“Mother, look yonder!” said Tahmeroo, in a voice full of terror, which arose to little above a husky whisper, and she pointed to the opposite shore, where it lay in the full glare of the burning fort. A swarm of red warriors were gathered upon the steep banks, and lay crouching along the brink of the river, like a nest of demons, basking in the fire-light; and there, on the spot which they had just left, she saw her husband, standing with arms in his hands, stamping with rage as he saw them from the distance.
“We have landed on the wrong side of the island,” said Catharine Montour, after a hasty glance at the demons swarming on the shore, and securing the cable of another boat that lay moored in the cove. “Tahmeroo, remain with this gentleman and warn the people at the house while I take the boat to the opposite side—there will be no escape within the range of their rifles.”
“Caroline—Lady Granby, this must not be,” said Murray, evidently forgetting their relative positions in the deep interest of the moment. “How are you to escape the rifle-balls which those fiends may level at you? for they are mad with blood, and fire on friends and foes alike. I will take the boats round while you and this young woman warn the people up yonder.”
The familiar name which Murray had unconsciously used melted like dew over the heart that listened; but Catharine struggled against the feeling which almost made a child of her, even in that hour of danger. The thoughts of other years were swelling in her bosom, but there was calmness and decision in her voice as she answered him.
“The danger would be alike to either,” she said; “nor could one person row the canoe and secure the others at the same time. I will go with you. My child, hasten to the house and warn them of their danger—keep within the bushes as you pass; send them down to the shore in small numbers; and, mark me, avoid bustle or appearance of alarm. Do you understand, and have you courage to go alone?”
The unhappy young woman stood with her face turned towards the shore; tears rolled down her cheek and dropped on her clasped hands while her mother was speaking.
“Yes, mother, I understand, and will save that poor girl—though he kill me, I will save her. I know the path; I have trodden it before,” she replied, in a sorrowful and abstracted voice.
A low howl, like the prolonged cry of a pack of hungry wolves, fired her to action once more. She looked on her mother. “They have found some means of crossing,” she said; “they will murder us when they see us warning their prey; but I will do it. Kiss me, mother—farewell!”
One wild kiss, a quick embrace, and Tahmeroo dashed up the path with the bound of a wild deer.
Catharine Montour turned wildly to her companion. “That cry! In—in!” she cried, vehemently, springing into the canoe. “They are upon the water; let them fire upon us if they will. Give me an oar; I can use one hand. Father of heaven! Did you hear that shout?”