The cord had been run over the limb of the tree, and two of the band waited the signal from the captain. Around had congregated the gang to witness the proceeding. All was stillness. The spot was wild and lonely—a single open space amid the dense swamp that on every hand spread its curtain of foliage, so that the eye could not reach but a small distance into the environs of the encampment. And there stood that brother. He had taken the last view of nature—the last farewell of his sister—the last thought of his country—and now, he stood firm and collected. And near him was the leader of the band, a glare of triumph lighting up his eyes as he saw the end of all approaching. Gazing upon his victim’s face for a moment, he said —
“George Wilson, you once despised me and rejected my friendship. I loved your sister—you thwarted me in that love, now I am your captor, ask no mercy—I will grant none.”
“Wretch!” replied Wilson, “I despise alike your friendship and your mercy. Talk not of love. Such a villain cannot feel the passion; but think not to escape for this deed, the band to which I belong will not let my blood be spilt in vain. You tremble at the name—well you may—it will be a curse on your path, and you will pay a heavy penalty for this day’s work.”
“No more of this ranting,” interrupted the outlaw. “Think not to fright me from my purpose. Marion himself could not do that. Ha! ha!—who conquers now?”
As he finished, he raised his bugle to his lips and blew a shrill blast—the signal for the execution. The blast was repeated from the wood, and the last note had not died upon the ear, when breaking from the thickness came the band of Marion. Had the trump of the Archangel sounded, it could not have struck greater consternation into the gang, who stood paralyzed, mute and lifeless as statues. A moment after came the crash of a hundred rifles, carrying death and dismay into the ranks of the Tories, followed by the sabres and pistols of the men, and the iron heels of the horses. Escape was impossible. Surrounded on all sides, and struck with terror at this unthought of rescue, the ruffians made no resistance, but fled. Dashing into the midst of the scene, the rescuers, with young Seaton at their head, soon made a clear field. Giving orders to capture the few remaining Tories, he dismounted and cut the bands that confined his friend, who until this time seemed unconscious of what was acting around. But as he saw the face of his companion, and recollected other familiar comrades, he awoke, and seizing the hand of his friend, pressed it in silence.
When the first moment of surprise was over Seaton asked the fate of Emma, in a tone and manner that told how much of his happiness was centered there. Her brother pointed to where he had left her, and there she lay upon the green sod, for she had fainted amid the noise and tumult of the last few moments. To fly to her and raise her up—to clasp those soft hands, and sprinkle the pure brow with water, was the work of a moment for Seaton, and as she recovered and rested her head upon his bosom, to tell her she was safe, and that her brother was safe, was a sweet task; and then to hear from those lips the throbs of a guileless heart, and to read in those bright eyes more than a maiden’s modesty would tell, was a sweet recompense for Seaton. And now the brother and sister were united, and Seaton left them to complete the victory. He saw the day had been won, as one by one his men returned, bringing with them the bare remnants of the gang. On the ground he discovered the scout engaged in searching for the body of the leader. It was found, still holding in his hand the trumpet, as he had held it when the death-shot had struck him. Giving his orders to the scout, Seaton made instant preparations for departure. The lover rode by the side of Wilson and his sister, and from them he heard all the occurrences of the last few hours. After a ride of some length they reached the camp in safety, and the next day Emma Wilson was placed under the charge of some friends remote from the scene of war; but not until she heard from the lips of Seaton the confession of his love, and he received in return the assurances of her affection.
The conclusion is soon told. After Seaton left the scout, he repaired to the camp, and as Marion had not arrived, he assumed the command of the band, and led them to the place agreed upon by him and the scout. Here he fell in with Harry who was waiting for them, and he led them to the Tories’ encampment, where they arrived just in time to thwart the designs of the outlaws.
Seaton and Wilson continued to serve with Marion until the close of the war. Both were in most of those daring and successful enterprises which so distinguished that gallant officer. Harry also served out the war in the capacity of scout, one of the most dangerous, as well as useful posts in the army. After the close of the war Seaton pressed his suit with Emma, and she again became a captive, though this time the chains were garlanded with flowers. They rebuilt the old family mansion, near which they erected a monument to the memory of Emma’s father, and with her brother, who still continued a bachelor, they made their residence there. Harry had his home there, and in the long winter nights would tell to the children the story of “The Captives.”