The shades of night had begun to descend upon the island when Master
Corrie reached the summit of the mountain ridge that divided the bay in
which the _Foam_ was anchored from the settlement of Sandy Cove.
Close on his heels followed the indomitable Jo Bumpus, who panted
vehemently and perspired profusely from his unwonted exertions.
"Wot an object you are," exclaimed Corrie, gazing at the hot giant with
a look of mingled surprise and glee--for the boy's spirit was of that
nature which cannot repress a dash of fun even in the midst of anxiety
and sorrow. We would not have it understood that the boy ever
deliberately mingled the two things--joy and sorrow--at one and the same
time, but he was so irresistibly alive to the ludicrous, that a touch of
it was sufficient at any time to cause him to forget, for a brief apace,
his anxieties, whatever these might be.
Jo Bumpus smiled benignantly, and said that he "was glad to hear it."
For Jo had conceived for the boy that species of fondness which large
dogs are frequently known to entertain for small ones--permitting them
to take outrageous liberties with their persons which they would resent
furiously were they attempted by other dogs.
Presently the warm visage of Bumpus elongated, and his eyes opened
uncommonly wide as he stared at a particular spot in the ground;
insomuch that Corrie burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
"O Grampus, you'll kill me if you go on like that," said he; "I can't
stand it. Indeed I can't. Sich a face! D'ye know what it's like?"
Jo expressed no desire to become enlightened on this point, but
continued to gaze so earnestly that Corrie started up and
exclaimed--"What is it, Jo?"
"A fut!" replied Jo.
"A footprint, I declare!" shouted the boy, springing forward and
examining the print, which was pretty clearly defined in a little patch
of soft sand that lay on the bare rock. "Why, Jo, it's Poopy's. I'd
know it anywhere by the bigness of the little toe. How _can_ she have
come up here?"
"I say, lad, hist!" said Bumpus, in a hoarse whisper, "here's another
fut that don't belong to--what's her name--Puppy, did ye say?"
"Why, it's Alice's," whispered the boy, his face becoming instantly
grave, while an unwonted expression of anxiety crossed it, "and here's
that of a savage beside it. He must have changed his intention, or,
perhaps, he came this way to throw the people who were chasing them off
the scent."
Corrie was right. Finding that he was hotly pursued, Keona had taken
advantage of the first rocky ground he reached to diverge abruptly from
the route he had hitherto followed in his flight; and, the farther to
confuse his pursuers, he had taken the almost exhausted child up in his
arms and carried her a considerable distance, so that if his enemies
should fall again on his track the absence of the little footprints
might induce them to fancy they were following up a wrong scent.
In this he was so far successful, for the native settlers, as we have
seen, soon gave up the chase, and returned with one of the child's
shoes, which had fallen off unobserved by the savage.
But there was one of the pursuers who was far ahead of the others, and
who was urged to continue the chase by the strongest of all motives--
love. Poor Kekupoopi had no sooner heard of the abduction of her young
mistress, than she had set off at the top of her speed to a well-known
height in the mountains, whence, from a great distance, she could
observe all that went on below. On the wings of affection she had
flown, rather than walked, to this point of observation, and, to her
delight, saw not only the pursuers but the fugitives in the valley
below. She kept her glowing eyes fixed on them, hastening from rock to
rock and ridge to ridge, as intervening obstacles hid them from view,
until she saw the stratagem, just referred to, practised by Keona.
Then, feeling that she had no power of voice to let the pursuers know
what had occurred, and seeing that they would certainly turn back on
being baffled, she resolved to keep up the chase herself--trusting to
accident to afford her an opportunity of rendering aid to Alice; or,
rather, trusting to God to help her in her great difficulty, for the
poor child had been well trained in the missionary's house, and love had
been the teacher.
Taking a short cut down into the valley,--for she was well acquainted
with all the wild and rugged paths of the mountains in the immediate
neighbourhood of the settlement,--she was so fortunate as to reach a
narrow pass, through which Keona and Alice must needs go. Arriving
there a short time before they did, she was able to take a few minutes
rest before resuming the chase.
Little did the wily savage think that a pair of eyes as dark and bright,
though not so fierce as his own, were gazing at him from behind the
bushes as he sped up that narrow gorge.
Poor Alice was running and stumbling by his side; for the monster held
her by the hand and dragged her along, although she was scarcely able to
stand. The heart of the black girl well-nigh burst with anger when she
observed that both her shoes and stockings had been torn off in the
hasty flight, and that her tender feet were cut and bleeding.
Just as they reached the spot near which Poopy was concealed, the child,
sank with a low wail to the ground, unable to advance another step.
Keona seized her in his arms, and, uttering a growl of anger as he threw
her rudely over his shoulder, bore her swiftly away.
But, quick though his step was, it could not outrun that of the poor
little dark maiden who followed him like his shadow, carefully keeping
out of view, however, while her mind was was busy with plans for the
deliverance of her young mistress. The more she thought, the more she
felt how utterly hopeless would be any attempt that she could make,
either by force or stratagem, to pluck her from the grasp of one so
strong and subtle as Keona. At length she resolved to give up thinking
of plans altogether and take to prayer instead.
On reaching the highest ridge of the mountains, Keona suddenly stopped,
placed Alice on a flat rock and went to the top of a peak not more than
fifty yards off. Here he lay down and gazed long and earnestly over the
country through which they had just passed, evidently for the purpose of
discovering, if possible, the position and motions of his enemies.
Poopy, whose wits were sharpened by love, at once took advantage of her
opportunity. She crept on all fours towards the rock on which Alice
lay, in such a manner that it came between her person and the savage.
"Missy Alice! Oh! missy Alice! quick, look up, it's me--Poopy," said
the girl, raising her head cautiously above the edge of the rock.
Alice started up on one elbow, and was about to utter a scream of
delight and surprise, when her sable friend laid her black paw suddenly
on the child's pretty mouth and effectually shut it up.
"Hush! Alice; no cry. Savage hear and come back--kill Poopy bery much
quick. Listen. Me all alone. You bery clibber. Dry up eyes, no cry
any more. Look happy. God will save you. Poopy nebber leave you as
long as got her body in her soul."
Just at this point, Keona rose from his recumbent position, and the
girl, who had not suffered her eyes to move from him for a single
instant, at once sunk behind the rock and crept so silently away that
Alice could scarcely persuade herself that she had not been dreaming.
The savage returned, took the child's hand, led her over the brow of the
mountain, and began to descend by a steep rugged path to the valleys
lying on the other side of the island. But before going a hundred yards
down the dark gorge--which was rendered all the darker by the approach
of night--he turned abruptly aside; entered the mouth of a cavern and
disappeared.
Poopy was horrified at this unexpected and sudden change in the state of
things. For a long time she lay closely hid among the rocks within
twenty yards of the cave's mouth, expecting every moment to see the
fugitives issue from its dark recesses. But they did not reappear. All
at once it occurred to the girl that there might possibly be an exit
from the cavern at the other end of it, and that, while she was idly
waiting there, her little mistress and her savage captor might be
hastening down the mountain far beyond her reach.
Rendered desperate by this idea, she quitted her place of concealment,
and ran recklessly into the cavern. But the place was dark as Erebus,
and the ground was so rugged that she tripped and fell before she had
advanced into it more than fifty yards.
Bruised by the fall, and overawed by the gloom of her situation, the
poor girl lay still for some time where she had fallen, with bated
breath, and listening intently; but no sound struck her ear save the
beating of her own heart, which appeared to her unnaturally loud. Under
an impulse of terror, she rose and ran back into the open air.
Here it occurred to her that she might perhaps find the other outlet to
the cave--supposing that one really existed--by going round the hill and
carefully examining the ground on the other side. This, however, was a
matter requiring considerable time, and it was not until a full hour had
expired that she returned to the mouth of the cave, and sat down to rest
and consider what should be done next.
To enter the dark recesses of the place without a light she knew would
be impossible as well as useless, and she had no means of procuring a
light. Besides, even if she had, what good could come of her
exploration? The next impulse was to hasten back to the settlement at
full speed and guide a party to the place; but, was it likely that the
savage would remain long in the cave? This question suggested her
former idea of the possible existence of another outlet; and as she
thought upon Alice being now utterly beyond her reach, she covered her
face with her hands and burst into tears. After a short time she began
to pray. Then, as the minutes flew past, and her hopes sank lower and
lower, she commenced--like many a child of Adam who thinks himself
considerably wiser than a black girl--to murmur at her hard lot. This
she did in an audible voice, having become forgetful of, as well as
indifferent to, the chance of discovery.
"Oh! w'at for was me born?" she inquired, somewhat viciously, and, not
being able apparently to answer this question, she proceeded to comment
in a wildly sarcastic tone on the impropriety of her having been brought
into existence at all.
"Me should be dead. W'at's de use o' life w'en ums nothin' to live for?
Alice gone! Darling Alice! Oh! dear. Me wish I wasn't never had been
born; yes me do. Don't care for meself! Wouldn't give nuffin for
meself! Only fit to tend missy Alice! Not fit for nuffin else, and now
Alice gone--whar' to, nobody nose an' nobody care, 'xcept Poopy, who's
not worth a brass button!"
Having given utterance to this last expression, which she had acquired
from her friend Corrie, the poor girl began to howl in order to relieve
her insupportable feelings.
It was at this point in our story that Master Corrie, and his companion
the Grampus, having traced the before-mentioned footprints for a
considerable distance, became cognisant of sundry unearthly sounds, on
hearing which, never having heard anything like them before, these
wanderers stood still in attitudes of breathless attention and gazed at
each other with looks of indescribable amazement, not altogether unmixed
with a dash of consternation.