Becoming America - An Exploration of American Literature from Precolonial to Post-Revolution, 2018a

BECOMING AMERICA
REVOLUTIONARY AND EARLY NATIONAL PERIOD LITERATURE
rises at the western extremity of the island, leaving at its base a few yards of at,
rocky shore, around which the waters of the bay sweep, deeply indenting it, and
forming a natural cove or harbour for small boats. As Hope passed around a ledge
of rocks, she fancied she saw a shadow cast by a gure that seemed ying before
her. “They are here already,” she thought, and hastened forward, expecting to catch
a glimpse of them as soon as she should turn the angle of the rock; but no gure
appeared; and though Hope imagined she heard stones rattling, as if displaced by
hurried steps, she was soon convinced the sound was accidental. Alive only to one
expectation, she seated herself, without any apprehension, to await in this solitude
the coming of her sister.
The moon rose unclouded, and sent her broad stream of light across the
beautiful bay, kindling in her beams the islands that gemmed it, and disclosing
with a dim, indenite light, the distant town, rising over this fair domain of sea
and land: hills, heights, jutting points, and islands then unknown to fame, but now
consecrated in domestic annals, and illustrious in the patriot’s story.
Whatever charms the scene might have presented to our heroine’s eye at another
moment, she was now only conscious of one emotion of feverish impatience. She
gazed and listened till her senses ached; and at last, when anticipation had nearly
yielded to despair, her ear caught the dash of oars, and at the next moment a canoe
glanced around the headland into the cove: she darted to the brink of the water—
she gazed intently on the little bark; her whole soul was in that look. Her sister
was there. At this rst assurance that she really beheld this loved, lost sister, Hope
uttered a scream of joy; but when, at a second glance she saw her in her savage
attire, fondly leaning on Oneco’s shoulder, her heart died within her; a sickening
feeling came over her—an unthought of revolting of nature; and, instead of obeying
the rst impulse, and springing forward to clasp her in her arms, she retreated to
the cli, leaned her head against it, averted her eyes, and pressed her hands on her
heart, as if she would have bound down her rebel feelings.
Magawisca’s voice aroused her. “Hope Leslie,” she said, “take thy sister’s hand.”
Hope stretched out her hand without lifting her eyes; but when she felt her sister’s
touch, the energies of nature awoke; she threw her arms around her, folded her to
her bosom, laid her cheek on hers, and wept as if her heart would burst in every sob.
Mary (we use the appellative by which Hope had known her sister) remained
passive in her arms. Her eye was moistened, but she seemed rather abashed and
confounded than excited; and when Hope released her, she turned towards Oneco
with a look of simple wonder. Hope again threw her arm around her sister, and
intently explored her face for some trace of those infantine features that were
impressed on her memory.” It is—it is my sister !” she exclaimed, and kissed her
cheek again and again. “Oh, Mary! do you not remember when we sat together on
mother’s knee? Do you not remember when, with her own burning hand, the very
day she died, she put those chains on our necks ? Do you not remember when they
held us up to kiss her cold lips?” Mary looked towards Magawisca for an explanation
of her sister’s words.” Look at me, Mary; speak to me,” continued Hope.
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