In the mean time Acashee went her solitary way alone, lashed by the
furies of shame and revenge. So fierce burned the wild passions of her
breast, she was unconscious of hunger or fatigue. She ground her teeth,
and planted her foot as if she could crush those who were far from her,
but whom her rage presented as visible objects. A serpent crossed her
path, and she seized it with her hand by the tail, as she had seen the
young boys of her people do, and with one fell slat-dash, severed the
head from its body.
She forded the Saco river, not yet swollen by autumnal rains, and as
the morning dawned, she crawled under the shadow of an intervening
rock, and fell into a profound sleep.
Rising at length, she wandered hour after hour along the upland,
commanding a view of the distant village, the vessels shaking out their
white sails to the breeze, and the fishermen drawing their nets to
land. The smoke of the little hamlet rose dreamily upon the air, and
the light tinkle of the herd-bell mingled with the lowing of kine and
the faint echo of the ax of the woodman.
Often had Hope Vines paddled her light canoe across the Saco to meet
her upon this upland, and here, with John Bonyton, they had idled away
the long summer days, unconscious of that dreamy future which had now
made life a desert to them all.
Tearing herself from these maddening thoughts, she stooped down and saw
her ghastly face and discrowned head; she bathed her hands and burning
cheeks in the stream, sitting under a shelf of rock, lest she should be
seen by any of those who knew her in her days of power and her days of
beauty!
She unlaced the worn moccasins and plunged her swollen feet into the
cooling wave. She sat long and gloomily surveying her altered looks.
Her limbs were swollen and discolored by the action of the thongs which
had bound her, and her feet blistered by travel. All day she sat moody
and silent, her brow contracted, but it was evident that physical pain
had nothing to do with the fierce and angry passions that swayed her.
Acashee may have been perhaps between forty and fifty years of age,
but, having been exempt from the ordinary labor of women in the savage
state, she presented few of those hard and angular lines common to
her sex. She was taller than the wont of Indian women, more slender
than is customary with them at her period of life, and altogether,
she presented a litheness and springiness of fiber that reminded one
of Arab more than aboriginal blood. Her brow was high, retreating and
narrow, with arched and sharply-contracted brows, beneath which burned
her intense and restless eyes.
At length she lifted her masses of short hair, black as night, despite
of time, and gnashed her teeth violently in view of the indignity to
which she had been subjected. She raised herself proudly, and cried, in
a passionate voice, and with a wild, bitter laugh:
“John Bonyton, I have my revenge; a thousand times I have it. In spite
of you, I _will_ sit again with chiefs and honored women; and shorn of
my locks even, no tongue will wag itself against me. I am above and
beyond your malice!”
We should say that, among the Indians, for a woman to have her hair cut
off, is to cast suspicion upon her chastity. It is the only revenge
permitted the husband for a suspicion of dishonor, but in the end, it
is a sure and fatal revenge, as the woman is at once cast out of the
tribe, and no one will grant her aid or succor of any kind.
Acashee pressed her burning hands again and again over her degraded
head, and once more took up her march toward the rising sun. Day by day
she traveled onward, now fording rivers, and now surmounting mountain
hights. Bays and inlets were doubled, and often some formidable river
crossed on a frail raft, or traced upward toward its source, till her
feet were able to wade it.
With the quick resource of savage life, she had been able to supply
her own wants by means of the bow and arrow, the rude net, and the
expert trap constructed by her own hands. She found corn and beans in
the deserted summer haunts of the Indians, and the woods afforded her
plenty of wild fruits. Still, she grew thin and haggard, from toil,
exposure and travel; but her resolute spirit never quailed--never felt
even the tortures which lacerated the body. Sometimes, she rested for
whole days, and then, with renewed vigor, pursued her solitary way.
Rarely did she venture to kindle a fire, lest it might betray her to
some migrating tribe, or some wild beast might be attracted by the
flame. Sometimes her quick ear detected the approach of an Indian
runner, carrying intelligence to a far distant tribe. Sometimes she saw
a group of hunters, who encamped together for the pursuit of the chase;
then she would be compelled to make a detour to avoid them, or to lie
by till they disappeared--for sooner would she lay down her life than
encounter a red-man in her present dishonored plight. Her only hope was
to reach her own people, and there explain all.
It was now October, but the season had proved one of exceeding
mildness, and the birds, which usually desert these northern regions a
month earlier, remained in their summer haunts from some sure instinct,
to enliven the wilderness, and cheer its rude inhabitants.
Acashee now reached the Androscoggin river, which, encumbered by rapids
and picturesque falls, can never be subject to ship or steamer, but
which, in our day, has long since been subdued to the purposes of the
millwright, and added the clatter of loom and spindle to the grand
cathedral hymn which alone, in the time of our story, awoke the echoes
of the everlasting hills to the roar of its descending waters over
shelving rocks a hundred feet from its level.
Here the woman saw the fires of her people in the distance, and found a
canoe with which she crossed to the opposite side of the river. The sun
was down when she reached the village, and the usual routine was being
observed preparatory to night and sleep.
The chiefs lounged upon the ground, or pointed to the trophies of the
chase, which the women conveyed to the wigwam. Children gathered up
their bows and arrows and threw themselves upon the skins, in all the
abandon of dirty robes and muddy moccasins. Here and there might be
seen a half-grown boy, grumbling audibly as he paced back and forth in
front of the wigwam, carrying a stout baby “pack-a-back,” while the
overworked mother prepared venison and parched corn for the evening
meal of her lord and master.
Torches began to flare here and there, and the whole female population
were busy with household labor, when Acashee, thin, worn, foot-sore,
and burning with wrath, appeared before them. There was one burst of
contempt and scoffing from the women, which Acashee cut short with an
angry gesture, and with an imperious wave of her hand, appealed to the
chiefs.
A conference ensued, long and secret, which will be unfolded in the
sequel. The honorable women of the tribe were instructed to minister
to the wants of the wanderer, and honors, such as even the haughty
daughter of Samoset had never before received, were lavished upon her.