Historical fiction; King Philip's War, 1675-1676 -- Fiction; War stories
A moment of suspense succeeded this summons. The whole valley was then as
suddenly lighted, as if a torrent of the electric fluid had flashed
across its gloomy bed; a sheet of flame glanced from the attic of the
block, and then came the roar of the little piece of artillery, which had
so long dwelt there in silence. The rattling of a shot among the sheds,
and the rending of timber, followed. Fifty dark forms were seen, by the
momentary light, gliding from among the out-buildings, in an alarm
natural to their ignorance, and with an agility proportioned to their
alarm. The moment was propitious. Content silently motioned to Reuben
Ring; they passed the postern together, and disappeared in the direction
of the barns. The period of their absence was one of intense care to
Ruth, and it was not without its anxiety even to those whose nerves were
better steeled. A few moments, however, served to appease these feelings;
for the adventurers returned in safety, and as silently as they had
quitted the defences. The trampling of feet on the crust of the snow, the
neighing of horses, and the bellowing of frightened cattle, as the
terrified beasts scattered about the fields, soon proclaimed the object
of the risk which had just been run.
"Enter!" whispered Ruth, who held the postern with her own hand. "Enter,
of Heaven's mercy! Thou hast given liberty to every hoof, that no living
creature perish by the flames?"
"All; and truly not too speedily--for, see--the brand is again at work!"
Content had much reason to felicitate himself on his expedition; for,
even while he spoke, half-concealed torches, made as usual of blazing
knots of pine, were again seen glancing across the fields, evidently
approaching the out-buildings by such indirect and covered paths, as might
protect those who bore them from the shot of the garrison. A final and
common effort was made to arrest the danger. The muskets of the young men
were active, and more than once did the citadel of the stern old Puritan
give forth its flood of flame, in order to beat back the dangerous
visitants. A few shrieks of savage disappointment and of bodily anguish,
announced the success of these discharges; but, though most of those who
approached the barns were either driven back in fear, or suffered for
their temerity, one among them, more wary or more practised than his
companions, found means to effect his object. The firing had ceased, and
the besieged were congratulating themselves on success, when a sudden
light glared across the fields. A sheet of flame soon came curling over
the crest of a wheat-stack, and quickly wrapped the inflammable material
in its fierce torrent. Against this destruction there remained no remedy.
The barns and inclosures which, so lately, had been lying in the darkness
of the hour, were instantly illuminated, and life would have been the
penalty paid by any of either party, who should dare to trust his person
within the bright glare.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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