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

BECOMING AMERICA
REVOLUTIONARY AND EARLY NATIONAL PERIOD LITERATURE
sash thrown up. The moon had come forth, and shed a mild lustre through the
dewy atmosphere; the very light that the young and sentimental, and, above all,
young and sentimental lovers, most delight in. But in vain did Everell look abroad
for inspiration; in vain did he turn his eyes to Esther’s face, now more beautiful
than ever, ushed as it was with the rst dawn of happiness; in Tain did he try
to recall his truant thoughts, to answer words to her timid but bright glances;
he would not, he could not say what he did not feel, and the few sentences he
uttered fell on his own ear like cold abstractions. While he was in this durance, his
father was listening—if a man stretched on a rack can be said to listen—to Madam
Winthrop’s whispered and reiterated assurances of her entire approbation of her
niece’s choice.
This was the position of all parties, when a bustle was heard in the court, and
the guard entered. The foremost advanced to the governor, and communicated a
few sentences in a low tone. The governor manifested unusual emotion, turned
round suddenly, and exclaimed, “Here, Mr. Fletcher—Everell;” and then motioning
to them to keep their places, he said, in an under voice, to those near to him, “We
must rst dispose of our prisoner: come forward, Magawisca.”
“Magavnsca!” echoed Everell, springing at one bound into the hall. But
Magawisca shrunk back and averted her face. “Now God be praised!” he exclaimed,
as he caught the rst glance of a form never to be forgotten; “it is—it is Magawisca!”
She did not speak, but drew away, and leaned her head against the wall. “What
means this?” he said, now for the rst time espying Faith Leslie, and then looking
round on the guard; “what means it, sir?” he demanded, turning somewhat
imperiously to the governor.
“It means, sir,” replied the governor, coldly, “that this Indian woman is the
prisoner of the Common wealth”
“It means that I am a prisoner, lured to the net, and betrayed.”
“You a prisoner—here, Magawisca!” Everell exclaimed. “Impossible! Justice,
gratitude, humanity forbid it. My father—Governor Winthrop, you will not surely
suer this outrage?”
The elder Fletcher had advanced, and, scarcely less perplexed and agitated
than his son, was endeavouring to draw forth Faith Leslie, who had shrunk
behind Magawisca. Governor Winthrop seemed not at all pleased with Everell’s
interference. “You will do well, young Mr. Fletcher, to bridle your zeal; private
feelings must yield to the public good: this young woman is suspected of being an
active agent in brewing the conspiracy forming against us among the Indian tribes;
and it is somewhat bold in you to oppose the course of justice—to intermeddle with
the public welfare—to lift your feeble judgment against the wisdom of Providence,
which has led, by peculiar means, to the apprehension of the enemy. Conduct your
prisoner to the jail,” he added, turning to the guard, “and bid Barnaby have her in
close and safe keeping till farther orders.”
“For the love of God, sir,” cried Everell, “do not this injustice. At least suer
her to remain in your own house, on her promise—more secure than the walls of
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