The next night Anacaona made her escape, and for hours she fled, following the banks of the river. As morning began to dawn, the weary girl threw herself down on the grass, and fell asleep. She knew not how long she slept, but when she awoke, it was with a cry of terror, for the wild whoops of the Indians were ringing in her ears, and she knew that the tribe of her captor were on her track. She listened a moment, but there were no friendly sounds mingling with the savage yell. She looked around, but there was no aid, no refuge near—and on she fled. A huge rock was before her; she saw at a glance that the ascent was difficult, but nothing daunted the fearless girl, and up its steep and rugged side she pushed. The horrid yells of the savages fell more and more distinctly on her ear, and when she reached the summit of the rock, they were close behind. There was no escape, and Anacaona stretching out her arms to heaven, uttered a shriek of despair, and leaped off into the foaming river beneath. Alas! for the unfortunate Anacaona! Had she delayed one moment, she would have heard her father’s and her lover’s loud cry. Her little canoe had fulfilled its mission, and the wild wood was full of armed braves thronging to deliver or avenge her. Wyamoke and his tribe from afar had seen Anacaona’s fatal leap, and all the fierce passions of their nature were stirred within them. Canabo and his warriors were between them and the rock, and were driven up on to it with terrible slaughter. The Coriaks posted themselves at its base in force, and for days and days besieged their foes. Every sortie was successfully opposed, and individual attempts at escape foiled. Cooped up on that rock, starvation stared the Pinxies in the face—despair reigned among them; some of the warriors, resolving both to end their lives and take revenge, rushed down the rock—notwithstanding their efforts they were slain; others sang their death-song, and threw themselves off into the river and perished; others, with Indian calmness, laid themselves down to die of starvation. On the evening of the fourth day, a young Indian girl came to Wyamoke. She told him she had been kind to Anacaona, and assisted her to escape, and in return she only asked to join her lover on the rock. Way was made for her to pass, and Nainee wound her way up the difficult path, amid the dead and dying of her tribe. Her young lover saw her coming, and met her. They looked over the sad scene and talked mournfully together, she leading him toward the edge of the rock; the brave hesitated a moment—then clasping her in his arms, leaped off into the stream; and the two beautiful Indian girls, Nainee and Anacaona, slept beneath the same bright waters.