CAPTURED BY INDIANS
The more Anne thought about Brownie the more fearful she became that some
harm had befallen the pretty brown cow.
"Her foot may have caught in those twisted roots on the hill," thought the
little girl, "or perhaps the Indians have fastened her in the woods. I do
believe I could find her, and save Uncle Enos the trouble," and the more
Anne thought of it the more eager she became to search for Brownie; and,
on the day that the scarlet stockings were begun, Anne resolved to walk up
the hill and look about for the missing cow.
As she trudged along she thought of many things, of the gray wolf, which
had disappeared completely, having probably made its way up the cape to
better hunting grounds; and she thought a great deal about her father, and
of the day he had come to tell her of his safety. But Anne did not think
much about the Indians. The cape settlements had been on friendly terms
with the Chatham Indians for some time, and the people of Province Town
were more in peril from the freebooters of the sea than from Indians.
Anne had climbed the hill, passed the grove of scrubby pines, and stood
looking across the sand-dunes toward the open sea. She had looked
carefully for Brownie, but there was no trace of her. But Anne was sure
that, at the edge of the pine woods, some creature had been near her. She
had lived out-of-doors so much that her ears were quick to distinguish any
sound. At first she had wondered if it might not be the wolf, and, as she
stood looking across the sand, she almost hoped that it might be. "Perhaps
I could tame it and have it live at our house," she thought, and then
remembered what Aunt Martha had said: that it would be a hard winter, "and
wolves eat a good deal, I suppose," decided Anne, "so 'twill not be wise
to tame it."
Had she looked behind her she would not have felt so secure. An Indian
woman had been following Anne, and was now within arm's reach of her. And
Anne had just come to her decision in regard to the wolf, when a blanket
fell over her head, was quickly twisted about her, and she felt herself
lifted from the ground. Then she heard a chatter of voices in a strange
tongue, and realized that she was being carried away from the pine woods.
She tried to free herself from the blanket, and tried to call out; but she
could not move, and her voice made only a muffled sound. She heard a laugh
from the squaw who was carrying her so easily, and in a moment felt
herself dropped on the soft sand, and held down firmly for a moment. Then
she lay quietly. She knew, though she could not see, that a canoe was
being launched. There was talk among a number of people near her, and then
she was lifted and put into the canoe, and again firmly held by a strong
arm. Then came the smooth dip of paddles, and Anne knew that she was being
taken away from home, and she felt the tears on her cheeks. She did not
try to scream again, for there had been a rough twist of the blanket about
her head when she cried out before, and she was held too firmly to
struggle. She could hear the guttural voices of the Indians, and, after
what seemed a long time, she realized that her captors were making a
landing. She was again dropped on sand, and now the blanket was unwound
and Anne stood up. She found herself facing three Indian women. Two of
them frowned at her, but the younger smiled and nodded, and patted Anne's
shoulder.
[Illustration: A BLANKET FELL OVER HER HEAD]
The two elder squaws began to talk rapidly, but the one who stood beside
Anne remained silent. The canoe was lifted from the beach by the two, as
they talked, and carried up toward the rough pasture-land. Anne's
companion took her by the hand and led her after the others.
"I want to go right home," Anne announced. "You must take me right back to
Captain Stoddard's." The young squaw shook her head, still smiling, and
Anne realized that her companion could not understand what she said. The
little girl stopped short, and then the smile faded from the squaw's face;
she gave her an ugly twitch forward, and when Anne still refused to move a
stinging blow on the cheek followed. Anne began to cry bitterly. She was
now thoroughly frightened, and began to wonder what would become of her.
The squaws hid the canoe carefully, covering it up with vines and brush,
and then started along the shore. Anne and her companion now kept close to
the other two. And the three squaws talked together. Now and then they
would stop, and shading their eyes with one hand, look seaward as if
watching for some expected boat, but none appeared. Anne's bare feet began
to ache. She believed they would be blistered, but the women paid no
attention to her. Anne knew that they were very near the Truro beach. She
could see the big waves dashing up in a long curving line, and as they
came round a high cliff of sand they came suddenly upon a big fishing-boat
drawn up on the beach. Two sailors stood by it. In an instant the squaws
had turned to flee, dragging Anne with them. But she screamed, and threw
herself down on the sand. The sailors came running toward them, and the
Indian women fled.
"It's a white child," exclaimed one of the men, picking Anne up, and
wiping her face with a big soft handkerchief. "What were they doing with
you, child?" And leaning against his friendly arm, Anne told her story,
and showed her bruised feet.
"'Tis lucky for you we put ashore," said the man. "We'll take you home,
little maid, safe and sound."
"You are not from Province Town?" Anne ventured to ask, looking up into
the kind blue eyes.
"We are good English sailors, my girl," the other man answered her
question, "and we borrowed this boat from a settler up shore to get fish
for His Majesty's ship 'Somerset'; but we'll take you safe home, never
fear."
The blue-eyed man lifted Anne into the boat, and the two men were soon
pulling strongly at the oars.
"'Tis a stiff pull to Province Town, but the tide's with us, William,"
said the last speaker.
Anne sat very quiet. She was wondering if Aunt Martha had missed her, and
if Uncle Enos would blame her for having wandered to the outer beach. She
looked up to see the sailor whom his companion called "William" smiling at
her.
"Do not be afraid," he said kindly; "the folks at home will be glad to see
you, and you'll not be scolded."
Anne tried to smile back. She wanted to ask him if he had any little girls
of his own; but she remembered that he was an Englishman, and decided that
it was best not to say anything.
"Can you walk across the pasture if we set you ashore near here?" asked
the sailor, when they had reached the smooth beach near where Anne had
been seized by the Indians. "You'll not be troubled again, and we cannot
well round the point to-night."
"I can get home from here. I see the pine woods," Anne agreed, and the men
ran the boat well up on the beach, and William lifted her out.
"'Tis hard for those tender feet," he said, "but be quick as you can. My
name is William Trull, if your folks ask who 'twas that fetched you home,
and my mate's name here is Richard Jones."
"Thank you; my name is Anne Nelson," Anne replied.
She turned back and waved her hand to them when she had reached the land
above the shore, and saw them push off their boat and row away. It was
very hard now to walk over the rough ground, and Anne felt very tired and
unhappy. She kept steadily on, and was soon in sight of home. Mistress
Stoddard and Captain Enos were both standing in the doorway looking
anxiously toward her.
"Well, well, Anne, and do you think you should stay away like this? And
what has become of your sunbonnet?" questioned Mrs. Stoddard.
"Indians!" wailed Anne. "Indian women, Aunt Martha! They carried me off,"
and, with Mrs. Stoddard's arm about her, and Captain Enos listening in
angry amazement, Anne told the story of her adventure.
"'twas an evil thing!" declared the captain. "I'm thankful the English
sailors were on shore. I'll remember their names."
Mrs. Stoddard bathed the tired feet, and Anne was quite hungry enough to
relish the hot corn bread, even though she had no milk to drink with it.
"We must be careful about letting the child wander about alone," Captain
Enos said, after Anne was safe in bed that night. "'Twould be ill-fortune
indeed if harm befell her."
"I'll keep her more at home," replied Mrs. Stoddard. "She is to begin
knitting now, and that will give her amusement indoors."
"'Tis said that English soldiers are coming into Boston by land and sea,"
said Captain Enos. "We Province Town people are exempt from military
service, but we are loyal to the American forces, and some of us think the
time is near when we must let you women stay here by yourselves," and
Captain Enos looked at his wife questioningly.
"We'd do our best, Enos, be sure of that," she answered bravely, "and I'd
have Anne for company, if you're needed in Boston."
"If we stood any chance of getting there," complained Captain Enos,
"without the Britishers making us prisoners. No boat gets by them, I'm
told."
"Talk no more of it to-night, Enos. Mayhap things may be settled soon, and
these unhappy days well over," and Mistress Stoddard stepped to the door
and looked out on the peaceful little settlement. "We have great cause to
rejoice this night that our little maid is safe at home," she said.
"I'll make a good search for Brownie to-morrow," declared Captain Enos,
"but I fear now that the Indians have her."
The good couple decided that it would be best to say as little of Anne's
adventure as possible, and to tell her not to talk of it to her
playmates.
"I'll caution the mothers," said Mrs. Stoddard, "but 'Tis no use for our
little people to frighten themselves by wondering about Indians. Maybe
they will not come near us again, and they'll not dare to make another
mistake." So but little was made of Anne's escape from the squaws,
although the children now stayed at home more closely, and Anne did not
often stray far from Aunt Martha.