“Not lost, dear Maud,” I answered. “They can but take our lives, and I trust that though they may be near they will not find us. Our friends felt sure of our safety in this concealment, so let us not despair, but it will be prudent not to speak.”
We remained silent, clinging to each other. Again the wild shrieks and cries echoed around us, some of the voices appeared to be quite close. We sat listening anxiously—now the sounds appeared to proceed from a greater distance. Yes, we trusted that the savages were at length passing by us, their shrieks grew fainter and fainter, and ultimately altogether ceased.
We had been again preserved from a threatened danger. We could scarcely believe that it was over when darkness once more crept up the ravine.
Chapter Seven.
We remain concealed, none of our Friends appearing.—Maud sees a person on the hill.—Our alarm.—We again hear voices and footsteps.—Our native Friends return and bring us sad tidings; yet we have cause to be thankful that some have escaped.—We are making our way to a canoe, when the heathens pursue us.—Escape.—Charles Norton gives me his history.
Two more days passed away, and none of our friends had come near us. We began to fear that they had been seized by the heathens. Should such be the case, what must be our fate!
“We will wait where we are till our provisions are exhausted, and then we must make our way down to the sea-shore, and perhaps we may be seen by some passing ship and taken off,” said Maud. “Anything will be better than trusting ourselves to the savage heathens.”
I agreed with her that this was the only plan we could follow, that, indeed, was almost a hopeless one.