 | CHAPTER VII. Tales of the good woman |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
During the progress of those events we have
been sketching, Mistress Arabella Fenton remained
in the situation we left her, in a state of intense
anxiety, only mitigated by her reliance on heaven,
and her habit of submission to its will. She heard
the distant yells of the savages, mixed with the
uproar of the battle, and if ever pious prayers ascended
to heaven, it was now, when she petitioned
for the safety of her husband, her child, and place
of refuge in the lonely regions of the west. While
thus employed in offering up her orisons, a party
of two Indians, which had penetrated into the
town, in a direction opposite to that where the
great struggle was passing, suddenly burst into the
room, where Arabella was, with Anne Burras and
the child, and seizing the latter, bore him away,
shrieking and struggling, in their arms.
The hapless mother, wasteed with hardship, suffering
and want, made one effort to follow, and
sunk on the floor without sense or motion. The
faithful Anne Burras, animated by gratitude to the
mother, and affection for the boy, followed the savages,
calling loudly for help. But no help came;
every man in the colony, capable of resistance or
the quarter inhabited by Master Fenton was as a
desert. The savages carried off the boy, spite
of his struggles, and Anne followed, regardless
of their threatening gestures. They were too
fearful of pursuit to stop and murder her; and she
continued to pursue them, crying for help, and for
mercy, until they had proceeded a considerable
distance into the forest, when, considering themselves
safe from immediate pursuit, they stopped,
and gave her time to come up. Determined not
to forsake the boy, the faithful handmaid made
them comprehend by signs, that she would go with
them without resistance, if they would permit her.
After a moment's consultation, they gave her to
understand they consented, and bidding her follow,
they proceeded deeper into the forest. As
they went on, Anne, whenever she could do it unperceived,
broke off the little tender branches of
the bushes, and strewed them by the way, so that
if an opportunity of escape occurred, they might
serve as a guide through the forest home again.
In this manner they proceeded through tangled
woods, and twilight solitudes, sometimes carrying
the boy, and sometimes making him walk, until,
becoming themselves tired, and believing they
might do it with safety, they sat themselves down,
and in a short time one fell asleep, while the other
remained watching.
In the meanwhile, Fenton, who with the rest
lost in the pathless forests, returned in haste to his
home. As he approached, his heart palpitated
with eager hopes; but when he saw neither wife,
nor boy, nor handmaid, watching from the windows
for his return, while the open door remained unoccupied,
a presentiment of evil crossed his mind, and
smote his hopes to the earth. On entering the little
parlour, where sat his wife, “Joy! joy, my Arabella,”
he exclaimed, “our fold is safe again.”
She paused, and looked wofully at him for a
moment, then replied—
“Yes, but the little cosset lamb is stolen.”
“What mean you, dearest wife?” said he; “you
seem wild and sad withal. Yet 'tis no wonder;
gaunt hunger fastens on the brain at last. Poor
Arabella!”
“It is not that,” said she; “we've had a feast
to-day. They killed our little pet lamb.”
“What can she mean?” thought Fenton; “her
mind is wandering. Spare me sweet Heaven this
last calamity.”
“You think my senses are wandering, I know
you do;” cried she, wringing her hands—“no,
no! my heart is breaking, but my brain is free.
But wilful, selfish mother that I am! Listen, dear
husband—but I cannot tell it—look round, do you
not miss something?” She covered her face with
her hands, while Fenton looked wildly round the
“Merciful God!—our boy—where is he?”
“Bleeding beneath the butcher's knife. But,”
rallying herself, and speaking with great effort—
“while you were gone, two savages broke into
our house, and carried off our boy. Poor Anne
followed them—but I could not; I was dreaming
on the floor.”
Fenton covered his face for a moment, and
wept.
“How long ago was this?”
“Not long—at least I think it could not have
been long before you came.”
“Then perhaps they may be overtaken;” cried
he, again seizing his gun.
“Nay, nay,” cried Arabella, earnestly; “my
heart is rent in twain already. The half is gone
—leave me the other half.” Then after a pause
and a struggle—“Do not follow them, 'twill only
be another victim.”
“I were no father, then. No moment must be
lost. Weep not my Arabella; we shall see our
boy again.”
“I shall go to him; but he will never come to
me.”
Fenton now loaded his gun, and was sallying
forth in full speed, when he was met at the threshold
by Percie, Vere, and Layton, the former of
whom had come to congratulate Mistress Fenton
to whom he was affianced.
“Why how now Fenton,” cried Vere, gaily;
“you run as if in pursuit of an enemy. But where's
little Hal, my old playmate; I came to kiss the
rogue, and wish his mother joy.”
“I can't stop to talk,” cried Fenton; “life and
death are in this moment.”
“What is the meaning of all this?” asked
Vere.
“Will you let him go alone, good Percie, and
gallant Vere; and you Layton?” asked Arabella;
“will you let a father seek his lost child—
alas! his only one, in the wilderness, alone? Our
little Hal is lost—stolen away by the savages.”
“What! our favourite,” cried Percie; “the
first little male christian that ever opened his eyes
upon this new world. He shan't go alone, by
Heaven; I for one will follow him to the world's
end.”
“And I lead!” cried Vere. “Poor fellow!
Away gentlemen! Madam, I will bring you back
that boy, if the earth bears him alive.”
“May Heaven reward you! Good Layton, you
will go—poor Anne is with him.”
Layton bowed his head, but could not speak.
“Go now,” added she, “while I can bear it—go,
and God be with you.”
“Come, come away,” cried Fenton; each moment
is a jewel.”
Mistress Fenton sunk to the floor on her knees,
and sought her never failing refuge, while the rest
hurried away into the woods.
| CHAPTER VII. Tales of the good woman | |