CHAPTER XII.

{222}

“And how soon to the bower she loved, they say, Return’d the maid that was borne away From Maquon, the fond and the brave.” Bryant.

After Miss Leslie’s escape from Oneco on the island, he remained for some time unconscious of her departure, and entirely absorbed in his efforts to quicken the energy of reviving life in his father; and when he discovered that his prisoner had left him, he still deemed her as certainly within his power on the sea-girt island as if she had been enclosed by the walls of a prison. He felt that his father’s life depended on his obtaining an asylum as soon as possible, and he determined to abandon his plan of going to Narragansett, and instead, to cross the bay to Moscutusett, the residence of the son and successor of Chicetabot, an avowed ally of the English, but really, in common with most of the powerful chiefs, their secret enemy.

If, availing himself of the sheltering twilight of the morning, he could convey his father safely to the wigwam of his friend, Oneco believed he might securely remain there for the present. In the mean time, he should himself be at liberty to contrive and attempt the recovery of his wife. The instrumentality of Hope Leslie might be important to effect this {223} object, and she also might remain in safe custody with the Indian chief.

Thus having digested his plans, before the morning dawned, and by the sufficient light of the moon, he went in quest of his prisoner, but was destined, as our readers know, to be disappointed.

He encountered Chaddock’s crew much in the situation in which they were first discovered by Miss Leslie; for, after having been baffled in their pursuit of her, they returned and recomposed themselves to await the light of day, when they might give a signal to some boat to take them off the island.

Oneco, apprehending that, in the prosecution of his search over the island, he might meet with some straggler from this gang, very prudently disguised himself in certain of the cast-off garments belonging to the men, which would enable him to escape, at least, immediate detection. This disguise, though useless then, proved afterward of important service to him.

Compelled by the approach of day to abandon his search, he returned to his canoe, placed his father in it, and rowed him to Sachem’s Head, where he was kindly received and cherished, though with the utmost secrecy, for the Indians had long ere this been taught, by painful experience, to guard against the most dispiriting of all dangers--a danger to which the weak, in the neighbourhood of a powerful and comparatively rich foe, are always exposed--the treachery of their own people.

The chief of Moscutusett obtained, from day to {224} day, intelligence of whatever transpired in Boston; and in this way Mononotto was apprized of the imprisonment and probable fate of Magawisca. This was the last drop in his cup of bitterness; worse, far worse, than to have borne on his body the severest tortures ever devised by human cruelty. Magawisca had obtained an ascendancy over her father’s mind by her extraordinary gifts and superior knowledge. He loved her as his child; he venerated her as an inspired being. He might have endured to have had her cut off by the chances of war; but to have her arraigned before the tribunal of his enemies, as amenable to their laws; to have her die by the hands of the executioner, as one of their own felon subjects, pierced his national pride as well as his affection, and he resigned himself to overwhelming grief. Oneco sorrowed for himself and sorrowed for the old man’s tears, but he felt nothing very deeply but the loss of his “white bird.”

All his ingenuity was employed to devise the means of her escape. After having painted his face, hands, and legs, so as effectually to conceal his tawny hue, he appeared a foreign sailor in Madam Winthrop’s parlour. All succeeded better than his most sanguine expectations. He contrived to give every necessary hint to Faith Leslie; and so happily veiled his language by his indistinct and rapid utterance, that Governor Winthrop, familiar as he was with the sound of the Indian dialects, did not suspect him. The family retired immediately after their evening devotions: he laid himself down on the bed that {225} had been hospitably spread for him, and soon feigned himself asleep. He watched the servants make their last preparations for bed: the lights were extinguished and the fire raked up, though enough still glimmered through the ashes to afford him a competent light when he should need it. The menials withdrew: their footsteps had hardly ceased to vibrate on the ear, when his wife, impatient of any farther delay, stole from her aunt’s side, threw on her dress, and with the light, bounding tread of a fawn, passed down the stairs, through the hall, and into the kitchen. Oneco started up, and in a transport of joy would have locked her in his arms, when Jennet appeared. She, like some other disagreeable people, seemed to be gifted with ubiquity, and always to be present where happiness was to be interrupted or mischief to be done.

She stood for an instant, her hands uplifted in silent amazement, hesitating whether to alarm the family with her outcries, or more quietly to give them notice of the character of their guest. Oneco put a sudden end to her deliberations. He first darted to the door and closed it; then drew a knife from his bosom, and, pointing it at Jennet’s heart, he told her, in very bad English, but plainly interpreted by his action, that if she moved or uttered a sound, his knife should taste her life-blood.

Jennet saw determination in his aspect, and she stood as still as if she were paralyzed or transfixed, while Oneco proceeded to tell her that, to make all sure, she should go with him to his canoe. He bade {226} her calm her fears, for then he would release her, provided that, in the mean time, she made no effort, by voice or movement, to release herself.

There was no alternative, but she did beg to be allowed to go to her room to get her bonnet and cloak. Oneco smiled deridingly at the weak artifice by which she hoped to elude him; but, deigning no other reply to it, he caught a cloak which hung over a chair, threw it over her, and, without any farther delay, compelled her to follow him.

Oneco took good care to avoid the danger, slight though it was, of encountering any passengers, by directing his way through an unfrequented part of the town. Impatience to be beyond the bounds of danger, and the joy of escape and reunion, seemed to lend wings to Jennet’s companions, while she followed breathless and panting, enraged at her compelled attendance, and almost bursting with spite, to which she could not give its natural vent by its customary outlet the tongue, the safety-valve of many a vexed spirit.

They had arrived very near to the cove where Oneco had moored his canoe. He good-naturedly pointed towards it, and told Jennet that there she should be released. But the hope of release by a mode much more satisfactory to her feelings, inasmuch as it would involve her companions in danger, had dawned on Jennet. She had just perceived some men (how many she could not tell, for the night was then dark), who were, unobserved by Oneco, stealing towards them. She withdrew a few {227} inches, as far as she dared from his side, lest he should execute sudden vengeance with the weapon which he still held in his hand. Her conjectures were now converted to certainty, and she already mentally exulted in the retaliation she should inflict on her companions; but, alas!

“Esser vicino al lido Molti fra naufragar;”

or, to express the same truth by our vernacular adage, “There’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.” The men did approach, even to her side; and without listening to her protestations of who she was and who her companions were--without even hearing them, they seized on her, and, suffering the other parties to escape without any annoyance, bound her hood and handkerchief over her head and face, and, as our readers have already anticipated, conveyed her to that awful destiny which she had herself indirectly prepared.

It may excite some surprise that Chaddock, forewarned, as he had been, that the lady whom he was to intercept would have no male attendant, should not have hesitated when he saw Oneco. But that may be explained by Oneco wearing the dress of the ship’s crew, and the natural conclusion, on Chaddock’s part, that Antonio, whom he had left in the boat, had come on shore, and probably just joined these females. Chaddock’s only care was to select the shortest of the two women, and, obscure as the night was, their relative height was apparent.