m 
 
 i 
 
 DEAN's 
 
 Sllustrat^ /nrtliiitg fmh. 
 
 THE 
 
 FORTUNATE ESCAPE. 
 
 
 LONDON: DEAN & SON, 
 11, LudgateHill. 24 
 
 m\i> 
 
SHE FORTUNATE ESCAPE. 
 
 
 %3 I 
 
 11 
 
 
 
 During the French and Indian war, 
 
fHH FORTUNATE ESCAPE. 8 
 
 when the red man, in merciless rage, 
 scalped for bounty — on a lovely summer's 
 evening, when the trees, the golden 
 flowers, and the green waving grass, all 
 seemed to echo back the evening song of 
 the birds in their homeward flight, strange 
 though it may seem that ever care or 
 anxiety should have been banished from 
 the mind at such a fearful time — yet I 
 remember my heart was light. Edward 
 had taken Monson, the hired man, who 
 worked with him upon this farm, and 
 each, with gun and knapsack, had gone to 
 drive up the cows to be milked. Just as 
 I put aside my spinning-wheel, and laid 
 the cloth for our supper, the discharge of 
 a gun, in the direction of the pasture- 
 land, filled my heart with fear — for I 
 knew that the Indians lurked about, with 
 tomahawk and scalping-knife. We got 
 up a rally from the neighbourhood, and 
 went forth to seek our missing ones. Oh ! 
 how my heart died within me, when 
 Edward, my eldest son, and your own 
 paternal grandfather, met me on his re- 
 turn, and falling, sorrow- stricken, ex- 
 
4 THE FORTUNATE ESCAPE. 
 
 claimed, "Mother! oh, mother! we must 
 try to bear our trouble. Father is no- 
 where to be found, and the ground is all 
 bespattered with blood— those cruel, blood- 
 thirsty beings V* We could not indulge in 
 hope, and the only conclusion was, that 
 mine was a widowed and fatherless 
 family. I must not pain you, my dear 
 children, by the rehearsal of our sorrows 
 and sufferings— our regrets for the loved 
 and best, the good and the brave, whose 
 tortures, perhaps, we 'were never to know. 
 We had enough of this world's goods ; we 
 did not want for bread. We had friends, 
 too. Your grandfather was a good boy 
 then, a lad of fourteen years, and man- 
 fully he strove to drive away the despair 
 which daily threatened to cloud my mind 
 for ever. In vain were all such efforts. 
 To me, no beauty was there in the 
 morning sun, no joy in the song of the 
 evening birds ; my heart withered and 
 died daily ; nor could I be comforted, 
 because he " was not." Thus had passed 
 away four dreary months ; and, one day, 
 I came in from a little thicket of hemlock 
 
iIE FORTUNATE ESCAPE. 
 
 5 
 
 near the door, where I had been cutting a 
 
 broom. Your grandfather sat in his seat, 
 
THE FORTUNATE ESGABS. 
 
 evidently trying to conceal some strong 
 overwhelming emotion ; the younger chil- 
 dren sat about the seat you now occupy, 
 looking very archly at each other. I 
 stopped to warm my hands by the fire, 
 when my eye rested upon this sacred 
 thing — relic of my early love, and har- 
 binger of peace. It had been placed 
 there on purpose to attract my attention. 
 
 1 could see there was joy in the faces of 
 my children, and I knew my husband 
 lived! " Where is your father V" I asked, 
 " For I know he has come.'* The voice 
 of my beloved Edward responded in these 
 words, "Here am I, my Mary!" To 
 pourtray the happiness of that moment, 
 words were but a mockery. Our greeting 
 was mutual; and that was the time I 
 first gave my heart to God, when I saw 
 my own dependence, prayed earnestly for 
 the forgiveness of sin, saw my Saviour, 
 and knew the happiness of a ransomed 
 soul. My children, the Angel Gabriel 
 hovered over this house, ready to bear the 
 glad tidings of a newly-born soul to 
 
 Heaven, and "Gabriel! Gabriel!" I 
 
THE FORTUNATE ESCAPE. f 
 
 shouted, "stop a moment longer, and 
 carry the glad tidings of one more new- 
 born soul to Heaven." It was even so. 
 My husband laid hold of the cross with 
 me ; we were received and blessed toge- 
 ther. 
 
 A change passed over the countenance 
 of that aged woman ; her white lip 
 quivered ; she cast upon us a benignant 
 and happy smile; she spoke again, "God 
 bless you, my children ; I am going 
 home to Heaven." Her hand fell upon 
 the Bible before her, and Mary Hunter 
 had passed away. 
 
 The remainder of this story was told 
 me by my father. When the Indians 
 came upon Edward Hunter and Monson, 
 both guns were loaded ; and, had not 
 Monson been so cowardly a spirit, my 
 great grandsire would have stood his 
 ground with any number of them, while 
 ammunition lasted. He directed Monson 
 to re-load after the first shot, wherewith 
 he killed one ; but, turning to take, as he 
 expected, a loaded gun, there was the 
 fearful and cowardly fellow being dragged 
 
8 THE FORTUNATE ESCAPE. 
 
 by the heels, from the stump of a hollow 
 tree, by two of the reel men. They were 
 carried prisoners to Canada by a tribe of 
 Indians, enduring great sufferings, and 
 were afterwards redeemed by our Govern- 
 ment, and sent home. 
 
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