" Away, away, — I hold thee as my spoil,
To bless and cheer me — worthy of my toil
Let them pursue — I have thee, thou art mine,
With life to keep, and but with life resign."
THE night of storm had been one of great brightness and natural beauty. Not less beautiful and bright was the day by which it was followed. The sun rose clearly and beautifully over the scattered bands of the forest. The Indians were fairly defeated, Ishiagaska slain, and Chorley, the pirate, uninfluenced by any of those feelings of nationality which governed the native red men, which would have prompted him to a desperate risk of his own person in a struggle so utterly unlooked-for, as soon as he saw the final and complete character of the defeat, silently withdrew, with his few remaining followers, from farther conflict. He had another care upon his hands besides that of his own safety. There was one reward — one spoil — with which he consoled himself for his disaster — and that was Bess Matthews. She was in his power!
Filled with fierce passion, as he thought of her, he took his way, unseen by the victorious Carolinians, towards the little cot on the river's edge, in which he had left his prisoners. Circumstances had materially altered from what they were at the time when they became so. He was no longer able to control, with an imposing and superior force, the progress, either of his Indian allies or of his Carolinian enemies. He had not foreseen, any more than the Yemassees, the state of preparation in which the settlers about the Pocota-ligo had met the invasion. He had looked to find invasion and conquest one — and had never dreamed of opposition, much less of a defence which would prove so completely successful. The energies of a single man, his address, farsightedness, and circumspection, had done all this. To the perseverance and prudence of Harrison — his devotedness to the cause he had undertaken — the borderers owed their safety. But of this the pirate chief knew nothing; and, anticipating no such provident management, he had fearlessly leagued himself with the savages, stimulated by passions as sanguinary as theirs, and without that redeeming sense of na