The substance of the Baron’s narrative was as follows:—­

At the time that he had been so suddenly separated from his friend, Barney had overcome many of his opponents, but at length he was overpowered by numbers, and his arms were firmly bound; after which he was roughly driven before them through the woods for several days, and was at length taken to their village among the mountains.  Here he remained a close prisoner for three weeks, shut up in a small hut and bound by a strong rope to a post.  Food was taken to him by an old Indian woman, who paid no attention at first to what he said to her, for the good reason that she did not understand a word of English.  The persuasive eloquence of her prisoner’s tones, however, or perhaps his brogue, seemed in the course of a few days to have made an impression on her; for she condescended to smile at the unintelligible compliments which Barney lavished upon her in the hope of securing her good-will.

During all this time the Irishman’s heart was torn with conflicting feelings, and although, from the mere force of habit, he could jest with the old woman when she paid her daily visits, there was no feeling of fun in his bosom, but, on the contrary, a deep and overwhelming sorrow, which showed itself very evidently on his expressive face.  He groaned aloud when he thought of Martin, whom he never expected again to see; and he dreaded every hour the approach of his savage captors, who, he fully expected, retained him in order to put him to death.

One day, while he was sitting in a very disconsolate mood, the Indian woman entered with his usual dinner—­a plate of thick soup and a coarse cake.  Barney smiled upon her as usual, and then letting his eyes fall on the ground, sighed deeply,—­for his heart was heavier than usual that day.  As the woman was about to go, he looked earnestly and gravely in her face, and putting his large hand gently on her head, patted her grey hairs.  This tender action seemed to affect the old woman more than usual.  She laid her hand on Barney’s arm, and looked as if she wished to speak.  Then turning suddenly from him, she drew a small knife from her girdle and dropped it on the ground, as if accidentally, while she left the hut and re-fastened the door.  Barney’s heart leaped.  He seized the knife and concealed it hastily in his bosom, and then ate his dinner with more than ordinary zest; for now he possessed the means of cutting the strong rope that bound him.

He waited with much impatience until night closed over the Indian village, and then cutting his bonds, he tore down the rude and rather feeble fastenings of the door.  In another instant he was dashing along at full speed through the forest, without hat or coat, and with the knife clutched in his right hand!  Presently he heard cries behind him, and redoubled his speed; for now he knew that the savages had discovered his escape and were in pursuit.  But, although a good runner, Barney was no match for