Republican Vindicator

MIDNIGHT ASSASSIN.

I was on my way to P-rr. in the fall of 18-; it was towards the cold evenings in the first fall month, when my horse stopped suddenly before a respectable house, about four miles from N---.

There was something strange and remarkable in the action of my horse, nor would he move a step in spite of all my exertions to move him on.

I determined to gratify this whim, and at the same time a strange presentiment which came over me, a kind of supernatural feeling indescribable, seemed to urge me to enter. Having knocked, and requested to be conducted to the lady or gentleman of the house, I was ushered into a neat sitting room, where sat a beautiful girl of about twenty years of age. She rose at my entrance, and seemed a little surprised at the appearance of a stranger.

In a few words I related to her the strange conduct of my horse, and his stubborn opposition to my mind.

"I am not," I observed, "superstitious nor inclined on the side of the metaphysical doctrines of those who support them; but the strange unaccountable feeling that crept over me in attempting to pass your house, induced me to solicit lodgings for the night."

"We are not," she replied, "well guarded, it's true; but in this part of the country we have little to fear from robbers, for we have never heard of any being near us; we are surrounded by good neighbors, and I flatter myself we are at peace with them.

But this evening, in consequence of my father's absence, I feel unusually lonesome and if it were not bordering on the superstitious, I might reason as you have, and say, I consent to your staying; for similar feelings had been mine ere you arrived; from what cause I cannot imagine."

The evening passed delightfully away; my young hostess was intelligent and lovely; the hours flew so quick, that on looking at my watch I was surprised to find that it was eleven o'clock. This was the signal for retiring; and by twelve every inmate of the house was asleep, save myself.

I could not sleep--strange visions floated across my brain, and I lay twisting and turning on the bed in all the agony of sleepless suspense. The clock struck one; its last vibrating sound had scarcely died away, when the opening of a shutter, and the raising of a sash, in one of the lower apartments, convinced me that some one was entering the house. A noise followed as of a person jumping from the window sill to the floor and then followed the light and almost noiseless step of one ascending the stairway.

I slept in the room adjoining the one occupied by the lady; mine was next to the staircase; the step came along the gallery slow and cautious. I had seized my pistol and slipped on part of my clothes determined to watch or listen to the movements seemingly mysterious or suspicious; the sound of the steps stopped at my door--then followed one as of applying the ear to the key hole, and a low breathing convinced me the villain was listening.

I stood motionless, the pistol firmly grasped. Not a muscle moved, nor a nerve was slackened, for I felt as if heaven had selected me out as the instrument to effect its purpose.

The person now slowly passed on, and I as cautiously approached the door of my bed chamber.

I now went by instinct, or rather by the conveyance of sound, for as soon as I heard his hand grasp the latch of one door, mine seized on the other--deep silence followed this movement; it seemed as if he heard the sound and awaited the repetition--it came not--all was still--he might have considered it the echo of his own noise. I heard the door open softly--I also opened mine, and the very moment I stepped into the entry, I caught the glimpse of a small man entering the lighted chamber of the young lady.

I softly stepped along the entry, and approached the chamber; through the half-open door I glanced my eyes into the room. No object was visible save the curtained bed, within whose sheets lay the intended victim to a midnight assassin, and gracious heaven! A NEGRO! for at that moment a tall fierce looking black man approached the bed, and never were Othello and Desdemona more naturally represented at least that particular scene of the immortal bard's conception.

I was now all suspense; my heart swelled into my throat almost to suffocation, my eyes to cracking, as I made a bound into the room.

The black villain had ruthlessly dragged part of the covering off the bed, when the sound of my feet cautioned him to turn.-- He started, and thus confronted, we stood gazing on each other a few seconds; his eyes shot fire--fury was depicted in his countenance. He made a spring towards me, and the next moment lay a corpse on the floor.

The noise of the pistol aroused the fair sleeper! she started in the bed, and seemed an angel of the white clouds emerging from her downy bed to soar up to the skies.

The first thing that presented itself to her view was myself standing near her with my pistol in my hand.

"Oh do not murder me!--take all--you cannot, will not kill me, sir!"

The servants now rushed in--all was explained.--The wretch turned out to be a vagabond, supposed to be a runaway slave from Virginia. I had the providential opportunity of rescuing one from the worst of fates, who in after years, called me husband, and related to our children her miraculous escape from the bold attack of a midnight assassin.