“The sling of David,” was the reply, and the sentry dropped the breech of the musket on the earth.  He had hardly done so before he was violently seized.  A strong hand grasped his throat; another was applied to his mouth; his piece was wrested from him, and, disarmed and unable to utter a cry, he was hurled to the ground.  His hands and feet were then bound; a gag inserted into his mouth; his coat taken off and muffled around his head to stifle the least sound, and he was then removed to a little distance behind the building, and one left to guard him and give notice of any approach.  The rest of the party next proceeded to the door of the cabin occupied by the jailer Bars.  A light was burning inside, but it was impossible, through the oiled paper, to see anything within.  He who appeared to be the leader, having disposed his men on each side of the door, rapped upon it.  No answer was returned, and it was not until after repeated rappings, and the patience of the strangers was becoming exhausted, and they had begun to consult respecting bursting open the door, when some one was heard moving and growling at the disturbance of his slumbers.

“Who is there?” he demanded, impatiently.

A low voice from the outside now entreated to be let in, for a moment, out of the rain.

“Nay,” returned Bars.  “You put no foot into my house, at this time of night, without the countersign.”

“The sling of David,” replied the voice.

“All right,” said Bars, beginning to unbar the door, “But what do you”—­

He was unable to finish the sentence, for, as soon as the door turned on its hinges, a rush was made by those on the outside, and poor Bars, half clothed, rudely upset on the floor.  “Murder,” he undertook to cry, but his throat was choked whenever he attempted to make a sound, and he was soon disposed of in like manner as the sentinel, and thrust into a corner, after having discovered that his assailants were Indians.  All this, with however little noise accomplished, could not be done without disturbing Dame Bars, who, from the closet where she slept, inquired what was the matter.  One of the party thereupon gliding over the floor with moccasoned feet, presented himself with finger on lip before her.  Terror benumbed the tongue of the poor woman at the sight, and the cry she strove to utter died in her throat.  By smiles and gestures the Indian endeavored to satisfy her that no injury was designed, and then, as if to confirm his peaceable intentions, retired, drawing the door after him; and frightened, though in some slight degree re-assured, the dame employed the respite in clothing herself in her day-apparel.

Meanwhile, one of the Indians, who had found two or three large keys tied together, had taken them from the peg where they hung and proceeded to the prison.  His actions evinced a strange familiarity with the place.  He advanced straight to the prison door, and, fitting the key, presently stood in the narrow passage which ran round the two cells into which the central part was divided.  Only one of these was locked.  Opening it, he called, in a low tone—­“Sassacus.”