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By Frank R. Stockton
Originally published in 1896
There she was taken care of. Food and drink
were given her. Her wounds were dressed and
treated after the Indian fashion. In due course of
time she recovered her health and strength, and
there – living in a wigwam, among the women and
children of the village, pounding corn, cooking food,
carrying burdens as did the Indian women – she remained for some time, not daring even to try to
escape; for in that wild country there was no place
of safety to which it was possible for her to flee.
Although there was a good deal of bad feeling
between the Indians and the whites at that time,
they still traded and communicated with each other;
and when, in the course of time, it became known
in New Amsterdam that there was a white woman
held as a prisoner in this Indian camp, there was
every reason to suppose that this woman was the
young wife who had been left on the seacoast by
the survivors of the wreck. Consequently some of
the men who had been her fellow-passengers came
over to the Indian camp, which was not far from
where Middletown now stands. Here, as they had
expected, they found Penelope, and demanded that
the Indians should give her up.
After some discussion, it was agreed that the matter
should be left with Penelope herself; and the old Indian
who had saved her life went to her, – for of course, being
an inferior, she was not present at the conference, – and put the question before her. Here she was,
with a comfortable wigwam, plenty to eat and drink,
good Indian clothes to wear, as well treated as any
Indian woman, and, so far as he could see, with everything
to make her comfortable and happy; and here
she might stay if she chose. On the other hand, if
she wished to go to New Amsterdam, she would find
there no one with whom she was acquainted, except
the people who had rowed away and left her on that
desolate coast, and who might have come in search of
her a long time before if they really had cared anything
about her. If she wanted to live here among
friends who had been kind to her, and be taken care
of, she could do so; if she wanted to go away and
live among people who had deserted her, and who
appeared to have forgotten her, she could do that.
Very much to the surprise of this good Indian,
Penelope declared that she should prefer to go and
live among people of her own race and country ; and
so, much to the regret of her Indian friends, she departed
for New Amsterdam with the men who had
come for her.
A year or two after Penelope had gone back to
New Amsterdam, being then about twenty-two, she
married an Englishman named Richard Stout, who
afterwards became an important personage. He, with
other settlers, went over to New Jersey and founded
a little village, which was called Middletown, not far
from the Indian camp where Penelope had once been
a prisoner. The Indians still remained in this camp,
but now they appeared to be quite friendly to the
whites; and the new settlers did not consider that
there was anything dangerous in having these red
neighbors. The good Indian who had been Penelope's
protector, now quite an old man, was very
friendly and sociable, and often used to visit Mrs.
Stout. This friendship for the woman whom he had
saved from death seemed to have been strong and
sincere.
One day this old Indian came to the house of Mrs.
Stout, and, seating himself in the room where she was,
remained for a long time pensive and silent. This
rather unusual conduct made Penelope fear that something
had happened to him; and she questioned him,
asking him why he was so silent, and why he sighed
so often. Then the old man spoke out and told her
that he had come on a very important errand, in which
he had risked his own life at the hands of his tribe;
but, having saved her life once, he had determined to
do it again, no matter what might happen to himself.
Then he told her that the good will of the Indians
toward their white neighbors had come to an end, and
that it had been determined in council that an attack
should be made that night upon this little village,
when every person in it – men, women, and children
– should be put to death, the houses burned, and the
cattle driven away. His brethren no longer wanted
white people living near them.
Of course, this news was a great shock to Penelope.
She had now two little children, and she could not get
far away with them and hide, as she herself had once
hidden from Indian foes. But the old man told her
that she need not be afraid: he could not save all the
people in the village, but he was her friend, and he
had arranged to save her and her family. At a certain
place, which he described so she could not fail
to find it, he had concealed a canoe; and in that she
and her husband, with the children, could go over to
New Amsterdam, and there would be plenty of time
for them to get away before the Indians would attack
the place. Having said this, and having urged her to
lose no time in getting away, the old Indian left.
As soon as he had gone, Penelope sent for her
husband, who was working in the fields, and told him
what she had heard, urging him to make preparations
instantly to escape with her. But Mr. Stout was not
easily frightened by news such as this. He pooh-poohed
the whole story, and told his wife that the
natives over there in their camp were as well disposed
and friendly as if they had been a company
of white settlers, and that, as these red men and the
whites had lived together so long, trading with each
other, and visiting each other with perfect freedom,
there was no reason whatever to suppose that the
Indians would suddenly determine to rise up and
massacre a whole settlement of peaceable neighbors,
who had never done them any harm, and who were a
great benefit to them in the way of trading. It would
be all nonsense, he said, to leave their homes, and run
away from Indians so extremely friendly and good-natured as those in the neighboring camp.
This Web version, edited by GET NJ, COPYRIGHT 2003
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