Satanstoe; Or, the Littlepage Manuscripts. A Tale of the ColonyCooper, James Fenimore
General
Satanstoe; Or, the Littlepage Manuscripts. A Tale of the Colony
Cooper, James Fenimore
Antirent War, N.Y., 1839-1846 -- Fiction
From that moment the temporary imbecility of Anneke vanished, and I found
her, for the remainder of the time we remained in jeopardy, quick to
apprehend, and ready to second all my efforts. It was this passing
submission to an imaginary doom, on the one hand, and the headlong effect
of sudden fright on the other, which had separated the two girls, and which
had been the means of dividing the whole party as described.
I scarcely know how to describe what followed. So intense was my
apprehension on behalf of Anneke, that I can safely say, I did not think
of my own fate, in the slightest degree, as disconnected from hers. The
self-devoted reliance with which the dear girl seemed to place all her
dependence on me, would, of itself, have produced this effect, had she not
possessed my whole heart, as I was now so fully aware. Moments like those,
make one alive to all the affections, and strip off every covering that
habit or the dissembling of our manners is so apt to throw over the
feelings. I believe I both spoke and acted towards Anneke, as one would
cling to, or address the being dearest to him in the world, for the next
few minutes; but, I can suppose the reader will naturally prefer learning
what we did, under such circumstances, rather than what we said, or how we
felt.
I repeat, it is not easy for me to describe what followed. I know we first
rather ran, than walked, across the channel on which I had last seen the
dim forms of Guert and Mary, and even crossed the island to its eastern
side, in the hope of being able to reach the shore in that quarter. The
attempt was useless, for we found the water running down over the ice like
a race-way. Nothing could be seen of our late companions; and my loud and
repeated calls to them were unanswered.
“Our case is hopeless, Cornelius,” said Anneke; speaking with a forced
calmness when she found retreat impossible in that direction, “Let us
return to the sleigh, and submit to the will of God!”
“Beloved Anneke!--Think of your father, and summon your whole strength.
The bed of the river is yet firm; we will cross it, and try the opposite
shore.”
Cross it we did, my delicate companion being as much sustained by my
supporting arm, as by her own resolution but we found the same obstacle
to retreat interposing there also. The island above had turned the waters
aside, until they found an outlet under each bank--shooting along their
willowy shores, with the velocity of arrows. By this time, owing to our
hurried movement, I found Anneke so far exhausted, that it was absolutely
necessary to pause a minute to take breath. This pause was also necessary,
in order to look about us, and to decide understandingly as to the course
it was necessary now to pursue. This pause, brief as it was, moreover,
contributed largely to the apparent horrors of our situation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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