word of promise and sweet regret to his young bride, he marched out to meet the enemy.

War with the American Indians was a matter of far greater romance than modern European warfare possibly can be. There was nothing of regular array in such conflicts as those of the borderers with the savages; and individual combats, such as give interest to story, were common events in all such issues. The borderer singled out his foe, and grappled with him in the full confidence of superior muscle. With him, too, every ball was fated. He threw away no shot in line. His eye conducted his finger; and he touched no trigger, unless he first ranged the white drop at the muzzle of his piece upon some vital point of his foe's person. War, really, was an art, and a highly ingenious one, in the deep recesses and close swamps of the southern forests. There was no bull-headed marching up to the mouth of the cannon. Their pride was to get around it -- to come in upon the rear -- to insinuate -- to dodge -- to play with the fears or the false confidence of the foe, so as to effect by surprise what could not be done by other means. These were the arts of the savages. It was fortunate for the Carolinians that their present leader knew them so well. Practised as he had been, the palatine proceeded leisurely, but decisively, to contend with his enemies on their own ground, and after their own fashion. He omitted no caution which could ensure against surprise, and at the same time he allowed himself no delay. Gradually advancing, with spies always out, he foiled all the efforts of his adversary. In vain did Sanutee put all his warrior skill in requisition. In vain did his most cunning braves gather along the sheltered path in ambuscade. In vain did they show themselves in small members, and invite pursuit by an exhibition of timidity. The ranks of the Carolinians remained unbroken. There was no exciting their leader to precipitation. His equanimity was invincible, and he kept his men steadily upon their way -- still advancing -- still backing their adversaries -- and with courage and confidence in themselves, duly increasing with every successful step in their progress.

Sanutee did not desire battle, until the force promised by the Spaniards should arrive. He was in momentary expectation of its appearance. Still, he was reluctant to recede from his ground, so advantageously taken; particularly, too, as he knew that the Indians, only capable of sudden action, are not the warriors for a patient and protracted watch in the field, avoiding the conflict for which they have expressly come out. His anxieties grew with the situation forced upon him by the army and position of the palatine; and, gradually giving ground, he was compelled very reluctantly, to fall back upon the river of Salke-hatchie, where the Yemassees had a small town, some twenty miles from Pocota-ligo. Here he formed his great camp, determined to recede no farther. His position was good. The river-swamp ran in an irregular sweep, so as partially to form in front of his array. His men he distributed through a thick copse running alongside of the river, which lay directly in his rear. In retreat, the swamps were secure fastnesses, and they were sufficiently contiguous. The night had set in before he took his position. The Carolinians were advancing, and but a few miles divided the two armies. Sanutee felt secure from attack so long as he maintained his present position; and sending out scouts, and preparing all things, like a true warrior, for every event, he threw himself, gloomy with conflicting thoughts, under the shadow of an old tree that rose up in front of his array.

While he mused, his ear caught the approach of a light footstep behind him. He turned, and his eye rested upon Matiwan. She crept humbly toward him and lay at his feet. He did not repulse her; but his tones, though gentle enough, were gloomily sad.

"Would Matiwan strike with a warrior, that she comes to the camp of the Yemassee? Is there no lodge in Pocota-ligo for the woman of a chief?"

"The lodge is not for Matiwan, if the chief be not there. Shall the woman have no eyes -- what can the eye of Matiwan behold if Sanutee stand not up before it. The boy is not -- "

"Cha! cha! It is the tongue of a foolish bird that sings after the season. Let the woman speak of the thing that is. Would the chief of the Yemassee hear a song from the woman? It must be of the big club, and the heavy blow. Blood must be in the song, and a thick cry."

"Matiwan has a song of blood and a thick cry, like Opitchi-Manneyto makes when he comes from the black swamps of Edistoh. She saw the black spirit with the last dark. He stood up before her in the lodge, and he had a curse for the woman, for Matiwan took from him his slave. He had a curse for Matiwan -- and a fire-word, oh, well-beloved, for Sanutee."

"Cha, cha! Sanutee has no ear for the talk of a child."

"The Opitchi-Manneyto spoke of Yemassee," said the woman.

"Ha! what said the black spirit to the woman of Yemassee?" was the question of the chief, with more earnestness.

"The scalps of the Yemassee were in his hand -- the teeth of the Yemassee were round his neck, and he carried an arrow that was broken."

"Thou liest -- thou hast a forked tongue, and a double voice for mine ear. The arrow of Yemassee is whole."

"The chief has a knife for the heart. Let the well-beloved strike the bosom of Matiwan. Oh, chief -- thou wilt see the red blood that is true. Strike, and tell it to come. Is it not thine?" she bared her breast as she spoke, and her eyes were full upon his with a look of resignation and of love, which spoke her truth. The old warrior put his hand tenderly upon the exposed bosom, -

"The blood is good under the hand of Sanutee. Speak, Matiwan."

"The scalps of Yemassee -- and the long tuft of a chief were in the hand of the Opitchi-Manneyto."

"What chief?" inquired Sanutee.

"The great chief, Sanutee -- the well-beloved of the Yemassee," groaned the woman, as she denounced his own fate in the ears of the old warrior. She sunk prostrate before him when she had spoken, her face prone to the ground. The chief was silent for an instant after hearing the prediction conveyed by her vision, which the native superstition, and his own previous thoughts of gloom, did not permit him to question. Raising her after awhile, he simply exclaimed -

"It is good!"

"Shall Matiwan go back to the lodge in Pocota-ligo?" she asked, in a tone which plainly enough craved permission to remain.

"Matiwan will stay. The battle-god comes with the next sun, and the Happy Valley is open for the chief."

"Matiwan is glad. The Happy Valley is for the woman of the chief, and the boy -- "

"Cha! it is good, Matiwan; that thou didst strike with the keen hatchet into the head of Occonestoga -- Good! But the chief would not hear of him. Look -- the bush is ready for thy sleep."

He pointed to the copse as he spoke, and his manner forbade farther conversation. Leaving her, he took his way among the warriors, arranging the disposition of his camp and of farther events.

Meanwhile the palatine approached the enemy, slowly, but with certainty. Confident, as he advanced, he nevertheless made his approaches sure. He took counsel of all matters calculated to affect or concern the controversies of war. He omitted no precaution -- spared no pains -- suffered nothing to divert him from the leading object in which his mind was interested. His scouts were ever in motion, and as he himself knew much of the country through which he marched, his information was at all times certain. He pitched his camp within a mile of the position chosen by the Yemassees, upon ground carefully selected so as to prevent surprise. His main force lay in the hollow of a wood, which spread in the rear of a small mucky bay, interposed directly between his own and the strength of the enemy. A thick copse hung upon either side, and here he scattered a chosen band of his best sharp shooters. They had their instructions; and as he left as little as possible to chance, he took care that they fulfilled them. Such were his arrangements that night, as soon as his ground of encampment had been chosen. At a given signal, the main body of the army retired to their tents. The blanket of each soldier, suspended from a crotch-stick as was the custom of war in that region, formed his covering from the dews of night. The long grass constituted a bed sufficiently warm and soft in a clime, and at a season, so temperate. The fires were kindled, the roll of the drum in one direction, and the mellow tones of the bugle in another, announced the sufficient signal for repose. Weary with the long march of the day, the greater number were soon lulled into a slumber, as little restrained by thought as if all were free from danger and there were no enemy before them.

But the guardian watchers had been carefully selected by their provident leader, and they slept not. The palatine himself was a sufficient eye over that slumbering host. He was unwearied and wakeful. He could not be otherwise; his thought kept busy note of the hours and of the responsibilities upon him. It is thus that the leading mind perpetually exhibits proofs of its immortality, maintaining the physical nature in its weaknesses, renewing its strength, feeding it with a fire that elevates its attributes, and almost secures it in immortality too. He knew his enemy, and suspecting his wiles, he prepared his own counter-stratagems. His arrangements were well devised, and he looked with impatience for the progress of the hours which were to bring about the result he now contemplated as certain.

It was early morning, some three hours before the dawn, and the gray squirrel had already begun to scatter the decayed branches from the tree-tops in which he built his nest, when the palatine roused his officers, and they in turn the men. They followed his bidding. In quick movement, and without noise, they were marshalled in little groups, leaving their blanket tents standing precisely as when they lay beneath them. Under their several leaders they were marched forward, in single or Indian file, through the copse which ran along on either side of their place of encampment. They were halted, just as they marched, with their tents some few hundred yards behind them. Here they were dispersed through the forest, at given intervals, each warrior having his bush or tree assigned him. Thus stationed, they were taught to be watchful and to await the movements of the enemy.

The palatine had judged rightly. He was satisfied that the Yemassees would be unwilling to have the battle forced upon them at Pocota-ligo, exposing their women and children to the horrors of an indiscriminate fight. To avoid this, it was necessary that they should anticipate his approach to that place. The Salke-hatchie was the last natural barrier which they could well oppose to his progress; and the swamps and thick fastnesses which marked the neighbourhood, indicated it well as the most fitting spot for Indian warfare. This was in the thought of the palatine not less than of Sanutee; and in this lay one of the chief merits of the former as a captain. He thought for his enemy. He could not narrow his consideration of the game before him, to his own play; and having determined what was good policy with his foe, he prepared his own to encounter it.

Sanutee had been greatly aided in the progress of this war by the counsels of the celebrated Creek chief, Chigilli, who led a small band of the lower Creeks and Euchees in the insurrection. With his advice, he determined upon attacking the Carolinian army before the dawn of the ensuing day. That night arranged their proceedings, and, undaunted by the communication of his fate, revealed to him in the vision of Matiwan, which, perhaps -- with the subdued emotions of one who had survived his most absorbing affections -- he was not unwilling to believe, he roused his warriors at a sufficiently early hour, and they set forward, retracing their steps, and well prepared to surprise their enemy. The voice of the whippoorwill regulated their progress through the doubtful and dark night, and without interruption they went on for a mile or more, until their scouts brought them word that the yellow blankets of the whites glimmered through the shadows of the trees before them. With increased caution, therefore, advancing, they came to a point commanding a full view of the place of repose of the Carolinian army. Here they halted, placing themselves carefully in cover, and waiting for the earliest show of dawn in which to commence the attack by a deadly and universal fire upon the tents and their flying inmates. In taking such a position, they placed themselves directly between the two divisions of the palatine's force, which, skirting the copse on either hand, stood in no less readiness than themselves, with their movement, to effect its own; and when the savages advanced upon the unconscious camp, to come out upon their wings and rear, taking them at a vantage which must give a fatal defeat to their enterprise.

It came at last, the day so long and patiently looked for by both parties. A faint gleam of light gushed through the trees, and a gray streak like a fine thread stole out upon the horizon. Then rose the cry, the fierce war-whoop of Yemassee and Creek; "Sangarrah-me, Sangarrah-me!" was the shout. Blood for the Yemassee, blood for the Cherokee, blood for the Creek -- were the signals which, at a given moment, carried forward the thousand fierce and dusky warriors of the confederate nations upon the tents which they fondly imagined to contain their sleeping enemies. The shot penetrated the blankets in every direction -- the arrows hurtled on all sides through the air, and, rapidly advancing with the first discharge, the Indians rushed to the tents, tomahawk in hand, to strike down the fugitives. In that moment, the sudden hurrah of the Carolinians, in their rear and on their sides, aroused them to a knowledge of that stratagem which had anticipated their own. The shot told fatally on their exposed persons, and a fearful account of victims came with the very first discharge of the sharp-shooting foresters. Consternation, for a moment, followed the first consciousness which the Indians had of their predicament; but desperation took the place of surprise. Sanutee and Chigilli led them in every point, and wherever the face of the foe could be seen. Their valour was desperate but cool, and European warfare has never shown a more determined spirit of bravery than was then manifested by the wild warriors of Yemassee, striking the last blow for the glory and the existence of their once mighty nation. Driven back on one side and another, they yet returned fiercely and fearlessly to the conflict, with a new strength and an exaggerated degree of fury. Chigilli, raging like one of his own forest panthers, fell, fighting, with his hand wreathed in the long hair of one of the borderers, whom he had grappled behind his tree, and for whose heart his knife was already flashing in the air. A random shot saved the borderer, by passing directly through the scull of the Indian. A howl of despairing vengeance went up from the tribe which he led as they beheld him fall; and, rushing upon the sheltered whites, as they sought to reclaim his body, they experienced the same fate to a man! For two hours after this the fight raged recklessly and fierce. The Indians were superior in number to the Carolinians, but the surprise of their first assault was productive of a panic from which they never perfectly recovered. This was more than an off-set to any disparity of force originally; and, as the position of the whites had been well taken, the Yemassees found it impossible in the end to force it. The rising sun beheld them broken -- without concert -- hopeless of all farther effort -- flying in every direction; shot down as they ran into the open grounds, and crushed by the servile auxiliaries of the whites as they sought for shelter in the cover of the woods, assigned, for this purpose, to the negroes.

A brief distance apart from the melee -- free from the flying crowd, as the point was more exposed to danger -- one spot of the field of battle rose into a slight elevation. A little group rested upon it, consisting of four persons. Two of them were Yemassee subordinates. One of these was already dead -- from the bosom of the other in thick currents, freezing fast, the life was rapidly ebbing. He looked up as he expired, and his last broken words, in his own language, were those of homage and affection to the well-beloved of his people -- the great chief, Sanutee. It was the face of the "well-beloved" upon which his glazed eyes were fixed, with an expression of admiration, indicative of the feeling of his whole people, and truly signifying that of the dying Indian to the last. The old chief looked down on him encouragingly, as the warrior broke out into a start of song -- the awful song of his dying. -- The spirit parted with the effort, and Sanutee turned his eyes from the contemplation of the melancholy spectacle to the only living person beside him.

That person was Matiwan. She hung over the well-beloved with an affection as purely true, as warmly strong, as the grief of her soul was speechless and tearless. Her hand pressed closely upon his side, from which the vital torrent was streaming fast; and between them, in a low moaning strain, in the Yemassee tongue, they bewailed the fortunes of their nation.

"The eye of Matiwan looked on, when the tomahawk was red -- when the knife had a wing. She saw Chigilli, the brave of the Creeks -- she saw him strike?" inquired the chief of the woman.

"Matiwan saw."

"Let the woman say of Sanutee, the well-beloved of Yemassee. Did Chigilli go before him? Was Sanutee a dog that runs? Was the hatchet of a chief slow? Did the well-beloved strike at the pale-face as if the red eye of Opitchi-Manneyto had looked on him for a slave?"

"The well-beloved is the great brave of Yemassee. The other chiefs came after. Matiwan saw him strike like a chief, when the battle was thick with a rush, and the hatchet was deep in the head of a pale warrior. Look, oh, well-beloved -- is not this the bullet of the white man? The big knife is in the bosom of a chief, and the blood is like a rope on the fingers of Matiwan."

"It is from the heart of Sanutee!"

"Ah-cheray-me -- ah-cheray-me!" groaned the woman, in savage lamentation, as she sunk down beside the old warrior, one arm now inclasping his already immoveable person.

"It is good, Matiwan. The well-beloved has no people. The Yemassee has bones in the thick wood and there are no young braves to sing the song of his glory. The Coosah-moray-te is on the bosom of the Yemassee, with the foot of the great bear of Apalatchie. He makes his bed in the old home of Pocota-ligo, like a fox that burrows in the hill-side. We may not drive him away. It is good for Sanutee to die with his people. Let the song of his dying be sung."

"Ah-cheray-me -- ah-cheray-me!" was the only response of the woman, as, but partially equal to the effort, the chief began his song of many victories.

But the pursuers were at hand, in the negroes, now scouring the field of battle with their huge clubs and hatchets, knocking upon the head all of the Indians who yet exhibited any signs of life. As wild almost as the savages, they luxuriated in a pursuit to them so very novel -- they hurried over the forests with a step as fleet, and a ferocity as dreadful -- sparing none, whether they fought or plead, and frequently inflicting the most unnecessary blows, even upon the dying and the dead. The eye of Matiwan, while watching the expiring blaze in that of the old warrior, discovered the approach of one of these sable enemies. She threw up her hand to arrest or impede the blow, exclaiming as she did so, the name of the chief she defended. He himself feebly strove to grasp the hatchet, which had sunk from his hands, to defend himself, or at least to strike the assailant; but life had only clustered, that moment, in strength about his heart. The arm was palsied; but the half-unclosing eye, which glowed wildly upon the black, and arrested his blow much more completely than the effort of Matiwan, attested the yet reluctant consciousness. Life went with the last effort, when, thinking only of the strife for his country, his lips parted feebly with the cry of battle -- "Sangarrah-me, Yemassee -- Sangarrah-me -- Sangarrah-me!"

The eye was dim for ever. Looking no longer to the danger of the stroke from the club of the negro, Matiwan threw herself at length over the body, now doubly sacred to that childless woman. At that moment the lord palatine came up, in time to arrest the brutal blow of the servile which threatened her.

"Matiwan," said the palatine, stooping to raise her from the body -- "Matiwan, it is the chief?"

"Ah-cheray-me, ah-cheray-me, Sanutee -- Ah-cheray-me, ah-cheray- me, Yemassee!"

She was unconscious of all things, as they bore her tenderly away, save that the Yemassee was no longer the great nation. She only felt that the "well-beloved," as well of herself as of her people, looked forth, with Occonestoga. wondering that she came not, from the Blessed Valley of the Good Manneyto.

-- End --