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
suspended a moment, and then drop back again to the ground for another
trial. The terrified maiden now gave herself up as lost, and tried
to quell the tumult of her frenzied feelings, that she might meet her
approaching fate, as dreadful as it was, with calmness and resignation.
But the terrific noise of her maddened assailants, as they leaped up,
snapping, snarling, and howling, in demoniac chorus, and made nearer
and nearer approaches every moment to her person, once more aroused her
natural instinct for self-preservation; and she arose, and, standing
upon her feet, involuntarily bent over one end of her support to catch a
view of what was passing below.
In withdrawing her shrinking gaze from the fiercely upheaving heads
and fiery eyeballs which there greeted her, she espied the guns of the
Indians still standing against the wall, almost directly beneath her,
with the muzzles extending upward within the reach of her arm. With the
rapid process of thought which danger is known often to beget, a new
plan of deliverance, suggested by the discovery just made, was instantly
formed and digested in her mind. And in its pursuance, she drew a white
handkerchief from her pocket, and, hastily folding it together, threw it
down to the farthest corner of the room below. As she had anticipated,
the whole gang rushed after it. And instantly seizing the opportunity
thus afforded to execute her design, she hastily balanced herself on the
edge of the bark the most nearly over the guns, reached down her arm,
grasped one of the muzzles, and drew up the heavy weapon, just in time
to escape the baffled brutes as they came bounding back, with redoubled
howls of rage and disappointment, to the spot. Too much accustomed, in
the new settlement in which she had been mostly reared, to the sight and
even handling of fire-arms not to know how to use them, she cocked the
piece, and, again advancing to the edge of her platform, pointed down
into the thickest of the infuriated pack, and fired. One wild, piercing
yelp followed the deafening explosion, and, the next instant, all
the survivors of the hushed and frightened gang were heard scrambling
through the window, and scattering and fleeing off with desperate speed
into the surrounding forest. With the last sounds of the retreating
steps of the wolves, and with the relief which a returning sense of
safety brought to the over-wrought feelings of the maiden, all her
strength gave way, and, sinking down, weak and helpless as an infant,
she sobbed out, in the broken murmurs of an overflowing heart, her
gratitude to Heaven for her deliverance from the horrid death from which
she had so narrowly escaped. For a while she could only tremble and
weep; but at length the violence of her emotions began gradually to
subside, exhausted nature would be cheated no longer, and she sunk into
slumber, too sound, happily, to permit her to dream over the fearful
scenes of the past.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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