Rarely did she venture to kindle a fire, lest it might betray her to some migrating tribe, or some wild beast might be attracted by the flame. Sometimes her quick ear detected the approach of an Indian runner, carrying intelligence to a far distant tribe. Sometimes she saw a group of hunters, who encamped together for the pursuit of the chase; then she would be compelled to make a detour to avoid them, or to lie by till they disappeared—for sooner would she lay down her life than encounter a red-man in her present dishonored plight. Her only hope was to reach her own people, and there explain all.
It was now October, but the season had proved one of exceeding mildness, and the birds, which usually desert these northern regions a month earlier, remained in their summer haunts from some sure instinct, to enliven the wilderness, and cheer its rude inhabitants.
Acashee now reached the Androscoggin river, which, encumbered by rapids and picturesque falls, can never be subject to ship or steamer, but which, in our day, has long since been subdued to the purposes of the millwright, and added the clatter of loom and spindle to the grand cathedral hymn which alone, in the time of our story, awoke the echoes of the everlasting hills to the roar of its descending waters over shelving rocks a hundred feet from its level.
Here the woman saw the fires of her people in the distance, and found a canoe with which she crossed to the opposite side of the river. The sun was down when she reached the village, and the usual routine was being observed preparatory to night and sleep.
The chiefs lounged upon the ground, or pointed to the trophies of the chase, which the women conveyed to the wigwam. Children gathered up their bows and arrows and threw themselves upon the skins, in all the abandon of dirty robes and muddy moccasins. Here and there might be seen a half-grown boy, grumbling audibly as he paced back and forth in front of the wigwam, carrying a stout baby “pack-a-back,” while the overworked mother prepared venison and parched corn for the evening meal of her lord and master.
Torches began to flare here and there, and the whole female population were busy with household labor, when Acashee, thin, worn, foot-sore, and burning with wrath, appeared before them. There was one burst of contempt and scoffing from the women, which Acashee cut short with an angry gesture, and with an imperious wave of her hand, appealed to the chiefs.
A conference ensued, long and secret, which will be unfolded in the sequel. The honorable women of the tribe were instructed to minister to the wants of the wanderer, and honors, such as even the haughty daughter of Samoset had never before received, were lavished upon her.