Once she looked back and waved her hand; Mary saw the signal through her blinding tears, and waved her shawl in return. The Indian girl did not cast another glance towards them; but bending all her energies to the task kept her little craft on its course up the stream.
Mary and the missionary stood watching her until a bend in the shore shut the canoe from sight; then they turned and walked slowly towards the house, inexpressibly moved by the sight of that poor girl’s wretchedness and fortitude.
CHAPTER XXI
THE JAIL AT ALBANY
An Indian girl—no uncommon thing in the streets of Albany in the days of the Revolution—stood patiently waiting before the entrance to the jail at Albany. She had remained in the same spot at least six hours, without moving from the stone abutment against which she leaned, or turning her eyes from the door, with its iron knobs and enormous lock, which was sunk deep into the gable-end of that old building. The hot noonday sun had beat upon her head; she drew the crimson shawl a little more over her face, but gave no signs of moving. The quaint gables threw their lacework shadows down where the sun had been; but she took no heed. It was only when some step approached near the jail, or a sound came from within, that she gave signs of the quick life burning in her bosom.
Three or four times during that day had Tahmeroo beat her hands against that cruel door, hoping madly that some one might come and let her in. But prison portals do not yield readily to human impatience, either from within or without, and the poor girl had nothing left but that long watch, where she stood motionless, though on the alert, full of fiery impatience, but of stubborn resolution too.
As she stood upon this steady watch, a horseman rode up the street, followed by a servant. Instead of galloping on, as so many had done during the day, he drew up before the jail, flung his bridle to the attendant, and going up to the door which Tahmeroo was eyeing so wistfully struck it a blow with the loaded handle of his riding-whip.
Tahmeroo sprang forward when she heard the bolts begin to move, but she was an instant too late. A dark passage within engulfed the visitor, and the door swung back to its lock again with a loud jar, which made the poor girl almost cry out, so great was the shock of her disappointment.
The servant saw the anguish in her face, and being a good-natured fellow, with nothing else to employ him at the moment, moved towards the jail, and kindly inquired what she wanted.
“I only want that door to open and let me in,” she said, casting a pitiful look at the entrance, from which she had been so cruelly excluded.
“And who is it you want to see, my purty red bird? Now, I tell you what, it’s easier getting into that door than getting out again, as many a poor feller can tell you. Who is it you are after?”