Satanstoe; Or, the Littlepage Manuscripts. A Tale of the Colony

by James Fenimore Cooper

It was certainly a somewhat hazardous thing to break cover, at such a moment, and under such circumstances; but it was absolutely necessary to incur its risks. My first leap carried me half-way down the declivity, and I was soon on the level land. In my front were two men, one of whom seemed to me to be in the grasp of the other. As they were moving, though slowly, in the direction of the house, I ventured to ask 'Who goes there?'

“Oh, Corny, my lad, is that you?” answered Guert. “Got be praised! you seem unhurt, and are just in time to help me along with this Huron, on whom I blundered in the dark, and have disarmed and captured. Give him a kick or a push, if you please; for the fellow holds back like a hog.”

I had too much knowledge of Indian vindictiveness, however, to adopt the means recommended; but seizing the captive by one arm, while Guert held the other, we ran him up to the abbatis that covered the gate of the “garrison,” with very little difficulty. Here we found Herman Mordaunt and a dozen of his people, all armed, ready to receive Us. They were in expectation of our appearance, both on account of the hour, and on account of the clamour in the ravine, which had been distinctly heard at the house. In less than a minute everybody was in, safe and unharmed. The fact was, that our attack had been so sudden as to sweep everything before it, and the enemy had not time to recover from his panic, before we were all snugly housed. Once within the gate of Ravensnest we ran no risks, beyond those which were common to all such log fortresses in the warfare of the wilderness.

It would not be easy for a pen as unskilful as mine, to portray the change, from the gloom of the ravine, the short but bloody assault, the shouts, the rush, and the retreat, of the outer world, to the scene of domestic security we found within the Nest, embellished, as was the last, by woman's loveliness and graces, and, in many respects, by woman's elegance. Anneke and her friend received us in a bright, cheerful, comfortable apartment, that was rendered so much the more attractive by their tears and their smiles, neither of which were spared. I could see that both had been dreadfully agitated; but joy restored their colour, and brought back the smiles to their sweet faces. The situation of the place was such, perhaps, as to render cheerfulness neither very lasting nor very lively; but the tenderest female can find her heart suddenly so lightened from its burthen of apprehensions, as to be able to seem momentarily happy, even when environed by the horrors of war. Such, in a measure, was the character of the reception we now received, together with a thousand thanks for having so promptly answered their letters in person. The dear creatures had the ingenuity not to seem to ascribe that prompt obedience to their own requests, which we had manifested, to any care for ourselves, but solely to a wish to oblige and protect them. The reader will understand that all explanations still remained to be made, on both sides. These soon came, however; facts pressing themselves on the attention, at such times, with a weight that is irresistible. The ice was broken by Herman Mordaunt's entering the room, and speaking to us, like one who felt that a great omission had been made.

“We had closed the gate, and set the look-out at the loops again,” he said, “before I ascertained that all your party is not here. I see nothing of Traverse and his chain-bearers, nor of Sam or Tom, your hunters! Surely, they are not left behind in the forest?”

Neither of us three spoke. Our looks must have told the sad story, for Herman Mordaunt seemed to understand us on the instant.

“No!” he exclaimed—“Can it be possible? Not all, surely!”

“All, Mr. Mordaunt, even to my poor slave, Petrus,” answered Guert, solemnly. “They were set upon, while dispersed, I suppose, and have been murdered, while we were still absent, on our expedition.”

The dear girls clasped their hands, and I thought Anneke's pallid lips moved, as if in prayer. Her father shook his head, and for some time he paced the room in silence. Then rousing himself, like one conscious of the necessity of calmness and exertion, he resumed the discourse.

“Thank God, Mr. Bulstrode reached us safely last evening, just after we despatched the runner; and he is beyond the reach of these demons for the present!”