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By Frank R. Stockton
Originally published in 1896
IN the early days of New Jersey, the Dutch. settlers
suffered very much from Indian hostilities. It was
at the time that New Amsterdam, afterwards New
York, was in the possession of the Dutch, that a ship
came from Holland, bringing passengers who intended
to settle in the new country. The ship was unfortunately
wrecked in the neighborhood of Sandy Hook;
but all the passengers managed to save themselves,
and reached the shore.
Among these was a young couple whose names we
do not know, except that the wife's maiden name was
Penelope Van Princis. Her husband had been very
sick during the voyage ; and getting ashore through
the surf from the wreck could not have been of any
benefit to him, for, after he had reached dry land, he
felt even worse than he had upon shipboard, and
needed all the attention his wife could give him.
Although the passengers and crew of this vessel
had reached the shore, they did not by any means
consider themselves in safety; for they were very
much afraid of the Indians, and desired above everything
to make what haste they could toward New
Amsterdam. They therefore started away as soon
as possible. But Penelope's husband was too sick to
go any farther at that time, and his wife was too
good a woman to leave her husband in that lonely
spot; and so these two were left behind, while the
rest of the company started for New Amsterdam,
promising, however, that they would send help to the
unfortunate couple.
The fears of these immigrants in regard to the
Indians were not without foundation ; for the main
party had not long departed, when a band of red men,
probably having heard in some way of the wreck of
the ship, appeared upon the scene, and discovered poor
Penelope and her sick husband. It is unfortunately
the disposition of most savages to show little pity for
weakness and suffering, and the fact that the poor
young man could not do them any possible harm had
no effect upon them, and they set upon him and killed
him; very much as a boy would kill a little harmless
snake, for no reason whatever, except that he was
able to do it.
Then they determined to kill Penelope also, and,
attacking her with their tomahawks, they so cut and
wounded her that she fell down bleeding and insensible. Having built a fire, these brave warriors cooked
themselves a comfortable meal, and then departed.
But Penelope was not killed, and, coming to her
senses, her instincts told her that the first thing to
do was to hide herself from these bloodthirsty red
men: so, slowly and painfully, she crawled away to
the edge of a wood, and found there a great hollow
tree, into which she crept.
This made but narrow and doleful quarters for a
wounded woman, but it was preferable at that time
to the blue sky and fresh air. She did not leave the
tree until nightfall, and then she made her way to
the place where the fire was still glimmering; and by
great care, and with what must have been painful
labor, she kept this fire from going out, and so managed
to get a little warmth.
In this way, living in the tree the greater part of
the time, and depending for food chiefly upon the
fungous excrescences and gum which grew on the
outside of it, – for she was not able to go in search of
berries and other food, – poor Penelope lived for a few
days, with her dead husband on the beach, and her
almost dead self in that cavern-like tree. The hours
must have passed mournfully indeed to this young
woman who had set out for the New World with
such bright hopes.
That she survived her terrible hardships was due
entirely to the existence of the danger she most
feared; that is, the reappearance of the Indians. On
the second morning, nearly famished and very weak,
Penelope was making her way slowly over the ground,
endeavoring to find something she could eat, or a little
dew in the hollow of a leaf, that she might drink,
when suddenly there came out of the woods two tall
Indians, who, naturally enough, were much surprised
to find a wounded white woman there alone upon the
seashore.
Penelope gave herself up as lost. There was nothing
now for her to do but to submit to her fate. It
was a pity, she thought, that she had not been slain
with her husband.
But the Indians did not immediately rush at her
with their tomahawks: they stood and talked together,
evidently about her, with their fierce eyes
continually fixed upon her.
Then their conversation became
more animated, and
it was soon plain that
they were disputing. Of
course, she did not then
know the cause of their
difference of opinion; but
she found out afterwards that one
of them was in favor of killing her
upon the spot, and the other, an older
man than his companion, was more
mercifully inclined, and wished to carry
her off as a prisoner to their camp.
At last the older man got the
better of the other one; and he,
being determined that the poor
wounded woman should be taken
care of, took her up and put her
on his shoulder, and marched away
with her. That an Indian should be able to perform
a feat like this is not at all surprising; for when one
of them shoots a deer in the forest, though many of
those animals are heavier than Penelope was, he will
put it on his back and carry it through the forests,
perhaps for miles, until he reaches his camp. And so Penelope, as if she had been a deer wounded by
some other hunters, which these men had found, was
carried to the Indian camp.
This Web version, edited by GET NJ, COPYRIGHT 2003
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