Legends of the Shawangunk2 JR.pdf - Friends of the Sabbath ...

44 Legends of the Shawangunk.
beasts of prey, as they fought and feasted on the body of their lamented sister,
tomahawked that afternoon.
They were here destined to have the remembrance of their misfortunes awakened
anew, as the savages displayed the booty they had carried off from the fort. Mrs. B.
beheld a scarlet cloak that her little boy wore when he was brained by a savage—his
scream of terror was still ringing in her ears. Mrs. G. recognized a coat as belonging to
her husband, who was shot down and scalped before her eyes. Catherine DuBois beheld
all this with feelings of mingled emotion. As far as she knew her husband was alive.
And as the occurrences of the day came up before her she thought was she not a little at
fault for the misunderstanding of the morning? Might she not have been a little more
patient, and not have cast back such a retort? It was their first quarrel, and now they
might never meet again. Ah, those words! would they had remained unspoken!
The next morning the party again took up the line of march, following the alluvial
bottoms along the banks of a stream. Towards noon a messenger arrived, and after a
hurried consultation the savages divided into two parties, the larger one under the
leadership of a hideously painted savage, while the smaller kept to the original course,
which continued in charge of the prisoners.
Towards the close of the day a halt was called. The captives had now traversed the
whole distance between the present city of Kingston and the head waters of the
Shawangunk kill. The savages, probably deeming themselves safe from pursuit, had for
some time omitted the precautions they observed early in their flight, but little heed being
paid to their captives other than keeping them within view.
Catherine and her companions now beheld some movements of the Indians that
concerned them greatly. Some of their captors had been gathering fagots and piling them
into heaps—equal in number to the prisoners—while others were driving sharpened
stakes into the ground near the piles of sticks. Under other circumstances these
proceedings would have filled them with consternation; but these heroic women actually
looked upon these preparations for their own torture with a degree of satisfaction, as they
believed they beheld evidence of a speedy deliverance from their earthly troubles.
The band of Christian women bowed their heads and prayed to the Giver of all Good,
that He would, in His infinite mercy, if consistent with His will, restore them to their
homes and families; or if it should be theirs to suffer at the stake, that He would impart
strength for the terrible ordeal that they beheld awaiting them. Then their pent-up
feelings broke forth in song; and with swelling hearts, yet with voices unbroken, those
captives sang Marot’s beautiful French hymn, of which the following is a part:
By Babel’s stream the captives sate
And wept for Zion’s hapless fate;
Useless their harps on willows hung,
While foes required a sacred song.