The guard by this time had secreted themselves, and one of the number had chosen the same place which Timothy himself had previously occupied, near which he had left his old friend. He had almost got to the spot, when the Indian discovered the rifle, grasped it, and springing upon his feet, gave the alarm to his companions. Quick as thought, Tim was upon him, seized the rifle, and wrenched it from him with such violence as to throw him breathless to the ground. The rest of the Indians were alarmed, and, sounding the war-whoop, rushed upon him.
It was a standard maxim with Timothy, that “a good soldier never runs till he is obliged to,” and he now found that he should be under the necessity of suiting his practice to his theory. There was no time for deliberation; he instantly knocked down the foremost with the butt of his rifle, and bounded away through the thicket like a startled deer. The three remaining Indians made for the canoe in which the rifles were deposited, already rendered harmless by the precaution of Timothy. This gave him a good advantage, which was not altogether unnecessary, as he was much encumbered with his wet clothes, and before he reached the goal he could hear them snapping the dry twigs close behind him. The main body likewise got the alarm, and were but a short distance from him when he reached the headland. Those who were nearest he did not fear, unless they came to close action, and he resolved to send one more of them to his long home before he leaped from the precipice.
“It’s a burning shame to wet so much powder,” he exclaimed; “I’ll have one more pop at the tarnal red-skins.” Tim’s position was quickly arranged to put his threat in execution. His rifle was presented, his eye glanced along its barrel, and the first one that showed his head received its deadly contents. Another, and still another Indian, were thus disposed of, and then, taking a deep breath, Timothy made the leap. The water was deep and it seemed a long time before he came to the surface, but in a moment he struck out for the canoe. The whole party of Indians by this time had come up, and commenced a brisk fire upon the fugitives. Tim stood erect in the canoe, shouting in the voice of a stentor, “Ye’d better take care, ye’ll spile the skiff. Old Plumper’s safe, and you’ll feel him yet, I tell ye!”
Peabody and the rescued prisoners were quickly lost in darkness, and, taking a small circuit, effected a landing in safety. Many a man’s life verified his last threat, and Peabody lived to a good old age, having often related to his friends and neighbors the adventure which gave to this place the name of “Peabody’s Leap.”
DONA MARIA’S DEFIANCE
[Philip the Second, king of Spain, murdered his own brother, Don John of Austria. Dona Maria Dolores de Mendoza, betrothed to the slain man, discovers that her innocent father has taken the blame upon himself for this atrocious crime in order that his king might not be branded before the eyes of the world. Thus the beautiful woman comes before her king with a great purpose: First, to have her father released from prison; and second, to express her personal hatred for the murderer of her lover. The king is alone when she enters.]
Philip. Be seated, Dona Dolores. I am glad that you have come, for I have much to say to you and some questions to ask of you. In my life I have suffered more than most men in being bereaved of the persons to whom I have been most sincerely attached. One after another those that I have loved have been taken from me, until I am almost alone in the world that is so largely mine. My sorrows have reached their crown and culmination to-day in the death of my dear brother. I know why you have come to me; you wish to intercede for your father. It is right that you come to me yourself.
Dona Dolores. I ask justice, not mercy, sire.
Philip. Your father shall have both, for they are compatible.
Dona Dolores. He needs no mercy, for he has done no wrong. Your majesty knows that as well as I.