"No tear relieved the burden of her heart;
Stunned with the heavy woe, she felt like one
Half-wakened from a midnight dream of blood."
SOUTHEY.
We shall be compelled to return upon the course of our narrative, for the purpose of giving a relation of the manner in which Ruth had fallen into the hands of the savages. Guthrie, who was supposed by Eagle's-Wing to have been slain, was really but little injured. The Tuscarora had followed him down the stairway unnoticed, and guided more by sound than by sight, in the darkness of the room below, he glided after the Tory until the latter had reached the door. He heard the attempt to remove the bar which secured it, when, with a silent but rapid blow of his tomahawk, he had, as he supposed, cloven the head of Guthrie to the brain; but owing to the darkness, in which the form of the latter could with difficulty be distinguished, the blow fell upon his left shoulder. The pain as well as the surprise of Guthrie, had caused him to give the shriek which attracted the attention of those above, and which was followed by his fall upon the floor. As no further attack was made upon him by the Tuscarora, he rightly concluded that Eagle's-Wing thought the blow already given to have been fatal. With this impression he remained motionless, until the ill-advised sortie of the defenders of the cottage offered him the opportunity to escape, when he sprung to his feet, and although suffering severely from his wound, rushed up the stairway with the intention of leaping from the window—a distance of ten or twelve feet, to the ground. But as he reached the upper floor, he saw Ruth, who had fallen upon her knees in the act of prayer for the assistance of Heaven towards the brave but few defenders of the cottage. Instantly, Guthrie planned a scheme of vengeance, which was at once carried into effect. Advancing rapidly towards Ruth he said:
"Come, Miss Ruth; the Indians will take the cottage; and your father has directed me to take charge of you and lead you to a place selected by him and his companions for a rendezvous. There is no time for thought: come instantly."
Ruth arose, astonished by this sudden intelligence.
"My father," she exclaimed, "is he safe?"
"Yes," replied Guthrie, "they are all safe; but they have been compelled to retreat towards the forest. Come instantly, or you are lost."
Deceived by the earnestness of Guthrie, Ruth immediately followed him to the window. In a moment a small ladder which had been constructed for exit by the windows, in any emergency similar to the present, was let down upon the ground, and Ruth descended, followed by Guthrie. Taking her by the hand, and partly leading and partly carrying her, they proceeded rapidly towards the south-east into the forest. When they arrived at the base of the hill, near the shore of the pond, instead of meeting her father and his companions, she found herself in the midst of a small party of Senecas. She saw at once that she was betrayed, and shrieked for help.
"None of that, Miss Ruth," cried Guthrie, roughly; "it won't do you any good. Them Colony men at the cottage, have got as much as they can do, just now, to save their own scalps."
"Wretch—villain!" cried Ruth, and she fell fainting upon the ground.
By this time, it was apparent that the contest at the cottage had terminated; and a rough frame-work of light saplings and boughs was constructed, upon which Ruth was placed, and conveyed in the direction of the temporary lodges of the Senecas. Before arriving there, she had recovered from her swoon, when she realized the dangerous situation in which she was placed. Arming herself with the fortitude which was not uncommon among the women of the period, she commended herself to the protection of that Divine Being, upon whom she was wont to rely for aid and consolation.