As he stood thus entranced he heard a voice, sweet, yet animating as the clear sound of the trumpet, exclaim,
“Shearjashub! Shearjashub!”
Jashub's heart bounded into his throat, and prevented his answering. He loaded his gun, and stood on the defensive.
In a moment after the same trumpet voice repeated the same words,
“Shearjashub! Shearjashub!”
“What d'ye want, you tarnal kritter?” at length the young man answered, with a degree of courage that afterwards astonished him.
“Listen—and look!”
He listened and looked, but saw nothing, until a little flourish of the same sprightly tune directed his attention to the spot whence it came.
High on the summit of the highest perpendicular cliff, which shone gorgeously with sparkling isinglass, seated under the shade of a tuft of laurels, he beheld a female figure, holding a little flageolet, and playing the sprightly air which he had just heard. Her height, notwithstanding the distance, appeared majestic; the flash of her bright beaming eye illumined the depths of the gloom, and her air seemed that of a goddess. She was dressed in simple robes of virgin white, and on her head she wore a cap, such as has since been consecrated to Liberty by my gallant countrymen.
Shearjashub looked, trembled, and was silent. In a few minutes, however, his recollection returned.