SMALL | MEDIUM
"But, oh, that hapless virgin, our lost sister,
Where may she wander now, whither betake her?"
Comus .
Hope Leslie, on being forced into the canoe, sunk down, overpowered with terror and despair. She was roused from this state by Oneco's loud and vehement appeals to his father, who only re- plied by a low inarticulate murmur, which seem- ed rather an involuntary emission of his own feel- ings, than a response to Oneco. She understood nothing but the name of Magawisca, which he often repeated, and always with a burst of vin- dictive feeling, as if every other emotion were lost in wrath at the treachery that had wrested her from him. As the apparent contriver, and active agent in this plot, Hope felt that she must be the object of detestation, and the victim of vengeance; and all that she had heard or imag- ined of Indian cruelties, was present to her im- agination; and every savage passion seemed to her to be embodied in the figure of the old chief, when she saw his convulsed frame and features, illuminated by the fearful lightning that flashed athwart him. "It is possible," she thought, "that -105- 
SMALL | MEDIUM Oneco may understand me;" and to him she protested her innocence, and vehemently besought his compassion. Oneco was not of a cruel na- ture, nor was he disposed to inflict unnecessary suffering on the sister of his wife; but he was de- termined to retain so valuable a hostage, and his heart was steeled against her, by his conviction that she had been a party to the wrong done him; he, therefore, turned a deaf ear to her entreaties, which her supplicating voice and gestures ren- dered intelligible, though he had nearly forgotten her language. He made no reply by word or sign, but continued to urge on his little bark with all his might, redoubling his vigorous strokes as the fury of the storm increased.
Hope cast a despairing eye on her receding
home, which she could still mark through the
mirky atmosphere, by the lurid flame that blazed
on Beacon-hill. Friends were on every side of
her, and yet no human help could reach her.
She saw the faint light that gleamed from Digby's
cottage-window, and on the other hand, the dim
ray that, struggling through the misty atmosphere,
proceeded from the watch-tower on Castle-Island.
Between these lights from opposite islands, she
was passing down the channel, and she inferred
that Oneco's design was to escape out of the har-
bour. But heaven seemed determined to frus-
trate his purpose, and to show her how idle were
all human hopes and fears, how vain "to cast the
fashion of uncertain evils."
The wind rose, and the darkness deepened at
every moment; the occasional flashes of light-
ning only serving to make it more intense. Oneco
tasked his skill to the utmost to guide the canoe;
he strained every nerve, till exhausted by useless
efforts, he dropped his oars, and awaited his re-
sistless fate. The sublime powers of nature had
no terrors for Mononotto. There was something
awe-striking in the fixed, unyielding attitude of
the old man, who sat as if he were carved in
stone, whilst the blasts swept by him, and the
lightnings played over him. There are few who
have not at some period of their lives, lost their
consciousness of individuality -- their sense of this
shrinking, tremulous, sensitive being, in the dread
magnificence -- the "holy mystery" of nature.
Hope, even in her present extremity, forgot her
fear and danger in the sublimity of the storm.
When the wild flashes wrapped the bay in light,
and revealed to sight the little bark leaping over
the "yesty waves," the stern figure of the old
man, the graceful form of Oneco, and Hope Les-
lie, her eye upraised, with an instinctive exalta-
tion of feeling, she might have been taken for
some bright vision from another sphere, sent to
conduct her dark companions through the last
tempestuous passage of life. But the triumphs of
her spirit were transient; mortal danger pressed on
life. A thunderbolt burst over their heads. Hope
was, for a moment, stunned. The next flash
showed the old man struck down senseless.
She looked at the little bark: her strength,
small as it was, might avail to launch it again;
and she might trust the same Providence that had
just delivered her from peril, to guide her in safe-
ty over the still turbulent waters. But a danger
just escaped, is more fearful than one untried;
and she shrunk from adventuring alone on the
powerful element. The island might be inhabi-
ted. If she could gain a few moments before she
was missed by Oneco, it was possible she might
find protection and safety. She did not stop to
Fragments of a coarse feast were strewn about
them, and the ground was covered with wrecks
One of them awoke, and looked up at her. He
"To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence
Of such late wassailers."
While Hope hesitated for an instant, whether
again to expose herself to the thraldom from
which she had with such joy escaped, one of
the other men, either aroused by his comrade's
"Friend," she said, in a fearful, tremulous
voice, "I come to beg your aid."
"By the lord Harry, she speaks," exclaimed
the fellow, interrupting her -- "she is a woman --
wake boys -- wake!"
The men were now roused from their slum-
bers: some rose to their feet, and all stared stu-
pidly, not one, save him first awakened, having
the perfect command of his senses. "If ye
have the soul of a man," said Hope imploring-
ly, "protect me -- convey me to Boston. Any re-
ward that you will ask or take shall be given to
you."
"There's no reward could pay for you, honey,"
replied the fellow, advancing towards her.
"In the name of God, hear me!" she cried;
but the man continued to approach with a
horrid leer on his face. "Then save me, heaven!"
she screamed, and rushed towards the water.
The wretch was daunted; he paused but for
an instant, then calling on his comrades to join
him, they all, hooting and shouting, pursued
her.
Hope now felt that death was her only deliver-
ance; if she could but reach the waves that she
saw heaving and breaking on the shore -- if she
could but bury herself beneath them. But though
she flew as if she were borne on the wings of the
wind, her pursuers gained on her. The fore-
most was so near, that she expected at every
breath his hand would grasp her, when his foot
stumbled, and he fell headlong, and as he fell,
he snatched her cloak. By a desperate effort she
extricated herself from his hold, and again dart-
ed forward. She heard him vociferate curses,
and understood he was unable to rise. She cast
one fearful glance behind her -- she had gained on
the horrid crew. `Oh! I may escape them,'
she thought; and she pressed on with as much
eagerness to cast away life, as ever was felt to
save it. As she drew near the water's edge, she
perceived a boat attached to an upright post that
had been driven into the earth at the extremity of
a narrow stone pier. A thought like inspiration
flashed into her mind: she ran to the end of
the pier, leaped into the boat, uncoiled the rope
that attached it to the post, and seizing an oar,
pushed it off. There was a strong tide; and the
boat, as if instinct with life, and obedient to her ne-
cessities, floated rapidly from the shore. Her pur-
suers had now reached the water's edge, and finding
themselves foiled, some vented their spite in jeers
and hoarse laughs, and others in loud and bitter
curses. Hope felt that heaven had interposed for
"Hail, blessed virgin Mary!" cried the catholic
Italian, bending low before her, and crossing
himself: "Queen of heaven! -- Gate of paradise!
"Thou art not, thou art not, holy queen of
virgins, and of all heavenly citizens -- then most
gracious lady, which of all the martyrs and saints
of our holy church art thou? Santa Catharina of
Siena, the blessed bride of a holy marriage?"
Hope shook her head. "Santa Helena then, in
whose church I was first signed with holy water?
nay, thou art not? -- then art thou, Santa Bibiani?
or Santa Rosa? thy beauteous hair is like that
sacred lock over the altar of Santa Croce."
"I am not any of these," said Hope with a
smile, which the catholic's pious zeal extorted from
her.
"Thou smilest!" he cried exultingly; "thou art
then my own peculiar saint -- the blessed lady
Petronilla. Oh, holy martyr! spotless mirror of
purity!" and he again knelt at her feet and cross-
This invocation was long enough to allow our
heroine time to make up her mind as to the
course she should pursue with her votary. She
had recoiled from the impiety of appropriating
his address to the holy mother, but protestant as
she was, we hope she may be pardoned for think-
ing that she might without presumption, identify
herself with a catholic saint. "Good Antonio,"
she said, "I am well pleased to find thee faithful,
as thou hast proved thyself, by withdrawing from
thy vile comrades. To take part in their excesses
would but endanger thine eternal welfare -- bear
this in mind. Now, honest Antonio, I will put
honour on thee; thou shalt do me good service.
Take those oars and ply them well till we reach
you town, where I have an errand that must be
done."
"Oh, most blessed lady! sacred martyr, and
sister of mercy! who, entering into the heavenly
palace, didst fill the holy angels with joy, and men
with hope, I obey thee," he said, and then taking
from his bosom a small ivory box, in which, on
opening it, there appeared to be a shred of linen
cloth, he added, "but first, most gracious lady.
Our saint could not forbear a smile at this
startling fact in her history, but she prudently
took the box, and unclasping a bracelet from her
arm, which was fastened by a small diamond
cross, she added it to the relic, whose value though
less obvious, could not be exceeded in Antonio's
estimation. "I give thee, this," she said, " Anto-
nio, for thy spiritual and temporal necessities, and
shouldst thou ever be in extreme need, I permit
thee to give it into the hand of some cunning ar-
tificer, who will extract the diamonds for thee,
without marring that form which thou rightly re-
gardest as blessed." Antonio received the box as
if it contained the freedom of Paradise, and re-
placing it in his bosom, he crossed himself again
and again, repeating his invocations till his saint,
apprehensive that in his ecstasy he would lose all
remembrance of the high office for which she had
selected him, gently reminded him that it was the
duty of the faithful to pass promptly from devo-
tion to obedience; on this hint he rose, took up
the oars, and exercised his strength and skill with
such exemplary fidelity, that in less than two
hours, his boat touched the pier which Hope de-
signated as the point where she would disem-
bark.
Before she parted from her votary, she said, "I
give thee my blessings and my thanks, Antonio,
and I enjoin thee, to say nought to thy wicked
comrades, of my visitation to thee; they would
but jeer thee and wound thy spirit by making
thy lady their profane jest. Reserve the tale, An-
tonio, for the ears of the faithful who marvel not
at miracles."
Antonio bowed in token of obedience, and as
long as Hope saw him, he remained in an atti-
tude of profound homage.
Our heroine's elastic spirit, ever ready to rise
when pressure was removed, had enabled her to
sustain her extempore character with some anima-
tion, but as soon as she had parted from Antonio,
and was no longer stimulated to exertion by the
fear that his illusion might be prematurely dissi-
pated, she felt that her strength had been over-
taxed by the strange accidents and various perils
of the evening. Her garments were wet and
heavy, and at every step, she feared another
would be impossible. Her head became giddy,
and faintness and weariness, to her, new and
strange sensations, seemed to drag her to the
earth. She looked and listened in vain for some
human being to call to her assistance: the streets
were empty and silent; and unable to proceed, she
sunk down on the steps of a warehouse, shut
her eyes, and laid down her head to still its
throbbings.
She had not remained thus many minutes, when
she was started by a voice saying, "Ha! lady, dost
thou too wander alone? -- is thy cheek pale -- thy
head sick -- thy heart fluttering? -- yet thou art not
guilty nor forsaken!"
Hope looked up, and perceived she was ad-
dressed by Sir Philip Gardiner's page. She had
repeatedly seen him since their first meeting, but
occupied as she had been with objects of intense
interest to her, she thought not of their first singu-
lar interview, excepting when it was recalled by
the supposed boy's keen, and as she fancied, angry
glances. They seemed involuntary, for when his
eye met hers, he withdrew it, and his cheek was dyed
with blushes. There was now a thrilling melan-
choly in his tone; his eye was dim and sunken;
and his apparel, usually elaborate, and somewhat
fantastical, had a neglected air. His vest was
open; his lace ruff, which was ordinarily arrang-
ed with a care that betrayed his consciousness
how much it graced his fair delicate throat, had
now been forgotten, and the feathers of his little
Spanish hat dangled over his face. Hope Leslie
was in no condition to note these particulars; but
she was struck with his haggard and wretched
appearance, and was alarmed when she saw him
lay his hand on the hilt of a dagger that gleamed
from beneath the folds of his vest.
"Do not shrink, lady," he said, "the pure should
not fear death, and I am sure the guilty need not
dread it -- there is nothing worse for them than
"Why do you not leave your master, if he is
of this fiendish disposition towards you?" asked
Hope, "leave him and return to your friends."
"Friends! -- friends!" he exclaimed; "the rich
-- the good -- the happy -- those born in honour,
have friends. I have not a friend in the wide
world."
"Poor soul!" said Hope, losing every other
thought in compassion for the unhappy boy; and
some notion of his real character and relation to
Sir Philip darting into her mind, "then leave this
wretched man, and trust thyself to heaven."
"I am forsaken of heaven, lady."
"That cannot be. God never forsakes his crea-
tures: the miserable, the guilty, from whom every
human face is turned away, may still go to him,
and find forgiveness and peace. His compassions
never fail."
"Yes -- but the guilty must forsake their sinful
thoughts, and I cannot. My heart is steeped in
this guilty love. If my master but looks kindly
on me, or speaks one gentle word to me, I again
cling to my chains and fetters."
"Oh, this is indeed foolish and sinful; how can
you love him, whom you confess to be so unwor-
thy?"
"We must love something," replied the boy in
a faint voice, his head sinking on his bosom.
"My master did love me, and nobody else ever
loved me. I never knew a mother's smile,
lady, nor felt her tears. I never heard a father's
voice; and do you think it so very strange that I
should cling to him who was the first, the only
one that ever loved me?" He paused for a mo-
ment, and looked eagerly on Hope, as if for some
word of encouragement; but she made no reply,
and he burst into a passionate flood of tears, and
wrung his hands, saying, "Oh, yes, it is -- I know
it is foolish and sinful, and I try to be penitent.
I say my pater-nosters," he added, taking a rosa-
ry from his bosom, "and my ave-maries, but I
get no heart's ease; and betimes my head is wild,
and I have horrid thoughts. I have hated you,
lady; you who look so like an angel of pity on
me; and this very day, when I saw Sir Philip
hand you into that boat, and saw you sail away
with him over the bright water so gay and laugh-
ing, I could have plunged this dagger into your
bosom; and I made a solemn vow that you should
not live to take the place of honour beside my
master, while I was cast away a worthless thing."
"These are indeed useless vows, and idle
thoughts," said Hope. "I cannot longer listen
to you now, for I am very sick and weary; but do
not grieve thus, -- come to me to-morrow, and
tell me all your sorrows, and be guided by me."
"Oh, not to-morrow!" exclaimed the boy,
Hope had no longer the power of deliberation,
she did not even hear the last entreaty. At the
first movement she made, the sensation of giddi-
ness returned, every object seemed to swim before
her, and she sunk, fainting, into Roslin's arms.
The page had now an opportunity to gratify his
vindictive passions if he had any; but his mad
jealousy was a transient excitement of feelings in
a disordered, almost a distracted state, and soon
gave way to the spontaneous emotions of a gen-
tle and tender nature. He carefully sustained
his burden, and while he pressed his lips to
Hope's cold brow, with an undefinable sensation
of joy that he might thus approach angelic puri-
ty, he listened eagerly to the sound of footsteps,
and as they came nearer, he recognised the two
Fletchers, with a company of gentlemen, guards,
and sailors, whom, with the Governor's assist-
ance, they had hastily collected to go in pursuit
of our heroine.
Everell was the first to perceive her. He sprang
towards her, and when he saw her colourless face,
and lifeless body, he uttered an exclamation of hor-
ror. All now gathered about her, listening eagerly
to Roslin's assurance that she had just fainted, com-
