Prisoners of Hope: A Tale of Colonial VirginiaJohnston, Mary
History
Prisoners of Hope: A Tale of Colonial Virginia
Johnston, Mary
Virginia -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775 -- Fiction
Before them was a steeply sloping, grass-grown ascent rising to a broken
line of cliffs, scarred and gray, crowned with cedars and hung here and
there with crimson creepers, and with a chance medley of huge gray
boulders scattered about their base. Up this ascent they labored, so
slowly that the crags seemed like the mountain in the Arabian tale, ever
receding as they advanced. Twice Landless staggered and fell to his
knee, but when, after what seemed an eternity of pain and distress, they
reached the summit and Patricia would have had him rest, he shook his
head and motioned with his hand towards the narrow, boulder-strewn
plateau at the foot of the crags.
With her accustomed unquestioning obedience she turned towards the
rocks, and after another interval of painful toil they found themselves
in a sort of rocky chamber, a natural blockhouse, of which the sheer
cliff formed one wall and boulders of varying height and shape the
others.
Above them gleamed the blue sky; through the gaps between the rocks they
looked down upon the shining river and the parti-colored woods, and
behind them towered the cliffs. A strong wind was blowing and it sent
red leaves from the vines that draped the rock whirling down upon them.
"The tall gray crags," said Patricia in a strange voice, "and the
Martinmas wind. The river flowing in the sunshine too."
Landless sank upon the rocky floor. "I can go no further," he said. "God
help me!"
"I do not think another man could have come so far," she answered. "What
are we to do now?"
"You must go on without me."
She cried out angrily, "What do you mean? I don't understand you."
"Listen," he said earnestly, dragging himself closer to her. "We can be
but a very few leagues from the falls, still fewer from the Indian
villages above them. Reach one of those villages and you are safe from
these devils at least. We have kept the start of them. They may not
reach this spot for several hours, and when they come, I will keep them
here, God helping me, for more hours than one. This place is a natural
fortress, and they have no guns. They will not take me until my
ammunition is exhausted, and you know there is store of bullets and
powder. They will think that you are with me, hidden behind the rocks--"
"And I shall be with you!" she cried vehemently.
"No, no. You must go through this pass in the cliff to the right of us,
and thence down the river with all your speed. Please God, to-morrow
will find you in safety. It is the only way. To stay here is to fall
into their hands. And you must not delay. You must go at once."
"And you--" she said in a whisper.
"What does it matter if I lose my life to-day instead of a few weeks
hence? I grieve for this," with a glance at his foot, "because it keeps
me from being with you, from guarding you into perfect safety. Otherwise
it does not matter. You lose time, madam."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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