Historical fiction; King Philip's War, 1675-1676 -- Fiction; War stories
The feet of Ruth were arrested. On looking upward, she saw the object
which had drawn this remark from the last speaker. A small bright ball of
fire had arisen out of the fields, and, describing an arc in the air, it
sailed above their heads and fell on the shingles of a building which
formed part of the quadrangle of the inner court. The movement was that of
an arrow thrown from a distant bow, and its way was to be traced by a long
trail of light, that followed its course like a blazing meteor. This
burning arrow had been sent with a cool and practised judgment. It lighted
upon a portion of the combustibles that were nearly as inflammable as
gunpowder, and the eye had scarcely succeeded in tracing it to its fall,
ere the bright flames were seen stealing over the heated roof.
"One struggle for our habitations!" cried Content--but the hand of the
stranger was placed firmly on his shoulder. At that instant, a dozen
similar meteor-looking balls shot into the air, and fell in as many
different places on the already half-kindled pile. Further efforts would
have been useless. Relinquishing the hope of saving his property, every
thought was now given to personal safety.
Ruth recovered from her short trance, and hastened with hurried steps to
perform her well-known office. Then came a few minutes of exertion, during
which the females transferred all that was necessary to their subsistence,
and which had not been already provided in the block, to their little
citadel. The glowing light, which penetrated the darkest passages among
the buildings, prevented this movement from being made without discovery.
The whoop summoned their enemies to another attack. The arrows thickened
in the air, and the important duty was not performed without risk, as all
were obliged, in some degree, to expose their persons, while passing to
and fro, loaded with necessaries. The gathering smoke, however, served in
some measure for a screen; and it was not long before Content received the
welcome tidings that he might command the retreat of his young men from
the palisadoes. The conch sounded the necessary signal, and ere the foe
had time to understand its meaning, or profit by the defenceless state of
the works, every individual within them had reached the door of the block
in safety. Still, there was more of hurry and confusion than altogether
comported with their safety. They who were assigned to that duty, however,
mounted eagerly to the loops, and stood in readiness to pour out their
fire on whoever might dare to come within its reach, while a few still
lingered in the court, to see that no necessary provision for resistance,
or of safety, was forgotten. Ruth had been foremost in exertion, and she
now stood pressing her hands to her temples, like one whose mind was
bewildered by her own efforts.
"Our fallen friend!" she said. "Shall we leave his remains to be mangled
by the savage?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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