Chapter 22

"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.