CHAPTER 37.

“Love rules the court, the camp, the grove.”—Lay of the Last Minstrel.

“IT would have been sad, indeed, to lose you in such manner, my old
friend,” said Oliver, catching his breath for utterance.  “Up and
away! even now we may be too late; the flames are circling round the
point of the rock below, and, unless we can pass there, our only
chance must be over the precipice.  Away! away! shake off your apathy,
John; now is the time of need.”

Mohegan pointed toward Elizabeth, who, forgetting her danger, had sunk
back to a projection of the rock as soon as she recognized the sounds
of Edwards’ voice, and said with something like awakened animation:

“Save her—leave John to die.”

“Her! whom mean you?” cried the youth, turning quickly to the place
the other indicated; but when he saw the figure of Elizabeth bending
toward him in an attitude that powerfully spoke terror, blended with
reluctance to meet him in such a place, the shock deprived him of
speech.

“Miss Temple!” he cried, when he found words; “ you here! is such a
death reserved for you!”

“No, no, no—no death, I hope, for any of us, Mr. Edwards,” she
replied, endeavoring to speak calmly; there is smoke, but no fire to
harm us.  Let us endeavor to retire.”

“Take my arm,” said Edwards; “there must he an opening in some
direction for your retreat.  Are you equal to the effort?”

“Certainly.  You surely magnify the danger, Mr. Ed wards.  Lead me out
the way you came.”

“I will—I will,” cried the youth, with a kind of hysterical utterance.
“No, no—there is no danger—I have alarmed you unnecessarily.”

“But shall we leave the Indian—can we leave him, as be says, to die?”

An expression of painful emotion crossed the face of the young man; he
stopped and cast a longing look at Mohegan but, dragging his companion
after him, even against her will, he pursued his way with enormous
strides toward the pass by which he had just entered the circle of
flame.

“Do not regard him, “ he said, in those tones that de note a desperate
calmness; “he is used to the woods, and such scenes; and he will
escape up the mountain—over the rock—or he can remain where he is in
safety.”

“You thought not so this moment, Edwards! Do not leave him there to
meet with such a death,” cried Elizabeth, fixing a look on the
countenance of her conductor that seemed to distrust his sanity.

“An Indian born! who ever heard of an Indian dying by fire? An Indian
cannot burn; the idea is ridiculous.  Hasten, hasten, Miss Temple, or
the smoke may incommodate you.”

“Edwards! your look, your eye, terrifies me! Tell me the danger; is it
greater than it seems? I am equal to any trial.”

“If we reach the point of yon rock before that sheet of fire, we are
safe, Miss Temple,” exclaimed the young man in a voice that burst
without the bounds of his forced composure.  “ Fly! the struggle is
for life!”

The place of the interview between Miss Temple and the Indian has
already been described as one of those plat forms of rock, which form
a sort of terrace in the mountains of that country, and the face of
it, we have said, was both high and perpendicular.  Its shape was
nearly a natural arc, the ends of which blended with the mountain, at
points where its sides were less abrupt in their descent.  It was
round one of these terminations of the sweep of the rock that Edwards
had ascended, and it was toward the same place that he urged Elizabeth
to a desperate exertion of speed.

Immense clouds of white smoke had been pouring over the summit of the
mountain, and had concealed the approach and ravages of the element;
but a crackling sound drew the eyes of Miss Temple, as she flew over
the ground supported by the young man, toward the outline of smoke
where she already perceived the waving flames shooting forward from
the vapor, now flaring high in the air, and then bending to the earth,
seeming to light into combustion every stick and shrub on which they
breathed.  The sight aroused them to redoubled efforts; but,
unfortunately, a collection of the tops of trees, old and dried, lay
directly across their course; and at the very moment when both had
thought their safety insured, the warm current of the air swept a
forked tongue of flame across the pile, which lighted at the touch;
and when they reached the spot, the flying pair were opposed by the
surly roaring of a body of fire, as if a furnace were glowing in their
path.  They recoiled from the heat, and stood on a point of the rock,
gazing in a stupor at the flames which were spreading rap idly down
the mountain, whose side, too, became a sheet of living fire.  It was
dangerous for one clad in the light and airy dress of Elizabeth to
approach even the vicinity of the raging element; and those flowing
robes, that gave such softness and grace to her form, seemed now to be
formed for the instruments of her destruction.

The villagers were accustomed to resort to that hill, in quest of
timber and fuel; in procuring which, it was their usage to take only
the bodies of the trees, leaving the tops and branches to decay under
the operations of the weather.  Much of the hill was, consequently,
covered with such light fuel, which, having been scorched under the
sun for the last two months, was ignited with a touch.  Indeed, in
some cases, there did not appear to be any contact between the fire
and these piles, but the flames seemed to dart from heap to heap, as
the fabulous fire of the temple is represented to reillumine its
neglected lamp.

There was beauty as well as terror in the sight, and Edwards and
Elizabeth stood viewing the progress of the desolation, with a strange
mixture of horror and interest.  The former, however, shortly roused
himself to new exertions, and, drawing his companion after him, they
skirted the edge of the smoke, the young man penetrating frequently
into its dense volumes in search of a passage, but in every instance
without success.  In this manner they proceeded in a semicircle around
the upper part of the terrace, until arriving at the verge of the
precipice opposite to the point where Edwards had ascended, the horrid
conviction burst on both, at the same instant, that they were
completely encircled by fire.  So long as a single pass up or down the
mountain was unexplored, there was hope: but when retreat seemed to be
absolutely impracticable, the horror of their situation broke upon
Elizabeth as powerfully as if she had hitherto considered the danger
light.

“This mountain is doomed to be fatal to me!” she whispered;” we shall
find our graves on it!”

“Say not so, Miss Temple; there is yet hope,” returned the youth, in
the same tone, while the vacant expression of his eye contradicted his
words; “let us return to the point of the rock—there is—there must be—
some place about it where we can descend.

“Lead me there,” exclaimed Elizabeth; “let us leave no effort
untried.” She did not wait for his compliance, but turning, retraced
her steps to the brow of the precipice, murmuring to herself, in
suppressed, hysterical sobs, My father! my poor, my distracted
father!”

Edwards was by her side in an instant, and with aching eyes he
examined every fissure in the crags in quest of some opening that
might offer facilities for flight.  But the smooth, even surface of
the rocks afforded hardly a resting-place for a foot, much less those
continued projections which would have been necessary for a descent of
nearly a hundred feet.  Edwards was not slow in feeling the conviction
that this hope was also futile, and, with a kind of feverish despair
that still urged him to action, he turned to some new expedient.

“There is nothing left, Miss Temple,” he said, “but to lower you from
this place to the rock beneath.  If Natty were here, or even that
Indian could be roused, their ingenuity and long practice would easily
devise methods to do it; but I am a child at this moment in everything
but daring.  Where shall I find means? This dress of mine is so light,
and there is so little of it—then the blanket of Mohegan; we must try—
we must try—anything is better than to see you a victim to such a
death!”

“And what will become of you?” said Elizabeth.  “In deed, indeed,
neither you nor John must be sacrificed to my safety.”

He heard her not, for he was already by the side of Mohegan, who
yielded his blanket without a question, retaining his seat with Indian
dignity and composure, though his own situation was even more critical
than that of the others.  The blanket was cut into shreds, and the
fragments fastened together: the loose linen jacket of the youth and
the light muslin shawl of Elizabeth were attached to them, and the
whole thrown over the rocks with the rapidity of lightning; but the
united Pieces did not reach half-way to the bottom.

“It will not do—it will not do!” cried Elizabeth; “ for me there is no
hope! The fire comes slowly, but certainly.  See, it destroys the very
earth before it!”

Had the flames spread on that rock with half the quick ness with which
they leaped from bush to tree in other parts of the mountain, our
painful task would have soon ended; for they would have consumed
already the captives they inclosed.  But the peculiarity of their
situation afforded Elizabeth and her companion the respite of which
they had availed themselves to make the efforts we have recorded.

The thin covering of earth on the rock supported but a scanty and
faded herbage, and most of the trees that had found root in the
fissures had already died, during the in tense heats of preceding
summers.  Those which still retained the appearance of life bore a few
dry and withered leaves, while the others were merely the wrecks of
pines, oaks, and maples.  No better materials to feed the fire could
be found, had there been a communication with the flames; but the
ground was destitute of the brush that led the destructive element,
like a torrent, over the remainder of the hill.  As auxiliary to this
scarcity of fuel, one of the large springs which abound in that
country gushed out of the side of the ascent above, and, after
creeping sluggishly along the level land, saturating the mossy
covering of the rock with moisture, it swept around the base of the
little cone that formed the pinnacle of the mountain, and, entering
the canopy of smoke near one of the terminations of the terrace, found
its way to the lake, not by dashing from rock to rock, but by the
secret channels of the earth.  It would rise to the surface, here and
there, in the wet seasons, but in the droughts of summer it was to be
traced only by the bogs and moss that announced the proximity of
water.  When the fire reached this barrier, it was compelled to pause,
until a concentration of its heat could overcome the moisture, like an
army awaiting the operations of a battering train, to open its way to
desolation.

That fatal moment seemed now to have arrived, for the hissing steams
of the spring appeared to be nearly exhausted, and the moss of the
rocks was already curling under the intense heat, while fragments of
bark, that yet clung to the dead trees, began to separate from their
trunks, and fall to the ground in crumbling masses.  The air seemed
quivering with rays of heat, which might be seen playing along the
parched stems of the trees.  There were moments when dark clouds of
smoke would sweep along the little terrace; and, as the eye lost its
power, the other senses contributed to give effect to the fearful
horror of the scene.  At such moments, the roaring of the flames, the
crackling of the furious element, with the tearing of falling
branches, and occasionally the thundering echoes of some falling tree,
united to alarm the victims.  Of the three, however, the youth
appeared much the most agitated.  Elizabeth, having relinquished
entirely the idea of escape, was fast obtaining that resigned
composure with which the most delicate of her sex are sometimes known
to meet unavoidable evils; while Mohegan, who was much nearer to the
danger, maintained his seat with the invincible resignation of an
Indian warrior.  Once or twice the eye of the aged chief, which was
ordinarily fixed in the direction of the distant hills, turned toward
the young pair, who seemed doomed to so early a death, with a slight
indication of pity crossing his composed features, but it would
immediately revert again to its former gaze, as if already looking
into the womb of futurity.  Much of the time he was chanting a kind of
low dirge in the Delaware tongue, using the deep and remarkable
guttural tones of his people.

“At such a moment, Mr. Edwards, all earthly distinctions end,”
whispered Elizabeth; “persuade John to move nearer to us—let us die
together.”

“I cannot—he will not stir,” returned the youth, in the same horridly
still tones.  “ He considers this as the happiest moment of his life,
he is past seventy, and has been decaying rapidly for some time; he
received some injury in chasing that unlucky deer, too, on the lake,
Oh! Miss Temple, that was an unlucky chase, indeed! it has led, I
fear, to this awful scene.”

The smile of Elizabeth was celestial.  “Why name such a trifle now?—at
this moment the heart is dead to all earthly emotions!”

“If anything could reconcile a man to this death,” cried the youth,
“it would be to meet it in such company!”

“Talk not so, Edwards; talk not so,” interrupted Miss Temple.  “I am
unworthy of it, and it is unjust to your self.  We must die; yes—yes—
we must die—it is the will of God, and let us endeavor to submit like
his own children.”

“Die!” the youth rather shrieked than exclaimed, “no —no—no—there must
yet be hope—you, at least, must-not, shall not die.”

“In what way can we escape?” asked Elizabeth, pointing with a look of
heavenly composure toward the fire “Observe! the flame is crossing the
barrier of wet ground—it comes slowly, Edwards, but surely.  Ah! see!
the tree! the tree is already lighted!”

Her words were too true.  The heat of the conflagration had at length
overcome the resistance of the spring, and the fire was slowly
stealing along the half-dried moss; while a dead pine kindled with the
touch of a forked flame, that, for a moment, wreathed around the stem
of the tree, as it whined, in one of its evolutions, under the
influence of the air.  The effect was instantaneous, The flames danced
along the parched trunk of the pine like lightning quivering on a
chain, and immediately a column of living fire was raging on the
terrace.  It soon spread from tree to tree, and the scene was
evidently drawing to a close.  The log on which Mohegan was seated
lighted at its further end, and the Indian appeared to be surrounded
by fire.  Still he was unmoved.  As his body was unprotected, his
sufferings must have been great; but his fortitude was superior to
all.  His voice could yet be heard even in the midst of these horrors.
Elizabeth turned her head from the sight, and faced the valley Furious
eddies of wind were created by the heat, and, just at the moment, the
canopy of fiery smoke that overhung the valley was cleared away,
leaving a distinct view of the peaceful village beneath them,
My father!—--my lather!” shrieked Elizabeth “Oh! this—surely might
have been spared me—but I submit.”

The distance was not so great but the figure of Judge Temple could be
seen, standing in his own grounds, and apparently contemplating, in
perfect unconsciousness of the danger of his child, the mountain in
flames.  This sight was still more painful than the approaching
danger; and Elizabeth again faced the hill.

“My intemperate warmth has done this!” cried Edwards, in the accents
of despair.  “If I had possessed but a moiety of your heavenly
resignation, Miss Temple, all might yet have been well.”

“Name it not—name it not,” she said.  “It is now of no avail.  We must
die, Edwards, we must die—let us do so as Christians.  But—no—you may
yet escape, perhaps.  Your dress is not so fatal as mine.  Fly! Leave
me, An opening may yet be found for you, possibly—certainly it is
worth the effort.  Fly! leave me—but stay! You will see my father! my
poor, my bereaved father! Say to him, then, Edwards, say to him, all
that can appease his anguish.  Tell him that I died happy and
collected; that I have gone to my beloved mother; that the hours of
this life are nothing when balanced in the scales of eternity.  Say
how we shall meet again.  And say,” she continued, dropping her voice,
that had risen with her feelings, as if conscious of her worldly
weakness, “how clear, how very dear, was my love for him; that it was
near, too near, to my love for God.”

The youth listened to her touching accents, but moved not.  In a
moment he found utterance, and replied:

“And is it me that you command to leave you! to leave you on the edge
of the grave? Oh! Miss Temple, how little have you known me!” he
cried, dropping on his knees at her feet, and gathering her flowing
robe in his arms as if to shield her from the flames.  “I have been
driven to the woods in despair, but your society has tamed the lion
within me.  If I have wasted my time in degradation, ‘twas you that
charmed me to it.  If I have forgotten my name and family, your form
supplied the place of memory.  If I have forgotten my wrongs, ‘twas
you that taught me charity.  No—no—dearest Elizabeth, I may die with
you, but I can never leave you!”

Elizabeth moved not, nor answered.  It was plain that her thoughts had
been raised from the earth, The recollection of her father, and her
regrets at their separation, had been mellowed by a holy sentiment,
that lifted her above the level of earthly things, and she was fast
losing the weakness of her sex in the near view of eternity.  But as
she listened to these words she became once more woman.  She struggled
against these feelings, and smiled, as she thought she was shaking off
the last lingering feeling of nature, when the world, and all its
seductions, rushed again to her heart, with the sounds of a human,
voice, crying in piercing tones:

“Gal! where he ye, gal! gladden the heart of an old man, if ye yet
belong to ‘arth!”

“Hist!” said Elizabeth; “ ‘tis the Leather-Stocking; he seeks me!”

“Tis Natty!” shouted Edwards, “and we may yet be saved!”

A wide and circling flame glared on their eyes for a moment, even
above the fire of the woods, and a loud report followed.

“'Tis the canister, ‘tis the powder,” cried the same voice, evidently
approaching them.  “ ‘Tis the canister, and the precious child is
lost.”

At the next instant Natty rushed through the steams of the spring, and
appeared on the terrace, without his deerskin cap, his hair burnt to
his head, his shirt, of country check, black and filled with holes,
and his red features of a deeper color than ever, by the heat he had
encountered.