The Rangers; or, The Tory's Daughter: A Tale Illustrative of the Revolutionary History of Vermont and the Northern Campaign of 1777Thompson, Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce)
History
The Rangers; or, The Tory's Daughter: A Tale Illustrative of the Revolutionary History of Vermont and the Northern Campaign of 1777
Thompson, Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce)
Vermont -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
At this juncture Peters, who had covertly reversed the loaded whip he
carried in his hand that he might strike more effectually, suddenly rose
in his stirrups, and aimed a furious blow at the head of his accuser.
But as sudden and unexpected as was the dastardly movement, Woodburn
threw up his cane in time to arrest and parry the descending implement,
when, quick as thought, he paid back the intended blow with a force, of
which, in the madness of the moment, he was little conscious, full on
the exposed head of his antagonist, who, curling like a struck bullock
beneath the fearful stroke, rolled heavily from his saddle to the
ground. The exclamation of triumph that rose to the lips of the victor
died in his throat, as he took a second glance at the motionless form
and corpse-like aspect of the victim; and, recoiling a step, he stood
aghast at the thought of what he had done. After standing a minute with
his eyes rivetted on the face of his prostrate foe Woodburn, arousing
himself, hurried forward, and, raising the head, chafed the temples and
wrists a moment, and then felt for the pulse, when, finding no signs of
life, he suddenly relinquished his hold, and with a look of horror and
unutterable distress, hastily fled from the spot, muttering as he went,
“A murderer!--to crown the host of misfortunes--a murderer!”
Soon striking off into a deep glade, diverging from the public way, he
continued his course, with a rapid step and troubled brow, on through
the woods and back pastures, till he gained, unobserved, the rear of his
own cabin, when, entering, he threw himself into a chair, and,
burying his face in his hands, sat many minutes motionless and silent,
apparently engaged in deep and anxious thought, At length, he arose with
a more composed look, and proceeded to make up a pack of his wardrobe,
with such valuables as could be conveniently carried, including his
mother's Bible. He then fitted his pack to his shoulders, took down his
gun and ammunition, and, throwing a sorrowful farewell glance round the
lonely apartment, left the house, and bent his course for the woods, in
a northerly direction.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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