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
I was compelled to wait for Anneke, who fell upon her knees, and remained
there quite a minute, before I could aid her in ascending the steep
acclivity which formed the western bank of the Hudson, at this particular
point. We reached the top, however, after a little delay, and pausing once
or twice to take breath; when we first became really sensible of the true
character of the scene from which we had been delivered. Dim as was the
light, there was enough to enable us to overlook a considerable reach of
the river, from that elevated stand. The Hudson resembled chaos rushing
headlong between the banks. As for the cakes of ice--some darting past
singly, and others piled as high as houses--of course, the stream was
filled with such; but, a large, dark object was seen coming through that
very channel, over which Anneke and I had stood, less than an hour before,
sailing down the current with fearful rapidity. It was a house; of no great
size, it is true, but large enough to present a singular object on the
river. A bridge, of some size, followed; and a sloop, that had been borne
away from the wharves of Albany, soon appeared in the strange assemblage,
that was thus suddenly collected on this great artery of the colony.
But the hour was late; Anneke was yet to care for; it was necessary to seek
a shelter. Still supporting my lovely companion, who now began to express
her uneasiness on account of her father, and her other friends, I held the
way inland; knowing that there was a high road parallel to the river, and
at no great distance from it. We reached the highway, in the course of ten
minutes, and turned our faces northward, as the direction which led towards
Albany. We had not advanced far before I heard the voices of men, who were
coming towards us; and glad was I to recognise that of Dirck Follock among
the number. I called aloud, and was answered by a shout of exultation,
which, as I afterwards discovered, spontaneously broke out of his mouth,
when he recognised the form of Anneke. Dirck was powerfully agitated when
we joined him; I had never, previously, seen anything like such a burst of
feeling from him; and it was some time before I could address him.
“Of course, your whole party is safe?” I asked, a little doubtingly; for
I had actually given up all who had been in Herman Mordaunt's sleigh for
lost.
“Yes, thank God! all but the sleigh and horses. But where are Guert Ten
Eyck and Miss Wallace?”
“Gone ashore on the other side of the river; we parted, and they took that
direction, while we came hither.” I said this to quiet Anneke's fears; but
I had misgivings about their having got off the river at all. “But let me
know the manner of your own escape.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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