The Albany register. [volume] (Albany, Or.) 1868-18??, 1874-11-06
A HERO WOMAN.

A HERO WOMAN.
In thick wood not more than half II
mile from the Schuylkill, there stood
in the time of the Revolution a quain
old fabric, built of mingled logs and
stone, and inclosed by a palisade wall.
It had been erected in the early days of
William Penn-perhaps some years be-
fore the great apostle of peace first trod
our shores-as a block-house first in
ended for defense against the Indians.
And now it stood with its numerous
ychimnevs, its massive square windows,
its varied front of logs and stone, its
eucircling wall through which admit
tance was gained by a large and stoutly
built gate it stood in the midst of the
wood, with age-worn trees enc1rcEng its
veteran outlines on every side.
From it's eastern windows you might
obtain a glimpse of the Schuylkill,
while a large easement in the southern
front commanded a view of the winding
road as it sunk out of view, under the
shade of those thickly clustered boughs,
mo deep hollow, not more than hun
'dred yards from the mansion.
Here from the southern easement, on
one of those balmy days which look in
upon the dreary autumn, toward the
close of November. a farmers daughter
was gazing with dilated eyes and half
cIasped hands.
Well might she gaze earnestly to the
south and listen with painful intensity to
the slightest sound Her brothers
were away in the army of Washington,
and her father a grim old yeteran-he
stood six feet and three inches in his
stockings-who had manifested his hate
for the red coat invaders in many
desperate contest, had that morning left
her alone in this small chamber, in
ii
band of brave farmers about to join
the host of freedom.
Even as she stood there gazing out of
the south window, a faint glimpse of
sunlight from the faded leaves above,
pouring over her mild face, shaded by
clustering brown hair, not ten PAGES
from her side were seven loaded rifles
and keg of powder.
Leaning from the easement, she lis
tened with every nerve quiyering with
suspense to the shous of combatants,
the hurried tread of armed men echoing
from the south.
There was something very beautiful
IN that picture. The form of the young
Girl framedoy the square massive win
dow, the contrast between the rough
timbers that inciosed her, and that
rounded face, the lips parting, the hazel
eyeadilating, and the cheeks warming
WILL hODSe dhAIl lear IAS1O WdS SOA4C-
thing very beautiful in that picture-a
young girl leaning from the window,
of an old mansion, with her brown hair
waving in glossy masses around her
face.
Suddenly the shouts to the south
grew nearer, and then emerging from
the deep hollow, there came an old man
runRing at full speed, yet every few
minutes turning to fire his rife, which
he loaded as he ran.
He was pursued by party of ten
British soldiers who came rushing on,
their bayonets fixed, as if to strike their
victim ere he advanced ten steps nearer
the house.
On and on the old man came, while
his daughter, quivering with suspense,
hung leaning from the window, he
reached the large block-house-look
He is surrounded, their muskets are
leveled at his head, he is down at their
feet graphing for life.
But look again. He dashes his foes
aside, with one bold movement he
springs through the gate an instant,
and Is is locked; the British soldiers,
mad with rage, gazed upon the high wall
of logs and stone, and vent their anger
in dranken curses.
Now look to yender window where
the young girl stood moment ago,
with suspense as she beheld her father
struggling for his life, now stands that
old man himself, his brow barred, his
arms crasping the rife, while his gray
hairs wave back from his wrinkled and
blood-dabbled face. That was fine
figure of an old veteran, nerved for his
last Fight a~stout warrior, preparing
for his death struggle
Death struggle Yes-for the old
man, Isaac Wampole, has dealt too
many hard blows among the British
soldiers, tricked, foiled and cheated
them too often to escape now.
s few minutes longer and they would
be reinforced by large party of refu-
gees, The powder and arms IN the old
block-house, perhaps his daughter her
self, was to be their reward.
There was scarcely hope for the old
man. and yet he was determined to make
a desperate fight.
We must bluff off these rascals ~
he said, with a smile, turning to his
child. Now, Bess, my girl, when
fire this rife you hand me another, and
SO on until the whole eight shots are
fred That will keep them on the
other side of the wall for few minutes
tt least. and then we will have to trust
40 Godsfor the rest r .
Look down there and see hand steal
ing over the wall. The old man leVeIed
his piece-that British trooper falls
back with a crushed hand upon his
comrades heads.
No longer quivering with suspense,
but suddenly growing firm, the young
girl passes a loaded rife to the vet
eran's grasp, and silently awaits the
result, f
For a moment all is silent below the
British braves are somewhat 10th to try
that wall when stout old s. rebel,
rifle in hand, is looking from yonder
window. There is psuse-loW, deep
murmurs-they are holding council.
A moment is gone, and nine heads
are thrust above the wall at once
bark k!-one-two-three The old vet
eran has fred three shots, three dying,
groveIng in the yard, beneath the
shadow of the wall. s.
Quick, Bess, the rifles r =