"So full of passion were his amorous glances,
So artfully the wicked jade dissembled,
So well each sighed ridiculous romances,
That for them both, I vow, I fairly trembled."
ANONYMOUS.
During the absence of the Knight and his young friend, events had
occurred which require us to shift the scene of our theatre to Boston
and its environs.
The indefatigable Spikeman continued to prosecute his intrigues with
his accustomed audacity. The evil passion which he had conceived for
the pretty Prudence, so far from being checked by the repulses he
received from the wily maiden--repulses which left room for hope--only
stimulated to redoubled exertion. He was like a sportsman, whose
eagerness in the pursuit of game is only heightened by its shyness and
difficulty of capture; and, with no disparagement of the virtue of the
coquettish girl, it must be admitted that, for the want of something
better to exercise her active faculties, (the difficulties of her
interviews with Philip having increased since his banishment,) she
found a mischievous delight in the power she possessed over Spikeman,
and in playing off her caprices at his expense. So far, indeed, by her
blandishments, had she succeeded in blinding his eyes and subjecting
him to her power, that she herself wondered at her success. The path
which she was treading was dangerous, but her youthful presumption,
and the pleasure she derived from the influence which the insane
passion of the Assistant gave her over him, stopped her ears to the
warnings of prudence and the suggestions of propriety. If Philip Joy,
whom with no divided affection she loved in her own way, had known
all, he would scarcely have been so contented at the dwelling of Sir
Christopher. Yet, as we have seen, did Prudence make no secret to
Philip of the admiration of Spikeman; and, after the first
conversation in which she disclosed it, had more than once laughed
with him at the advances of her antiquated lover. But her disclosures
were made in such a manner--with such a half-telling of the
truth--with such a revelation here, and a concealment there, as to
provoke more merriment than apprehension.
Nor, while indulging a feeling which cannot be called love, was
Spikeman regardless of his hatreds. He strove by every means to excite
distrust and ill-will against Sir Christopher and Arundel. As for the
humble Philip, he hardly looked upon him any longer as a rival, such
had been the success of the deceitful Prudence. With these preliminary
observations, the reader is prepared for what follows.
It was at the house of the Assistant Spikeman, and there were no
persons in the room save himself and Prudence. The door was closed,
and the girl was standing with a besom in one hand, while the
Assistant, who was seated, had hold of the other, and was looking up
into her hazel eyes. He drew her down with a force which was not
resisted, and imprinted a kiss on the cheek she half averted.
"Prudence," he said, "how long shall I languish? Verily am I as one
who longs for the dawn."
"You do not love me half as much as you pretend," said the girl, still
standing by his side, and suffering her hand to be pressed by his.
"There is too wide a difference betwixt us, and I am all the time
afraid you are only making a fool of me."
"By this palm, softer than the down of the cygnet; by thy lips, redder
than rubies; by thy diamond eyes, I swear I love thee dearer than my
own soul," exclaimed Spikeman.
"How can you speak of your soul," said Prudence, smiling as she spoke,
"when you know you are talking and acting like a wicked man?"
"Canst thou not understand the liberty of the saints? Is it not
written, that to him only who thinketh a thing to be evil, it is evil?
Surely, I have explained all this, even unto weariness?"
"Aye, it may be so with thee; but I am no saint. I am afraid I'm doing
very wrong."
"If you thought so," replied the Assistant, gently drawing her down
upon his lap, "would you occupy this place; would a smile beautify
those intoxicating lips, and would I read paradise in thine eyes?"
Prudence threw her arm round Spikeman's neck, and sunk her face upon
his shoulder, as if to evince her tenderness and hide her blushes, but
in truth, to conceal a disposition to laugh.
"I wish," she said, presently raising her head, and looking Spikeman
bewitchingly in the face, "I knew whether you really mean what you
say?"
"Thou art unjust to me, Prudence. Have I not given every possible
proof of affection? What hast thou asked that I have withheld? Have I
not treated thee as the elect lady of my soul?"
"Nay, there be some things which you refuse to tell me. I am foolish,"
she added, forcing some moisture into her eyes; "but--but--"
"But what, O garden of delights?" asked Spikeman, kissing the
hypocritical tears away.
"When you refuse me anything, I think you do not love--love me."
"Ask, and thou wilt be convinced of the contrary."
"I am but a woman," she said, looking at him with a smile so sweet
that we almost pardon poor Spikeman his infatuation, "and I feel like
dying when I know there is a secret, and cannot get at the bottom of
it."
"What secret? I understand thee not."
"If you yourself had not dropped a hint, I had never thought of it;
but it was about this Knight they call Sir Christopher Gardiner, whom
Governor Winthrop thinks so much of."
"We will cure him of that folly. What foolish thing have I said to
this girl?" thought the Assistant. "Prudence," he added, "this is a
matter that cannot concern thee. Thou wouldst not have me speak of
secrets of State?"
"Said I not right!" exclaimed Prudence, rising, and preparing to leave
the room, "that your love was but a pretext? How, I want to know, is a
secret of State better than any other? Now, had I given poor Philip
half the encouragement which my silly fondness for thee--O, dear!--"
and she put her hands up to her eyes.
"Come," said Spikeman, pursuing and bringing her back, "name not the
presumptuous varlet. On one condition I will tell thee, even though it
ruin me."
"What may that be?" inquired the girl.
"I have long solicited an interview where we should not be liable to
interruption. Grant me that, and I will conceal nothing."
"Thou dost grant nothing without a condition. I do not know," she
added, tossing her head, "whether I care anything, after all, about
this mystery. I dare say there is nothing in it, and, as you say, it
concerns me not."
"Be not angry, sweet Prudence. Ask, and I will answer all thy
questions."
"You know, too, how much I would do to pleasure you," sighed Prudence.
"Ah! me, how weak a thing is a woman's heart."
"Then you will not deny me? Know then that letters have arrived from
England, charging this knight, or pretended knight, with diverse grave
offences."
"And what may they be?" inquired the girl.
"He is complained of as a fugitive from justice," answered Spikeman,
who meant to communicate no more information than he was obliged to.
"The sweet, handsome gentleman! I do not believe he ever harmed any
one. But what did he?"
"Of that I am not positively informed, not having seen the epistles,
they being addressed to private persons."
"Have they anything against Master Miles, too?" asked Prudence.
"I doubt not that he is the worse of the two, if all were known."
"These be dreadful lies about the nicest and properest men in the
country," cried Prudence. "And what will be done with them when they
come back?"
"That I cannot tell; but be sure we shall find some means of getting
rid of them. And now, Prudence--"
"I do not know that I made any promise," she said, archly; "and you
have told me very little, after all."
"I have told thee all I know. Keep now equal good faith with me."
"It would be very improper," said the girl, turning away her face, "to
invite a man to a secret meeting; but I sometimes wander on the edge
of the forest to gather wild flowers, and hear the birds sing, and if
you should come thither by accident, at the same time, nobody, I
suppose, would find fault."
"But when--but when, lovely Prudence? Ah! you comprehend not the
longing of my soul."
"That I cannot say now. I am only a servant girl, and must obey the
directions of my mistress, which are often very unreasonable, and
order not my time."
"Would I were a king, for your sake! But shall it be soon?"
"As soon as may be, and I will let you know the time and place." So
saying, she broke away from the enamored Spikeman, and ran to acquaint
her young mistress with all that had happened.
The young lady felt seriously alarmed at the communication of her
confidante--an alarm increased by the vagueness of the information, as
in a dark night the fearful imagination invests with terrors some
object, which, in the light of day, proves to be a harmless bush or
stump--and the two young women consulted together if any thing could
be done to avert the threatened danger. They could think of nothing
better than to acquaint Arundel with it, which Prudence took upon
herself to do.
"But how," inquired Eveline, "is it to be done?"
"You forget Philip Joy, madam," said Prudence.
"I might have known better than to distrust your wiles and stratagems,
you cunning girl," said her mistress; "but have a care of thyself. I
sometimes feel much anxiety on thy account--but I forbid this meeting
with Master Spikeman."
"An' it be so," answered the waiting-maid, pouting, "you may find some
one else, Mistress Eveline, to tell you about the plots of the old
dragon, who has us in his claws."
"For shame, thou petulant thing! yet tell me now all thy design."
"You tell me not all your thoughts about Master Miles, and why should
I acquaint you with mine about Joe?" said Prudence, bursting into a
laugh.
"There is some difference, methinks, between the cases--have thy way
though. I have confidence in thee, Prudence, and believe thee as witty
as pretty. Thy own goodness and love for the soldier Joy shall stand
by thee like guardian angels, to save from harm. Yet like I not this
tampering with anything that looks like evil."
The girl knelt down by the side of her mistress, and taking the young
lady's hand, laid it on her heart.
"Thou feelest," she said, "how it beats. Dost understand what it
says?"
"Methinks it repeats only, Philip, Philip, Philip," said Eveline,
smiling.
"Where one fillip belongs to him, a great many belong to thee,"
answered the waiting-maid, affectionately. "It will be time enough to
let him have more when I am sure all his are mine."
The young lady bent down, and, throwing her arms round the maiden's
neck, kissed her cheek.
"What have I done to deserve such affection?" she murmured. "O,
Prudence, thou art a treasure to me; but be cautious, be cautious, my
girl. Not for all the blessings which thy loving heart would heap upon
me, would I have the least harm befall thee."
A few days after, as the summer sun was setting, and his last rays
lighting up the tops of the trees into a yellow sheen, and kindling
into liquid gold the placid surface of Massachusetts Bay, a female
figure was to be seen hovering on the margin of the wood in that
neighborhood. In consequence of the inequalities of the ground, and of
some intervening bushes and trees, the collection of houses that lay
along the shore of the bay was not visible from the spot where she was
walking, nor was there a path to indicate that it was a place of any
resort. It seemed to be a spot well adapted to privacy. No sound was
to be heard, save the occasional tap of a woodpecker, or the whirr of
the wings of a partridge, as, startled by the approach of the person,
he suddenly rose into the air, or the songs of the robins, bidding
farewell, in sweet and plaintive notes, to the disappearing sun. The
female walked on, stopping now and then to gather a wild flower, until
she reached a spring which bubbled at the foot of an immense beech
tree. It ran a rod or two in a silvery stream from its fountain, and
then leaping down a miniature fall into a sort of natural basin,
surrounded with rocks, expanded itself into a small pool, as clear as
crystal. Around the basin were gathered companies of such wood-flowers
as love the water, conspicuous among which, both for number and
beauty, were the yellow and orange blossoms of the elegant "jewels,"
as boys call them. Advancing to this little mirror, the female took a
seat on one of the rocks, on the edge of the water, and bending over,
appeared to contemplate, with no little satisfaction, what she beheld
there; and to tell the truth, it was a pretty face, and justified some
vanity. Black hair and hazel eyes, red lips and blooming cheeks, and a
well-formed person, composed a whole whereon the eye rested with
pleasure. Prudence, (you have guessed it was she,) after looking at
the reflection of herself awhile, and smoothing down a stray tress or
two, selected from the flowers in her hand some of the most beautiful,
and humming a tune, commenced arranging them in her hair. She was some
little time about her toilette, either because her taste was difficult
to be suited, or because her employment afforded an excuse for looking
at what was certainly more attractive than the flowers themselves. She
was so long about their arrangement, that she had hardly completed it,
and had time to twist her neck into only five or six attitudes, to see
how they became her, when a rustling was heard in the bushes, and
immediately the Assistant Spikeman stood by her side.
"Verily, sweet maiden," he said, "thine eyes outshine the stars, which
will soon twinkle in the sky, and the flowers around thee pine with
envy at beholding a blush lovelier than their own."
A sudden and unpleasant interruption put a stop to the fine speeches
of the debauched hypocrite, for he had hardly concluded the sentence,
when, without a warning, a strong hand grasped his throat, and he was
hurled with irresistible violence to the ground. As the Assistant was
lying prostrate on his face, he could hear Prudence, with screams,
each fainter than the former, running in the direction of the
settlement, while, without a word being spoken, his arms were
violently forced upon his back and bound, an operation which his
struggles were unable to prevent. This being performed, he was
suffered to rise, and, upon gaining his feet, he saw himself in the
presence of Sassacus. The blood fled the cheeks and lips of Spikeman
as he beheld the savage, and felt that he was in the hands of one
whom, without cause, he had injured, and who belonged to that wild
race, with whom revenge is a duty as well as a pleasure. His knees
trembled, and he was in danger of falling to the ground, as the
thought of death, whereof horrid torments should be the precursors,
flashed through his mind. But the trepidation was only momentary, and
soon, with the hardihood of his audacious nature, he steeled himself
to dare whatever should follow--and it marks the character of the man,
that the bitterness of the moment was aggravated at the thought of the
vanishing of the fond dreams with which he had idly fed his
imagination.
His captor called out in his own language, and presently another
Indian came running up. A few words passed between them, when the
latter stepping forward, Sassacus made a motion to Spikeman to follow,
placing himself at the same time in the rear. Resistance would have
been unavailing, and could serve no other purpose than to rouse the
passions of the Indians, and invite immediate injury. Something might
yet happen to his advantage. He might be rescued, or effect his
escape, or the chapter of accidents might have something else
favorable, he knew not what, in store. The Assistant, therefore,
quietly submitted, and followed as ordered.
Their course lay directly through the densest portions of the forest,
and as the rapidity of their progress was impeded by the constrained
position of the captive's arms, Sassacus, as if in contempt of any
effort to escape, cut the ligatures with the knife that hung at his
neck, intimating the motive at the same time by an acceleration of
speed. As Spikeman was thus hurried along, his thoughts went after
Prudence, and he wondered what had become of her. Notwithstanding his
own peril, he felt (and it proves the deep interest he cherished for
the girl) a melancholy pleasure in the hope that she had escaped, not
that even though she had fallen into the hands of the savages, he
would have entertained fears for her life, but she might have been
doomed to a hopeless captivity, far away from friends, whom she was
never to see again, and condemned, in some distant wigwam, to exchange
the comforts of civilization for a wild life, which, to her, could
bring only wretchedness. Bad as was Spikeman, and lamentable as might
be his infatuation for the girl, there was even in that, something
which redeemed it from being utter evil.
Daylight had now faded entirely away, but the Indians abated not their
speed, and pursued their course in a straight line, as though guided
by an infallible instinct. In this manner they proceeded for nearly
two hours, and, at the expiration of the time, arrived at a collection
of three or four lodges of the rudest structure. Several of the
natives were lying on the ground, smoking their pipes, but they took
no other notice of the newcomers than looking at them as they came up.
Sassacus led the way into the largest wigwam, and, having directed his
prisoner to sit down, left the cabin.
Spikeman knew well enough that, with all this seeming inattention, he
was vigilantly watched, yet could he not forbear from walking to the
entrance, looking around at the same time, if, by chance, he might
espy a weapon. He saw none, however, and two stout Indians made
motions to him to return. Meditating on his situation, and casting
about in his mind for expedients, either to evade his captors or to
change the resolution of the Pequot chief, which, he doubted not,
aimed at his life, he resumed his seat. He was unable to remain more
than a few moments in quiet, and presently again approached the
opening, and this time beheld a sight which curdled his blood.
It was a stake driven into the ground, at a distance of not more than
a rod from where he stood, around which several Indians were heaping
up faggots of dry sticks and broken branches. Spikeman shuddered, and
tasted, in almost as lively a manner as if he were already
experiencing them, the agonies that awaited him, for he could not
doubt that the preparations were made on his account. The conduct of
his keepers, therefore, was unnecessary, who pointed first to the
pile, and then to himself, intimating thereby that one was designed
for the other. The effect produced on him was such that he could
hardly restrain himself from attempting to burst through his guards,
either by some miracle to get free, or to obtain an easier death from
the tomahawk or arrow. But in all the horrors of these dreadful
moments, the mind of Spikeman remained as clear as ever, and he saw
plainly the impossibility of evasion, and the folly of supposing that
the Indians would be tempted to throw a tomahawk, or discharge an
arrow against an unarmed man, whereby they might rob themselves of the
fiendish pleasure they anticipated--besides, thought the miserable
Spikeman, I should be more likely to receive the stroke of death when
their passions are excited, than at present; and with a desperate
calmness, and striving to defy the worst, he awaited what should
happen.