American fiction -- 19th century; Historical fiction; Indians of North America -- Fiction
Just as le Bourdon began to think this last-mentioned purpose had
been accomplished, he heard low voices directly to windward, and the
splashing of water, as if more than one man was coming down upon him,
forcing the stalks of the plants aside. He grasped the rifle, and let
the canoe drift, which it did slowly, under the power of the wind,
notwithstanding the protection of the cover. The swimmers forced their
way through the stalks; but it was evident, just then, that they
were more occupied by their present pursuit than in looking for him.
Presently a canoe came brushing through the rice, forced by the wind,
and dragged by two savages, one of whom swam on each bow. The last did
not see the bee-hunter, or his canoe, the one nearest having his face
turned in the opposite direction; but they were distinctly seen by the
former. Surprised that a seizure should be made with so little fracas,
le Bourdon bent forward to look the better, and, as the stern of the
strange canoe came almost under his eyes, he saw the form of Margery
lying in its bottom. His blood curdled at this sight; for his first
impression was, that the charming young creature had been killed and
scalped; but there being no time to lose, he sprang lightly from one
canoe to the other, carrying the rifle in his hand. As he struck in
the bottom of the boat of Gershom, he heard his name uttered in a
sweet female voice, and knew that Margery was living. Without stopping,
however, to inquire more, he moved to the head of the canoe, and, with
a sharp blow on the fingers, made each of the savages release his grasp.
Then, seizing the rice-plants, he dragged the little craft swiftly to
windward again. All this was done, as it might be, in an instant; the
savages and the canoe being separated some twenty feet, in much less
time than is required to relate the occurrence.
“Bourdon, are you injured?” asked Margery, her voice trembling with
anxiety.
“Not in the least, dear Margery--and you, my excellent girl?”
“They caught my canoe, and I almost died of fright; but they have only
dragged it toward the shore.”
“God be praised! Is there any paddle in the canoe?”
“There are several--one is at your feet, Bourdon--and here, I have
another.”
“Then, let us search for my canoe, and get out of the rice. If we can
but find my canoe, we shall be safe enough, for the savages have nothing
in which to cross the river. Keep your eyes about you, Margery, and look
among the rice for the other boat.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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