After singing her to sleep with a gentle lullaby, such as a mother only can employ, she imprinted a tender kiss upon the sleeping child, and having seen that all things were well and safely arranged in the house, she and her husband left, intending to spend the evening with Mr. Markley and his family, who lived at a distance of five or six miles. They were on more intimate terms with them than with any other neighbors, and took back with them Roland Markley, a boy of ten, who had spent the day with little Emily, his especial friend and pet, whom he was never weary of assisting and amusing. It was a pleasure to see the children together: the little girl looked up to him as almost a man, and he made her every whim a law. For her he would make the trip little vessel, and launch it upon the water; for her he would construct the bridge of stones across the brook, and guide her little feet safely to the other side.
The conversation at Mr. Markley's house was of an alarming character; it was said that sure information had been received of a speedy rising of the Indians, and the Buckinghams were urged instantly to remove to that more thickly settled spot, where a large blockhouse was erected, and all preparations were made to give the enemy a warm reception. The addition of even one able-bodied man to their force was desirable, and they strove to impress upon their neighbors the imminent peril of their exposed situation. So earnest were they, and so probable did the news appear, that Mr. Buckingham resolved to comply with their wishes, and to remove on the morrow; and with hearts heavier than when they left home, they started to return to it.
"Do you perceive the smell of smoke? If it should be our cottage!" said Ellen Buckingham, first breaking the silence in which they rode along.
"The woods may be on fire again: do not be alarmed; the conversation this evening has unnerved you," replied her husband; but he could not conceal the tremor of his own voice, as a horrible fear entered into his heart; a fear, soon to become a more horrible certainty!
As they drew near, the air became thick with smoke, and when they entered the cleared ground and looked for their home, no home was there! Instead, burning rafters and smoking ruins: around, the ground was trodden down by many feet of moccasined men. Partly consumed by the fire, lay the bodies of two farm-servants who had been in Mr. Buckingham's employ; a tomahawk, smeared with fresh blood, lay among the smoking embers; and a golden curl singed by fire, was near it—all they could discover of little Emily!
The murderers had left, doubtless disappointed that, their prey was so small; and in the first moments of agony, the bereaved parents wished that they too had fallen victims to their fiendish rage. Emily was dead, certainly dead! The fresh blood, the lock of hair, proved it only too clearly; her body had been consumed by the flames. The light of their lives had been put out, the glory had passed away from their sky, and they must now go mourning all their days; they felt as did a parent in the olden time, whose words are recorded in Scripture, "If I am bereaved of my children, I am bereaved." One little hour had changed the aspect of the whole earth to them.
And yet, broken-hearted as they were, they must act: not now could they fold their hands in despair. Soon was the news of the Indian rising spread among the settlers; and while all flew to arms, and joined in the necessary preparations, tears fell from eyes that were never known to weep before, and rough men spoke soothing words to the mourners; for little Emily was known and loved by all for miles around, and many said "she need not change much to be made an angel." It was agreed that with the earliest dawn, when the women and children were safely disposed of, they should meet at the ruins of the Hopedale Cottage, so was it called, and follow the trail of the savages through the woods; some sanguine spirits, chief among whom was little Roland Markley, still asserted that Emily might live, and have been carried away into captivity; but her parents could not so deceive themselves—that lock of hair had convinced them of her death; hope could not enter their hearts, it had died with Emily.
One entire day did the Indian-hunters follow in the trail and came upon the spot where their enemies had encamped; and there, three trails in different directions, looked as if the savages had scattered. What was to be done? To follow all was impossible, as their own force was a small one; and meantime night had come on, wrapping all things in her mantle of secrecy, and fatigue required them to rest their weary frames. Setting a watch, and lighting a fire, with loaded rifles within reach, they slept; such a sleep as men can take, when they dream of a red hand at their throats, and a tomahawk glancing before their eyes. Light hearts make heavy sleep; but such a deed as had been committed in the midst of them, makes men start from their slumbers if but a cricket chirps, or a withered leaf falls to the ground.
During the night, heavy rains began to fall, and when morning light appeared, all traces of the pathway of their enemy had disappeared; the leaves fell abundantly from the trees, and no mark was left upon the earth to show where they had passed. The baffled party did not give up the search for several days, but nothing transpired to throw any light upon the subject; and they were obliged reluctantly to return, in order to defend their own homes and families from a similar fate. Few doubted little Emily's death; but some still clung to the hope that she was in the land of the living, and might yet be recovered.
But her father and mother hoped nothing: grief entirely filled up their hearts. And with the grief arose a new feeling—bitter and poignant remorse. "This is the just punishment," they thought, "that offended Heaven has inflicted upon us, for having wrung our parents' hearts with anguish. Now we feel a parent's agony: now can we realize what we made them suffer. This was the tender spot on which a wound would penetrate to the heart; and here it is that a retributive Providence has struck us. The arrows of the Almighty have pierced us—shall we any longer strive against our Maker? We will humble ourselves in the dust, O righteous Judge, and will return to duty: if it be not yet too late—if our parents still live—incline their hearts to forgive!"