born to command, he hastily formed the
band of villagers into military array, displaying such skill
and ardor that their temporary fright vanished, to be
succeeded by courage and confidence. Had not the Almighty
sent this venerable stranger to their aid? Should they fear
when led by God's messenger?

"Now, upon them!" cried their mysterious leader. "We must
have the advantage of the assault!"

Putting himself at their head, he led them on with an ardor
remarkable in one of his years. The savages, who had been
swarming together preparatory to an attack, beheld with
surprise this orderly rush forward of the villagers, and
shrunk from their death-dealing and regular volleys. And the
white-haired form who led their foes with such fearless
audacity struck terror to their superstitious souls, filling
them with dread and dismay.

The struggle that followed was short and decisive. Animated
by the voice and example of their leader, the small band
attacked their savage enemies with such vigor and show of
discipline that in very few minutes the Indians were in full
flight for the wilderness, leaving a considerable number of
dead upon the ground. Of the villagers only two or three had
fallen.

The grateful people, when the turmoil and confusion of the
affray were over, turned to thank their venerable leader for
his invaluable aid. To their surprise he was nowhere to be
seen. He had vanished in the same mysterious manner as he
had appeared. They looked at one another in bewilderment.
What did this strange event signify? Had God really sent one
of his angels from heaven, in response to their prayers, to
rescue them from destruction? Such was the conclusion to
which some of the people came, while the most of them
believed that there was some miracle concerned in their
strange preservation.

This interesting story, which tradition has preserved in the
form here given, has a no less interesting sequel. We know,
what most of the villagers never knew, who their preserver
was, and how it happened that he came so opportunely to
their rescue. To complete our narrative we must go back
years in time, to the date of 1649, the year of the
execution of Charles I. of England.

Fifty-nine signatures had been affixed to the death-warrant
of this royal criminal. A number of the signers afterwards
paid the penalty of that day's work on the scaffold. We are
concerned here only with two of them, Generals Whalley and
Goffe, who, after the