27357	----	_DRAMATIC HOURS IN COLONIAL HISTORY_ The Landing of the Pilgrims BY HENRY FISK CARLTON _Edited by_ CLAIRE T. ZYVE, Ph.D. Fox Meadow School, Scarsdale, New York BUREAU OF PUBLICATIONS TEACHERS COLLEGE, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY NEW YORK CITY _HOW TO BE A GOOD RADIO ACTOR_ The play in this book has actually been produced on the radio. Possibly you have listened to this one when you tuned in at home. The persons whose voices you heard as you listened, looked just as they did when they left their homes to go to the studio, although they were taking the parts of men and women who lived long ago and who wore costumes very different from the ones we wear today. The persons whose voices you heard stood close together around the microphone, each one reading from a copy of the play in his hand. Since they could not be seen, they did not act parts as in other plays, but tried to make their voices show how they felt. When you give these plays you will not need costumes and you will not need scenery, although you can easily arrange a broadcasting studio if you wish. You will not need to memorize your parts; in fact, it will not be like a real radio broadcast if you do so, and, furthermore, you will not want to, since you will each have a copy of the book in your hands. All you will need to do is to remember that you are taking the part of a radio actor, that you are to read your speeches very distinctly, and that by your voice you will make your audience understand how you feel. In this way you will have the fun of living through some of the great moments of history. _HOW TO FOLLOW DIRECTIONS IN THE PLAY_ There are some directions in this play which may be new to you, but these are necessary, for you are now in a radio broadcasting studio, talking in front of a microphone. The word [_in_] means that the character is standing close to the microphone, while [_off_] indicates that he is farther away, so that his voice sounds faint. When the directions [_off_, _coming in_] are given, the person speaking is away from the microphone at first but gradually comes closer. The words [_mob_] or [_crowd noise_] you will understand mean the sound of many people talking in the distance. Both the English and the dialect used help make the characters live, so the speeches have been written in the way in which these men and women would talk. This means that sometimes the character may use what seems to you unusual English. The punctuation helps, too, to make the speeches sound like real conversation; for example, you will find that a dash is often used to show that a character is talking very excitedly. The Landing of the Pilgrims _CAST_ PASTOR ROBINSON ELDER CARVER WILHELM KIEFT VOICE THOMAS WESTON CAPTAIN JONES PETER BROWN MOB ANNOUNCER It was in the month of December in 1620 that the Pilgrim Fathers landed on Plymouth Rock and proceeded to establish the first permanent white settlement in New England. But the Pilgrims had not set out for America to establish their new home in New England--far from it--they had a charter permitting their settlement in the northern portion of the Virginia plantation, and it was toward Virginia that the little band of passengers aboard the Mayflower thought they were heading. The story of how they happened to come to the stern and rockbound coast of New England and of how they happened to stay there and carve out of the wilderness a great commonwealth is told here. Let us begin our story in Leyden, Holland, where for some eleven years the Pilgrims have lived in exile from England, driven out because of their religious faith. It is early in the year 1620, and John Robinson, who is the pastor and leader of the Pilgrims, is talking to John Carver, who is one of the elders of the church. ROBINSON No word yet from Elder Brewster? CARVER Nay, not a word. I fear me that he and Master Cushman have found it impossible to raise such a large sum of money. ROBINSON If we delay much longer King James may repent himself of his generosity in allowing us to settle in Virginia. CARVER I begin to fear that we are doomed to spend the rest of our days in Holland. ROBINSON Nay, nay, do not lose heart. Jehovah will find a way for his children. Remember, the Children of Israel wandered for forty years in the wilderness before they found rest in the Promised Land. CARVER I'll not lose faith, Pastor Robinson. I know a way will be found for us. [_knock_] ROBINSON Will you see who's at the door? CARVER Of course, Pastor. [_sound of opening door_] Good day to you, sir. KIEFT Does Master John Robinson dwell here? CARVER Aye. Will you enter? KIEFT Thank you. CARVER Pastor Robinson, this gentleman would speak with you. ROBINSON Good morrow to you, sir. KIEFT Are you Pastor Robinson, then? ROBINSON I am. And to what do I owe the honor of this visit, Master--ah--? KIEFT My name is Kieft, Wilhelm Kieft, at your service. ROBINSON I am honored, Master Kieft. Allow me to present Master Carver. [_they greet each other_] KIEFT And now to the business that brought me here--it is rumored about Leyden that you and your company are about to leave Leyden. Is that true? ROBINSON There is, as yet, nothing certain, Master Kieft. KIEFT But you are planning an emigration to the New World, are you not? ROBINSON It has been talked of, certainly, but thus far we have not found the means. KIEFT Well, Master Robinson, perhaps I can find them for you. ROBINSON Indeed! CARVER Tell us, Master Kieft! KIEFT I am a member of the Dutch West India Company, which possesses a large tract of land in the New World. ROBINSON Indeed, I did not know that. KIEFT Ah, yes, through the discovery of a countryman of yours, Henry Hudson, who sailed under our flag, we own the country from the Great South River to the Great North River, where, I am told, the climate is healthful and pleasant, and the land rich and bountiful. CARVER And what do you propose to us? KIEFT My company is prepared to furnish you land upon which to found a colony, and capital to carry you and your people there and support you until you have made yourselves self-supporting. ROBINSON And for this you would expect of us--what? KIEFT Some small share of your profits. CARVER Yes, and what else? KIEFT Nothing, except that you should live under the Dutch flag and make our claim to the land secure. CARVER Your offer is generous, Master Kieft. ROBINSON And you make no other conditions than those you mention? KIEFT None, I assure you. ROBINSON Can you offer them in writing so that our people may consider them? KIEFT Indeed, yes, if you are interested, my company will make you a written offer within a fortnight. ROBINSON We are interested, Master Kieft, very much so. KIEFT Good. You shall receive our conditions as soon as I can arrange it. Good day! ROBINSON Good day, sir, and thank you. CARVER Jehovah has heard our prayer. The way is open. Mayhap-- ROBINSON Is it not a generous offer? CARVER Generous? Aye, but still-- ROBINSON Well? CARVER I like it not. ROBINSON Indeed, and why not? CARVER Why should the Dutch West India Company make us such a generous offer? ROBINSON Why indeed, but that we may establish for them a colony in the New World? CARVER Aye, a colony that will give them a stronger hold upon disputed land. ROBINSON Do you think the land is disputed? CARVER I know but little of the New World. I know not even where the Great North River or the Great South River may be, but only this I know: King James and his Virginia Company would take it much amiss, that having a patent to lands in Virginia, we turned to the Dutch and settled under their flag. ROBINSON And what has King James ever done for us but persecute us, drive us from our homes, and make of us pilgrims upon the face of the earth? CARVER Aye, but I am an Englishman. I had looked with joy upon our emigration to America, because I had hoped we could once again live under British rule. ROBINSON Many of our company have felt the same; but if we cannot go except under the Dutch flag, still we must go. CARVER Aye. ROBINSON The hand of Jehovah leads us; we must follow. ANNOUNCER So the offer of the Dutch West India Company was received and in due course of time the provisions were put into writing. The Pilgrim company discussed the offer from every angle. All of them would have preferred to settle under the British flag, if it could have been arranged, but because more than six months had passed and they had not found anyone who could finance them, they felt that the Dutch offer should be accepted. Therefore, near the end of February, 1620, Pastor Robinson and Elder Carver meet with Wilhelm Kieft to settle finally the matter of the emigration. Let us listen as they talk together. KIEFT Two ships and one thousand pounds, which you can repay in ten years. ROBINSON And all your company demands is a monopoly in the fur trade? KIEFT That is all. Otherwise you shall do what pleases you; but all of the fur must belong to the Dutch West India Company. ROBINSON That seems just. What think you, Elder Carver? CARVER Who shall govern us, Master Kieft? KIEFT You shall say that yourself. Who governs you now? ROBINSON We have no governor except the Elders of the Church. KIEFT It shall be the same in the New World. CARVER Do the terms satisfy you, Pastor Robinson? ROBINSON Indeed, I am more than satisfied. KIEFT Then shall we sign the articles? [_rattle of paper_] ROBINSON I can think of nothing more we should consider, can you, Elder? CARVER Nothing. KIEFT Then, if you have a quill, we can sign now. [_knock_] ROBINSON Your pardon, someone knocks. CARVER [_going_] I'll see who it is. ROBINSON Thank you, Elder. Ah, here is the quill. Now, where is the inkhorn? Ah, yes, here. KIEFT Sign here. [_rattle of paper_] ROBINSON Let us wait for Elder Carver. CARVER [_off_] Oh, Pastor Robinson? ROBINSON Yes? CARVER Your pardon, sir, will you come here at once? ROBINSON What is it? CARVER [_off_] Thomas Weston of London desires to see you. KIEFT Can we not finish our business first? ROBINSON Tell him to come in and sit down while we get this business finished. CARVER [_off_] Will you come in, Master Weston? WESTON [_coming in_] Thank you. Have I the honor of addressing Master Robinson? ROBINSON I'm Robinson. WESTON I'm Thomas Weston, and I have come on behalf of a company of London merchants-- KIEFT [_sharply_] Master Robinson, your pardon, but may we not finish this business in hand? ROBINSON Certainly! Elder Carver, Master Kieft is waiting for us to sign the Articles of Emigration. WESTON Your pardon, Master Robinson, did you say "Articles of Emigration"? ROBINSON Why, yes. WESTON I have an offer to make you for the emigration of your company. CARVER What? ROBINSON Indeed! KIEFT I must insist, sir-- ROBINSON One moment, Master Kieft. KIEFT Are you going to sign or not? ROBINSON Master Kieft, this may cause us to change our plans; we must consider. What is your offer, Master Weston? WESTON A company of seven London merchants has agreed to furnish ships and capital to carry you and your people to America. KIEFT You have already agreed with me-- ROBINSON We have signed nothing yet. Where, Master Weston, does your company propose that we settle? WESTON In northern Virginia--between the Great South River and the Great North River. KIEFT That, sir, is the land of the Dutch West India Company. WESTON Your pardon, but King James has decreed-- KIEFT [_getting angrier_] I care not what your sovereign may have decreed--he has no claim to that land. My company discovered and explored it! WESTON Has your company established any plantations there? KIEFT That makes no difference. WESTON Until you have established plantations, you cannot claim it. KIEFT I do not wish to argue with you, sir. I am here to close this business with you, Master Robinson. I am waiting-- ROBINSON We must have time to consider-- KIEFT I had your word. CARVER Master Kieft, the situation has changed. We are Englishmen, and if we can emigrate under our own flag, you cannot blame us for preferring it to another. KIEFT You have tricked us--you are not treating me fairly! ROBINSON Now, sir-- KIEFT [_louder_] And I warn you if you go to our land under the British flag, you shall regret it, sir, you shall regret it. Good day! [_sound of door slamming_] ANNOUNCER Thus the Pilgrims incurred the enmity of the Dutch West India Company, and though the terms of the London merchants were not so generous as those offered by the Dutch company, the Pilgrims accepted them and set about making their preparations for the great adventure. They secured for their voyage two ships, the _Speedwell_ and the _Mayflower_. Our next scene is early in July of 1620. The _Mayflower_ has been engaged for the voyage, and is lying at anchor in the Thames River off London, where it is undergoing some repairs preparatory to taking on cargo, which is to come to the New World. Aboard the ship is only the master, Captain Jones, when he is disturbed by-- KIEFT [_off_] Ahoy, the _Mayflower_! JONES Ahoy! Who's hailing the _Mayflower_? KIEFT Here--alongside! May I come aboard? JONES What do you want? KIEFT I want to talk to the master of the ship. JONES I'm master. What do you want? KIEFT May I come aboard? JONES Come aboard. The ladder's over the side. KIEFT All right, I'm coming. [_lower_] Keep the boat alongside! VOICE Aye, aye, sir! KIEFT [_low_] Stay here till I'm ready to leave! VOICE Aye, aye, sir! JONES Here you are--right up here, sir. Give me your hand! Ah, there you are, sir! KIEFT [_in_] Thank you, sir. Are you the master of the ship? JONES I am, sir. KIEFT I understand you are engaged for the voyage. JONES That we are, sir, to America. KIEFT Aye, yes--by a company of London merchants. JONES And what's that to you, sir, begging your pardon? KIEFT No matter, I know well enough you are. And now, sir, I want to know if you'd like to put yourself in the way of earning a hundred pounds? JONES A hundred! Law, sir, and who wouldn't? KIEFT Exactly! I hoped I'd find you a man of sense. JONES What do you want me to do? KIEFT You are sailing for northern Virginia, are you not? JONES That's the orders. KIEFT Where do you expect to make land? JONES I was looking to make it in the mouth of the Great North River. KIEFT Hm--you know, I suppose, that the Dutch West India Company claims all the land bordering on the Great North River. JONES [_laughing_] Why, sir, everybody claims it. That's no matter. King James has proclaimed that all the land that has been settled belongs to them that has settled it; the rest is anybody's. When the company I'm taking gets their plantation settled, the Dutch can't claim the land any longer. KIEFT Perhaps not, but your company is not going to land on Dutch territory. JONES Eh? KIEFT You are going to lose your bearings-- JONES Me--a sailor--lose my bearings? KIEFT Certainly--for one hundred pounds. JONES Well-- KIEFT And you will make land far to the north of the Great North River. JONES I'll have to see the color of the money. KIEFT Is it a bargain? JONES Have you got the money with you? KIEFT I have, and on your promise, I'll pay it. JONES All right. I'll see that the company is landed where you wish. KIEFT Good! ANNOUNCER And so Captain Jones of the _Mayflower_ was bribed by Dutch gold to play false with the band of Pilgrims. You know the story of the long and difficult job the Pilgrims had in getting fairly started on their voyage. The _Speedwell_ sprang a leak, and they had to put back to Plymouth harbor where the ship was repaired. They made a second start, and again the _Speedwell_ became unseaworthy and the captain refused to go on, so a second time the little flotilla put back to Plymouth. This time, since the season was far advanced and the Pilgrims feared that winter would be upon them before they could get established in their new home, the _Speedwell_ was left behind, and on September 16, 1620, the _Mayflower_ left alone for the New World. Halfway across the ocean the ship was beset by a long series of storms, so severe that it took more than two months for the ship to make the trip across the Atlantic. At last, on the morning of November 20, 1620, the ship's company were awakened by the electric cry of-- VOICE Land--ho! Land--land--ho! JONES [_calling_] Where away? VOICE Two points off the starboard bow! MOB [_voices swelling up_] Land! Land! Is it really land? Captain, Captain! Have we really made land? Land? [_etc._] JONES Aye, we've made land! Helmsman, bring the ship to bear on land, dead ahead! VOICE Aye, aye, sir, land dead ahead. CARVER [_coming up_] Ah, Captain Jones, at last! JONES Aye, at last--land ahead! CARVER Praise Jehovah! ALL Praise Jehovah! Amen! [_etc._] CARVER Captain, tell us, is this Virginia that lies before us? JONES I know not; I've not yet taken our bearings. CARVER Do you not know where we are? JONES How should I? We've been tossed about in storms for a month, with no sun for days on end. CARVER There is sun this morning. Can you not take your bearings now? JONES The mate is figuring our position even now. CARVER Good! VOICE Captain Jones? JONES Aye, mate, have you the position? VOICE I made it, sir, about seventy west by forty-two north. CARVER Forty-two north--but, Captain, we are bound for forty north--we're out of our course. JONES What do you expect--with the storms we've had? CARVER Put your ship about--make for the south--this is not Virginia! JONES We'll land here. CARVER We have no right to land here. Our charter grants us land in Virginia, not here! JONES I can't help that. The ship is in bad shape--I won't risk sailing her any farther without repairs. CARVER Very well, you may stop here for repairs, but we must go on as soon as they are made. JONES It will take some time. CARVER My people will help you. We must speed the work. JONES Of course, I'll speed it all I can, but a man can't do any more than he can do. CARVER Well, get to it at once--this very day! We must get away from here within a fortnight or winter will be upon us. JONES Aye, so it will--and the winters in this country are bad. CARVER Then we must start south without delay. JONES Look you, Master Carver-- CARVER Well, Captain? JONES Belikes 'twill be a month or more before I can make the _Mayflower_ seaworthy-- CARVER A month? Surely you can do better than that? JONES Perhaps not so well--why don't you land here? CARVER Here? JONES Aye. 'Tis a goodly country--full as rich as Virginia. CARVER Nay, nay, 'tis not to be thought on. We have a patent to lands in Virginia--a charter to establish and rule a plantation there; but here--why, the land is not ours-- JONES It is if you take it--it belongs to no one else. CARVER But our Council would have no rights under the King--nay, nay. We go on to Virginia--as soon as you have made your repairs. JONES So be it, Master Carver. ANNOUNCER So the _Mayflower_ brought up to anchor just inside Cape Cod, near the present village of Provincetown. The voyage had been long and arduous. There had been much sickness aboard, and Captain Jones knew that most of the passengers longed to set foot on solid ground and begin the task of building their homes. So he determined to create further dissatisfaction among them. For our next scene we are going into Captain Jones's cabin just as one of the five men of the company, Peter Brown, has come into the cabin on the captain's invitation. JONES Sit you down, Master Brown, and find what comfort you can in my poor quarters. PETER Poor! If this cabin is poor, Captain, what do ye call what us folks has to put up with, all crowded into the common cabin like sheep er worse? JONES Aye, 'tis too bad the cabin is not a better place for your goodly company. PETER Aye, well, we'll soon be out of it. JONES I fear me, not so soon. PETER Indeed, why? JONES The ship must be repaired before we can go on. PETER How long will that take ye? JONES Mayhap two months or more, I know not. PETER Two months? Two months more in the cabin of this ship and half of our company will be dead. JONES Aye, belikes they will--and winter will be upon us hard and heavy. The winters in this country are worse than any you have ever seen in England or Holland. PETER Indeed! JONES The snow lies so deep it would cover a man's head--the land is blotted out, and even the sea freezes-- PETER Then how could we get ashore? JONES I know not. PETER And once ashore, how could we find a fair place to build our homes? JONES 'Tis not for me to say. PETER Why can't we land right here, Captain? JONES Because your Elder, Master Carver, says fix the ship and go on. PETER If Elder Carver says that, then there be naught that we kin do. JONES You'd stay packed in the ship's cabin, facing sickness and death, rather than rise up like men and tell the Elder what you will and what you won't do, eh? PETER Elder Carver and the twelve masters have the voice; we have naught to do but to obey. JONES Can it be that forty English freemen can't vote down twelve masters? PETER Under our charter the freemen have no voice. JONES Under the charter, eh? PETER Aye, so there's naught to do but what the masters say. JONES Have you never heard of mutiny? PETER Mutiny? Nay, we be lawful men, bound together in the love of Jehovah; we'll not mutiny! We must abide by our charter. JONES The charter, aye. PETER So there's naught to do-- JONES Hold--have you thought on this--the charter binds you under the King's grant in Virginia Plantation-- PETER Aye. JONES And you are not in Virginia-- PETER Nay, not yet. JONES So you are not bound by the Virginia charter in these waters. PETER Forsooth, Captain, I'd not thought on that. JONES You have here all the rights of free-born Englishmen. And if you rise like men and demand that your Elders hearken to your voice, who shall gainsay you? PETER Aye--who--who, indeed? If we vote to land here, 'tis not mutiny. JONES Nay, 'tis but your right, if you want to land here. PETER We do--we do! Not a man in the company but would stay here if he had his way. JONES Then have your way--like Englishmen! Go to your cabin. Talk to the men of your company, tell them what I have told you. PETER Aye, Captain, I will! At once. [_going_] JONES Good! [_sound of door closing_] [_to himself_] Well, Elder Carver, we shall see whose voice is stronger--yours, or the voice of forty English freemen! ANNOUNCER Thus Captain Jones planted in the mind of one of the freemen of the Pilgrim company an idea which he was sure would bear fruit before many hours. He watched the company as first one man and then another fell in with Peter Brown. He felt the temper of the company changing, but he still did not feel that mutiny was likely against the strong religious authority of the Elders. And so to bring the matter to a head, he asked Carver to come to his cabin. As the door closes, the captain begins-- JONES I fear me, Master Carver, we are in a bad way. CARVER Indeed--why? JONES The carpenter has gone over the ship timber by timber-- CARVER Well? JONES It is a long, hard job we have before us. CARVER Oh, too bad, too bad! How long? JONES What with finding the proper timbers ashore, and hewing them to fit our needs, I fear it may well be two months or more before we can leave these waters. CARVER Surely you can make what repairs are necessary in less time--you need not rebuild the ship. JONES Nay--but the ship is sprung at every seam; 'tis nothing but good fortune that has kept it afloat so long. CARVER The seams sprung? JONES Aye--all of them. CARVER Then our stores are in danger of being ruined. JONES Aye, they are even now in such danger they should be unshipped. CARVER Then we must do it--set your crew to the work at once. JONES The crew has more than it can do to repair the ship and make it ready to sail on to Virginia, since you insist on going on. CARVER Then I'll set our company to work on the stores--we must not let them be ruined. JONES Nay, or you'll all face starvation, for you can count on nothing from the land at this late date. CARVER I'll gather the company together at once and set them to work! JONES Aye, do, Master Carver. CARVER We must unship the stores; [_going_] we'll begin at once. [_sound of door opening_] JONES [_to himself_] Mayhap your company will have something to say to that, Master Carver. ANNOUNCER So Carver gathered together his company in the common cabin, and standing before the stern-faced, storm-weary gathering, the Elder spoke: CARVER Men of the Pilgrim company, as no doubt you are all well aware by now, the land we made this morning with such joy and thanksgiving in our hearts is not the land of the Virginia Plantation. ALL Aye, we know as much! So we have heard. [_etc._] CARVER But our ship is sore distressed from the buffeting of the storms, and Captain Jones must needs make repairs before we can sail on to our destination. [_protests and grumblings_] I would it were not so, for I know how weary you find yourselves after the many days upon the sea. But there's naught else to do. PETER [_calling_] Why can't we land here? [_mob assents_] CARVER Nay, nay, it cannot be. This is not Virginia; we have no patent to these lands. We must sail on. The captain and his crew will make their repairs as soon as they can, but our stores in the hold are all of them in danger of spoiling--so we must needs unship them ourselves until such time as we may sail away from here. So let every man prepare himself for work. PETER Master Carver--we are not able to work. [_mob assents_] CARVER I know, but-- PETER And more--'tis not our wish to stay aboard this ship longer--[_mob assents_] CARVER But we can do naught else-- PETER Aye, we kin land here, and find a goodly place to build our homes and prepare against the winter that will be down upon us long before we kin get to Virginia. [_mob agrees heartily_] CARVER Men--men--quiet--hark to me! We've no right under our charter to settle here! PETER Then tear up the charter. [_mob agrees_] CARVER Tear up the charter? Have no government? Nay, we can't do that! PETER We be freemen, Master Carver; we have a right to a voice in what we'll do, and what we won't do--and we all want to land here, don't we, men? [_all agree_] CARVER But if we make our home here, we are outside the King's rule. PETER We'll rule ourselves--we be free-born Englishmen! [_all agree_] CARVER Mayhap--if that is your wish-- ALL It is! Aye, aye! [_etc._] CARVER It may be for the best interest of the company and for the glory of Jehovah. I consent to your wishes. [_cheers_] But it behooves us to enter into a compact, one with the other--that no man may say, once we have landed in New England, that we have no law and cannot punish the disobedient. PETER May it please ye, sir, we be more than willing for the masters to write a compact that all can sign to be governed like any free-born Englishmen by the will o' the majority--[_all agree_] CARVER So be it--let the masters of the company join me in my cabin, and we shall make a compact joining all the company of freemen into a body politic. [_cheers_] ANNOUNCER And so in the cabin of the _Mayflower_ the masters of the company, twelve in number, met in the first American legislative assembly and drew up one of the most famous documents in American history--the Mayflower Compact--which organized the first self-governing community in the New World. 
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36756	----	[Illustration THE ROMANTIC STORY _of the_ MAYFLOWER PILGRIMS ALBERT CHRISTOPHER ADDISON] [Illustration Well worthy to be magnified are they Who, with sad hearts, of friends and country took A last farewell, their loved abodes forsook, And hallowed ground in which their fathers lay. Wordsworth] [Illustration The breaking waves dash'd high On a stern and rock-bound coast; And the woods, against a stormy sky, Their giant branches toss'd. Mrs. Hemans] THE ROMANTIC STORY _of the_ MAYFLOWER PILGRIMS AND ITS PLACE IN THE LIFE OF TO-DAY _High ideals in the conduct of life are what survive, and that is why the Pilgrim Narrative stands forth in the pages of every history as one of the great events of the time._--SENATOR LODGE, _at the dedication of the Pilgrim Memorial Monument at Provincetown, August 5th 1910_. [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ _From the Painting by W. F. Halsall_ THE MAYFLOWER IN PLYMOUTH HARBOUR] THE ROMANTIC STORY OF THE MAYFLOWER PILGRIMS AND ITS PLACE IN THE LIFE OF TO-DAY BY A. C. ADDISON AUTHOR OF "OLD BOSTON: ITS PURITAN SONS AND PILGRIM SHRINES," ETC. WITH NUMEROUS ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS [Illustration] BOSTON L. C. PAGE & COMPANY MDCCCCXI COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY (INCORPORATED) ALL RIGHTS RESERVED FIRST IMPRESSION, SEPTEMBER, 1911 THE·PLIMPTON·PRESS·NORWOOD·MASS·U·S·A CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. OLD WORLD HOMES AND PILGRIM SHRINES 1 II. THE ARREST AT BOSTON AND FLIGHT TO HOLLAND 27 III. LIFE IN LEYDEN--ADIEU TO PLYMOUTH--THE VOYAGE TO THE WEST 47 IV. "INTO A WORLD UNKNOWN"--TRIALS AND TRIUMPH 71 V. THE PILGRIM ROLL CALL--FATE AND FORTUNES OF THE FATHERS 123 VI. NEW WORLD PILGRIMS TO OLD WORLD SHRINES 159 INDEX 189 THE PUBLISHERS WISH TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE COURTESY OF MR. A. S. BURBANK, OF PLYMOUTH, MASS., IN AUTHORIZING THEIR USE OF HIS PHOTOGRAPHS, REPRODUCTIONS OF WHICH FORM A CONSIDERABLE PORTION OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS OF THIS BOOK ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE The Mayflower in Plymouth Harbour _Frontispiece_ The Cells, Guildhall, Boston xi A Bit of Old Gainsborough 5 The Old Manor House, Scrooby, where William Brewster was born.--Scrooby Church 9 The Cottage at Austerfield where William Bradford was born 13 The Old Hall, Gainsborough, in which the Separatist Church was founded in 1602 17 Guildhall and South Street, Boston 21 The Old Courtroom, Guildhall, Boston 25 The River Witham, Boston 29 The Pilgrim Cells, Guildhall, Boston, showing the Kitchen beyond 33 Old Town Gaol, Market-place, Boston 37 Trentside, Gainsborough 41 Elder William Brewster 45 John Robinson's House, Leyden, where the Pilgrim Fathers worshipped 49 St. Peter's Church, Leyden 53 Bust of Captain John Smith 57 The Embarkation of the Pilgrims 61 Model of the Mayflower 65 Plymouth Harbour, as seen from Cole's Hill 69 The Landing of the Pilgrims 73 The March of Miles Standish 77 The Canopy over Plymouth Rock 81 The Old Fort and First Meeting-House 85 Pilgrims going to Church 89 The Departure of the Mayflower 93 Captain Miles Standish 97 Governor William Bradford 101 The Pilgrim Memorial Monument at Provincetown 105 Plymouth Rock 109 A Bit of Old Boston 113 The Site of the Old Fort, Burial Hill, Plymouth 117 First Church, Plymouth 121 The Pilgrim Fathers' Memorial, Plymouth 125 John Alden.--Priscilla Mullins 129 Governor Bradford's Monument, Burial Hill, Plymouth 133 Governor Carver's Chair and Ancient Spinning Wheel 137 Elder Brewster's Chair and the Cradle of Peregrine White 141 The Grave of John Howland 145 The Grave of Miles Standish, Duxbury 149 The Miles Standish Monument, Duxbury 153 Governor Edward Winslow 157 Mayflower Tablet on the Barbican, Plymouth, England 161 Scrooby Village 165 The Ancient Kitchen, Guildhall, Boston 169 Robinson Memorial Church, Gainsborough 173 Tablet in Vestibule of Robinson Memorial Church, Gainsborough.--Memorial Tablet on St. Peter's Church, Leyden 177 Design by R. M. Lucas for the Tercentenary Memorial at Southampton 181 The Font, Austerfield Church.--The Font, Primitive Methodist Chapel, Lound 185 PREFACE By a strange yet happy coincidence, on the very day the writer of these lines sat silent in a Pilgrim cell at Boston--the Lincolnshire town where the Pilgrims were imprisoned in their first attempt to flee their native country--pondering on the past and inscribing his humble lines to the New World pioneers, the President of the American Republic was at Provincetown, Massachusetts, dedicating a giant monument to the planters of New Plymouth, the last of the many memorials erected to them. The date was the fifth of August, 1910. President Taft in his address at the commemoration ceremonies declared very truly that the purpose which prompted the Pilgrims' progress and the spirit which animated them furnish the United States to-day with the highest ideals of moral life and political citizenship. Three years before, another American President, Mr. Roosevelt, at the cornerstone laying of this monument, enlarged on the character of their achievement, and in ringing words proclaimed its immensity and world-wide significance. Down through the years the leaders of men have borne burning witness to the wonderful work of the Pilgrim Fathers. Its influence is deep-rooted in the world's history to-day, and in the life and the past of our race it stands its own enduring monument. The object of the present narrative is to give to the reader an account of the Mayflower Pilgrims that is concise and yet sufficiently comprehensive to embrace all essentials respecting the personality and pilgrimage of the Forefathers, whom the poet Whittier pictures to us in vivid verse as: those brave men who brought To the ice and iron of our winter time A will as firm, a creed as stern, and wrought With one mailed hand and with the other fought. In the pages which follow, the Old World homes and haunts of the Pilgrim Fathers are depicted and described. The story has the advantage of having been written on the scene of their early trials, concerted plans of escape, and stormy emigration, by one who, from long association, is familiar with the history and traditions of Boston and the quaint old sister port of Gainsborough, and perhaps imparts to the work some feeling of the life and local atmosphere of those places in the days that are dealt with, and before. The Pilgrims are followed into Holland and on their momentous journey across seas to the West. The story aims at being trustworthy and up-to-date as regards the later known facts of Pilgrim history and the developments which reflect it in our own time. It does what no other book on the subject has attempted: it traces the individual lives and varying fortunes of the Pilgrims after their settlement in the New World; and it states the steps taken in recent years to perpetuate the memory of the heroic band. The tale that is told is one of abiding interest to the Anglo-Saxon race; and its attractiveness in these pages is enhanced by the series of illustrations which accompanies the printed record. Grateful acknowledgment is made of much kindly assistance rendered during the preparation of the work, especially by the Honourable William S. Kyle, Treasurer of the First (Pilgrim) Church at Plymouth, Massachusetts. _Men they were who could not bend; Blest Pilgrims, surely, as they took for guide A will by sovereign Conscience sanctified._ * * * * * _From Rite and Ordinance abused they fled To Wilds where both were utterly unknown._ --WORDSWORTH, "_Ecclesiastical Sonnets," Part III. Aspects of Christianity in America, I. The Pilgrim Fathers._ _In romance of circumstance and the charm of personal heroism the story of the Pilgrim Fathers is pre-eminent._ --J. A. DOYLE'S "_English in America_." _The coming hither of the Pilgrim three centuries ago ... shaped the destinies of this Continent, and therefore profoundly affected the destiny of the whole world._ --PRESIDENT ROOSEVELT, _at the laying of the corner-stone of the Pilgrim Memorial Monument at Provincetown, Massachusetts, August 20th, 1907_. [Illustration: THE CELLS, GUILDHALL, BOSTON _With winding staircase to court-room above_] FROM A PILGRIM CELL THE PILGRIMS' CELLS, GUILDHALL, BOSTON, LINCOLNSHIRE. This is written in a Pilgrim cell, one of those dark and narrow dungeons which the Pilgrim Fathers tenanted three hundred and four years ago, in the autumn of 1607, and behind the heavy iron bars of which men have for generations delighted to be locked in memory of their lives and deeds. The present-day gaoler, less terrible than his predecessor of Puritan times, has ushered me in and closed the rusty gate upon me, and left me alone, a willing prisoner for a space. I look around, but do not start and shrink in mortal dread as must once the hapless captives here immured. 'Tis a gloomy place as a rule; but just now some outer basement doors, flung open, admit the autumn sunlight, which floods the hall floor and penetrates to the cell where I am seated. To get here I have stooped and sidled through an opening a foot and a half wide and five feet deep, set in a whitewashed wall fourteen inches thick. I stand with arms outstretched, and find that the opposite walls may be pressed with the finger-tips of each hand. The cell extends back seven feet, and the height is the same between the bare stone floor and the roughly boarded roof. All is dingy, cobwebbed, musty, and silent as the grave. Like the neighbouring tenement it is cold, mean, melancholy, fit only to be shunned. Yet its associations are dear indeed. For this is holy ground, a hallowed spot, a Mecca of modern pilgrims. It has a history held sacred in two hemispheres, that of religious persecution, of loyal resolution, of physical fetters and spiritual freedom. Such is the story inscribed upon these walls, a record which may be read in all their time-worn stones, on every inch of their rusted bolts and bars. For they are the cells of the Pilgrim Fathers. Here was the first rude break in their weary worldly progress, a journey which was to continue with affliction into Holland, thence back to Plymouth, and, after a last adieu there to English soil, on in the little Mayflower to New Plymouth and a New England. Alone in a Pilgrim cell! What thoughts the situation kindles; how eagerly the imagination shapes and clothes them; what scenes this mouldy atmosphere unfolds. The very solitude is eloquent with pious reminiscence; the void is filled again, peopled with those spectres of an imperishable past; their prayers and praise fall on the listening ear, a soft appeal for grace and strength, the lulling notes of a rough psalmody; then answering dreams and visions of the night. THE AUTHOR. 1911. I OLD WORLD HOMES AND PILGRIM SHRINES THE ROMANTIC STORY _of the_ MAYFLOWER PILGRIMS I OLD WORLD HOMES AND PILGRIM SHRINES _View each well-known scene: Think what is now and what hath been._--SCOTT. Lincolnshire stands pre-eminent among the English shires for inspiriting records of trials borne and conflicts waged for conscience' sake. The whole country, from the lazy Trent to the booming eastern sea, teems moreover with religious interest. To read what happened between the births of two famous Lincolnshire men--Archbishop Langton in the twelfth century; and Methodist John Wesley in the seventeenth--is like reading the history of English nonconformity. The age of miracles was long since past; yet Stephen Langton, Primate of England and Cardinal of Rome, was a champion of the national liberties. He aided, nay instigated, the wresting of Magna Charta from King John. That was not the result of his education; 'twas the Lincolnshire blood in his veins. For the outrage on the Romish traditions the Archbishop was suspended by the Pope. Probably he would have been hanged if they could have got at him. But we can go back farther even than Langton's time. Not many miles from Gainsborough is the Danish settlement of Torksey, rich in ecclesiastical lore. Here Paulinus baptised the Lindissians on the sandy shore of the Trent, in the presence of Edwin, King of Northumbria. Hereabout, they say, King Alfred the Great was married to the daughter of Etheldred, and the old wives of Gainsborough used to recite tales of Wickliffe hiding on the spot where once stood the dwelling-place of Sweyn and of Canute. [Illustration: _Photograph by Brocklehurst, Gainsborough_ A BIT OF OLD GAINESBOROUGH] Lincolnshire has always had the courage to bear religious stress, and strange things are read of it. It was near Louth that the insurrection known as "The Pilgrimage of Grace" began. Eighty-five years before the sailing of the Mayflower, and thirty years before William Brewster was born, the ecclesiastical commissioners for the suppression of monasteries (which were plentiful in Lincolnshire) went down to hold a visitation at Louth. But the excursion was not to their pleasure. As one of them rode into the town he heard the alarm bell pealing from the tower, and then he saw people swarming into the streets carrying bills and staves, "the stir and noise arising hideous." He fled into the church for sanctuary, but they hauled him out, and with a sword at his breast bade him swear to be true to the Commonwealth. He swore. That was the Examiner. When the Registrar came on the scene he was with scant ceremony dragged to the market cross, where his commission was read in derision and then torn up, and he barely escaped with his life. For the same cause there were risings at Caistor and Horncastle--two of the demurest of modern towns. The Bishop's Chancellor was murdered in the streets of Horncastle and the body stripped and the garments torn to rags; and at Lincoln the episcopal palace was plundered and partially demolished. But Lincolnshire need rest no fame upon such merits as these. Greater honour belongs to the county, for it was Lincolnshire that made the most important of all contributions to the building of America when it sent forth the Pilgrim Fathers, and afterwards the Puritan leaders, who met for conference in the eventful days of the movement in Boston town, in Sempringham manor house, or in Tattershall Castle, to lay the foundations of the Massachusetts settlements. And, as Doyle in his "English in America," truly says, "In romance of circumstance and the charm of personal heroism the story of the Pilgrim Fathers is pre-eminent. They were the pioneers who made it easy for the rest of the host to follow." Their colony was the germ of the New England States. Amid the quiet pastures threaded by the Ryton stream, where the counties of York and Lincoln and Nottingham meet, are two small villages, the homes of the only Pilgrim Fathers satisfactorily traced to English birthplaces. A simple, pathetic interest clings to these secluded spots. At Scrooby is the manor house wherein William Brewster, the great heart of the pilgrimage and foremost planter of New Plymouth, was born. Archbishops of York had found a home here for centuries; Wolsey, at the close of his strangely checkered career, lodged there and planted a mulberry tree in the garden; Bishop Bonner dated a letter thence to Thomas Cromwell. And when William Brewster became Elder Brewster, pensive Puritans often gathered there to worship, "and with great love he entertained them when they came, making provision for them to his great charge." His condition was prosperous and he could well afford to do it. A Cambridge man, Brewster early took his degree at Peterhouse; he next saw service at Court, and accompanied Secretary Davison to the Netherlands; afterwards succeeding his father and grandfather as post on the great North Road at Scrooby, a responsible and well-paid office, which he filled for nearly twenty years. The parish church, "not big, but very well builded," as Leland said; the quaint old vicarage; the parish pound, and all that remains of the parish stocks: these stand witness to the antiquity of Scrooby. A little railway station and rushing Northern expresses are almost the only signs of twentieth century activity. [Illustration: _Photograph by Welchman Bros., Retford_ THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, SCROOBY, WHERE WILLIAM BREWSTER WAS BORN] [Illustration: _Photograph by Welchman Bros., Retford_ SCROOBY CHURCH] The Scrooby community was an off-shoot from that at Gainsborough, the first Separatist church formed in the North of England, of which the pastor was John Smyth, a graduate of Cambridge, an "eminent man in his time" and "well beloved of most men." Smyth preached at Gainsborough from 1602 to 1606, when he was driven into exile. The members of his church gathered from miles around to its services, crossing into Gainsborough by the ferry-boat on the Trent. This continued for two or three years, until at length "these people became two distinct bodies or churches, and in regard of distance did congregate severally; for they were of sundry towns and villages." Richard Clyfton, once rector of Babworth near Retford--"a grave and reverend preacher"--was the first pastor at Scrooby; and with him as teacher was "that famous and worthy man Mr. John Robinson," another seceder from the English Church, who afterwards was pastor for many years "till the Lord took him away by death." Next to Brewster, William Bradford was the most prominent of the lay preachers among the Scrooby fraternity. He became Governor Bradford of the Plymouth Colony--"the first American citizen of the English race who bore rule by the free choice of his brethren"--and the historian of the Plymouth Plantation. Bradford, a yeoman's son with comfortable home surroundings, lived at Austerfield, an ancient agricultural village about three miles from Scrooby on the Yorkshire side. The pretty cottage of his birth is still shown by the roadside near the Norman church, and the parish register bears the record of his baptism, on March 19, 1589. A youth of seventeen years, he walked across the fields to join the Scrooby brethren in their meetings. He and Brewster, the two men who were to impress their individuality so powerfully upon the religious life of the American people, became firm friends, and, says their later historian,[1] that friendship, "formed amid the tranquil surroundings of the North Midlands of their native land, was to be deepened by common labours and aspirations, and by common hardships and sufferings endured side by side both in the Old World and the New." [Illustration: _Photograph by Welchman Bros., Retford_ THE COTTAGE AT AUSTERFIELD WHERE WILLIAM BRADFORD WAS BORN] But it was Robinson to whom they jointly owed much guidance. When, in Bradford's own words, "They could not long continue in any peaceable condition, but were hunted and persecuted on every side;" when "some were taken and clapt up in prison, and others had their houses beset and watched night and day, and hardly escaped their hands;" and when "the most were fain to fly and leave their homes and habitations and the means of their livelihood," it was John Robinson, the devout and learned pastor, who led them out of Nottinghamshire into Holland, and there inspired within them the vision of complete earthly freedom in the new country across the Atlantic. Robinson was a Lincolnshire man. Gainsborough claims him, and on Gainsborough his first solid memorial has been raised. Many are familiar with Gainsborough who have never seen the town. Up the Trent sailed Sweyn, the sanguinary Dane, to conquest; and his son Canute--he that ordered back the rising tide, and got a wetting for his pains--was at Gainsborough when he succeeded him as King of England. Gainsborough is the St. Ogg's of "The Mill on the Floss," and the Trent is the Floss, along which Tom and Maggie Tulliver "wandered with a sense of travel, to see the rushing spring-tide, the awful Ægir, come up like a hungry monster"--the inrush of the first wave of the tide, a phenomenon peculiar at that time to both the Trent and the Witham. What George Eliot wrote of St. Ogg's describes old Gainsborough to-day--"A town which carries the trace of its long growth and history like a millennial tree, and has sprung up and developed in the same spot between the river and the low hill from the time when the Roman legion turned their backs on it from the camp on the hillside, and the long-haired sea-kings came up the river and looked with fierce eyes at the fatness of the land." And in sketching the history of St. Ogg's the novelist remembered that time of ecclesiastical ferment now written about, when "Many honest citizens lost all their possessions for conscience' sake, and went forth beggared from their native town. Doubtless there are many houses standing now," she said, "on which those honest citizens turned their backs in sorrow, quaint gabled houses looking on the river, jammed between newer warehouses, and penetrated by surprising passages, which turn at sharp angles till they lead you out on a muddy strand over-flowed continually by the rushing tide." Did not Maggie Tulliver, in white muslin and simple, noble beauty, attend an "idiotic beggar" in the still existing Old Hall, where the Fathers worshipped and John Smyth taught--"a very quaint place, with broad, jaded stripes painted on the walls, and here and there a show of heraldic animals of a bristly, long-snouted character, the cherished emblems of a noble family once the seigniors of this now civic hall"? In this Old Hall the Separatist church was founded in 1602, and here it had the friendly protection of the Hickman family, Protestants whose religious sympathies had brought them persecution and exile in the past. [Illustration: _Photograph by Welchman Bros., Retford_ THE OLD HALL, GAINSBOROUGH, IN WHICH THE SEPARATIST CHURCH WAS FOUNDED IN 1602] But the "foreign-looking town" which George Eliot endowed with romance had, like the neighbouring estuary town of Boston, which her language might have served almost as well to paint, been the abode of hard, historic fact. We can imagine the Scrooby brethren crossing the ancient ferry to bid their friends at Gainsborough farewell. For in 1607 we read, this "groupe of earnest professors of religion and bold assertors of the principle of freedom and personal conviction in respect to the Christian faith and practice" had formed the resolution to seek in another country the liberty they found not at home.[2] But it was as unlawful to flee from their native land as to remain in it without conforming, for the statute of 13 Richard II, still in force, made emigrating without authority a penal crime. Not Gainsborough alone in the North and East appeals to the never-ending stream of reverent New World pilgrims to Old World shrines. On an autumn day of the year above named came Elder Brewster to the famed new borough of Boston. There he cautiously looked about him, and made a bargain with the captain of a Dutch vessel to receive his party on board "as privately as might be." But they were betrayed, arrested, stripped of their belongings and driven into the town, a spectacle for the gaping crowd, then haled before the justices at the Guildhall and "put into ward," there to await the pleasure of the Privy Council concerning them. Boston is a unique old shrine--a place "familiar with forgotten years," as George Eliot says; a town, as already hinted, resembling Gainsborough in many outward features, but even wealthier in associations dear to the hearts of New World pilgrims. Boston and Gainsborough are regarded as the two most foreign-looking towns in England. Many of Boston's inhabitants still hold the brave spirit which enabled their ancestors to endure the religious stress of the seventeenth century. It has been a cradle of liberty since that idea first held men's thoughts and roused them to action. The quaint buildings, the ancient towers of Hussey and of Kyme, the Guildhall, the Grammar School, the great church with its giant tower all crusted o'er with the dust of antiquity: these stood when Bradford and Brewster and their companions in search of freedom were arraigned before the magistrates for the high crime and misdemeanor of trying to leave their native land. [Illustration: _Photograph by Hackford, Boston_ GUILDHALL AND SOUTH STREET, BOSTON] They must have had secret friends in the place; for some time after their Boston adventure the Government sent down Commissioners to make serious inquiry as to who had cut off the crosses from the tops of the maces carried before the Mayor to church "on Sundays and Thursdays and solemn times." John Cotton, the Puritan vicar, openly condemned the act. Suspicion fell upon churchwarden Atherton Hough. But he denied it, though "he confessed he did before that year break off the hand and arm of a picture of a Pope (as it seemed) standing over a pillar of the outside of the steeple very high, which hand had the form of a church in it." The confession seems to have been safely made, and doubtless churchwarden Hough was proud of it. He might have been better employed at that moment; but if any be tempted to censure his Puritan zeal, let them remember the temper of the times in which he lived. There was something more than wanton mischief behind it all. It was not in fact a "picture" of a Pope, but an image much more innocent. But the resemblance was sufficient for Atherton Hough. The venerable Guildhall, where Brewster and the rest faced the justices, stands in a street containing the queerest of riverside warehouses. One of them, old Gysors' Hall, was once the home of a family belonging to the merchant guilds of Boston, which gave to London two Mayors and a Constable of the Tower in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. The Guildhall itself dates from the thirteenth century; the image of St. Mary which once adorned its front shared the fate of the "picture" on the church tower, with the difference that the Virgin vanished more completely than the "Pope." The hall is regularly used by the public; and local authorities with long and honourable history still deliberate in the ancient court-room, with its wagon roof, its arch beams, its wainscoted walls, and the Boston coat-of-arms and the table of Boston Mayors since 1545 proudly displayed to view. Except for its fittings and furniture the chamber presents much the appearance now that it did when the Pilgrim Fathers, brought up from the cells which exist to-day just as when they tenanted them, stood pathetic figures on its floor and were interrogated by a body of justices, courteous and well-disposed, but powerless to give them back their liberty. [Illustration: _Photograph by Hackford, Boston_ THE OLD COURTROOM, GUILDHALL, BOSTON _Where the Pilgrims' Fathers faced the Justices. In the floor on the left is the trap door to the staircase leading down to the Cells. The Court ceased to be held here in 1843_] FOOTNOTES: [1] Dr. John Brown in "The Pilgrim Fathers of New England and their Puritan Successors." [2] "Seeing themselves thus molested, and that there was no hope of their continuance there, they resolved to go into y^e Low Countries, wher they heard was freedome of religion for all men; as also how Sundrie from London, and other parts of y^e land had been exiled and persecuted for y^e same cause, and were gone thither and lived at Amsterdam and in other places of y^e land, so affter they had continued togeither about a year, and kept their meetings every Saboth, in one place or other, exercising the worship of God amongst themselves, notwithstanding all y^e dilligence and malice of their adversaries, they seeing they could no longer continue in y^t condition, they resolved to get over into Hollad as they could which was in y^y year 1607-1608."--Bradford's "History of Plymouth Plantation." II THE ARREST AT BOSTON AND FLIGHT TO HOLLAND [Illustration: _Photograph by Hackford, Boston_ THE RIVER WITHAM, BOSTON] II THE ARREST AT BOSTON AND FLIGHT TO HOLLAND _Well worthy to be magnified are they Who, with sad hearts, of friends and country took A last farewell, their loved abodes forsook, And hallowed ground in which their fathers lay._ WORDSWORTH. Great things were destined to result from that none too joyous jaunt of Elder Brewster's when, late in 1607, charged by the Scrooby community to find them a way out of England, he went down to Boston and chartered a ship. William Bradford was of the Boston party. Everything was quietly done. In all likelihood the intending emigrants never entered the town, but gathered at some convenient spot on the Witham tidal estuary where the rushing Ægir hissed. Whether the Dutch skipper was dissatisfied with the fare promised him, or he feared detection and punishment, cannot be told. Yet, when the fugitives were all on board his vessel, and appeared about to sail, they were arrested by minions of the law. Bitter must have been their disappointment; stern, we may be sure, their remonstrance. But they could do nothing more than upbraid the treacherous Dutchman. They were not kept long in doubt as to their fate. Put back into open boats, their captors "rifled and ransacked them, searching them to their shirts for money, yea, even the women further than became modesty, and then carried them back into the town, and made them a spectacle and wonder to the multitude who came flocking on all sides to behold them." A goodly sight for this curious Boston mob. "Being thus first by the catchpole officers rifled and stripped of their money, books, and much other goods," proceeds the account, with an honest contempt for the writings of the law, "they were presented to the magistrates, and messengers were sent to inform the Lords of the Council of them; and so they were committed to ward." The basement cells in which the prisoners were placed had been in use at that time for about sixty years, for "in 1552 it was ordered that the kitchens under the Town Hall and the chambers over them should be prepared for a prison and a dwelling-house for one of the sergeants." There must have been more cells formerly. Two of them now remain. They are entered by a step some eighteen inches high; are about six feet broad by seven feet long; and in lieu of doors they are made secure by a barred iron gate. [Illustration: _Photograph by Hackford, Boston_ THE PILGRIM CELLS, GUILDHALL, BOSTON, SHOWING THE KITCHEN BEYOND] Into these dens the captives were thrust. Short of a dungeon underground, no place of confinement could have been more depressing. Only the heavy whitewashed gate, scarce wide enough to allow a man to enter, admits the light and air; and the interior of each cell is dark as night. We can imagine the misery of men fated to inhabit for long such abodes of gloom; it must have been extreme. They look as if they might have served as coal cellars for feeding the great open fireplaces which, with their spits and jacks and winding-chains, still stand there in the long open kitchen much as they did when they cooked the last mayoral banquet or May Day dinner for the old Bostonians. A curious winding stair (partly left with its post), terminating at a trapdoor in the court-room floor, was the way by which prisoners ascended and descended on their passage to and from the Court above. Now these justices who had the dealing with the Pilgrim Fathers were humane men, and were not without a feeling of sympathy for the unhappy captives. It is therefore reasonable to suppose that during some portion of this time, when their presence was not required by the Court, they may have found them better quarters than the Guildhall cells. There was a roomy ramshackle pile near the church in the market-place, half shop, half jail, of irregular shape, with long low roof, which in 1584 was "made strong" as regards the prison part, though in 1603--four years before the date under notice--it was so insecure that an individual detained there was "ordered to have irons placed upon him for his more safe keeping," with a watchman to look after him! And thirty years later the jail, "and the prison therein called Little-Ease," were repaired. We know what "Little-Ease" means well enough; and so did many a wretched occupant of these barbarous places. The Bishop of Lincoln, in the old persecuting days, had at his palace at Woburn "a cell in his prison called Little-Ease," so named because it was so small that those confined in it could neither stand upright nor lie at length. Other bishops possessed similar means of bodily correction and spiritual persuasion. This was worse than the Guildhall cells, with all their gloomy horror; and if the magistrates entertained their unwilling guests at the town jail, we may rest satisfied they did not eat the bread of adversity and drink the water of affliction in Little-Ease, but in some more spacious apartment. We have no evidence that they did so entertain them, and the traditional lodging-place of these intercepted Pilgrims is the Guildhall and nowhere else. It is probable, all the same, that a good part of their captivity was spent in the town prison. [Illustration: _From a Drawing by the late William Brand, F. S. A._ OLD TOWN GAOL, MARKET-PLACE, BOSTON] Although the magistrates, from Mayor John Mayson downward, felt for the sufferers and doubtless ameliorated their condition as far as they could, it was not until after a month's imprisonment that the greater part were dismissed and sent back, baffled, plundered, and heart-broken, to the places they had so lately left, there to endure the scoffs of their neighbours and the rigours of ecclesiastical discipline. Seven of the principal men, treated as ring-leaders, were kept in prison and bound over to the assizes. Apparently nothing further was done with them. Brewster is said to have been the chief sufferer both in person and pocket. He had eluded a warrant by leaving for Boston, and we know this was in September, because on the fifteenth of that month the messenger charged to apprehend Brewster and another man, one Richard Jackson of Scrooby, certified to the Ecclesiastical Court at York "that he cannot find them, nor understand where they are." On the thirtieth of September also the first payment is recorded to Brewster's successor as postmaster at Scrooby. How the imprisoned Separatists fared, there is nothing to show. No assize record exists. The Privy Council Register, which could have thrown light on the matter, was destroyed in the Whitehall fire of 1618; and the Boston Corporation records, which doubtless contained some entry on the subject that would have been of the greatest interest now, are also disappointing, as the leaves for the period, the first of a volume, have disappeared. Eventually the prisoners were all liberated. That dreary wait of many weeks was a weariness of the spirit and of the flesh. Patiently they bore the separation, and by and by they met to make more plans. Next spring they agreed with another Dutchman to take them on board at a lonely point on the northern coast of Lincolnshire, between Grimsby and Hull, "where was a large common, a good way distant from any town." This spot has been located as Immingham, the site of the new Grimsby docks. The women, with the children and their goods, came to the Humber by boat down the Trent from Gainsborough; the men travelled forty miles across country from Scrooby. Both parties got to the rendezvous before the ship, and the boat was run into a creek. This was unfortunate, as when the captain came on the scene next morning the boat was high and dry, left on the mud by the fallen tide, and there was nothing for it but to wait for high water at midday. [Illustration: _Photograph by Bocklehurst, Gainsborough_ TRENTSIDE, GAINSBOROUGH] Meanwhile the Dutchman set about taking the men on board in the ship's skiff, but when one boatload had been embarked he saw to his dismay, out on the hills in hot pursuit, "a great company, both horse and foot, with bills and guns and other weapons," for "the country was raised to take them." So the laconic historian says, "he swore his country's oath--Sacramente," and heaving up his anchor sailed straight away with the people he had got. Their feelings may be imagined; and their plight was aggravated by a violent storm, which drove them out of their course and tossed them about for a fortnight, until even the sailors gave up hope and abandoned themselves to despair. But the ship reached port, at last, and all were saved. The scene ashore meantime had been scarcely less distressing than that at sea. Some of the men left behind made good their escape; the rest tarried with the forsaken portion of the party. The women were broken-hearted. Some wept and cried for their husbands, carried away in the unkindly prudent Dutchman's ship. Some were distracted with apprehension; and others looked with tearful eyes into the faces of the helpless little ones that clung about them, crying with fear and quaking with cold. The men with the bills and guns arrested them; but, though they hurried their prisoners from place to place, no Justice could be found to send women to gaol for no other crime than wanting to go with their husbands. We know not what befell them. The most likely suggestion is that "they took divers ways, and were received into various houses by kind-hearted country folk." Yet this we do know. They rallied somewhere at a later day, and John Robinson and William Brewster, and other principal members of the devoted sect, including Richard Clyfton, "were of the last, and stayed to help the weakest over before them;" and Bradford tells us with a sigh of satisfaction that "notwithstanding all these storms of opposition, they all gatt over at length, some at one time and some at another, and some in one place and some in another, and mette togeather againe according to their desires, with no small rejoycing"--to take part in the wonderful movement, begun by the Pilgrims and continued by the Puritans, that gave to a new land a new nation. Thus, wrote Richard Monckton Milnes, in some verses dated "The Hall, Bawtry, May 30th, 1854"-- Thus, to men cast in that heroic mould Came Empire, such as Spaniard never knew-- Such Empire as beseems the just and true; And at the last, almost unsought, came gold. [Illustration: _Copyright, 1904, by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ ELDER WILLIAM BREWSTER] III LIFE IN LEYDEN--ADIEU TO PLYMOUTH--THE VOYAGE TO THE WEST [Illustration: _Photograph by W. P. Demmenie, Leyden_ JOHN ROBINSON'S HOUSE, LEYDEN, WHERE THE PILGRIM FATHERS WORSHIPPED] III LIFE IN LEYDEN--ADIEU TO PLYMOUTH--THE VOYAGE TO THE WEST _Then to the new-found World explored their way, That so a Church, unforced, uncalled to brook Ritual restraints, within some sheltering nook Her Lord might worship and His Word obey In Freedom._--WORDSWORTH. The first stage of the pilgrimage from the Old England to the New was now accomplished. Before the end of 1608 the whole body of the fugitives had assembled at Amsterdam. Two Separatist communities were already there, one from London, of which Francis Johnson was pastor and Henry Ainsworth teacher, and the other from Gainsborough under John Smyth. But these brethren were torn with dissensions, and the Scrooby Pilgrims, seeking peace, moved on to Leyden, where, by permission of the authorities, they settled early in 1609. Here they embarked upon a prosperous period of church life, and after awhile purchased a large dwelling, standing near the belfry tower of St. Peter's Church, which in 1611 served as pastor's residence and meeting-house, while in the rear of it were built a score of cottages for the use of their poor. Eleven quiet years were spent in Holland. Governor Bradford says they continued "in a comfortable condition, enjoying much sweet and delightful society and spiritual comfort," and that they "lived together in love and peace all their days," without any difference or disturbance "but such as was easily healed in love." The conditions of life were stern and hard, but they bore all cheerfully. With patient industry they worked at various handicrafts, fighting poverty and gaining friends. William Bradford was a fustian worker when, in 1613, at the age of twenty-three, he married Dorothy May of Wisbech; the marriage register which thus describes him is preserved in the Puiboeken at Amsterdam. Brewster, who was chief elder to John Robinson, now sole pastor of the congregation since Richard Clyfton had remained behind at Amsterdam, at first earned a livelihood by giving lessons in English to the students at the University. Then, in conjunction with Thomas Brewer, a Puritan from Kent, he set up a printing press, and they produced books in defence of their principles, such as were banned in England. Similar literature, emanating from the Netherlands, had excited the wrath of King James, who still possessed sufficient influence with the States of Holland to enable him to reach offending authors there. This James attempted to do in the case of Elder Brewster through Sir Dudley Carleton, then English ambassador at the Hague. The result was ludicrous failure. [Illustration: ST. PETER'S CHURCH, LEYDEN] Brewster quitted Leyden for a time and went to London, not as was thought to elude the vigilance of the Ambassador, but to arrange with shipmasters for a voyage to the West, which the Pilgrims had begun to think about. While Brewster was being sought by the Bishop of London's pursuivants, Sir Dudley Carleton, unaware of the hunt proceeding in London, was actively searching for him at Leyden, and at last triumphantly informed Secretary Naunton that he had caught his man. But as it turned out, the bailiff charged with the arrest, "being a dull, drunken fellow," had seized Brewer instead of Brewster! The prisoner was nevertheless detained, and after some ado consented to submit himself for examination in England, on conditions which were observed. Nothing came of it however. Brewster returned free and unmolested and Brewer remained in Leyden for some years, when, venturing back to England, he was thrown into prison and kept there until released by the Long Parliament fourteen years later. Events were meanwhile shaping the destiny of the little Pilgrim community. Holland, though a welcome temporary asylum, was no permanent place for these English exiles, and their thoughts turned before long towards a settlement in North America. By good fortune this was a country then being opened up, and it appeared as a veritable Land of Promise to these refugees in search of a new home. The first attempt to found an English colony on the mainland of North America was made in 1584, when Sir Walter Raleigh took possession of the country and named it Virginia in honour of his Queen. Nothing came of this venture, but in 1607 a company of one hundred and five men from England, sailing in three small ships, had landed on the peninsula of Jamestown in Chesapeake Bay, and the first permanent settlement was established. The chief of this Virginian enterprise was the redoubtable John Smith, a Lincolnshire man, the first of those sons of empire to go out from the East to the West. Strange that this pioneer in the wilderness, who gave to New England its name, should have come from a country which was to contribute so much to the peopling of the New England States. It is upon record that in 1619 Smith, who was then unemployed at home, volunteered to lead out the Pilgrims to North Virginia, but nothing came of the offer. [Illustration: _Photograph by James, Louth_ BUST OF CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH _Presented by General Baden-Powell to the Louth Grammar School_] The Leyden brethren in their hour of need turned to the Virginia Company, and the negotiations for a settlement in the chartered territory were not altogether unsatisfactory. The obstacle was their religion. On the Council of the Company they had good friends; but its charter not only enforced conformity, but provided stringent measures of church government. Yet, though the Pilgrims could obtain no formal grant of freedom of worship, the presumption that they would not be disturbed was so strong that they accepted the conditions and were about to embark when the Merchant Adventurers in London with whom they were associated secured powers from the Plymouth Company, and they decided to sail for New England instead of for Virginia. Arrangements were not completed without "many quirimonies and complaints;" but the exiles were saddled with such substantial difficulties as want of capital and means of transport, and the bargaining was all in favour of the merchants who were to finance and equip the expedition. At length the compact was made and preparations for the voyage were pushed forward, and the eventful day arrived when the Pilgrims were to make the long, lone journey across the seas. Pastor Robinson and a portion of his flock were to stay behind at Leyden until the first detachment had secured a lodgment on the American continent; and those about to sail, the majority of the little community, went on board the Speedwell, a vessel of sixty tons. The Pilgrims embarked included such stout-hearted pioneers as Brewster and Bradford, John Carver, Edward Winslow, Isaac Allerton, Samuel Fuller, and John Howland, all "pious and godly men;" also Captain Miles Standish, who, though not a member of the congregation then or afterwards, was a valiant soldier whose military experience and well-tried sword would, it was suspected, prove of service in a country where "salvages" were known to exist in large numbers and might have to be encountered with the arm of flesh. That was a touching scene and one which stands out boldly in the history of the movement when, on a bright sunny morning in July, 1620, the Pilgrim Fathers knelt on the seashore at Delfshaven and Mr. Robinson, his hands uplifted and his voice broken with emotion, gave them his blessing. Affecting also was the parting of the emigrants with those they were leaving behind. They had need of all their courage and patience. They sailed with British cheers and a sounding volley fired as salute, and made a brave enough show on quitting land; but troubles dogged them on the waters. Delays and disappointments soon set in. The Speedwell brought them to Southampton, where, anchored off the West Key, they found the Mayflower of London, a bark of one hundred and eighty tons burden, Captain Thomas Jones, and several passengers, some of them merchants' craftsmen. Here some anxious days were spent in patching up the compact with the Adventurers, and while the vessels lay detained letters written by Robinson arrived from Leyden, one for John Carver conveying the pastoral promise--never, alas! redeemed--to join them later, and the other, full of wise counsel and encouragement, addressed to the whole company, to whom it was read aloud and "had good acceptance with all and after-fruit with many." [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ _From the Painting by Weir_ THE EMBARKATION OF THE PILGRIMS] With ninety people in the Mayflower and thirty in the Speedwell, and a governor and assistants appointed for each company, the two vessels dropped down Southampton water on August 15[3]; but they were scarcely in the Channel when the smaller craft began to leak, and they had to run into Dartmouth and overhaul her. The repairs occupied eight days. At the end of that time the ships again stood out to sea; but, when nearly three hundred miles past the Land's End, Reynolds, master of the Speedwell, reported that the pinnace was still leaking badly, and could only be kept afloat by the aid of the pumps. So there was nothing for it but to turn back a second time, and the vessels now put into Plymouth, the Pilgrims landing at the Old Barbican. At Plymouth the Speedwell was abandoned and sent back to London to the Merchant Adventurers, and with her went eighteen persons who had turned faint-hearted, among them Robert Cushman, a chief promoter of the emigration, and his family. Finally, after much kindness and hospitality extended to them by the Plymouth people, of whom they carried a grateful remembrance across the Atlantic, the Pilgrim Fathers said adieu, and all crowded on board the Mayflower, which, with its load of passengers, numbering one hundred and two souls, followed by many a cheering shout and fervent "God-speed" from the shore, set sail alone on September 16 on its dreary voyage to the West. The weighing of the anchor of that little ship changed the ultimate destiny of half the English-speaking race! We have to remember that a trip like this in such a vessel as the Mayflower, crowded for the most part with helpless people, was a hazardous undertaking. The dangers of the deep were dreaded in those days for all-sufficient reasons, and here was a tiny craft, heavily submerged, making a winter voyage on a stormy ocean to a destination almost unknown. It must have required the strongest resolution, both of passengers and crew, to face the perils of the venture; the step was a desperate one, but, urged on by circumstances and an indomitable spirit, they took it unfalteringly, having first done what they could to make the lumbering little ship seaworthy. [Illustration: _Courtesy of the Smithsonian Institution_ MODEL OF THE MAYFLOWER] The weather was cold and tempestuous, and the passage unexpectedly long. Half way across the Atlantic the voyagers incurred the penalty of those early delays, which now left them still at sea in the bad season. Caught by the equinoctial gales, they were sadly buffeted about, driven hither and thither by boisterous winds, tossed like a toy on the face of great rolling, breaking billows, the decks swept, masts and timbers creaking, the rigging rattling in the hard northern blast. One of the violent seas which struck them, unshipped a large beam in the body of the vessel, but by strenuous labour it was got into position again, and the carpenters caulked the seams which the pitching had opened in the sides and deck. Once that sturdy colonist of later years, John Howland, venturing above the gratings, was washed overboard, but by a lucky chance he caught a coil of rope trailing over the bulwark in the sea, and was hauled back into the ship. A birth and a death at intervals were also events of the passage. It was not until two whole months had been spent on the troubled ocean that glad cries at last welcomed the sight of land, and very soon after, on November 21, sixty-seven days out from Plymouth, the Mayflower rounded Cape Cod and dropped anchor in the placid waters of what came to be Provincetown Harbour. [Illustration: _Copyright, 1890, by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ PLYMOUTH HARBOUR, AS SEEN FROM COLE'S HILL] FOOTNOTES: [3] New style, which is that adopted for the dates of sailing, and arrival and landing in North American. IV "INTO A WORLD UNKNOWN"--TRIALS AND TRIUMPH [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ _From a Painting_ THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS] IV "INTO A WORLD UNKNOWN"--TRIALS AND TRIUMPH _The breaking waves dash'd high_ _On a stern and rock-bound coast;_ _And the woods, against a stormy sky,_ _Their giant branches toss'd._--MRS. HEMANS. We can imagine with what wondering awe and mingled hopes and fears the Pilgrims looked out over the sea upon that strange New World, with its great stretch of wild, wooded coast and panorama of rock and dune and scrub, wintry bay and frowning head-land, to which destiny and the worn white wings of the Mayflower together had brought them. With thankful hearts for safe deliverance from the perils of the sea, mindful of the past and not despairing for the future, they turned trustfully and bravely to meet the dangers which they knew awaited them in the unknown wilderness ashore. The point reached by the voyagers was considerably north of the intended place of settlement, the vicinity of the Hudson River; but whether accidental or designed--and some evidence there certainly was which seemed to show that the master of the Mayflower had been bribed by the Dutch[4] to keep away from Manhattan, which they wanted for themselves--the variation was a happy one for the colonists, inasmuch as it saved them from the savages, who were warlike and numerous near the Hudson, while in this district they had been decimated and scattered by disease. [Illustration: _Copyright, 1906, by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ _From a Painting_ THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH] Now the Pilgrims were a prudent as well as a pious and plucky people, and while yet upon the water they set about providing themselves with a system of civil government. Placed as they were by this time outside the pale of recognized authority, some fitting substitute for it must be established if order was to be maintained. The necessity for this was the more imperative as there were some on board--the hired labourers, probably--who were not, it was feared, "well affected to peace and concord." Assembled in the cabin of the Mayflower, we accordingly have the leaders of the expedition, preparing that other historical incident of the pilgrimage. There they drew up the document forming a body politic and promising obedience to laws framed for the common good. This was the first American charter of self-government. It was subscribed by all the male emigrants on board, numbering forty-one. Under the constitution adopted, John Carver was elected Governor for one year. The Mayflower rode at anchor while three explorations were made to discover a suitable place of settlement, one of them on shore under Captain Miles Standish, and two by water in the ship's shallop, which had been stowed away in pieces 'tween decks on the voyage. On December 21st an inlet of the bay was sounded and pronounced "fit for shipping," and the explorers on going inland found "divers cornfields and little running brooks," and other promising sources of supply. They accordingly decided that this was a place "fit for situation," and on December 26th the Mayflower's passengers, cramped and emaciated by long confinement on board, leaped joyfully ashore. Appropriately the spot was named New Plymouth, after the last port of call in Old England. The Pilgrims landed on a huge boulder of granite, the Pilgrim Stone, still reverently preserved by their descendants: a rock which was to their feet as a doorstep Into a world unknown--the cornerstone of a nation![5] The early struggles of the Plymouth planters and the hardships they endured form a story of terrible privation and suffering on the one hand and heroic endurance and self-sacrifice on the other. They were late in arriving, and the season, midwinter, was unpropitious. The weather was unusually severe, even for that rigorous climate, and the Pilgrims found themselves in sorry plight on that bleak New England shore. Cold and famine had doggedly to be fought, and the contest was an unequal one. Cooped up for so long in the Mayflower, and badly fed and sheltered on the voyage, the settlers were ill-fitted to withstand the stress of the new conditions. For a time it was a struggle for bare existence, and the little colony was brought very near to extinction. The first care was to provide accommodation ashore, and for economy of building the community was divided into nineteen households, and the single men assigned to the different families, each of whom was to erect its own habitation and to have a plot of land. These rude homesteads of wood and thatch, and other buildings, eventually formed a single street beside the stream running down to the beach from the hill beyond. The soil of the chosen settlement appeared to be good, and abounded with "delicate springs" of water; the land yielded plentifully in season, and life teemed upon the coast and in the sea. [Illustration: _Copyright, 1906, by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ THE CANOPY OVER PLYMOUTH ROCK] But many of the Pilgrims never lived to enjoy this provision of a bountiful Providence. Worn out, enfeebled in health, insufficiently housed ashore, they were a prey to sickness. Death reaped a rich harvest in their midst. Every second day a grave had to be dug for one or other of them in the frozen ground. Sometimes, during January and February, two or three died in a single day. So rapid was the mortality that at last only a mere handful remained who were able to look after the sick. William Bradford was at this time prostrated, and it is pathetic to note the expression of his gratitude to his friend William Brewster and Miles Standish and others who ministered to his needs and those of the fellow-sufferers around him. One house, the first finished, was set apart as a hospital. The hill above the beach was converted into a burial-ground,[6] and one is touched to the quick to read of the graves having to be levelled and grassed over for fear the prowling Indians should discover how few and weak the strangers were becoming! With March came better weather, and for the first time "the birds sang pleasantly in the woods," and brought hope and gladness to the hearts of the struggling colonists. But, by that time, of the hundred or more who had landed three short months before, one-half had perished miserably. John Carver succumbed in April, and his wife quickly followed him to the grave. Bradford, by the suffrages of his brethren, was made Governor for the first time in Carver's place. He had himself sustained a heavy bereavement, for, while he was away in the shallop with the exploring party, Dorothy May, the wife he had married at Amsterdam, fell overboard and was drowned. Many men of the Mayflower also died that dreadful winter as the ship lay at anchor in the bay, including the boatswain, the gunner, and the cook, three quartermasters and several seamen. [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ _From a Painting_ THE OLD FORT AND FIRST MEETING HOUSE] To other troubles were allied the ever menacing peril of the Indians, which resulted in the famous challenge of the bundle of arrows wrapped in a rattlesnake's skin, and Bradford's effective reply to it with a serpent's skin stuffed with powder and shot; also, less happily, that return of Miles Standish and his men bearing in triumph a sagamore's head; and the building of the hill-fort, with cannon brought ashore from the Mayflower mounted on its roof, where also they worshipped till the first church was built at the hill fort in 1648. Here it was that the Pilgrims perpetuated the church founded at Scrooby in England. A building erected for storage and public worship in the first days of the colony took fire soon after its completion and was burnt to the ground. Of the refuge on the hill Bradford writes: "They builte a fort with good timber, both strong and comly, which was of good defence, made with a flatte rofe and batilments, on which their ordnance was mounted, and where they kepte constante watch, especially in time of danger. It served them also for a meeting-house, and was fitted accordingly for that use." The fort was large and square, and a work of such pretentions as to be regarded by some of the Pilgrims as vainglorious. Its provision was fully justified by the dangers which threatened the settlers, and it became the center of both the civic and religious life of the little colony. An excellent idea of the scene at Sunday church parade is given in a letter[7] written by Isaac de Rassières, secretary to the Dutch colony established at Manhattan, the modern New York, in 1623, describing a visit he paid to the Plymouth Plantation in the autumn of 1627. After speaking of the flat-roofed fort with its "six cannon, which shoot iron balls of four and five pounds and command the surrounding country," the writer says of the Pilgrims meeting in the lower part: "They assemble by beat of drum, each with his musket or firelock, in front of the captain's door; they have their cloaks on, and place themselves in order three abreast, and are led by a sergeant without beat of drum. Behind comes the Governor in a long robe; beside him, on the right hand, comes the Preacher with his cloak on, and on the left the Captain with his sidearms and cloak on, and with a small cane in his hand; and so they march in good order, and each sets his arms down near him. Thus they are constantly on their guard, night and day." The spectacle may not have been strictly that witnessed at every service on "Sundays and the usual holidays," for this was a state visit to the Colony, with solemn entry and heralding by trumpeters, and the Pilgrims probably treated the occasion with more form than was their wont. Still it is an instructive picture, full of romantic suggestion. [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ _From the Painting by G. H. Boughton_ PILGRIMS GOING TO CHURCH] And then the service itself. For some notion of this we must turn to a visit paid to the Plantation five years later, in the autumn of 1632, when we are introduced to another scene in the fortified church. From the "Life and Letters" of John Winthrop, Governor of the neighbouring Colony of Massachusetts Bay, we gather that, at the time stated, Winthrop and his pastor, John Wilson, came over to Plymouth, walking the twenty-five miles. "On the Lord's Day," we read, "there was a sacrament, which they did partake in." Roger Williams was there as assistant to Ralph Smith, the first minister of Plymouth church, and in the afternoon Williams, according to custom, "propounded a question," to which Mr. Smith "spake briefly." Then Mr. Williams "prophesied," that is he preached, "and after, the Governor of Plymouth spake to the question; after him, Elder Brewster; then some two or three men of the congregation. Then Elder Brewster desired the Governor of Massachusetts and Mr. Wilson to speak to it, which they did. When this was ended the deacon, Mr. Fuller, put the congregation in mind of their duty of contribution; whereupon the Governor and all the rest went down to the deacon's seat, and put into the box, and then returned." There is nothing here about the music of the services, such as it was, vocal only, rugged, but not without melody. We know, however, that the Pilgrims used that psalter, brought over by them to New England, with its tunes printed above each psalm in lozenge-shaped Elizabethan notes, which Longfellow so grandly describes in "The Courtship of Miles Standish" as the well-worn psalm-book of Ainsworth, Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music together, Rough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the walls of a churchyard, Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the verses. The duty of "tuning the Psalm," as they designated the performance, in the young colonial days, before choirs or precentors were dreamt of, was delegated to some lusty-lunged brother present, and, judged by the testimony which has come down to us, it was an onerous one, trying to his patience and his vocal power when, as sometimes happened, the congregation carried another tune against him. They were called to Sabbath worship in the earlier times by sound of horn or beat of drum or the blowing of a large conch-shell. At Plymouth we have seen it was by drum beat, probably from the roof, that the people were assembled at the meeting-house. When the Mayflower left them to return home in the spring, the settlers must have felt they were desolate indeed, for their nearest civilised neighbours were five hundred miles to the north and south of them, the French at Nova Scotia and the English in Virginia. Seven months later, in November, came the Fortune, bringing thirty-five new emigrants, including William Brewster's eldest son; John Winslow, a brother of Edward; and Robert Cushman, who had turned back the year before at Old Plymouth. In addition to her passengers, the Fortune brought out to the colonists, from the Council of New England, a patent[8] of their land, drawn up in the name of John Pierce and his associate Merchant Adventurers in the same way as the charter granted them by the Plymouth Company on February 21, 1620, authorising the planters to establish their colony near the mouth of the Hudson river. [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ _From the Painting by A. W. Bayes_ THE DEPARTURE OF THE MAYFLOWER] When the Fortune sailed back to England, she carried a cargo of merchandise valued at five hundred pounds. This was intended for the Adventurers, but they never received it, for when nearing port, the vessel was captured by the French and the cargo seized. The ship was allowed to proceed, and Cushman, who returned in her, secured the papers on board, among them Bradford and Winslow's Journal, known as Mourt's Relation, and a letter from Edward Winslow to his "loving and old friend" George Morton, who was about to come out, giving seasonable advice as to what he and his companions should bring with them--good store of clothes and bedding, and each man a musket and fowling-piece; paper and linseed oil for the making of their windows (glass being then too great a luxury for a New England home), and much store of powder and shot. Soon arrived further parties from Leyden and stores from the Adventurers in London in the Anne and the Little James pinnace, the people including such welcome additions as Brewster's two daughters, Fear and Patience; George Morton and his household; Mrs. Samuel Fuller; Alice Carpenter, widow of Edward Southworth, afterwards the second wife of Governor Bradford; and Barbara, who married Miles Standish. Then from the Leyden pastor came letters for Bradford and Brewster. The writer was dead--had been dead a year--when those letters reached their destination, but this they only knew when Standish gave them the tidings on his return from a voyage to England. John Robinson passed away at the age of forty-nine on March 1, 1622, in the old meeting-house at Leyden, and they buried him under the pavement of St. Peter's Church. Brewster lost his wife about the time the sad news was known, and the messenger who brought it had further to tell of the death of Robert Cushman. Truly the tale of affliction was a sore one. By the July of 1623 a total of about two hundred and thirty-three persons had been brought out, including the children and servants, of whom one hundred and two, composed of seventy-three males and twenty-nine females, eighteen of the latter wives, were landed from the Mayflower. At the close of that year not more than one hundred and eighty-three were living. The survivors bravely persevered. Gradually the Pilgrim Colony took deep root. The New Plymouth men were a steady, plodding set, and the soil, if hard, was tenacious. They got a firm foothold. They suffered much, for their trials by no means ended with the first winter; but their cheerful trust in Providence and in their own final triumph never wavered. By 1628 their position was secure beyond all doubt or question. The way was now prepared; the tide of emigration set in; and the main body of the Puritans began to follow in the track of their courageous and devoted advance-guard. [Illustration: _Copyright, 1904, by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ CAPTAIN MILES STANDISH] Out there in the West these Pilgrims, or first-comers, settled themselves resolutely to the task which lay before them. They were no idle dreamers, though their idealism was intense, and they were united by the bonds of sympathy and helpfulness, one towards another. Their works were humble, their lives simple and obscure, their worldly success but small, their fears many and pressing, and their vision of the future restricted and dim. But they consistently put into practise the conceptions and ideals which dominated them and were to be the inheritance of the great Republic they unconsciously initiated and helped to build up. They established a community and a government solidly founded on love of freedom and belief in progress, on civil liberty and religious toleration, on industrial cooperation and individual honesty and industry, on even-handed justice and a real equality before the laws, on peace and goodwill supported by protective force. They were more liberal and tolerant in religion than the Puritan colonists of Massachusetts Bay, and more merciful in their punishments; they perpetrated no atrocities against inferior peoples, and cherished the love of peace and of political justice. Although at first the relations of the Pilgrims with their Puritan neighbours were none of the best, a better state of feeling before long prevailed. We have seen how John Winthrop and his pastor plodded over to Plymouth to attend its Sunday worship. Three years earlier, in 1629, Bradford and some of his brethren went by sea to Salem to an ordination service there, and, says Morton in his "Memorial," "gave them the right hand of fellowship." There were other visits, letters of friendship, and reciprocal acts of kindness. We read of Samuel Fuller, physician and deacon, going to Salem to tend the sick, and of Governor Winthrop lending Plymouth in its need twenty-eight pounds of gunpowder. This good feeling strengthened as time went on, and drew together the Plantations of Plymouth, Massachusetts, and Connecticut for mutual support and protection; and in May, 1643, the deputies of these Colonies, meeting at Boston, subscribed the Articles of Confederation which created the first Federal Union in America. This league prospered well until 1684, when the Colonial charter was annulled and a Crown Colony was established under an English governor. Less than a decade later Massachusetts became a Royal province, and that period in American history was entered upon which ended with the Declaration of Independence and the creation of the United States. [Illustration: _Copyright, 1904, by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ GOVERNOR WILLIAM BRADFORD] While the federation of 1643 did much for the United Colonies, it overshadowed, but could not obscure, Plymouth and the unique annals and traditions which have preserved for it a foremost place in all American history. With the order of things inaugurated in 1692 the body politic framed by the men of the Mayflower ceased to have separate existence, but it remains deep in the foundations of the nation which absorbed it. In the modest language of William Bradford used in his day, "As one small candle may light a thousand, so the light here kindled hath shone to many, yea, in some sort to our whole nation," a truth which has a far wider application now than it had in Bradford's time. * * * * * Such is the story of the Mayflower Pilgrims, romantic, heroic, idyllic, based also upon the principles which have molded and maintained a mighty free nation. Its place in the life of to-day is honoured and conspicuous, and rests upon the rock of a people's gratitude. During the nineteenth century it was proclaimed by many orators, among them John Quincy Adams, Daniel Webster, Edward Everett, Robert Charles Winthrop, and George Frisbie Hoar--to name only the century's dead--who as New Englanders and lovers of liberty were well fitted to voice the virtues of the Pilgrim Fathers, the hardships they endured, their high merits as colonists compared with other colonists of ancient and modern times, and the immense issues springing from their devout, laborious, and self-sacrificing lives. Passing on to the twentieth century we have the story taken up by one American President and continued by another at the cornerstone laying and dedication of a combined tribute of State and Nation to the lives and work of the Forefathers. This was the Pilgrim Memorial Monument, erected at Provincetown on a commanding site above the harbour in whose waters the Mayflower dropped her anchor nearly three centuries ago. The gatherings there of 1907 and 1910 stand out prominently in Pilgrim history, especially so that of August 5 of the latter year, which was grandly impressive alike in its magnitude and its purpose and character. President Taft, the successor of President Roosevelt, arrived in his yacht Mayflower with imposing naval display amid rejoicing and the booming of guns. He was greeted by Governor of the State Eben S. Draper, Captain J. H. Sears, president of the Cape Cod Pilgrim Memorial Association, and members of the local committee. Accompanying him were Secretary of the Navy George von L. Meyer, United States Senators Henry Cabot Lodge and George Peabody Wetmore, and Justice White of the United States Supreme Court. The scene and the ceremonies, soul-stirring and significant, are worthy of permanent record. Escorted by a company of bluejackets, of whom two thousand, with marines from the warships, lined the street from the wharf, President Taft and the other guests were driven up the hill to the Monument, where, from the grandstand at its base, Captain Sears reviewed the plans which resulted in its erection. [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ THE PILGRIM MEMORIAL MONUMENT AT PROVINCETOWN] President Charles W. Eliot of Harvard University gave an historical address. In graphic language he contrasted the desolate prospect confronting the Pilgrims at Cape Cod with the picture upon which the present concourse gazed, a happy and prosperous population filling the smiling land and in the harbour traversed by the Mayflower a varied throng of ships, "with them numerous representatives of a strong naval force maintained by the eighty million free people who in nine generations from the Pilgrims have explored, subdued, and occupied that mysterious wilderness so formidable to the imagination of the early European settlers on the Atlantic coast of the American continent." With force and pathos Dr. Eliot spoke of the debt they all owed to the Pilgrim Fathers. "We are to hear the voices of the Chief Magistrate of this multitudinous people and of the Governor of the Commonwealth acknowledging the immeasurable indebtedness of the United States and of the Colony, Province, and State of Massachusetts to the adult men and the eighteen adult women who were the substance or seed-bearing core of the Pilgrim company; and we, the thousands brought hither peacefully in a few summer hours by vehicles and forces unimagined in 1620 from the wide circuit of Cape Cod--which it took the armed parties from the Mayflower a full month to explore in the wintry weather they encountered--salute tenderly and reverently the Pilgrims of the Mayflower, and, recalling their fewness and their sufferings, anxieties and labours, felicitate them and ourselves on the wonderful issues in human Joy, strength, and freedom of their faith, endurance, and dauntless resolution." Dr. Eliot was followed by M. Van Weede, chargé d'affaires of the Netherlands Legation at Washington, whose Government was represented on this occasion because the Pilgrims sailed from Holland. (The cornerstone laying three years before was attended by the British Ambassador.) Formal transfer of the Monument from the National Commission, which directed its construction, to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and the Pilgrim Memorial Association, was made on behalf of the United States Government by Senator Lodge, who enlarged upon the two great political principles embodied in the Mayflower compact, the conception of an organic law and of a representative democracy, and on the noble purpose--that of securing freedom of worship and the preservation of their nationality and native language--of the little band of exiles who signed the document and settled there. William B. Lawrence of Medford accepted the Monument on behalf of the Memorial Association, and a quartet sang "The Landing of the Pilgrims," by Mrs. Felicia Hemans. Congressman James T. McCleary of Minnesota, who supported the bill in Congress for a Government appropriation to assist in the building of the Monument, also spoke. [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ PLYMOUTH ROCK] Governor Draper then introduced the President. "This Monument," he said, "shows that our people and our State and National Government honour and revere the Pilgrims and the great principles of government they enunciated," and for that reason, he added, "It is most fitting that this Monument, whose cornerstone was laid by one President, should be dedicated by another." President Taft declared that the spirit which animated the Pilgrim Fathers had made the history of the United States what it was by furnishing it with the highest ideals of moral life and political citizenship. "It is meet therefore," said he, "that the United States, as well as the State of Massachusetts, should unite in placing here a Memorial to the Pilgrims. The warships that are here with their cannon to testify to its national character typify the strength of that Government whose people have derived much from the spirit and example of the heroic band. Governor Bradford, Elder Brewster, Captain Miles Standish are the types of men in whom as ancestors, either by blood, or by education and example as citizens, the American people may well take pride." The ceremonies were brought to a close by Miss Barbara Hoyt, a descendant of Elder Brewster, unveiling a bronze tablet over the door of the Monument facing the harbour which bears an appropriate inscription written by Dr. Eliot. And so this magnificent Monument stands as a landmark which, seen from afar across the ocean, will remind the traveller of the small beginnings of New England when, in the words of Dr. Eliot, fired and led by the love of liberty, the Mayflower Pilgrims here "founded and maintained a State without a king or a noble, and a Church without a bishop or a priest." * * * * * It is upon record that in the early days of the Plymouth Plantation an expedition was made in the Mayflower's shallop, a big boat of about fourteen tons, to a point lower down on the coast, where the party made friends with the Shawmut Indians and found a fine place for shipping, and forty-seven beautiful islands, which they greatly admired as they sailed in and out amongst them. This was the future Boston Harbour. It is interesting to reflect that when, a decade and more after the Pilgrim Fathers had landed in America, some hundreds of Puritan colonists embarked for Massachusetts, many of the leading burgesses of the then only Boston--that Old Boston, scene of the Pilgrims' detention and suffering--were of the number. The town cannot claim a contribution to the Mayflower, but it has a boast as proud, for it was because the ancient seaport sent so large a contingent of Puritans to America that it was ordered "that Trimountain," the site overlooking the sheltered waters and the island group which delighted Pilgrim eyes, "shall be called Boston." [Illustration: _Photograph by Hackford, Boston_ A BIT OF OLD BOSTON] It was in the spring of 1630 that the main body of Puritan emigrants, John Winthrop's party, sailed from Southampton. A year before that the Massachusetts Bay Company dispatched to the West an expedition of five ships, and one of them was our old friend the wonderful little Mayflower, of immortal memory, which nine years earlier had carried out the Plymouth Pilgrims and was now assisting in the settlement of Massachusetts! Among the Bostonians and their friends who sailed with or in the wake of Winthrop were Richard Bellingham, Recorder of the town (Nathaniel Hawthorne in "The Scarlet Letter" draws Governor Bellingham of the New Boston); bold Atherton Hough aforementioned, Mayor of the borough in 1628; Thomas Leverett, an alderman, "a plain man, yet piously subtle"; Thomas Dudley and young John Leverett, who became Governors of Massachusetts; William Coddington, father and governor of Rhode Island; and John Cotton, the far-famed Puritan preacher of Boston church, who became one of the leading religious forces of New England life. And Old Boston, we have seen, is still much as it was outwardly over three hundred years ago, when the Pilgrim Fathers gazed upon it, and later Cotton preached long but edifying sermons in the vast church, and the Puritan warden struck the Romish symbol from the hand of a carven image on the noble tower. The first days of the Trimountain Colony resembled in some of their features those of the planting of New Plymouth. Although their shelter was of the scantiest, the settlers had not, like the settlers of Plymouth, to face at the outset the rigors of a Western winter. The Pilgrims arrived in December, on the shortest day of the year, whereas the day of the Puritans' landing was the very longest. Sickness and famine had nevertheless to be fought. Disease quickly carried off twenty per cent. of the people. About a hundred others returned home discouraged. The rest persevered, and proved themselves worthy followers of the New Plymouth Pilgrims. The Colony was, moreover, recruited by fresh comers from the old country; and through many vicissitudes, dissensions, and set-backs, much that was blasting to the spiritual and moral life and development of the Colony, it prospered materially and gathered strength. And there grew up the New England States. * * * * * [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ THE SITE OF THE OLD FORT, BURIAL HILL, PLYMOUTH] On the slope of Burial Hill,[9] surrounded by memorials of the Pilgrim Fathers and with the graves of their dead in the background; facing down that stream-skirted street of the Pilgrims once bordered by their humble dwellings and echoing to the tread of their weary feet; looking out upon the waters which bore to this haven, long years ago, the storm-tossed Mayflower and her eager human freight, there stands to-day a church which through the centuries has preserved unbroken records and maintained a continuous ministry. This is the First Church in Plymouth and the first church in America, the church of Scrooby, Leyden, and the Mayflower company, the church of Brewster and Bradford, of Winslow and Carver, whose first covenant, signed in the cabin of the little emigrant ship, is still the basis of its fellowship. Here Roger Williams, the banished of Boston and missionary of Rhode Island--a man according to Bradford of "many precious parts, but very unsettled in Judgment"--ministered for a time under Ralph Smith in the early stormy days of the sister colony; and here John Cotton, son of the famous Boston teacher and preacher--"a man of scholarly tastes and habits, somewhat decided in his convictions, diligent and faithful in his pastoral duties"[10]--was pastor for nearly thirty years from 1669. As the First Church in Boston is the fifth of its line, so is the First Church in Plymouth the fifth meeting-house used by the Pilgrim community. Its predecessor, a shrine of Pilgrim history around which precious associations clustered, was destroyed by fire in 1892; from the burning ruins was rescued the town bell cast by Paul Revere in 1801, and this sacred relic hangs and tolls again in the tower of the present edifice. Amid such scenes as these well may we of to-day pause and reflect. For on this hallowed spot, with its historic environment and its striking reminders of a great and honoured past, was rocked the cradle of a nation of whose civil and religious liberty it was the first rude home. [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ FIRST CHURCH, PLYMOUTH _The entrance to Burial Hill is shown on the Right_] FOOTNOTES: [4] Morton in his "New England's Memorial," declares that the Dutch fraudulently hired the captain of the Mayflower to steer to the north of what is now New York, and adds: "Of this plot between the Dutch and Mr. Jones I have had late and certain information." [5] Longfellow, "The Courtship of Miles Standish." [6] This is the Cole's Hill of the present day, the spot where half the Mayflower Pilgrims found their rest during the first winter. Five of their graves were discovered in 1855, while pipes for the town's waterworks were being laid, and two more (now marked with a granite slab), in 1883. The bones of the first five are deposited in a compartment of the granite canopy which covers the "Forefathers' Rock" on which the Pilgrim Fathers landed. [7] The letter was addressed by De Rassières to Herr Blommaert, a director of his company, after his return to Holland, where the Royal Library became possessed of it in 1847. [8] This document, preserved still in the Pilgrim Hall at Plymouth, is dated June 1, 1621, and bears the signatures and seals of the Duke of Lenox, the Marquis of Hamilton, the Earl of Warwick, and Sir Ferdinando Gorges, a name for many years prominent in American history. The patent only remained in force a year. That issued by the Council eight years later was transferred by Governor Bradford to the General Court in 1640. [9] Burial Hill was the site of the embattled church erected in 1622, and contains many ancient tombstones and the foundations of a watchtower (1643), now covered with sod. [10] John Cuckson, "History of the First Church in Plymouth." Dying in 1699, two years after his resignation at Charleston, South Carolina, Cotton was "buried with respect and honour by his old parishioners, who erected a monument over his grave." V THE PILGRIM ROLL CALL--FATE AND FORTUNES OF THE FATHERS [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ THE PILGRIM FATHERS' MEMORIAL, PLYMOUTH] V THE PILGRIM ROLL CALL--FATE AND FORTUNES OF THE FATHERS _On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled._ EDMUND SPENSER. _There were men with hoary hair_ _Amidst that pilgrim band:_ _Why had they come to wither there,_ _Away from their childhood's land?_ _There was woman's fearless eye,_ _Lit by her deep love's truth;_ _There was manhood's brow serenely high,_ _And the fiery heart of youth._ So sings Mrs. Hemans in her famous poem "The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in New England." That devoted little Pilgrim band comprised, indeed, the Fathers and their families together, members of both sexes of all ages. When the compact was signed in the Mayflowers cabin on November 21, 1620, while the vessel lay off Cape Cod, each man subscribing to it indicated those who accompanied him. There were forty-one signatories, and the total number of passengers was shown to be one hundred and two. What became of them? What was their individual lot and fate subsequent to the landing on Plymouth Rock on December 26? For long, long years the record as regards the majority of them was lost to the world. Now, after much painstaking search, it has been found, bit by bit, and pieced together. And we have it here. It is a document full of human interest. John Alden, the youngest man of the party, was hired as a cooper at Southampton, with right to return to England or stay in New Plymouth. He preferred to stay, and married, in 1623, Priscilla Mullins, the "May-flower of Plymouth," the maiden who, as the legend goes, when he first went to plead Miles Standish's suit, witchingly asked, "Prithee, why don't you speak for yourself, John?" Alden was chosen as assistant in 1633, and served from 1634 to 1639 and from 1650 to 1686. He was treasurer of the Colony from 1656 to 1659; was Deputy from Duxbury in 1641-42, and from 1645 to 1649; a member of the Council of War from 1653 to 1660 and 1675-76; a soldier in Captain Miles Standish's company 1643. He was the last survivor of the signers of the compact of November, 1620, dying September 12, 1687, aged eighty-four years. Bartholomew Allerton, born in Holland in 1612, was in Plymouth in 1627, when he returned to England. He was son of Isaac Allerton. [Illustration: _Copyright, 1904, by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ JOHN ALDEN] [Illustration: _Copyright, 1904, by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ PRISCILLA MULLINS] Isaac Allerton, a tailor of London, married at Leyden, November 4, 1611, Mary Norris from Newbury, Berkshire, England. He was a freeman of Leyden. His wife died February 25, 1621, at Plymouth. Allerton married Fear Brewster (his second wife), who died at Plymouth, December 12, 1634. In 1644 he had married Joanna (his third wife). He was an assistant in 1621 and 1634, and Deputy Governor. He was living in New Haven in 1642, later in New York, then returned to New Haven. He died in 1659. John Allerton, a sailor, died before the Mayflower made her return voyage. Mary Allerton, a daughter of Isaac, was born in 1616. She married Elder Thomas Cushman. She died in 1699, the last survivor of the Mayflower passengers. Remember Allerton was another daughter living in Plymouth in 1627. Sarah Allerton, yet another daughter, married Moses Maverick of Salem. Francis Billington, son of John and Eleanor, went out in 1620 with his parents. In 1634 he married widow Christian (Penn) Eaton, by whom he had children. He removed before 1648 to Yarmouth. He was a member of the Plymouth military company in 1643. He died in Yarmouth after 1650. John Billington was hanged[11] in 1630 for the murder of John Newcomen. His widow, Eleanor, who went over with him, married in 1638 Gregory Armstrong, who died in 1650, leaving no children by her. John Billington, a son of John and Eleanor, born in England, died at Plymouth soon after 1627. [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ GOVERNOR BRADFORD'S MONUMENT, BURIAL HILL, PLYMOUTH] William Bradford, baptised in 1589 at Austerfield, Yorkshire, was a leading spirit in the Pilgrim movement from its inception to its absorption in the Union of the New England Colonies. We have seen how, on the death of John Carver, he became the second Governor of Plymouth Colony, and he five times filled that office, in 1621-33, 1635, 1637, 1639-44, and 1645-47, as well as serving several times as Deputy Governor and assistant. A patent was granted to him in 1629 by the Council of New England vesting the Colony in trust to him, his heirs, associates and assigns, confirming their title to a tract of land and conferring the power to frame a constitution and laws; but eleven years later he transferred this patent to the General Court, reserving only to himself the allotment conceded to him in the original division of land. Bradford's rule as chief magistrate was marked by honesty and fair dealing, alike in his relations with the Indian tribes and his treatment of recalcitrant colonists. His word was respected and caused him to be trusted; his will was resolute in every emergency, and yet all knew that his clemency and charity might be counted on whenever it could be safely exercised. The Church was always dear to him: he enjoyed its faith and respected its institutions, and up to the hour of his death, on May 9, 1657, he confessed his delight in its teachings and simple services. Governor Bradford was twice married, first, as we know, at Leyden in 1613 to Dorothy May, who was accidentally drowned in Cape Cod harbour on December 7, 1620; and again on August 14, 1623, to Alice Carpenter, widow of Edward Southworth. By his first wife he had one son, and by his second, two sons and a daughter. Jointly with Edward Winslow, Bradford wrote "A Diary of Occurences during the First Year of the Colony," and this was published in England in 1622. He left many manuscripts, letters and chronicles, verses and dialogues, which are the principal authorities for the early history of the Colony; but the work by which he is best remembered is his manuscript "History of Plymouth Plantation," now happily, after being carried to England and lost to sight for years in the Fulham Palace Library, restored to the safe custody of the State of Massachusetts. [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ GOVERNOR CARVER'S CHAIR AND ANCIENT SPINNING WHEEL] William Brewster more than any man was entitled to be called the Founder of the Pilgrim Church. It originated in his house at Scrooby, where he was born in 1566, and he sacrificed everything for it. He was elder of the church at Leyden and Plymouth, and served it also as minister for some time after going out. Through troubles, trials, and adversity, he stood by the Plymouth flocks, and when his followers were in peril and perplexity, worn and almost hopeless through fear and suffering, he kept a stout heart and bade them be of good cheer. Bradford has borne touching testimony to the personal attributes of his friend, who, he tells us, was "qualified above many," and of whom he writes that "he was wise and discrete, and well-spoken, having a grave and deliberate utterance, of a very cheerful spirite, very sociable and pleasante among his friends, of an humble and modest mind, of a peaceable disposition, under-valewing himself and his own abilities and sometimes over-vallewing others, inoffensive and innocent in his life and conversation, which gained him ye love of those without, as well as those within." Of William Brewster it has been truly said that until his death, on April 16, 1644, his hand was never lifted from Pilgrim history. He shaped the counsels of his colleagues, helped to mould their policy, safeguarded their liberties, and kept in check tendencies towards religious bigotry and oppression. He tolerated differences, but put down wrangling and dissension, and promoted to the best of his power the strength and purity of public and private life. Mary Brewster, wife of William, who went out with him, died before 1627. Love Brewster, son of Elder William, born in England, married (1634) Sarah, daughter of William Collier. He was a member of the Duxbury company in 1643, and died at Duxbury in 1650. Wrestling Brewster, son of Elder William, emigrated at the same time; he died a young man, unmarried. Richard Britteridge died December 21, 1620, his being the first death after landing. Peter Brown probably married the widow Martha Ford; he died in 1633. William Button, a servant of Samuel Fuller, died on the voyage. John Carver, first Governor of the Plymouth Colony, landed from the Mayflower with his wife, Catherine, and both died the following spring or summer. Carver was deacon in Holland. He left no descendants. Robert Carter was a servant of William Mullins, and died during the first winter. James Chilton died December 8, 1620, before the landing at Plymouth, and his wife succumbed shortly after. Their daughter Mary, tradition states, romantically if not truthfully, was the first to leap on shore. She married John Winslow, and had ten children. Richard Clarke died soon after arrival. Francis Cook died at Plymouth in 1663. John Cook, son of Francis Cook by his wife, Esther, shipped in the Mayflower with his father. He married Sarah, daughter of Richard Warren. On account of religious differences he removed to Dartmouth, of which he was one of the first purchasers. He became a Baptist minister there. He was also Deputy in 1666-68, 1673, and 1681-83-86. The father and son were both members of the Plymouth military company in 1643. John Cook died at Dartmouth after 1694. Humility Cooper returned to England, and died there. John Crackston died in 1621; his son, John, who went out with him, died in 1628. Edward Dotey married Faith Clark, probably as second wife, and had nine children, some of whom moved to New Jersey, Long Island, and elsewhere. He was a purchaser of Dartmouth, but moved to Yarmouth, where he died August 23, 1655. He made the passage out as a servant to Stephen Hopkins, and was wild and headstrong in his youth, being a party to the first duel fought in New England. [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ ELDER BREWSTER'S CHAIR AND THE CRADLE OF PEREGRINE WHITE] Francis Eaton went over with his first wife, Sarah, and their son, Samuel. He married a second wife, and a third, Christian Penn, before 1627. He died in 1633. Samuel Eaton married, in 1661, Martha Billington. In 1643 he was in the Plymouth military company, and was living at Duxbury in 1663. He removed to Middleboro, where he died about 1684. Thomas English died the first winter. One Ely, a hired man, served his time and returned to England. Moses Fletcher married at Leyden, in 1613, widow Sarah Dingby. He died during the first winter. Edward Fuller shipped with his wife, Ann, and son, Samuel. The parents died the first season. Samuel Fuller, the son, married in 1635 Jane, daughter of the Reverend John Lothrop; he removed to Barnstable, where he died October 31, 1683, having many descendants. Dr. Samuel Fuller, brother of Edward, was the first physician; he married (1) Elsie Glascock, (2) Agnes Carpenter, (3) Bridget Lee; he died in 1633. His descendants of the name are through a son, Samuel, who settled in Middleboro. Richard Gardiner, mariner, was at Plymouth in 1624, but soon disappeared. John Goodman, unmarried, died the first winter. John Hooke died the first winter, as did also William Holbeck. Giles Hopkins, son of Stephen, married in 1639 Catherine Wheldon; he moved to Yarmouth and afterwards to Eastham, and died about 1690. Stephen Hopkins went out with his second wife, Elizabeth, and Giles and Constance, children by a first wife. On the voyage a child was born to them, which they named Oceanus, but it died in 1621. He was an assistant, 1634-35, and died in 1644. His wife died between 1640 and 1644. Constance, daughter of Stephen, married Nicholas Snow. They settled at Eastham, from which he was a Deputy in 1648, and he died November 15, 1676; she died in October, 1677, having had twelve children. Damaris, a daughter, was born after their arrival and married Jacob Cooke. John Howland married Elizabeth, daughter of John Tilley. He was a Deputy in 1641, 1645 to 1658, 1661, 1663, 1666-67, and 1670; assistant in 1634 and 1635; also a soldier in the Plymouth military company in 1643. He died February 23, 1673, aged more than eighty years, and his widow died December 21, 1687, aged eighty years. John Langemore died during the first winter. William Latham about 1640 left for England, and afterwards went to the Bahamas, where he probably died. Edward Leister went to Virginia. [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ THE GRAVE OF JOHN HOWLAND] Edmund Margeson, unmarried, died in 1621. Christopher Martin and wife both died early; his death took place January 8, 1621. Desire Minter returned to England, and there died. Ellen More perished the first winter. Jasper More removed to Scituate, and his name is said to have become Mann. He died in Scituate in 1656; his brother died the first winter. William Mullins shipped with his wife, son Joseph, and daughter Priscilla, who married John Alden. The father died February 21, 1621, and his wife during the same winter, as did also the son. Solomon Power died December 24, 1620. Degory Priest married in 1611, at Leyden, widow Sarah Vincent, a sister of Isaac Allerton; he died January 1, 1621. John Rigdale went out with his wife, Alice, both dying the first winter. Joseph Rogers went with his father, Thomas Rogers, who died in 1621. The son married, and lived at Eastham in 1655, dwelling first at Duxbury and Sandwich. He was a lieutenant, and died in 1678 at Eastham. Harry Sampson settled at Duxbury, and married Ann Plummer in 1636. He was of the Duxbury military company in 1643, and died there in 1684. George Soule was married to Mary Becket. He was in the military company of Duxbury, where he resided, and was the Deputy in 1645-46, and 1650-54. He was an original proprietor of Bridgewater and owner of land in Dartmouth and Middleboro; he died 1680, his wife in 1677. Ellen Story died the first winter. [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ THE GRAVE OF MILES STANDISH, DUXBURY] Miles Standish, that romantic figure in the Pilgrim history, did good service for the Colony, and practically settled the question whether the Anglo-Saxon or the native Indian was to predominate in New England. Born in Lancashire about 1584, and belonging to the Duxbury branch of the Standish family, he obtained a lieutenant's commission in the English army and fought in the wars against The Netherlands and Spain. His taste for military adventure led to his joining the Pilgrims at Leyden, and when the Mayflower reached Cape Cod, he led the land exploring parties. Soon he was elected military captain of the Colony, and with a small force he protected the settlers against Indian incursions until the danger from that quarter was past. When they were made peaceably secure in their rights and possessions, and warlike exploits and adventures were at an end, Standish retired to his estate at Duxbury, on the north side of Plymouth Bay: but in peace, as in war, he was still devoted to the interests of the Colony, frequently acting as Governor's assistant from 1632 onward, becoming Deputy in 1644, and serving as treasurer between that year and 1649. His wife Rose, who sailed with him in the Mayflower, died January 29, 1621, but he married again, and had four sons and a daughter. He died on October 3, 1656, honoured by all the community among whom he dwelt, and his name and fame are perpetuated in history, in the poetry of Longfellow and Lowell, and by the monument which stands upon what was his estate at Duxbury, the lofty column on Captain's Hill, seen for miles both from sea and land. Edward Thompson died December 4, 1620. Edward Tilley and his wife Ann both died the first winter. John Tilley accompanied his wife and daughter Elizabeth; the parents died the first winter, but the daughter survived and married John Howland. Thomas Tinker, with his wife and son, died the first winter. John Turner had with him two sons, but the party succumbed to the hardships of the first season. William Trevore entered as a sailor on the Mayflower, and returned to England on the Fortune in 1621. William White went out with his wife Susanna, and son Resolved. A son, Peregrine, was born to them in Provincetown Harbour, who has been distinguished as being the first child of the Pilgrims born after the arrival in the New World. This is his strongest claim, as his early life was rather disreputable, though his obituary, in 1704, allowed "he was much reformed in his last years." William, the father, died on February 21, 1621; his widow married, in the May following, Edward Winslow, who had recently lost his wife. Resolved White married (1) Judith, daughter of William Vassall; he lived at Scituate, Marshfield, and lastly Salem, where he married, (2) October 5, 1674, widow Abigail Lord, and died after 1680. He was a member of the Scituate military company in 1643. Roger Wilder died the first winter, and Thomas Williams also died the first season. [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ THE MILES STANDISH MONUMENT, DUXBURY] Edward Winslow, an educated young English gentleman from Droitwich, joined the brethren at Leyden in 1617, and accompanying them to New England, was the third to sign the compact on board the Mayflower, Carver and Bradford signing before, and Brewster after him, then Isaac Allerton and Miles Standish. Winslow was one of the party sent to prospect along the coast. Before leaving Holland, he married at Leyden, in 1618, Elizabeth Barker, who went out with him, but died March 24, 1621, and as we have seen, he shortly afterwards married widow Susanna (Fuller) White. Winslow proved himself a man of exceptional ability and character, and gave the best years of his life to the service of the Colony. While on a mission to England in its interests in 1623, he published an account of the settlement and struggles of the Mayflower Pilgrims, under the title "Good News for New England, or a relation of things remarkable in that Plantation." Later he wrote (and published in 1646). "Hypocrisie Unmasked; by a true relation of the proceedings of the Governor of Massachusetts against Samuel Groton, a notorious Disturber of the Peace," which is chiefly remarkable for an appendix giving an account of the preparations in Leyden for removal to America, and the substance of John Robinson's address to the Pilgrims on their departure from Holland. Winslow was Governor of the Colony in 1633, 1636, and 1644, and at other times assistant. In 1634 he went to England again on colonial business, and before sailing accepted a commission for the Bay Colony which required him to appear before the King's Commissioners for Plantations. Here he was brought face to face with Archbishop Laud, who could not resist the opportunity of venting his wrath upon the representative of the Plymouth settlement, about whose sayings and doings he had been duly informed. Winslow was accused of taking part in Sunday services and of conducting civil marriages. He admitted the charges, and pleaded extenuating circumstances; but Laud was not to be appeased and committed the bold Separatist to the Fleet Prison, where he remained for seventeen weeks, when he was released and permitted to return to America, wounded in his conscience by the cruel wrong done him and impoverished by legal expenses. In October, 1646, against the advice of his compatriots, Winslow undertook another mission to the old country, this time in connection with the federation of the New England Colonies, and, accepting service under Cromwell, sailed on an expedition to the West Indies, caught a fever, and died, and was buried at sea on May 8, 1655. Gilbert Winslow, another subscriber to the compact in the Mayflower's cabin, returned subsequently to England and died in 1650. Apart from the events of their after lives, the spirit which possessed the Mayflower Pilgrims and guided their leaders in exile is well expressed by Mrs. Hemans when she says, in her stirring lines-- They sought a faith's pure shrine! Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod; They have left unstained what there they found-- Freedom to worship God. [Illustration: _Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth_ GOVERNOR EDWARD WINSLOW _The only authentic Portrait of a Mayflower Pilgrim_] FOOTNOTES: [11] The murderer Billington, sad to relate, was one of those who signed the historic compact on board the Mayflower. He was tried, condemned to death, and executed by his brethren in accordance with their primitive criminal procedure. At first, trials in the little colony were conducted by the whole body of the townsmen, the Governor presiding. In 1623 trial by Jury was established, and subsequently a regular code of laws was adopted. The capital offences were treason, murder, diabolical conversation, arson, rape, and unnatural crimes. Plymouth had only six sorts of capital crime, against thirty-one in England at the accession of James I, and of these six it actually punished only two, Billington's belonging to one of them. The Pilgrims used no barbarous punishments. Like all their contemporaries they used the stocks and the whipping-post, without perceiving that those punishments in public were barbarizing. They inflicted fines and forfeitures freely without regard to the station or quality of the offenders. They never punished, or even committed any person as a witch. Restrictive laws were early adopted as to spirituous drinks, and in 1667 cider was included. In 1638 the smoking of tobacco was forbidden out-of-doors within a mile of a dwelling-house or while at work in the fields; but unlike England and Massachusetts, Plymouth never had a law regulating apparel. VI NEW WORLD PILGRIMS TO OLD WORLD SHRINES [Illustration: _Photograph by Battershill, Plymouth_ MAYFLOWER TABLET ON THE BARBICAN, PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND] VI NEW WORLD PILGRIMS TO OLD WORLD SHRINES pilgrim shrines, Shrines to no code or creed confined.--LONGFELLOW. Memories of the Mayflower and the Pilgrim Fathers were actively revived when, in July, 1891, during the Mayoralty of Mr. J. T. Bond, a number of the Pilgrims' descendants and their representatives from the New World visited Old World Plymouth, and with an interest whole-hearted and profound inspected the scene, famous in the annals and traditions of our race, which witnessed their forbears' last brief sojourn on English soil--a place where the Fathers, as they never tired of testifying, in the days when Thomas Townes was Mayor, were "kindly entertained and courteously used by divers friends there dwelling," and whence the sturdy little Mayflower sailed to the West with its precious human freight, to lay the foundation of the New England States. To commemorate this visit, and the sailing of the Pilgrim Fathers two hundred and seventy years before, the site of the historic embarkation was marked by the Mayflower Stone and Tablet placed on the Barbican at Plymouth, the stone in the pavement of the pier adjacent to the ancient causey trod by the Pilgrims' departing feet and destroyed a few years later, and the tablet on the wall of the Barbican facing it. The memorial and the circumstances of its erection formed a fitting tribute to the New England pioneers; and the story told by these stones should serve to remind all who behold them of the devoted lives, the splendid achievement, and the romantic history of the Mayflower Pilgrims. They are at once a landmark and a shrine honoured by the English and American peoples. In June, 1896, another company of New World pilgrims landed at Plymouth, and proceeded to worship in spirit at Old World shrines. During two weeks they wandered about the dear old country--"Our Old Home," as Nathaniel Hawthorne calls it in his book of English reminiscences--lingering on the scenes associated with the lives of their forefathers: quiet villages wherein they were born; quaint, half-forgotten boroughs in which they lived; the metropolis in which they taught; the sombre East Anglia, where many of them died "for the testimony." But chief of all were the places where these sojourners could look on the homes of the grave, brave men who gathered together the people who sailed in the Mayflower, and led the way to the New World. [Illustration: _Photograph by Welchman Bros., Retford_ SCROOBY VILLAGE] We still call them "the Pilgrim Fathers," in spite of what the Reverend Joseph Hunter, an esteemed native of South Yorkshire, wrote in his book.[12] "There is something of affectation in this term," he finds, "which is always displeasing to me." "It appears to me," says he, "to be philologically improper." And then he explains. "An American who visits the place from which the founders of his country emigrated is a pilgrim in the proper sense of the word, whether he finds an altar, a shrine, or a stone of memorial, or not. But these founders, when they found the shores of America, were proceeding to no object of this kind, and even leaving it to the winds and the waves to drive them to any point on an unknown and unmarked shore." Perhaps Mr. Hunter is right, philologically; but apart from his history (which may be challenged, because the master of the Mayflower knew where he was going if the Pilgrims did not, and a map and description of the region had been published by Captain John Smith, the name-giver of New England), the designation stands, and will ever be cherished by those familiar with the spots these faithful Fathers left when, pilgrims and wanderers, they set forth they scarcely knew whither, and finally crossed the little-known sea. And the most historic of such shrines are in Lincolnshire and Nottinghamshire. When the New World pilgrims arrived at Plymouth for the journey through the old country, by a curious arrangement they travelled backwards; for Plymouth was the last place the Pilgrim Fathers touched, and the haunts they took in turn were those which saw the rise and earlier efforts of those grave and reverend seekers for religious freedom. Soon they reached Boston--dreamy, old-world, tide-washed, fenland-locked Boston--scene of deep interest to them all, filled with hallowed memories of the Pilgrim Fathers and founders of the Western States. The party numbered nearly fifty, a dozen at least of whom could lay claim to be lineal descendants of the Mayflower Pilgrims. Their leader was the Reverend Dr. Dunning of Boston, Massachusetts, and among them were representatives of the National Council of American Congregational churches. [Illustration: _Photograph by Hackford, Boston_ THE ANCIENT KITCHEN, GUILDHALL, BOSTON] Boston, like Plymouth, gave them a warm welcome. The cordiality of their reception to the old town was acknowledged on behalf of the pilgrims by Dr. Dunning. "Our fathers found it difficult to get away from Boston," said he, "and from the kindness you have shown us we are much afraid that you are planning to detain us also." The character of the "detention" was very different with nearly three centuries intervening, and this Dr. Dunning and his friends abundantly realised. The visitors were taken over the old parish church, and were duly impressed by its size and grandeur as a whole; and the scene was most striking and memorable when, gathered within its beautiful chancel, these representative New World men, many of them with the blood of the Pilgrim Fathers in their veins, joined in singing together the noble hymn, "O God, our help in ages past." Next the Guildhall was visited. Here the disused sessions-court, where the fugitives were arraigned in 1607, and other upper rooms were scrutinised. But most attractive were the kitchen and prison beneath. The cells must in fact have had more "prisoners" in them that day than they had held for a long time, for there was scarcely a member of the company who was not shut up in at least one of them during the inspection. They thus realised something of what their forefathers actually endured; the taste of the bitterness was slight, and wanting in the old-time flavour which the prisoners' treatment imparted, but it was sufficient to call forth expressions of abhorrence at the thought of continued confinement in such a place. At last the pilgrims said farewell to a town crowded with precious memories and entrained for Lincoln, where their welcome by the Free Churches and Cathedral authorities was in keeping with that extended to them everywhere on their route. At Lincoln they received an address. "We feel," said the Nonconformists there, "that in welcoming you to this county of ours, we are welcoming you back to your ancestral home, for Lincolnshire people never forget that their county is inseparably associated with the history of the Pilgrim Church. We claim the great John Robinson, the pastor of the Pilgrim church, as our own, and the neighbouring town of Gainsborough boasts of having been for some time the church's home. We are proud of the men, of the testimony they bore, of the work they did. All England is debtor to the men of the Pilgrim Church for their heroic witness in behalf of a pure and Scriptural faith and freedom of conscience worship." And "the neighbouring town of Gainsborough," home of the Pilgrim Church, gave itself up at this time to a ceremonial stone-laying of the Robinson Memorial Church, a function which the American pilgrims attended, together with the Honourable T. F. Bayard, the United States Ambassador, who made a journey into Lincolnshire to lay this stone, and Congregationalists gathered from all parts. [Illustration: _Photograph by Welchman Bros., Retford_ ROBINSON MEMORIAL CHURCH, GAINSBOROUGH _The corner-stone of the church was laid by Mr. Bayard in June, 1896_] First the pilgrims drove to Scrooby, Bawtry, and Austerfield, where they inspected Brewster's house and Bradford's cottage and other objects of absorbing interest linked with the lives of the exiled Separatists. They then entered Gainsborough--that "foreign-looking town," subject of George Eliot's romantic pen, birthplace of John Robinson--where an address was presented to Mr. Bayard at the Town Hall, and luncheon was partaken of at the Old Hall, one of Gainsborough's most cherished antiquities, where John Smyth and his brethren held services and John Wesley many times preached. A move was next made to the site of the future Robinson Memorial Hall, a building at once a tribute to a worthy Englishman and an agency for the development of Christian work in the home of the Pilgrim Fathers. The proceedings were under the presidency of the Reverend J. M. Jones, chairman of the Congregational Union of England and Wales. To Mr. Bayard was handed a silver trowel, the gift of the congregation of the Gainsborough church, bearing an inscription and engravings of the Mayflower and of Delfshaven, on whose beach Robinson knelt in prayer with the Pilgrim band ere they set out on their long and checkered voyage. Having laid the cornerstone, Mr. Bayard sketched the early life of John Robinson, on from his Cambridge career to his harassed ministry at Norwich, his withdrawal to Lincolnshire in 1604 and the inception of the Scrooby congregation, whose faith found cause for hope and cheerful courage in the dark hours of their persecution, adversity, and affliction. He went on to picture the blessings of civil and religious liberty which we are apt to accept and enjoy without giving much heed to the generations that in bygone years toiled and suffered to secure them for us. How small, said he, the measure of our gratitude and infrequent our recognition of those who Beyond their dark age led the van of thought. Well, reasoned Mr. Bayard, on such a scene and such an occasion as this, might the words of Whittier be repeated-- Our hearts grow cold, We lightly hold A right which brave men died to gain; The stake, the cord, The axe, the sword, Grim nurses at its birth of pain. It was the momentous issues raised by the invasion of liberty of conscience that drove John Robinson and his associates forth. As William Bradford has recorded, "Being thus molested and with no hope of their continuance there, by a joynte consent they resolved to go into ye low countries, where they heard was freedom of religion for all men." Then it was that they made the attempted passage from Boston to The Netherlands. [Illustration: TABLET IN VESTIBULE OF ROBINSON MEMORIAL CHURCH, GAINSBOROUGH] [Illustration: MEMORIAL TABLET ON ST. PETER'S CHURCH, LEYDEN] Glancing at the history of the arbitrary and cruel measures taken to prevent the departure of the congregation, which finally, in broken detachments, distressed, despoiled, imperilled by land and sea, assembled at Amsterdam, moving thence to Leyden, Mr. Bayard paid grateful recognition to the country which, in their hour of sore need, extended to exiles welcome protection and generous toleration in an age of intolerance, and recited the familiar incidents connected with their sailing for America. "It is clear and plain to us now that the departure from England of this small body of humble men was a great step in the march of Christian civilisation. It contained the seed of Christian liberty, freedom of enquiry, freedom of man's conscience." As for John Robinson, between whose grave and the colony he was the means of planting, washes the wide ocean he never crossed. His memory is a tie of kindred--a recognition of the common trust committed to both nations to sustain the principles of civil and religious liberty of which he was a fearless champion, and under which he has so marvellously fulfilled the prophesy "A little one shall become a thousand, and a small one a great nation." And the seed of Christian liberty, sown in adversity but on good soil, has become a wide-spreading tree in whose sheltering branches all who will may lodge. Six years after this stone-laying, in June, 1902, the tercentenary of the founding of the Gainsborough church, a tablet was unveiled in the vestibule of the new building to commemorate the world-wide co-operation in honouring one "the thought of whom stirs equal reverence in English and American hearts." What the American Ambassador so well said at Gainsborough was a fitting prelude to the excursion which his countrymen, continuing their itinerary, made to the Pilgrim scenes in Holland where, in 1891, the English Plymouth memorial year, they had erected on St. Peter's Cathedral at Leyden, under which lie his bones, a tablet to John Robinson, pastor of the English church worshipping "over against this spot," whence at his prompting went forth the Pilgrim Fathers to settle New England. [Illustration: DESIGN BY R. M. LUCAS FOR THE TERCENTENARY MEMORIAL AT SOUTHAMPTON, TO BE UNVEILED ON AUGUST 15TH, 1912] The Gainsborough ceremony and the visits to Plymouth and Boston forged further links in the chain of sympathy and brotherhood between England and America. Fresh evidence has since been forthcoming that the religious zeal and love of manly independence which induced the Mayflower Pilgrims to expatriate themselves and found a mighty empire across the Atlantic have their abiding influence to-day. We have seen how these New World pilgrimages to Old World shrines rekindled dormant affections on both sides.[13] No doubt the journeys will be renewed again and again over much the same ground in the days to come. It was about this time that Mr. Bayard was instrumental in restoring to the State of Massachusetts William Bradford's manuscript "History of Plymouth Plantation." About the middle of the eighteenth century this valuable record was deposited in the New England Library, in the tower of the Old South Church in Boston, but it disappeared, and found its way to England. By some it was thought that Governor Hutchinson carried it off; others believed that it was looted by British soldiers when Boston was evacuated. Anyhow it vanished, and was given up for lost. But by a lucky chance it was discovered. It was not until 1855 that certain passages in Wilberforce's "History of the Protestant Episcopal Church in America," printed in 1846, professing to quote from "a manuscript History of Plymouth in the Fulham Library," revealed the whereabouts of the priceless folios. These quotations were identified as being similar to extracts from Bradford's History made by earlier annalists--Nathaniel Morton, who used it freely in his "New England's Memorial," published 1669; Thomas Prince, in his "Annals" printed in 1736; and Governor Hutchinson, the last man known to have seen the manuscript, who used it in the preparation of his "History of Massachusetts" (second volume), in 1767. The story of the return of the manuscript has been told by the Honourable George F. Hoar, the venerable Senator of Massachusetts who, during a visit to England, interviewed the Bishop of London on the subject, and, when the History had been recovered through the good offices of Mr. Bayard, had the satisfaction of handing it over to Governor Wolcott on May 24, 1897. Ten years subsequently, after Mr. Bayard's death, another Bishop of London, engaged on a mission to America, presented to President Roosevelt the original deed appointing Colonel Coddington first Governor of Rhode Island. This document was found in the muniment room at Fulham Palace; it bears the seal of the Cromwellian Government and the signature of Bradshaw. [Illustration: _Photograph by Welchman Bros, Retford_ THE FONT, AUSTERFIELD CHURCH _For a long time it was believed that this font was used at the baptism of William Bradford_] [Illustration: THE FONT, PRIMITIVE METHODIST CHAPEL, LOUND _The font that was probably used at the baptism of William Bradford_] Those Americans who visited the district of Bawtry for the purpose of seeing the Pilgrim village of Austerfield would be surprised ten years later, in August, 1906, to hear that the font in the old parish church, which had so often been pointed to as that at which William Bradford was baptised, was not in reality what it had been represented to be. For some time there was a heated controversy in the district, and this revealed certain strange facts concerning the font which go to prove that the Norman font used at Bradford's baptism is at the present time in a small Primitive Methodist chapel at Lound near Retford, Nottinghamshire. It seems that about fifty years ago the sexton, one Milner, was ordered to clear certain rubbish out of the church at Austerfield, and sell it. Among the objects thus disposed of was the font. A farmer, John Jackson, became the purchaser, and a few years later the font passed to his son, who for some time kept it in his garden as an ornament. In 1895 the farm changed hands, the new tenant being a Mr. Fielding, and included in the fixtures he took over was the font, described in the auctioneers' valuation award, dated April 15, 1895, as "Garden--Stone baptismal font (formerly in Austerfield Parish Church)." Having no wish to keep the font Mr. Fielding gave it to his mother, a native of Austerfield, and she in turn handed it over to the trustees of the chapel at Lound, where it still remains, jealously guarded in the incongruous surroundings of its alien home. It is noted that when, years ago, the clergyman at Austerfield discovered what sexton Milner had done, he sent for him and told him of the great loss the church had sustained. It was little use locking the stable door when the steed had gone, but the sexton, being a man of resource, thought he saw a way out of the difficulty. So to avoid further trouble he brought a trough from his own farmyard and substituted it for the lost font! That was a very impious kind of fraud indeed, but it seems quite clear that it was perpetrated. The church authorities, it must be admitted, have done their best to atone for the faults of the past in the direction of trying to restore the ancient font to its original place. Unfortunately they have not succeeded, for though good offers were made to Mrs. Fielding and the chapel trustees, they resolutely refused to part with the precious relic. The fear was then entertained that a wealthy American would some day buy the font, and thus deprive the district of one of its most historic possessions. It is questionable, however, if that fate would be worse than the one that has already overtaken the font. Should the failure to restore it to its rightful place unhappily continue, the more satisfactory alternative would appear to be its purchase and presentation, say, to the Pilgrim Church at New Plymouth. FOOTNOTES: [12] "Collections Concerning the Early History of the Founders of New Plymouth." Mr. Hunter was assistant-keeper of H.M. Records, and after the village had remained for more than two centuries in oblivion, located Scrooby as the birthplace of the Pilgrim Church. His sole guide in the search were the brief statements in Bradford's History that the members of the church "were of several towns and villages, some in Nottinghamshire, some in Lincolnshire, and some in Yorkshire, where they bordered nearest together," and that "they ordinarily met at William Brewster's house on the Lord's day, which was a manor of the bishop's." The inquiry which led to this important discovery was instigated by the Honourable James Savage while on a visit to England. The key was supplied by Governor Bradford, Mr. Savage detected it; Mr. Hunter unlocked the hidden and forgotten door. [13] In another part of England, in 1910-11, Americans were joining hands with the people of Southampton in raising on the old West Quay of that port a Pilgrim shrine to the men of New Plymouth who, as we know, sailed thence in the Mayflower on their interrupted voyage to the West, on August 5 (O.S.), 1620. It was proposed to unveil this memorial on August 15, 1912. THE END. INDEX Adams, John Quincy, 103 Ainsworth, Henry, 51 Alden, John, 128, 147 Allerton, Bartholomew, 128 Allerton, Isaac, 59, 128-131, 147, 152 Allerton, Joanna, 131 Allerton, John, 131 Allerton, Mary, 131 Allerton, Remember, 131 Allerton, Sarah (1), 147 Allerton, Sarah (2), 131 Amsterdam, 51-52, 179 "Anne," The, 95 Armstrong, Gregory, 132 Austerfield, England, 11-12, 175, 184-187 Babworth, England, 11 Barker, Elizabeth, 152 Barnstable, Mass., 143 Bawtry, 175, 184-187 Bayard, Hon. T. J., 172, 175-180, 183-184 Becket, Mary, 147-148 Bellingham, Richard, 115 Billington, Eleanor, 131, 132 Billington, Francis, 131 Billington, John (1), 131-132 Billington, John (2), 132 Billington, Martha, 143 Blommaert, Herr, 87 Bond, J. T., 163 Bonner, Bishop, 8 Boston, England, VIII, 7, 16, 19, 39, 112, 115, 168-172, 176, 180; Pilgrim Cells, VII, XIII-XIV, 32-36, 171; Guildhall, 20, 23-24, 32-36, 171; Hussey Tower, 20; Kyme Tower, 20; Grammar School, 20; Church, 20, 35, 171; Gysor's Hall, 23; "Little Ease," 36 Boston, Mass., 100, 112, 168, 183 (_see also_ Massachusetts Bay Colony) Bradford, Governor William, 11-12, 19, 20, 31, 43, 52, 59, 83, 84, 88, 92, 95, 100, 103, 111, 119, 132-136, 152, 167, 175, 176, 183-184 Brewer, Thomas, 52, 55 Brewster, Fear, 95, 131 Brewster, Love, 139 Brewster, Mary, 96, 139 Brewster, Patience, 95 Brewster, William, 4, 8, 11, 12, 19, 20, 23, 31, 39, 43, 52-55, 59, 83, 88, 91, 92, 96, 111, 119, 136-139, 152, 167, 175 Brewster, Wrestling, 139 Bridgewater, Mass., 148 Britteridge, Richard, 139 Brown, Dr. John, 12 Brown, Peter, 139 Button, William, 139 Caistor, England, 7 Canute, King, 4, 15 Carleton, Sir Dudley, 52-55 Carpenter, Alice, 95, 135, 143 Carter, Robert, 139 Carver, Catherine, 83, 139 Carver, Governor John, 59, 60, 79, 83, 84, 119, 132, 139, 152 Chilton, James, 140 Chilton, Mary, 140 Clark, Faith, 140 Clarke, Richard, 140 Clyfton, Richard, 11, 43, 52 Coddington, William, 115, 184 Collier, Sarah, 139 Collier, William, 139 Connecticut Plantation, 100 Cook, Esther, 140 Cook, Francis, 140 Cook, John, 140 Cooke, Jacob, 144 Cooper, Humility, 140 Cotton, John (1), 23, 115, 119 Cotton, John (2), 119 Crackston, John (1), 140 Crackston, John (2), 140 Cromwell, Oliver, 156 Cromwell, Thomas, 8 Cuckson, John, 119 Cushman, Robert, 63, 92, 95, 96 Dartmouth, England, 63 Dartmouth, Mass., 140, 148 Davidson, 8 Delfshaven, 60, 175 Dingy, Sarah, 143 Dotey, Edward, 140 Doyle's "English in America," 7 Draper, Eben S., 104, 111 Droitwich, 152 Dudley, Thomas, 115 Dunning, Dr., 168, 171 Duxbury, Mass., 128, 139, 143, 147, 148, 151; Standish Monument, 151 Eastham, Mass., 144, 147 Eaton, Francis, 143 Eaton, Samuel, 143 Eaton, Sarah, 143 Eliot, Charles W., 104-108, 111-112 Eliot's, George, "The Mill on the Floss," 15-16, 20, 175 Ely, One, 143 English, Thomas, 143 Everett, Edward, 103 Fielding, 187-188 Fletcher, Moses, 143 Ford, Martha, 139 "Fortune," The, 92, 95, 151 Fuller, Anne, 143 Fuller, Edward, 143 Fuller, Samuel (1), 59, 100, 139 Fuller, Samuel (2), 143 Fuller, Samuel (3), 143 Fuller, Susanna (_see_ White, Susanna) Gainsborough, England, VIII, 4, 11, 15-19, 20, 40, 51, 172, 175-176, 180; Old Hall, 16, 175 Gardiner, Richard, 143 Glascock (Fuller), Elsie, 95, 143 Goodman, John, 143 Grimsby, England, 40 Groton, Samuel, 155 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 115, 164 Hemans, Felicia, 108, 127, 156 Hickman Family, 16 Hoar, George Frisbie, 103, 183 Holbeck, William, 144 Hooke, John, 144 Hopkins, Constance, 144 Hopkins, Elizabeth, 144 Hopkins, Giles, 144 Hopkins, Oceanus, 144 Hopkins, Stephen, 140, 144 Horncastle, England, 7 Hough, Atherton, 23, 115 Howland, John, 59, 67, 144, 151 Hoyt, Barbara, 111 Hull, England, 40 Humber, The, 40 Hunter, Rev. Joseph, 164-167 Hutchinson, Governor, 183 Immingham, England, 40 Jackson, John, 187 Jackson, Richard, 39 James I, 52 Jamestown, Va., 56 John, King, 3 Johnson, Francis, 51 Jones, Rev. J. M., 175 Jones, Captain Thomas, 60, 75-76, 167-168 Kyle, William S., IX Langemore, John, 144 Langton, Stephen, 3-4 Latham, William, 144 Laud, Archbishop, 155 Lawrence, William B., 108 Lee, Bridget, 143 Leister, Edward, 144 Leland, 8 Leverett, John, 115 Leverett, Thomas, 115 Leyden, 51-60, 95, 96, 119, 128, 135, 143, 147, 148, 152, 155, 179, 180; St. Peter's Church, 51, 96, 180 Lincoln, England, 7, 172 "Little James," The, 95 Lodge, Henry Cabot, 104, 108 Longfellow's "The Courtship of Miles Standish," 79, 91 Lord, Abigail, 152 Lothrop, Jane, 143 Lothrop, Rev. John, 143 Lound, England, 184, 187 Louth, England, 4-7 Mann, Jasper, 147 Margeson, Edmund, 147 Marshfield, Mass., 152 Martin, Christopher and wife, 147 Massachusetts Bay Colony, 88, 99, 100, 112-116, 132, 155 Maverick, Moses, 131 May, Dorothy, 52, 84, 135 "Mayflower," The, XIV, 4, 60-67, 75-80, 84, 92, 96, 100, 104, 107, 112, 115, 116, 127, 131,140, 148, 151, 152, 156, 163, 164, 167, 175, 180 Mayson, Mayor John, 36 McCleary, James T., 108 Meyer, George Von L., 104 Middleboro, Mass., 143, 148 Milner, 184 Milnes, Richard Monckton, 44 Minter, Desire, 147 More, Ellen, 147 More, Jasper and his brother, 147 Morton, George, 95 Morton's "New England's Memorial," 76, 100, 183 "Mourt's Relation," 95 Mullins, Joseph, 147 Mullins, Priscilla, 128, 147 Mullins, William and his wife, 139, 147 Naughton, 55 New Plymouth (_see_ Plymouth Mass.) Newcomen, John, 132 Norris, Mary, 128 Penn, Christian, 131, 143 Pierce, John, 92 "Pilgrimage of Grace," The, 4-7 Plummer, Ann, 147 Plymouth, England, XIV, 63, 67, 92, 163-164, 168, 180 Plymouth, Mass., VII, XIV, 8, 11, 79-103, 112, 115, 116-120, 132, 188; Pilgrim Stone, 79, 83, 127; Cole's Hill, 83; The Fort, 84-87, 116; The Church, 84, 116-119; Pilgrim Hall, 92; Burial Hill, 116 Power, Solomon, 147 Priest, Degory, 147 Prince, Thomas, 183 Provincetown, Mass., 67, 103-112, 151 Puritans, The (_see_ Massachusetts Bay Colony) Raleigh, Sir Walter, 56 Rassières, Isaac de, 87 Retford, England, 11 Revere, Paul, 120 Reynolds, Captain, 63 Rigdale, Alice, 147 Rigdale, John, 147 Robinson, John, 11-15, 43, 52, 59, 60, 95-96, 155, 172, 175, 176, 179, 180 Rogers, Joseph, 147 Rogers, Thomas, 147 Roosevelt, President, VII, 103, 104, 111, 184 Ryton River, 7 Salem, Mass., 100, 131, 152 Sampson, Harry, 147 Sandwich, Mass., 147 Savage, James, 167 Scituate, Mass., 147, 152 Scrooby, England, 8, 11, 12, 16, 31, 39, 40, 51, 84, 119, 136, 167, 175 Sears, Captain J. H., 104 Sempringham, England, 7 Smith, Captain John, 56, 168 Smith, Ralph, 88, 119 Smyth, John, 11, 16, 51, 175 Snow, Damaris, 144 Snow, Nicholas, 144 Soule, George, 147-148 Southampton, England, 60, 63, 128, 180 Southworth, Edward, 95, 135 "Speedwell," The, 59-63 Standish, Barbara, 95, 151 Standish, Captain Miles, 59, 79, 83, 84, 95, 96, 111, 128, 148-151, 152 Standish, Rose, 148 Story, Ellen, 148 Taft, President, VII, 103, 104, 111 Tattershall Castle, England, 7 Thompson, Edward, 151 Tilley, Ann, 151 Tilley, Edward, 151 Tilley, Elizabeth, 144, 151 Tilley, John and wife, 144, 151 Tinker, Thomas, and wife and son, 151 Torksey, England, 4 Townes, Thomas, 163 Trent River, 3, 4, 11, 15, 40 Trevore, William, 151 Turner, John, and Sons, 151 Van Weede, M., 108 Vassall, Judith, 152 Vassall, William, 152 Vincent, Sarah, 147 Warren, Richard, 140 Warren, Sarah, 140 Webster, Daniel, 103 Wesley, John, 3, 175 Wetmore, George Peabody, 104 Wheldon, Catherine, 144 White, Justice, 104 White, Peregrine, 151-152 White, Resolved, 151, 152 White, Susanna, 151, 152 White, William, 151, 152 Whittier, VII, 176 Wickliffe, 4 Wilberforce, 183 Wilder, Roger, 152 Williams, Roger, 88, 119 Williams, Thomas, 152 Wilson, John, 88, 91, 99 Winslow, Edward, 59, 92, 95, 119, 135, 152-156 Winslow, Gilbert, 156 Winslow, John, 92, 140 Winthrop, Governor John, 88, 91, 99, 100, 115 Winthrop, Robert Charles, 103 Witham River, 15, 31 Woburn, England, 36 Wolcott, Governor, 184 Wolsey, 8 Yarmouth, Mass., 131, 140, 144 [Illustration: Well worthy to be magnified are they Who, with sad hearts, of friends and country took A last farewell, their loved abodes forsook, And hallowed ground in which their fathers lay. Wordsworth] [Illustration The breaking waves dash'd high On a stern and rock-bound coast; And the woods, against a stormy sky, Their giant branches toss'd. Mrs. Hemans] Transcriber's Notes: A caron (^) indicates the letter following is superscripted, like ^e. Images were moved to a convenient paragraph break. Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and moved to the end of the chapter. The opening and closing illustrations are the same. Old spellings in quoted text and poetry are retained from the original. The following words are used interchangeably throughout this book: cooperation co-operation cornerstone corner-stone Mayflower May-flower Page 117 (Photograph by A. S. Burbank, Plymouth). Changed from 'Photgraph' of the original. Index (Naughton, 55). This is most likely Naunton, referred to on Page 55. 
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10222	----	THE PILGRIMS OF NEW ENGLAND: A TALE OF THE EARLY AMERICAN SETTLERS. BY MRS. J. B. WEBB, AUTHOR OF �NAOMI,� �JULAMERK,� ETC. PREFACE In the following story, an attempt has been made to illustrate the manners and habits of the earliest Puritan settlers in New England, and the trials and difficulties to which they were subjected during the first years of their residence in their adopted country. All the principal incidents that are woven into the narrative are strictly historical, and are derived from authentic sources, which give an impartial picture both of the virtues and the failings of these remarkable emigrants. Unhappily, some of these incidents prove but too clearly, how soon many of these exiles 'for conscience sake' forgot to practice those principles of religious liberty and toleration, for the preservation and enjoyment of which they had themselves abandoned home and kindred, and the church of their forefathers; and they tend to lessen the feelings of respect and admiration with which their piety, and their disinterested spirit, must necessarily inspire us. We cannot but regret to find how early, in many of the Puritan communities, that piety became tinged with fanaticism, and that free spirit degenerated into bigotry and intolerance in their treatment of others, who had an equal claim with themselves to a freedom of private judgement, and to the adoption or rejection of any peculiar forms or mode of discipline. It is hoped, that a story founded on the history of these admirable, but sometimes misguided, men, may prove interesting to many who have hitherto been but slightly acquainted with the fate of their self- exiled countrymen; and may tend to remove the prejudice with which, in many minds, they are regarded: for, while we remember their errors and infirmities, we should also remember that their faults were essentially those of the age in which they lived, and the education they had received; while their virtues were derived from the pure faith that they possessed, and which was dearer to them than aught on earth beside. KING�S PYON HOUSE, HEREFORD THE PILGRIMS OF NEW ENGLAND. CHAPTER I. �The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-hound coast: And the woods against a stormy sky, Their giant branches tost. And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a hand of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.� HEMANS. It was, indeed, a �stern and rock-bound coast� beneath which the gallant little Mayflower furled her tattered sails, and dropped her anchor, on the evening of the eleventh of November, in the year 1620. The shores of New England had been, for several days, dimly descried by her passengers, through the gloomy mists that hung over the dreary and uncultivated tract of land towards which their prow was turned; but the heavy sea that dashed against the rocks, the ignorance of the captain and his crew with regard to the nature of the coast, and the crazy state of the deeply-laden vessel, had hitherto prevented their making the land. At length the ship was safely moored in a small inlet, beyond the reach of the foaming breakers; and the Pilgrim Fathers hastened to leave the vessel in which they had so long been imprisoned, and, with their families, to set foot on the land that was henceforth to be their home. Cold, indeed, was the welcome which they received from their adopted country; and cheerless was the view that met their gaze, as they landed on a massy rock of granite, at the foot of a precipitous cliff, and looked along the barren, inhospitable shore, and over the dark waters which they had so lately crossed. But hope was strong in the hearts of these exiles; and the faith that had led them to seek these untrodden shores, had not deserted them during their long and tempestuous voyage; and they looked upward through the gloom and dreariness that surrounded them, and fixed their trusting eyes on Him who had guided them in safety over the great deep, and brought them at length to a resting-place. Their first act was to kneel down on the cold rock, and offer up their prayers and praises to that God for whose sake they had given up country, and friends, and home, and to whose service they now dedicated themselves and their children: and strikingly grand must have been that act of worship. The manly voices of the sturdy Pilgrims rose in deep and solemn unison, followed by those of the women and children, and resounded along the silent coast, while the heavy urges of the receding tide kept up a hoarse and monotonous accompaniment. Then arose a hymn of thanksgiving--and the rocks and the neighboring hills re-echoed the exulting strain, that seemed to drown the voices of the wind and the waves, and to rise unmixed to heaven. It was the triumph of faith--the holy and heartfelt expression of undying trust and confidence in God! Surely, at that time, the Pilgrims were meet objects for the admiring gaze of men and angels! But they were not always so. It was on the shore of Cape Cod Bay that the new settlers had landed, in the inlet now called New Plymouth Harbor: but this was not the place of their original destination. They had intended to steer for the mouth of Hudson's River, and to have fixed their habitation in that less exposed and inhospitable district. But the Dutch had already conceived the project, which they afterwards accomplished, of settling in that part of the new continent; and it is supposed that the captain of the Mayflower was bribed by them to convey the English emigrants further to the north; so that the first American land which they beheld was Cape Cod. They found that the place where they had landed was beyond the precincts of the territory which had been granted to them; and even beyond that of the Company from which they derived their right of colonization; and after exploring hastily the neighboring coast, and finding it dreary and unpromising, they again embarked, and insisted on the captain's conveying them to the district which they had first desired to reach. They sailed to the south, and many days were lost in endeavoring to find a more convenient spot for their settlement: but it was in vain. The shoals and the breakers with which the coast was lined, presented obstacles that were insurmountable at that advanced, and unusually inclement, season; and, weary and disheartened, they returned to the place of their first landing. There they fixed their abode, and there they founded the infant city of New Plymouth. It was a desolate situation, and one that subjected the new settlers to many trials and privations; for the nearest English settlements then established were upwards of five hundred miles distant. Winter having set in with more than common severity, they felt that no more time could be wasted in seeking for a better spot, on which to build their first American habitations. Sickness also had begun to show itself among the little band of men, women, and children who were all unaccustomed to the hardships and confinement of a long voyage; and it was necessary to disembark with all possible speed, and erect huts to shelter them from the daily increasing inclemency of the weather. For this purpose, the forests of oak, pine, juniper, and sassafras, that had grown undisturbed for centuries along the coast, furnished them with abundant materials; and the woods soon echoed to the unaccustomed sound of the hatchet and the saw, at which all the men, of every rank and condition, labored unremittingly, while the women and children gathered up the great muscles, and other shell-fish, which abounded on the shore, and collected dry wood for firing. But before we follow the settlers in the detail of their sufferings and trials, and of their ultimate success and prosperity, it will be needful to go back a few years, and consider the motives that led these brave men to expose themselves and their families to such severe hardships, and to abandon their home and their kindred. A brief glance at their previous history will suffice for this purpose. It is well known that the Puritans were greatly dissatisfied with the state of the Church in England at the time when James the First ascended the throne of this country. From him they hoped for protection and encouragement; but in this expectation they were grievously disappointed. The conference at Hampton Court proved how little sympathy he entertained for their party; and the convocation which was held soon after utterly all their hopes. Already a considerable number of these dissenters had joined themselves into what they called a _'Church Estate,_ pledged to walk in God's ways,' and to renounce the evil passions of the world. They had protested against the episcopal form of church government, and declared their approval of the discipline and the forms adopted by the Church of Geneva, and also of that established in the Netherlands. In order to enjoy the liberty in ecclesiastical matters which they so greatly desired, they made up their minds to retire to Amsterdam, under their excellent and respected pastor, John Robinson; and this project was effected by the greater number of their party; though some were discovered before they could embark, and were detained and imprisoned, and treated with much severity. Ultimately, however, they all escaped, and remained unmolested at Amsterdam and the Hague, until the year 16O8, when they removed to Leyden with their pastor, where they resided for eleven years, and were joined by many others who fled from England during the early part of the reign of James. These men now felt that their only hope of enjoying perfect religious liberty, and of establishing a church according to their own dearly- loved principles, lay in a voluntary exile. Their English prejudices made them shrink from continuing to dwell among the Dutch, who had hitherto given them a hospitable asylum; for they feared that, by frequent intermarriages, they should eventually lose their nationality; and they resolved to seek a new home, where they might found an English colony, and, while they followed that mode of worship which was alone consistent with their views and principles; might still be subjects of the English crown, and keep up an intercourse with the friends they dearly loved, and the land where their forefathers had lived and died. The recent discovery of the vast continent of America, in several parts of which the British had already begun to form colonies, opened to them a field of enterprise, as well as a quiet refuge from persecution and controversy; and thither the Puritans turned their eyes. Nor were they the first who had taken advantage of the unoccupied wastes of the New World, and sought in them an asylum from intolerant oppression. Already a numerous band of French Huguenots had retired thither, under the conduct of their celebrated Calvinistic leader, De Monts, who was invested with the government of the district lying between Montreal and Philadelphia, by a patent from his sovereign, Henry the Fourth. No traces of this colony now remain, while those planted by the English Puritans have taken root in the American soil, and flourished so greatly, that a few years ago their descendants were found to amount to 4,000,000: so remarkably has the blessing of God, at least in temporal matters, been bestowed on an enterprise which was, doubtless, undertaken in dependence on His protection; and was carried out with that fortitude and resolution which are the results of sincere piety struggling with deep adversity.[*] [Footnote: For this account of the cause which led to the emigration of the Puritans, and the manner in which they effected it, the authoress is chiefly indebted to Marden�s �History of the Puritans,� and Talvi�s �History of the Colonization of America.�] The idea of retiring to the shores of America was first suggested to his followers by their pastor, John Robinson, whose influence over his flock was almost unexampled. This influence was derived from the purity of his life, and the holy consistency of his conduct. He was possessed of a gentle temper; and the strictness of his religious principles was united with a spirit of toleration towards others, which was too little felt or practiced in those days, and which was not, as is too often the case, changed into bitterness by the sufferings that he had himself experienced. Well had it been for those who professed to be guided by his example and advice, and who left the shores of Europe with the sanction of his counsel and his blessing, if they had carried with them the truly Christian spirit of their respected minister, and had suffered that spirit to guide them in the formation, and during the growth, of their infant church in America! But, as we shall presently see, this was not the case: the mercy and toleration which the Puritan exiles had vainly asked at the hands of their brethren at home, they denied to others who differed from them; and, consequently, while they have so greatly prospered in the things of this world, in religion they have evidently declined. Emigration being resolved on, the first step that was taken by the Puritans, was an application to King James for an assurance of protection and toleration in the new home which they desired to seek; but this was more than the wary king would guarantee to them. All that they could obtain was a vague promise, that so long as they conducted themselves peaceably, they should not be molested; and, relying on this promise, they immediately commenced a negotiation with the Virginian Company, for the possession of a tract of land within the limits of the patent which had been granted to them for colonizing that part of America. This was easily obtained; for the Society had hitherto only been able to occupy a few isolated spots of their extensive territory, and, therefore, were willing to encourage fresh settlers. The congregation over which Robinson presided, amounted, at the time of their intended emigration, to upwards of three hundred in number; but their resources were inadequate to the expense of moving all together, and it was therefore arranged that only a part of the flock should sail at first, under the guidance of William Brewster; while the rest should remain at Leyden, under the care of their pastor, and wait for the report of their friends before they followed them to their chosen place of exile. The names of the vessels which were engaged to convey the Pilgrims from the shores of Europe, were the Mayflower and the Speedwell--names still cherished by heir descendants. When they were ready for sea, the whole congregation assembled themselves together, and observed a solemn fast, which concluded with prayer; and Robinson preached to them from Ezra viii, 21: 'Then I proclaimed a fast there, at the river of Ahava, that we might afflict ourselves before our God, to seek of him a right way for us, and for our little ones, and for all our substance.' He afterwards addressed them in a deeply impressive speech, in which he earnestly deprecated all party spirit and bigotry, and exhorted them to be guided only by the pure doctrines of God's Word. 'I charge you,' said this truly Christian and evangelical minister, 'that you follow me no further than you have seen me follow the Lord Jesus Christ. The Lord has more truth yet to break forth out of his Holy Word. I cannot sufficiently bewail the condition of the reformed churches, which are come to a period in religion, and will go, at present, no further than the instruments of their reformation. Luther and Calvin were great and shining lights in their times, yet they penetrated not into the whole counsel of God. The Lutherans cannot be drawn to go beyond what Luther saw; and the Calvinists, you see, stick fast where they were left by that great man of God.[*] I beseech you, remember it--'tis an article of your church covenant--that you shall be ready to receive whatever truth shall be made known to you from the Word of God.� [Footnote: See �Remarks on the Dangers of the Church,' by Rev. Edward Bickersteth.] The congregation then repaired to the house of their pastor, and partook of a farewell repast together; after which they proceeded to Delft Harbor, and there the Pilgrims embarked. Again their minister offered up fervent prayer in behalf of this portion of his flock who were about to encounter the dangers of a long voyage, and to seek a home in an almost unknown land--and then in deep silence they parted. 'No cheers or noisy acclamations resounded along the shore, for such demonstrations were little in accordance with the usual serious habits of the Puritans, and still less so with the feelings of sadness which now oppressed their hearts. But a volley of small shot, and three pieces of ordnance,' writes Winslow, one of the emigrants, 'announced to those on shore the hearty courage and affectionate adieus of those on board; and so, lifting up our hands to one another, and our hearts to the Lord, we departed.' Thus the Pilgrims set sail, with mingled feelings of hope for the future, and regret for what they left behind; and greatly would their sorrow have been increased, had they known that they would never again behold on earth the countenance of their much-loved pastor. They fully anticipated his following them, with the rest of their brethren, as soon as they should have found a suitable place of settlement for the whole congregation. But poverty and other obstacles detained him in Europe, and he terminated his useful and exemplary life at Leyden. The emigrants had not proceeded far on their voyage, when it was discovered that the Mayflower, commanded by Captain Jones, was in need of some repairs; and the two vessels put into Dartmouth--not to sail together again. The captain of the Speedwell declared that he was afraid to encounter the voyage; and from this, or some other motive, he positively refused to proceed any further. Several of the passengers also, had already begun to feel disheartened, and they returned with him to London, and abandoned the enterprise altogether. Doubtless, the Pilgrims bad no cause to lament the departure of these faint-hearted comrades; but it occasioned them much present inconvenience, for, not being able to procure another vessel to convey the remainder of the passengers who had embarked in the Speedwell, they were all obliged to be crowded into the Mayflower, which sailed again on the sixth of September, 1620, with considerably upwards of a hundred men, women, and children on her narrow decks, in addition to her own crew of seamen. After a very tedious and tempestuous voyage, they came in sight of the American shores on the eighth of November; and, as we have already seen, they landed three days afterwards in Cape Cod Bay, and eventually founded the city of New Plymouth at the place of their disembarkation. A portion of the granite rock on which the Pilgrim Fathers first set foot has since been removed from the coast, and placed in front of' �The Pilgrim's Hall,' enclosed in an iron railing; and the anniversary of their landing, afterwards called Forefather's-day, has ever since been observed by their descendants as a day of solemn festivity, in remembrance of the mercy of Providence, which led them safely through so many difficulties and dangers; and permitted them to find a new home, and a new country, and to bring their enterprise to such a prosperous issue. It is with the first period of their establishment on the uncultivated shores of North America that our story commences; and it is connected with the sufferings and privations which were so patiently endured, and the difficulties which were so resolutely overcome, by these devoted men, before they had taken root in their new settlement, or gathered around themselves and their families the comforts which they had abandoned in their own land for conscience sake. Many trials awaited them ere prosperity became their portion, and ere they could feel either rest or security in the wild regions where they had sought a refuge: and these trials will be brought more distinctly to our minds, if we view them in connection with some of the individuals of the expedition, and follow the fortunes of one family more particularly. This family we will call by the name of Maitland, and endeavor in their somewhat imaginary history, to describe the mode of life, and some of the joys and sorrows--the difficulties and successes--of the Pilgrim Fathers. Owing to the many delays which the emigrants had experienced, a severe winter had set in before they landed, and had fixed a spot for their permanent abode; and they found themselves exposed to the inclemency of a North climate, with no other shelter than a few tents, besides that which the vessel continued to afford. In haste they felled the trees of the neighboring forests; and in haste they constructed the village of log huts which was to be their present abode, and which, ultimately, grew into the flourishing and wealthy city of New Plymouth. In the erection of this hamlet, no head was so fertile in plans and expedients, and no arms were so strong to execute them, as those of Rodolph Maitland, the head of the family in whom we are specially interested. He was a younger member of a very respectable family in the North of England, and had passed his youth and early manhood in the service of his country as a soldier. This profession, however, became distasteful to him when the religious dissensions which troubled the land called on him, at times, to obey his commander in carrying out schemes of oppression which were contrary both to his feelings and his principles. His marriage with Helen Seatown, the daughter of a nonconforming minister, increased his repugnance to bearing arms, which might be turned against the party to which he was now so closely connected; and he threw up his commission, and soon afterwards accompanied his father-in-law to Holland, and joined the congregation of the respected Robinson at Leyden. Here he continued to reside until the resolution to emigrate was formed by the Puritan refugees, when he was among the first to embrace the proposition of the pastor, and to lend all the aid which his comparative wealth, and the influence of his connections in England, enabled him to offer in furtherance of the enterprise. His father-in- law had died soon after his arrival at Leyden; but his amiable and devoted wife was most willing to follow him in his voluntary exile, and to take her children to the New World, where she hoped to bring them up in the same principles of pure evangelical religion which she had learnt from her own parents, and which were dearer to her than home or friends or aught on earth besides. At the time when the Pilgrims reached America, the Maitland�s family consisted of two sons, Henrich and Ludovico; the elder of whom was sixteen years of age, and the younger about seven; and one little girl between ten and eleven, named Edith. In the thoughtful seriousness of his eldest boy, which was united with great intelligence and spirit, and a manly resolution beyond his years, Rodolph saw his own character again depicted; and Helen proudly hoped that her Henrich would one day manifest all those qualities of mind and person by which his father had first won her admiration and love, and by which he had since gained the esteem and affection of all who were in any way connected with him. Henrich was now old enough to understand, and almost to appreciate, the motives which had induced his parents and their companions to become exiles from home: and his young heart exulted in the resolution that freed him from the cold formality of Dutch manners, and opened to his adventurous spirit a prospect of liberty and enterprise, far better suited to his inclination and character. Religious freedom he desired, because he had been taught that it was his rightful privilege, and that the want of it had occasioned those troubles which first drove his parents and friends from their native land. But personal freedom he yearned for with his whole soul; and the wild shores of New England, and the depths of the unexplored forests that now met his eager gaze, filled his ardent mind with anticipations of adventurous joys hitherto unknown to him. These anticipations were destined to be fulfilled, ere long, in a manner which he neither foresaw nor desired. His brother Ludovico was a playful child, too young to share all the feelings of the earnest Henrich, who always acted as his guide and protector during their sports and rambles; but in the gentle little Edith he found a kindred spirit, and a heart that could sympathize in all his joys and sorrows. Young as she was, Edith felt the influence of her brother's character; and she looked up to him with feelings of devoted love and admiring pride. She was his constant companion, and his ever-ready assistant in all his difficulties. This had been very much the case during their residence in Holland; but on their arrival in New England, Edith was left still more to her brother's guidance. Their parents were necessarily too much occupied with the cares end anxieties which their new situation brought upon them, to devote much time to their children; and when the light labors in which Henrich and Edith were able to render any assistance were over, they and Ludovico amused themselves by wandering along the shore in search of shells and seaweed; or else they followed the wood-cutters into the forest, to seek for such flowering plants as still were to be found in the more sheltered spots, and to transplant them to the garden that was to surround and embellish their rude dwelling. As soon as a tolerable shelter had been obtained, by the erection of a sufficient number of log-huts, to contain the families of the settlers, it was resolved that a party of men should go on an exploring expedition, and endeavor to ascertain the nature and resources of the coast on which they had landed; and, also, whether it was inhabited by any tribes of native Indians. Hitherto they had seen no human beings, and they had remained undisturbed possessors of the soil. But they could hardly expect that this state of things would long continue; and they were anxious, if possible, to discover the native inhabitants and natural possessors of the country, and to establish friendly relations with them. Sixteen of the Pilgrims volunteered for this expedition, headed by Rodolph Maitland, whose military experience, and superior intelligence, well fitted him to be the leader of the party. The rest of the men remained to protect their families, and to complete the village; which already presented a very respectable appearance, and promised to afford a tolerably comfortable residence to the new settlers, until they should have leisure and means to erect dwellings more in accordance with their previous habits of life. The government of the little colony was unanimously confided to John Carver, who was elected President for one year; but he did not live long to exercise his authority, or to enjoy the confidence reposed in him by his fellow-settlers. During the short period, however, that he was spared to them, he exerted himself successfully to promote the welfare of the community, and to preserve peace and unanimity among the members of which it was composed; and before the departure of the exploring party, he called on all the Pilgrim Fathers to sign a covenant, which had been drawn up during the voyage, and which contained a statement of the peculiar religious principles of the congregation, and also of the mode of civil government that they proposed to establish in the colony. This government was not to be independent of the mother country, for the Pilgrims regarded themselves as still being the subjects of King James; and the patent which they had procured to enable them to settle in New England was granted by the Company to whom the king had assigned the right of colonizing that part of North America. They, therefore, intended to be governed mainly by English laws, and to keep up a constant and intimate connection with their English brethren. It may be well here to mention that their plan of civil government consisted in the election of a governor or president by general vote, and of seven counselors to assist him; the only privilege granted to the president being that his vote counted double. This state of things continued for eighteen years, after which time the growth of the colony rendered a change expedient, and each new town that was founded sent delegates to a general court. It would, however, be useless here to follow the political changes of these early settlers, as it is only with their first form of government that our story is concerned. According to the habitual custom of the Pilgrims, the Sabbath which preceded the sending forth this band of spies to search the land, was observed with the utmost solemnity; for no press of occupations--no necessity for haste--ever induced them to neglect this duty. For the liberty of practicing their own mode of worship, they had sought these shores; and, having been permitted safely to reach them, they used that liberty, and were never unmindful of their religious privileges. Every Sabbath was a day of sacred rest; and every undertaking was sanctified by prayer; sometimes even, as we shall have occasion to observe, when the undertaking was such as could hardly be supposed to deserve the blessing of God. Still, there is every reason to believe that their piety, as a body, was sincere; and while we condemn the sternness and severity into which they were too frequently betrayed, we must yield our heartfelt approbation to the self-denying resolution and unflinching faith that were their governing principle and their ever- actuating motive. Well have these principles and motives been described by a late well-known poet, and well may we conclude this introductory chapter with the last verse of that exquisite song, with the first of which we commenced it: 'What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine. Aye--call it holy ground The soil where first they trod! They have left unstain'd what there they found� Freedom to worship God!' CHIAPTER II. 'In much patience, in afflictions, in necessities, In distresses As having nothing, and yet possessing all things.'--2 COR. vi, 4, 10. 'Is it not much that I may worship Him, With naught my spirit's breathings to control, And feel His presence in the vast, and dim, And whispering woods, where dying thunders roll From the far cat'racts?' HEMANS. With some anxiety the settlers saw the exploring party set out on their hazardous enterprise. The season was far advanced, and drifting snowstorms gave warning of the inclement winter that was rapidly setting in. Still it was deemed necessary to make some investigation into the nature of the country, and to endeavor to obtain, if possible, a supply of provisions before the increasing severity of the weather should render it impracticable to do so. But, above all, it was desirable to ascertain what native tribes dwelt in the vicinity of the settlement, and to use every means to establish friendly relations with them; not only because such a course would be most in accordance with the principles of the Gospel which the emigrants professed to hold and to practice, but also because, in the present state of the infant colony, they were altogether unprepared to resist any attack that might be made on them by a large body of Indians. Maitland led his party inland at first, and for two days they saw no traces or human inhabitants; but on the afternoon of the third day, as they were looking about for a convenient spot on which to encamp for the night, some large and apparently artificial mounds of earth were observed, scattered over an open glade in the forest. At the first glance, they appeared like dwelling places; and, knowing something of the habits of the Indians, Rodolph and two of his companions approached them warily, fearing to surprise and irritate the inhabitants. But after making a circuit, and ascertaining that these supposed huts had no doorways, they went up to them, and found them to be solid mounds, at the foot of which neatly plaited baskets, filled with ears of maize, were placed. These were eagerly seized upon; and a further search being made, several warlike and agricultural implements were discovered buried beneath the surface of the earth. It was evident that these mounds were native graves, and that they had recently been visited by the tribe to which they belonged, who most probably resided in the neighborhood. Therefore, to avoid exciting their displeasure and jealousy, Rodolph caused all the weapons and other tools to be restored to their places; and, in exchange for the corn, which was too much needed to be left behind, he put into the baskets several strings of beads, and other trifles, with which he was provided for the purpose of barter, or as presents to the natives. It did not appear either safe or desirable to remain near a spot so sacred to the Indians; the party therefore moved further into the depth of the forest, where they erected their tents, which consisted merely of blankets supported on poles; and, lighting large fires, they slept by turns, while half their number kept a vigilant watch. Their rest was, however, undisturbed, either by lurking Indians or by prowling beasts of prey; and at day-break they resumed their march, in the hope of discovering the native camp. But their search was in vain; and Rodolph determined to leave the forest, and return to the settlement along the shore, hoping there to find some traces of the natives. Before he and his comrades left the shelter of the wood, they fired their muskets at the small game which abounded in every direction, partly with a view to supply themselves with food, and partly to attract the notice of any straggling Indians who might be wandering near, and who would conduct them to their wigwams. But the echoes were the only sounds that answered their reports, and it was clear that no native camp was within hearing. The place where Maitland and his little band reached the coast was nearly twenty leagues from the settlement, towards the north, and has since been known by the name of Angoum. Here they found two empty huts, containing all the curiously-worked utensils used by the Indians of that district�bowls, trays, and dishes, formed of calabashes and carved wood or bark; and beautiful baskets constructed of crabshells, ingeniously wrought together, with well-woven mats of grass and bulrushes, dyed of various brilliant colors. The inhabitants had probably gone on a fishing expedition, and would return in a few days, as they had left behind them a considerable quantity of dried acorns, which, at that period, formed a common article of food with these children of the forest. Rodolph suffered nothing to be taken from the huts, but proceeded along the coast in a southerly direction and, at length, he perceived two canoes at a considerable distance from the shore, containing several Indians, who took no notice of the signals they made, but rowed rapidly away on an opposite course. Finding it useless to linger any longer in this part of the bay, Maitland led his party back to the settlement at New Plymouth, taking accurate observations of the line of coast, and communicated to President Carver all the information that he had been able to collect. This was not very satisfactory; and the governor resolved to send out a second party, well armed, who should proceed in the shallop to the southern part of Cape Cod Bay. This expedition was placed under the command of Captain Standish, who was regarded as the military chief of the settlers; and Maitland again formed one of the number. On this occasion he obtained permission to take Henrich with him, as he wished the boy to become early inured to the hardships and privations which it would probably be his lot to bear for many years, and also to acquire habits of courage and vigilance that might be of service to him hereafter. Henrich was delighted with this arrangement, which gratified his desire for adventure, and also proved that his father now placed some confidence in him, and no longer regarded him as a mere child. His astonishment was great when first he beheld the whales, those huge and fearful-looking monsters of the ocean, lifting their gigantic heads above the waves, and lashing the surface to foam with their powerful tails; or ejecting vast spouts of water like fountains, from their upraised heads. These, and many other strange objects, attracted his attention as the boat moved down the bay; but all were forgotten in the absorbing interest with which he regarded, for the first time, the wild red men that met his view as the boat neared the shore, at a spot about eight leagues from New Plymouth, called by the Pilgrims _Thievish Harbor._ Several of these savages, in their strange attire of skins, and feathers, and woven grasses, showed themselves among the rocks that stood above the landing-place; but, regardless of the peaceful signs that were made to them by Captain Standish and his crew, they hastily retreated and when the party disembarked, not an Indian was to be seen. With much circumspection, the captain advanced at the head of his resolute band, who all held their muskets ready for action, if self-defense should compel them to use them; but with a positive order from their commander to refrain from any act of hostility so long as it was possible to do so. This command could not, however, be long obeyed; for as the party proceeded through the rocks and stunted trees that lined the coast, they came in sight of a burial ground, similar to that which had been discovered in the first expedition, except that, in this case, the mounds of earth were enclosed by a strong palisade of upright poles, bound together firmly at the top. Through the interstices of these poles, Standish and his men saw the glittering eyes of the savages watching their approach; and before they could decide whether to advance or retreat, a shower of arrows was discharged, several of which took effect, though not mortally. This wanton aggression roused the spirit of the sturdy Englishmen, and regardless of the efforts which Captain Standish made to restrain them, a volley of musket balls instantly replied to the challenge of the red men; and the wild cries that arose from the cemetery plainly told that they had not sped in vain. Even Rodolph Maitland was surprised out of his usual calm resolution and presence of mind; for he saw his son fall bleeding to the ground, pierced through the leg by an arrow, and almost involuntarily he fired off his musket at an Indian whose body was more exposed than the rest, and whose greater profusion of ornament showed him to be one of their chief warriors. Rodolph saw him fall from the palisades on which he had climbed to take a better aim at the white men; and instantly a gate was opened in the enclosure, and, with a hideous yell, the savages rushed forth, brandishing their spears and battle-axes, and shouting their war-cry, 'Woach! woach! ha, ha, hach, woach!' Their number appeared to be about thirty men; and Standish knew that his party, several of whom were already slightly wounded, could not resist the fury of their attack. He therefore gave the word for an instant retreat to the boat, as the only means of safety. His gallant band would gladly have pressed on, and met the savages in close combat; but they had promised to obey their leader, and reluctantly they followed him to the shore. The path by which they had emerged on the burial-place was narrow and winding, and they were soon hidden from the sight of the Indians; but they heard their wild whoop among the rocks and bushes, and knew that they were in eager pursuit. Maitland had caught up his wounded boy in his arms, and now bore him rapidly forward; but the weight of his burden, and the roughness of the way, retarded his steps and, powerful as he was, he could not keep up with his comrades, who were unconscious that he had fallen behind them. He thought of his wife--of Henrich's mother--and he pat forth his utmost strength. Still the war cry came nearer and nearer; and Henrich, who had hitherto uttered no sound of pain, or word of complaint exclaimed wildly-- �Father! I see them! There--there--they have entered the thicket, and one has climbed the rock, and will soon overtake us. O, father, fly! for his battle-axe is lifted up, and his eyes glare terribly' Maitland's heart beat furiously. He could not pause, or turn, to look at the coming foe; but his quick and ready mind was active in devising some means of saving the life of his child. 'Load my gun, Henrich!' he exclaimed. 'I cannot long continue this speed. Be steady, and be quick: our lives depend upon it!' The gallant boy instantly obeyed the difficult command; and the instant it was done, Rodolph dropped on one knee, supported his bleeding son on the other, and taking a deliberate aim at the Indian, who was preparing to leap from the rock into the path behind them, he fired. The upraised arms of the savage fell powerless--the heavy axe dropped from his hand--and, falling forward over the rock, he lay expiring in the narrow pathway. The feathery coronets of several of his comrades were seen above the bushes at some distance: and again the father raised his son, who now hung fainting in his arms, and hurried, with renewed speed, towards the shore. As he neared it, he met two of his companions who, having reached the boat, had missed him and Henrich, and hastened back to secure their retreat. It was a seasonable reinforcement, for Rodolph's strength was failing him. He gave his boy into the arms of one of his friends, and loading his gun, he stood with the other, to defend the passage to the shore. The savages came on; and the white men fired, and retreated, loading as they fell back, and again firing; until their pursuers, either wounded or disheartened, came to a stand still, and contented themselves with yelling their discordant war-cry, and shooting arrows, which happily missed their aim. The whole party embarked safely, and were soon beyond the reach of the missiles which the Indians continued to discharge; and Maitland had the joy of seeing young Henrich speedily recover his senses, and his spirit too. It was evident that the arrows used by the red men on this occasion were not poisoned, and no great or permanent evil was likely to arise from any of the wounds received; but a spirit of hostility had been established between the settlers and the Nausett tribe, to which their assailants belonged, and Rodolph was a marked man, and an object of determined revenge, to all who had shared in the conflict. The spot where it took place was named _the First Encounter,_ in memory of the event, and long retained that name: and the consequences of this first combat proved to be equally calamitous to the savages, and to their more civilized foes, for many subsequent years. The exploring party returned to their settlement as speedily as possible, being anxious to obtain medical relief for the wounded. Helen Maitland and her children were wandering on the shore when the boat first came in sight; and for several evenings the desolate coast had been her constant haunt, after the necessary labors of the day were completed. It had been with much reluctance that she had consented to her husband's wish of taking Henrich on the hazardous expedition; and his being of the party had greatly increased the anxiety and uneasiness which Rodolph's absence always caused her. As the days passed on, this anxiety became greater; and visions of fatal encounters with the savages beset her naturally timid mind. Daily therefore she left her hut, and wrapped in the mantle of fur with which her husband had provided her before he brought her to brave a North American winter, she paced backwards and forwards on the beach, looking out over the dark waters, and lifting her heart in prayer for the safe and speedy return of the wanderers. Edith and Ludovico accompanied her but they could not share her anxiety. They looked, indeed, with eagerness for the expected boat which was to bring back their much-loved father and brother; but they soon forgot the object of their search, and amused themselves by climbing the rocks, and gathering the shells which the wintry waves now cast up in abundance. They were thus engaged when Edith happened to glance to the south and saw the long desired coming round a little promontory that concealed it from her mother as she walked below. In an instant the treasure of shells and seaweed was forgotten, and little Edith was bounding down to the beach, followed by Ludovico. 'The boat mother, the boat!' she eagerly exclaimed, as she pointed in the direction in which it was approaching; and in another moment she and her little brother were at Helen's side, and all hastening to the landing-place--that very granite rock on which they had first disembarked on the American shore. The boat came rear; and as soon as the crew perceived Helen and the children on the rock, they raised a hearty cheer to tell her that all was well. She saw her husband standing on the prow, and her heart bounded with joy; but she looked for Henrich, and she did not see him, and fear mingled with her joy. A few more strokes of the oars, and the boat glided up to the rock, and Rodolph leaped on shore, and embraced his wife and children. 'Heaven be praised! you are safe, my Rodolph,' exclaimed Helen. 'But where is Henrich?--where is my boy?� 'He also is safe, Helen. His life is preserved; but he is wounded, and unable to come from the boat to meet you. Bear up,' he added, seeing that she trembled violently, while the tears flowed down her blanched cheeks 'you need not fear: the brave boy is maimed, indeed, but I trust not seriously injured. He is weak from loss of blood, and must not be agitated; therefore meet him cheerfully, and then hasten to make the arrangements for his comfort that your scanty means will permit.' Helen dried her tears, and forced, a smile to greet her wounded child, who was now being lifted from the bottom of the boat, and gently carried on shore by two of the men. His pallid countenance, and blood- stained garments, struck a chill to her heart; but she concealed her grief, and silenced the sobs and exclamations of the warm-hearted little Edith and her terrified brother; and then, having affectionately welcomed the almost fainting boy, she hurried away with the children to prepare for his reception in the comfortless log-hut. Assisted by Janet--the faithful servant who had nursed her children, and followed her from England to Holland, and from Holland to America-- she soon arranged a bed for their patient; and Henrich smiled cheerfully, though languidly, when he found himself again beneath the humble roof that was now his home, and surrounded by all whom he loved. His wound proved to be a severe one--more so than his father had imagined; and the loss of blood had been so considerable that he was reduced to extreme weakness. Now it was that Helen felt the absence of all the comforts, and even luxuries, to which she had been accustomed from childhood, but of whose loss she had hitherto never complained. Henrich's illness proved a very long and painful one; and notwithstanding the kindness of all her friends, and the attentions paid by the rest of the settlers to the young patient--who was a general favorite--it was difficult to procure for him either the food or the medical attendance that his case required: and frequently his parents feared that a foreign grave would soon be all that would remain to them of their dearly-loved child. To add to their anxiety and distress, an epidemic disease, of which some signs had appeared in the settlement before the exploring party set out, now increased to a fearful degree. The stores which had been brought out in the crowded Mayflower were nearly expended, except such a stock as Captain Jones considered necessary for the voyage back to England: and a great scarcity of bread began to be felt. The animals, which they procured by the gun and the chase, were not sufficient to supply the wants of the settlers, and famine--actual famine--stared them in the face, and increased the violence of the pestilence. Many sank beneath the accumulated evils of hardship, privation, and sickness, and the number of the little settlement was sadly reduced during the inclement months of January and February. The constant care which was bestowed on Henrich at length proved effectual in healing his wound, and partially restoring his strength; and his parents had, eventually, the happiness of seeing that the a anger was past, and their son was restored to them. They also had cause to acknowledge, with gratitude, that the affliction had been blessed to him as well as to themselves. The elders of the community, who acted as the pastors of the infant colony, were unwearied in their attentions to their weaker and more distressed brethren. They were, indeed, the physicians both of their bodies and souls; and Henrich was not neglected by them. The excellent and venerable William Brewster was the intimate and valued friend of Rodolph Maitland and his wife. He had been both their friend and adviser for many years of comparative peace and prosperity; and now that he shared their troubles and adversities, his ready sympathy, and active kindness, rendered him dearer to them than ever. Brewster was a man whose character and position in life naturally gave him great influence with the Pilgrim Fathers. He had received a liberal education, and possessed a far greater knowledge of the world than the generality of his companions in exile, having been brought up as a diplomatist under Davison, when he was Secretary of State to Queen Elisabeth. He was devoted to the cause of religious liberty; and it was he who had assisted his friend, John Robinson, in withdrawing his congregation from the persecution that threatened them in England, to a peaceful asylum in Holland. At the time of the emigration to America, he was already in the decline of life; but his energies were in no degree weakened, and his zeal for the glory of God, and the good of his fellow Christians, was unabated. He desired to spend all his remaining years in promoting the welfare of the colony, and in proclaiming the Gospel to the heathen; and while he was ever mindful of the wants, both spiritual and temporal, of the flock ever whom he was appointed to preside, until their pastor Robinson could join them, he never forgot the grand object of his voluntary exile, or ceased to pray that the Lord would be pleased to open 'a great door and effectual,' before him, and enable him to bring many of the savage and ignorant natives into the fold of Christ. In all these plans he was warmly seconded by Edward Winslow, but hitherto no such opening had appeared and the sickness and distress which prevailed in the settlement gave full occupation to them and to their brother elders. During all the period of Henrich's tedious illness, not a day passed in which Brewster did not visit the suffering boy to cheer him, to soothe him, and, above all, to prepare him for that better world to which he then believed he was surely hastening. To these visits Henrich looked forward with delight; and often, when domestic business called away his mother and Janet, the minister would remain with him for hours, seated on a low stool by of his bed, and read to him, or talk to him, in a strain so holy and yet so cheerful, that Edith would leave her work and softly seat herself on Henrich's couch, that she might catch his every word, while little Ludovico would cease from his noisy sports, and creep up on the good man's knee, and fix his large soft eyes on his sweet and noble countenance. These hours were not unimproved by Henrich. His character was formed, and his principles were fixed, and his mind and spirit grew strong and ripe beyond his years. Never were these hours of peaceful happiness forgotten; and often amid the strange and stirring scenes which it was his lot in after-life to witness and to share, did he bless the over- ruling providence of God, which had laid him on a bed of pain and weakness, that he might learn lessons of piety and of usefulness, which otherwise he would never have acquired. It was while they were thus happily engaged one afternoon, when Henrich was slowly recovering his strength, that the elder and his young audience were startled by wild and discordant sounds, mingled with cries of fear, which proceeded from the outskirts of the straggling village, and seemed to be approaching. Henrich raised himself on his bed, and a look of terror overspread his countenance, as he exclaimed: 'It is the war cry of the savages! O! I know it well! Go, Mr. Brewster, fly! save my mother. I will follow you.' And the brave boy tried to leap from the couch, and reach his father's sword, which hung against the wooden walls of his chamber. But it was in vain; the wounded leg refused to bear his weight, and he was forced to relinquish his design. Brewster, however, snatched the sword, and drawing it, rushed from the hut, leaving Edith and Ludovico clinging with trembling hands around their brother. Henrich's fears proved but too true. No sooner had the elder traversed the enclosure that surrounded Maitland's dwelling, than he beheld Helen, and several of the other women who had gone out to assist their husbands in the lighter parts of their agricultural labors, flying in terror and confusion to their huts, while the men were engaged in close combat with a party of native Indians. The same war-cry which had rung on their ears in the first encounter told Rodolph and his comrades that these savages were of the same tribe, and probably the same individuals from whom they had escaped with such difficulty on that occasion. They were right; for it was indeed a band of the Nausetts, who, headed by their Chief, had come to seek revenge for the loss they had sustained at their former meeting. The warrior whom Rodolph's musket had laid low was Tekoa, the only son of the Nausett chief; and he was resolved that the white man's blood should flow, to expiate the deed. He knew that the son of the stranger who had slain his young warrior had been wounded, and, as he hoped, mortally; but that did not suffice for his revenge, and he had either suddenly attacked the settlement, in the hope of securing either Rudolph himself or some of his comrades, that he might shed the white man's blood on the grave of his son, and tear off their scalps as trophies of victory. The settlers who now contended with the savages were but few in number, for many of the men lay sick, and many had died; and they were mostly unarmed, except with their agricultural implements. Rudolph and a few others had short swords, or dirks, attached to their girdles, and with these they dealt blows that told with deadly effect on the half-naked bodies of their foes; and the good broad-sword that Brewster quickly placed in Maitland's hand, was not long in discomfiting several of the Indians, who had singled him out, at the command of their Chief, as the special object of their attack. Meanwhile, many of the women, and such of the invalids as had power to rise, had again left the huts, and borne to their husbands and friends the arms which had been left in their dwellings; and in spite of the arrows and darts of the Indians, by which several of them were wounded, they continued to load the guns for the combatants while the conflict lasted. Happily this was not long. The _fire-breathing_ muskets struck terror into the ignorant savages; and when two or three of their number had fallen, they turned to fly; first, however, catching up the bodies of their comrades, which they carried off to ensure their honorable burial, and to save them from the indignities which they supposed the pale-faces would heap on the dead. In vain their Chief endeavored to rally them, and compel them to return to the conflict. In vain he waved his battle-axe on high, and shouted his war-whoop, Woach! woach! ha, ha, hach, woach!' A panic had seized his followers, and they fled precipitately into the forest from they had issued, so suddenly and so fiercely, to the attack. One warrior stood alone by the Chief. He was young and handsome, but his countenance was dark and sinister and an expression of cunning was strongly marked in his glittering deep-set eyes and overhanging brows. He saw that it was hopeless to contend any longer with the powerful strangers, and, by words and actions, he was evidently persuading the Chief to retire. The settlers had ceased to fire the moment that their enemies fled; and there was a deep silence, while every eye was fixed on the striking figure of the enraged Chief, whose every feature was distorted by excited passions. He stood with his tomahawk uplifted, and his tall and muscular figure in an attitude of command and defiance; while, in a loud and distinct voice, he uttered a vow of vengeance, the words of which were unintelligible to the settlers, though the meaning could easily be guessed from his looks and gestures. Then he hung his battle-axe to his gaudy belt, and pointing his hand at Rodolph, he retired slowly and majestically like a lion discomfited but not subdued, to seek his people and to upbraid them with their cowardice. This attack of the Indians effectually destroyed all feelings of security in the minds of the settlers. Henceforth they were obliged, like the Jews of old, to go to their labor every man with his sword girded to his side, and continually to hold themselves in readiness for a sudden assault. The pestilence continued to rage, and the scarcity of food increased to such a degree, that for several weeks no bread was to be been in the settlement. The governor, Mr. Carver, exerted himself with zeal and benevolence to lesser the misery of his people; but with so little effect, that when the spring at length set in, and the captain of the Mayflower prepared to return to England, the little band of settlers was found to be reduced to one half the original number; and these were weakened by illness, and by want of proper nourishment. But great as were their difficulties and sufferings, their faith and resolution never failed; and when the Mayflower again set sail for England, not one of the fifty emigrants who remained expressed a desire to return. CHAPTER III. �What men were they? Of dark-brown color, With sunny redness; wild of eye; their tinged brows So smooth, as never yet anxiety Nor busy thought had made a furrow there. . . . . . . . Soon the courteous guise Of men, not purporting nor fearing ill, Won confidence: their wild distrustful looks Assumed a milder meaning. MADOC. We have said that the band of the exiles was reduced to half the number that had, six months before, left the shores of Europe, so full of hope and of holy resolution; and still, in spite of all their outward trials and difficulties, the hope and the resolution of the survivors were as high and as firm as ever. They trusted in the God whom they had served so faithfully; and they knew that, in his own good time, he would give them deliverance. But their days of darkness were not yet over. The inclemency of the winter had indeed passed away, and the face of nature began to smile upon them; yet sickness still prevailed, and the many graves that rose on the spot which they had chosen for a burial ground, daily reminded them of the losses that almost every family had already sustained. The grief that had thus been brought upon them by death was also greatly aggravated by the harassing attacks of the Indians, who Were evidently still lurking in the neighboring woods; and who now frequently came in small parties, and committed depredations of every kind that lay in their power. Their real but concealed object was to capture Rodolph, either alive or dead; for nothing short of his destruction, or at least that of some member of his family, could satisfy the bereaved Chief for the loss of his son. He, therefore, left a party of his bravest and most subtle warriors in an encampment about a day's journey from the Christian village, with orders to make frequent visits to the settlement, and leave no means untried which either force or cunning could suggest, that might lead to the full gratification of his revenge. The old Chief himself returned to his wigwams, which lay some distance from New Plymouth, near the burial ground where the �first encounter 'had taken place. The detachment was left under the command end guidance of Coubitant, the young warrior who had stood by him to the last in the conflict at the village; and who was, since the death of Tisquantum's son, regarded as the most distinguished of the young braves of that part of the tribe over which the Sachem ruled. His cunning, and his ferocious courage, well fitted him for the task assigned to him; and as the young warrior who fell at 'the first encounter' had been his chosen friend and companion in arms, his own desire for vengeance was only second to that of the Chief; and the malignant gaze which he had fixed on Rodolph when he led Tisquantum from the field, well expressed the feelings and the determination of his heart. That glance had been seen by Janet; who, on that occasion, had displayed a courage and resolution hardly to be expected at her advanced age. She had easily induced her trembling mistress to remain in the house, whither they had both fled at the first attack of the Indians; but she had herself returned to the place of conflict, bearing Rodolph's musket and ammunition, and she bad remained by the side of Brewster, to whose ready hand she transferred it, until all danger was over. Then she had fixed her attention on the Chief and his companion; and the fine form and handsome features of the young Indian warrior appeared like a statue of bronze, while he stood motionless by Tisquantum. But when he turned to follow his Chief, the expression with which he looked at Rodolph transformed his countenance into that of a demoniac. Janet never forgot that look. The state of continual watchfulness and suspense in which the emigrants were kept by their wary and active foes, was extremely harassing to their weakened force; so much so, that the President resolved to make another attempt to establish a friendly intercourse with some other native tribe, who might, possibly, assist them in driving of' the Nausetts; and whose friendship would also be useful to them in various ways. An opportunity for this attempt soon presented itself; for a party of the settlers, in following the windings of a brook that flowed through their new town into the sea, in pursuit of wild fowl, came upon two large and beautiful lakes, about three miles inland. The shores of these lakes were adorned with clumps of lofty and majestic trees, and the grass was spangled with wild flowers, and studded with graceful shrubs and underwood. Among the bushes they descried several fallow deer, and the surface of the water was animated by flocks of water fowl, among which the brilliant and graceful wood duck was conspicuous. But the objects that chiefly attracted the notice of the sportsmen, were several wigwams that stood on the further side of the lake, beneath the shade of some overhanging trees. In front of these huts the hall-naked children were playing, while the women were pursuing their domestic occupations. Some were weaving baskets and mats, and others washing their fishing nets in the lake. But no men were to be seen; and Rodolph, who, as usual, led the hunting party, determined to approach the wigwams. In order to show his peaceful intentions, be gave his musket to one of his companions; and inviting his friend Winslow to do the same, and to accompany him, he proceeded round the lake. As soon as the women perceived them, they uttered wild cries of fear; and, snatching up their children, attempted to escape into the thicket behind their huts. Rodolph and Winslow then started in pursuit, and succeeded in capturing one little copper-colored fellow, who was endeavoring to keep pace with his mother. She could not carry him, for she had already an infant in her arms, and she knew not that he was in the power of their dreaded pursuers until she reached the thicket, and looked back for her boy. He was struggling violently in Maitland's hands, but not a cry escaped his lips; and when he found all his efforts to free himself were vain, he gave up the attempt, and stood motionless, with a look of proud endurance that was highly characteristic of his race. His mother had less fortitude. She uttered a shriek that pierced the heart of Rodolph; and laying her infant on the grass, she almost forgot her own fears, and, in an imploring attitude, crept forward towards her imaginary foes while her eloquent eyes pleaded for her child's release more than any words could have done. Maitland could not resist that appeal. He only detained the boy until he had hung round his neck several strings of gaily-colored beads, with which the hunters were always provided, and then he set him at liberty. In an instant the child was in his mother's arms; and when her passionate caresses had expressed her joy, she waved with a graceful salutation to the Englishman, and bent to the ground in token of gratitude. Then she looked at the beads, and her white teeth glittered as she smiled a sunny smile of delight and admiration at what seemed to her such priceless treasures. Rodolph drew from the pouch which hung at his leathern belt a string of beads more brilliant still, and held them towards the woman. She gazed at them, and then at the frank and open countenance of the stranger; and fear gave way to the desire of possessing the offered gift. She slowly approached, holding her child by the hand, and suffered Rodolph to suspend the gaudy necklace round her graceful and slender throat. Then she motioned to him to remain, and ran swiftly to the thicket to bring back her companions, who had paused in their flight, and were now watching with eager eyes the actions of the white man. Her persuasions, and the sight of her newly-acquired ornament, soon overcame the remaining fears of her auditors, and all returned in a body, smiling, and extending their hands, in the hope of receiving similar gifts. Maitland and Winslow, who had now joined him, divided all their store of trinkets among the eager applicants; and then, in return, made signs requesting to be permitted to enter the wigwams. This request was acceded to; and Apannow--for that was the name of the female who had first approached the strangers--led the way to the hut in the center of the village, which was larger and better appointed than any one of the rest. It was evidently the dwelling of the chief of the tribe; and the beautifully carved implements which hung to the walls, and the skulls and scalps that adorned the roof, showed that its possessor was a distinguished warrior. Apannow brought forth the best refreshment that her hut afforded, and placed it with a native grace before her guests, inviting them to partake of it, and first tasting of each article herself, to show that it was harmless. Her gentle and intelligent manners greatly interested Rudolph and his companion; and by degrees they succeeded in obtaining from her, and the other women who crowded the wigwam, such information as they chiefly desired. By expressive signs and gestures, they were made to understand that all the red men were gone on a fishing expedition to the head of the further lake, and would not return until the morrow. They afterwards learnt, also, that the village had only been occupied for a few days, as it was merely the summer residence of a part of the tribe of the Wampanoge Indians, who, with their chief, annually repaired to that beautiful station for the purpose of fishing in the extensive lakes. The rest of the tribe were located in various places to the west, occupying the district since known as the state of Rhode Island. Maitland and Winslow took leave of their new friends, intimating that they would return and seek an interview with the Chief in two days, and bearing with them a supply of fish and dried maize, which they received from Apannow as a pledge of amity, and which they knew would be most welcome to the invalids who were still suffering from disease at the settlement. They quickly rejoined the rest of their comrades, who had remained at a distance, for fear of alarming the timid Indian females; and all returned to New Plymouth. The intelligence they brought, and the seasonable refreshment they bore to the sick, were joyfully welcomed by the whole community; and the spirits of the settlers rose at the prospect of securing Indian friends and allies, who might, under their present distressing circumstances, afford them such essential help and security. The necessity for such aid had lately become more urgent than ever, for a party of their untiring enemies, the Nausetts, had very recently invaded the enclosure within which lay the loved remains of all who bad perished since their arrival in America. The graves were sadly numerous; and the sorrowing survivors had reverently decked the mounds that covered them with shrubs, and green boughs from the evergreens that abounded in the neighboring woods, as emblems of their abiding grief, and also of their immortal hopes. These marks of affectionate regard the savages had rudely torn away; and not content with this, they had even, in some instances, removed the fresh-laid turf, and dug up the earth, so as to expose the coffins that lay beneath. No other injury or outrage could have so deeply wounded the feelings, or aroused the indignation, of the emigrants, as this desecration of the homes of the dead and they earnestly desired to form some alliance with another tribe, which might enable them to punish and to prevent such gross and wanton indignities. In the meantime, in the hope of avoiding a recurrence of so distressing a calamity, the colonists ploughed over the whole surface of their cemetery, and sowed it with corn; thus concealing what was to them so sacred from the eyes of their wild and ruthless foes. The day after Maitland's visit to the wigwams, the emigrants were astonished at the appearance of a fine athletic Indian, armed with a bow and arrows, who walked up to the common hall, near the center of the village, and saluted the Governor and those who were with him, in the words 'Welcome Englishmen!' In reply to their eager inquiries, he informed them that his name was Samoset, and that he was 'a Sagamore of a northern tribe of Indians dwelling near the coast of Maine, where he had acquired a slight knowledge of the English language from the fishermen who frequented the island of Monhiggon near that shore. He had been for several months residing among the Wampanoges; and on the return of the Chief and his followers to the wigwams, he had heard from the Squaw-Sachem, that two strangers, who, from her account, he concluded to be Englishmen, had visited the encampment, and proposed to do so again in two days. He had, therefore, by desire of the Chief, Mooanam, come over to the British settlement, to assure the emigrants of a friendly reception, and to conduct the embassy to the presence of the Sagamore. His kind offices were gratefully and joyfully accepted by the Governor; and Samoset remained that day as his guest. Although the Indian's knowledge of English was very limited, the Pilgrim Fathers learnt from him the name, and something of the history, of their inveterate foes, the Nausetts; and also, that the commencement of their enmity to the settlers arose not merely from their being intruders on their domains, but from the remembrance of an injury which they had received, some years previously, from an English captain of the name of Hunt, who, when cruising on these shores, had allured a number of natives on board his ship, and had then treacherously carried them off, and sold the greater part of them at Malaga, as slaves. Two he took with him to England, and they at length got back to Cape Cod Bay, in a vessel belonging to the Plymouth Company. This scandalous action had filled the Nausetts and Pokanokits,[*] who were the injured tribes, with bitter hatred against the white men; and five years afterwards, they would have sacrificed the life of Captain Dermer, when he was skirting these shores, had he not been saved by Squanto, one of the kidnapped Pokanokits, whom he had brought back in his vessel, and who had become attached to the English. [Footnote: The Pokanokit, dwelt on the peninsula which forms the Bay of Cape Cod, and on a small pert or Rhode Island; the rest being occupied by the Wampanoge; of whom Masasoyt was Grand Sagamore.] The feeling of animosity thus engendered had been aggravated by the slaughter of Tisquantum's only son; and little hope could be entertained of establishing a friendly intercourse with a tribe who felt that they had so much to revenge against the white race. In two days, according to the intimation of Rodolph to the Indian women, a deputation of the settlers, headed by Captain Standish, and accompanied by Maitland, repaired to the Indian village under the guidance of Samoset. They were expected by the inhabitants; and, as soon as they were perceived approaching round the margin of the lake, two young men came forth to meet them, and accompany them to the tent of the Chief. Mooanam was prepared for their reception, and attired in his gala costume of furs and feathers, with his most elaborately worked battle-axe hung to his side, and a long and slender spear, tipped with bone, in his hand. He rose from his seat on the ground at the entrance of the strangers, and greeted them courteously; while his wife, the Squaw-Sachem Apannow, and his lively little son Nepea, stood by his side, and smiled a welcome to Rodolph, pointing at the same time significantly to the beads which adorned their necks and arms. Standish had now an interpreter, though a very imperfect one; and by his means a sort of friendly compact was formed, and gifts were exchanged as the pledges of its sincerity. An invitation was then given to the young Chief and to his brother Quadequina--who was one of those who had conducted the white men to their presence--to return the visit of the settlers, by coming the following day to their town. The invitation was accepted, and the deputation returned to their homes, escorted a great part of the by many of their Indian allies. Great preparations were made at New Plymouth for the reception of the red Chief and his attendants, in such a manner as to impress them with the wealth and power of emigrants. The large wooden building which was intended as a sort of council chamber and public hall, was hung inside with cloth and linen of various colors, and ornamented with swords, and muskets, and pistols that the colony could produce. An elevated seat was placed for the Governor at the upper end of the apartment, and tables composed of long planks were laid down on each side, on which were arranged such viands as the settlers could produce. The repast was humble; but Helen and her female friends arranged it with taste, and the children gathered the bright wild flowers that so early enliven the groves and meadows when an American winter has passed away, to deck the tables, and form garlands along the walls. A strange contrast did these buds and blossoms of spring form to the implements of war and death with which they were mingled: but the effect of the whole was gay, and appeared very imposing to the simple children of the wilderness, as they entered the wide portal, and passed up the hall to meet the Puritan Governor. John Carver and his attendants were clad in the dark-colored and sober garments which were usually adopted by their sect; and their long beards and grave countenances struck a feeling of awe and reverence into their savage guests. But the red men betrayed no embarrassment or timidity. They advanced with a step at once bold and graceful, and even controlled their natural feeling of curiosity so far as to cast no wandering glances at the novelties that surrounded them. They kept their eyes steadily fixed on the Governor, and returned his salutation with a courteous dignity that did credit to their native breeding; and then the Chief and Quadequina seated themselves on the high-backed chairs that were placed for them on each side of the seat of the President. Such a mode of sitting was certainly altogether new to these sons of the forest, and they found it both awkward and disagreeable; yet they showed no discomposure or restraint, and not a smile betrayed their surprise, either at this or any other of the strange customs of their hosts. After a few rather amusing efforts to carry on a communication with his guests, through the intervention of Samoset, Carver invited them to table, and again had occasion to admire the readiness and the natural grace with which they accommodated themselves to customs so new and so wonderful as those of the white men. When the repast was concluded, the President led Mooanam and his party round the village, and showed them everything that was worthy of attention; and so intelligent did he find them, that he had no difficulty in making them comprehend the use of many European implements, and many of the inventions and contrivances of civilized life. With much satisfaction the good pastor, Brewster, marked the sparkling eyes and speaking countenances of these gentle savages; for he there hoped he saw encouragement to his ardent hope of ere long bringing them to a knowledge of the simple and saving truths of the gospel. With the Governor's permission, he led them to the plain and unadorned edifice which was the emigrants' place of worship, and easily made them understand that it was dedicated to the service of the one Great Spirit who reigns over all; and from thence they were conducted to the cemetery, and shown, by expressive signs, the insult that had been offered to the dead by men of their own race. Some war- like implements that had been picked up after one of the recent skirmishes were shown to Mooanam and his brother, when they instantly exclaimed, �Nausett!' and knitting their brows, and putting themselves into an attitude of defiance, they plainly intimated that the tribe was one with which they were at enmity. They pointed in the direction where the Nausetts dwelt, and seemed to invite the settlers to join them in assaulting their encampment; but ignorance of their language, and of their habits prevented the President from assenting to what appeared to be their earnest wish. As the sickness that had so long raged in the colony had now nearly disappeared, and the advance of the season promised soon to open sources of plentiful provision in the and the fields and streams, Brewster felt that he could be spared for a time from the settlement; and he proposed to Mr. Carver that he should return with Mooanam to his village, and endeavor to acquire such a knowledge of the native language, as should enable hint to act as an interpreter, and also give him the means of imparting to the red men the spiritual knowledge that he so ardently desired to bestow. The Governor willingly consented to this proposal; and when it was explained to the Indian Chief, he gave the most cordial and ready assent. The mild yet dignified countenance of the elder had won his respect and confidence; and he hoped to gain as great advantages from a more intimate connection with the white men, as they expected from his alliance and support. Henrich was now able to leave his couch, and again to join Edith and his young companions out of doors; but he still looked delicate, and his former strength and activity had not fully returned. He was, however, able to walk with the assistance of a crutch that his father had made for him; and he formed one of the group that followed the Indians in their procession through the village, and also escorted them as far as the confines of the wood in whose depths their village lay. The Chief remarked the boy, and showed sympathy for his lameness, which he was given to understand was owing to an aggression of the Nausetts; and his eyes flashed, and his nostrils dilated, and his whole countenance was changed from its habitual expression of gentle dignity, to one of fierce hostility. It was evident that, in these Wampanoges, the settlers had secured allies who would be zealous and persevering in protecting them from the attacks of their harassing enemies, the Nausetts; and who would, when the proper time should arrive, assist them in fleeing the district of such troublesome inhabitants. The Indians returned to their wigwams, and the elder accompanied them, and became an inmate of Mooanam's lodge. He soon began to acquire some knowledge of the language of his host, and also to instruct him and his wife in many English words and phrases, in which their aptitude to learn astonished him. A constant communication was kept up between the Indian village and that of the settlers, and a real regard and esteem sprang up between them. As the spring advanced, Henrich was able to throw aside his crutch, and to accompany his father and mother in their frequent visits to the wigwams, and much of his leisure time was passed in the company of the young Indians of his own age, whose activity and address in all their sports and games he admired and emulated. The presence of his friend Brewster in the Wampanoge village, also gave it increased attractions in the eyes of Henrich. The good man was still his friend and preceptor; and with his assistance, he made considerable progress in the acquirement of the native language, as well as in every other kind of knowledge that Brewster was able to impart. But all the elder's instructions were made subservient to that best of all knowledge--the knowledge of God, and of his revealed Word; and in this his pupil advanced and grew in a manner that both surprised and delighted him. The boy's naturally thoughtful character had become matured during his long and painful illness; and he had learnt to feel the value of heavenly things, and the comparative littleness of all 'those things which are seen, and are temporal.' He entered warmly into all the elder's benevolent desires and intentions for the conversion of the dark heathen among whom their lot was cast; and he already looked forward to being his assistant in the holy work. Brewster regarded him as destined to become both a pastor and a zealous and successful missionary, when he should arrive at a proper age; and he frequently spoke of him as his own appointed successor in the spiritual direction of the congregation. This sacred office Henrich anticipated with pride and satisfaction; for where could he find a more fitting exercise for his adventurous and enterprising spirit, and also for his love of the truth, than in seeking the wild men amid their forests and wildernesses, and winning them to peace, and happiness, and civilization, by the knowledge of the all-powerful doctrines of the gospel? With the Indians he soon became a great favorite; and the readiness with which he acquired the use of the bow, and learnt to cast the dart, and wield the light tomahawks that were used by the Indian boys to practice their young hands, excited their warmest admiration, and made them prophesy that he would one day become a distinguished Brave. His skill in hunting and fishing also became considerable; and he learnt from his copper-colored friends many of their songs and dances, with which he delighted Edith and Ludovico at home. His new companions did not draw away his affections from his sister. She was still the object of his warmest love; and to give her pleasure was the strongest desire of his heart. In his long rambles with his Indian play-fellows he never forgot his Edith; and many a stream was crossed, and many a rock was climbed, to procure flowering plants to deck her garden, and creepers to clothe the bower which he had formed for her beneath a venerable walnut-tree that stood within their father's little domain, and at no great distance from their dwelling. An attempt had been made, at first, by the colonists to follow the example of the primitive church at Jerusalem; and to hold the land of which they had taken possession in common, to be worked by the whole community, and the produce to be equally divided amongst their families in due proportion. But this plan was soon abandoned, as quite unsuited to the habits and manners of these men of Britain; and every family had a small portion, consisting of an acre each, assigned to it for the special use and maintenance of its members. The fields in every allotment had been sown chiefly with grain procured from the friendly Wampanoges; and for some time past the Nausetts had left them unmolested. The knowledge which Brewster soon acquired of the soft and musical language of the natives enabled him, with the assistance of Samoset, who still resided among them, to transact all business between them and his countrymen; and also to become acquainted with the history and circumstances of these useful allies. He learnt that Mooanam was not the great Sachem or Sagamore of the whole tribe, but that he was the eldest son of Masasoyt, the king or chief of the Wampanoges, who resided at Packanokick, their principal village, which was situated in the state of Rhode Island, near a mountain called Montaup, at a considerable distance from Patupet, the native name for New Plymouth. The means of a still more extended intercourse was about this time opened to the settlers, by the arrival at New Plymouth of another Indian, who was already acquainted with the English, and who was also a much greater proficient in their language than their friend Samoset. This was no other than Squanto, the man who had been taken prisoner by Captain Hunt some years previous, and conveyed to England. During his residence there, he had learnt to make himself understood in the white man's tongue, and he had also learnt to admire and respect the white man's character. When, therefore, he had found his way hack to his native land in a fishing vessel, and was informed by the Wampanoge Sagamore--whom he visited in his journey to rejoin his own tribe--that an English settlement had been formed on the shores of Cape Cod Bay, he determined to visit it. Masasoyt encouraged him in this intention, and sent him to his son Mooanam, to be introduced to the strangers, and to assist in forming a permanent alliance with them. These overtures were joyfully received by the Governor, Mr. Carver, and he determined to take immediate advantage of this opportunity of adding to the strength and security of the infant colony. The intended departure of Samoset also made it very desirable to secure the friendship and the services of the newcomer Squanto; as, notwithstanding the progress which Winslow and some others were making in the Wampanoge language, a native interpreter must long be required, in order to carry on a mutual intercourse. An embassy to the great Sagamore was therefore resolved on, with a view to confirm and strengthen the alliance that had been formed with his sons: and again Rodolph was selected to accompany Captain Standish as his aide-de-camp, while Samoset and Squanto were to act as interpreters. The journey was long, and Maitland was obliged reluctantly to refuse Henrich's request to attend him. He feared the fatigue of so many days' travelling on foot would be too much for his son's strength, and Helen strongly opposed his going. He therefore gave up the much desired expedition, and endeavored to chase away his feeling of disappointment by renewed exertions in ornamenting the garden, and putting the grounds into a state of perfect order, to please his father on his return. The expedition was accompanied by the Sagamore's younger son, Quadequina, who was anxious to introduce the new allies of his tribe to his father, and to ensure their friendly reception. They reached Packanokick after a pleasant journey of about forty miles, and were kindly welcomed by Masasoyt, to whom a messenger had been sent beforehand to prepare him for their arrival. The Sagamore was a noble-looking old man, and was treated by his son, and by all his subjects, with the most profound respect; nor did his strange costume in any way destroy his kingly appearance. His limbs were naked, and were curiously painted and oiled, and his neck and arms were decorated with strings of large white beads composed of polished bone; while a richly embroidered bag or pouch, containing tobacco, was suspended at the back of his neck. His coronet of feathers was lofty, and of the most brilliant colors, and the rest of his dress consisted of a tunic and moccasins of dressed deer skin, exquisitely worked with colored grass and porcupine's quills. He willingly and fully ratified the treaty which had been made by his sons with the white strangers, whose appearance and manners seemed to prepossess him much in their favor; and after detaining them for some days in his lodge, and entertaining him with the greatest hospitality and kindness, he dismissed them with presents of native manufacture, in return for the European arms and ornaments which they had offered to his acceptance. Samoset here left the settlers, and Squanto became henceforth their faithful friend and useful interpreter. CHAPTER IV �In your patience possess ye your souls.� LUKE, xxi 19. One evening, about the time that Helen began to expect the return of the embassy from Packanokick, Henrich was unusually busy in the garden, arranging the flower-beds, and beautifying Edith's bower, in which he and his sister had planned a little fête to welcome their father home. Their mother had learnt to feel, that while they were thus employed, and within the precincts of their own domain, they were safe from every danger. The Nausetts had not attempted any depredations for an unusual length of time; and a feeling of security and peace had taken the place of that constant watchfulness and anxiety, which had long proved so harassing to the settlers. They began to flatter themselves that their foes had retired from the neighborhood, and would no more return to molest them, now that they knew the emigrants to be on such friendly terms with their powerful rivals, the Wampanoges. But false was this appearance of security; and vain was every hope that the Nausetts would forego their designs of vengeance, or cease to devise schemes of mischief against those by whom they thought themselves injured! They did not, indeed, continue to attack the settlement openly, for they had been taught to dread the British fire-arms and the British courage; but they still continued to lurk in the neighboring forest, and to keep a vigilant watch over all that took place at the settlement. Often were the keen eyes of Coubitant and his most trusty followers fixed, with a malignant gaze, on the dwelling of Rodolph and often were his movements, and those of his family, carefully noted by these sagacious savages, when no suspicion of their presence existed in the minds of the settlers. They would climb by night to the summit of some lofty tree that overlooked the village, and there remain all day unseen, to obtain a knowledge of the habits and proceedings of their hated enemies, and to devise plans for turning this knowledge to account. The departure of the embassy to Packanokick was, consequently, well known to Coubitant, and he resolved to take advantage of the absence of so considerable a part of the British force, to execute, if possible, his schemes of vengeance. What they were, and how he attempted their accomplishment, will be presently seen. Edith's bower looked gay with its spring blossoms and luxuriant creepers, but Henrich was not quite satisfied with its appearance, and he wished to place at its entrance a graceful climbing plant which he had observed during his last walk to the Wampanoge village, and had neglected to secure it on his return. It had been the desire of his parents that he should not go into the forest which bordered their grounds, except in the company of his father or some of his friends; but the apparent departure of the Nausetts had caused this injunction to be neglected of late, and he, and even his younger brother and sister, had frequently strayed, unmolested, a short distance into the wood, in search of flowers and fruits; and even Helen had ceased to feel alarm. 'Edith,' said Henrich, on the evening of which we are speaking; 'I think my father will return tonight, or tomorrow at the farthest; and I must complete my task before he arrives. Your bower still requires a few plants to adorn the entrance, and the seats of moss are scarcely finished. Let us go into the wood, and procure what we want before the sun sets, and our mother comes out to see what progress we have made.' �No, Henrich,' replied his sister; 'do not go this evening. I know not why, but the wood looks dark and gloomy; there is no sunlight on the path, and the shadows are so deep, that I could fancy every low bush was a crouching Indian. I cannot go into the wood tonight.' 'You are timid, dear Edith. You never feared to go with me before; and why should you fear this evening? See, the sun is still high in the horizon, and the darkness is all in your own fancy. Come and see that lovely creeper I told you of; and when you have admired it hanging from the decayed trunk of the old tree that supports it, you shall help me to remove it to your bower, where it will be the fairest flower that grows, except the little fairy queen herself.' Henrich caught his sister's hand, and kissing her playfully, attempted to draw her from the bower. But she looked sad and anxious, and replied-- 'O, Henrich! do not ask me; my bower is fair enough, and I would not go as far as that old tree tonight, for all the flowers that grow in the forest. Stay with me, Henrich, dear. Our mother will join us soon, and she will be alarmed if you are not here.' The boy looked at his sister's pensive face with an affectionate smile: but he was not to be diverted from his scheme. �Stay here, then, Edith,' he replied; 'and tell my mother that I shall return in little more than ten minutes. Come, Ludovico,' he added, calling his little brother, who was always ready to follow where Henrich led. 'Come, Ludovico, you are not afraid of the shadows. Bring your basket, and you shall gather moss while I dig up my creeper. When Edith sees its drooping white flowers, she will forgive me for laughing at her unusual fears.' Edith said no more. She was sure that Henrich knew best; and she silently watched him leave the garden, and enter the shade of the thick forest, accompanied by her joyous little brother. Were her fears, indeed, the mere creation of her own young fancy I or were they occasioned by one of those strange and unaccountable presentiments which have been felt so frequently as to justify the old proverb, 'Coming events cast their shadow, before them.� Edith sat on the mossy seat that Henrich had formed in her bower. It looked towards the wood, and the commanding situation which it occupied, on a rising ground towards the center of the garden, enabled her to overlook the green fence that enclosed the grounds, and to watch the receding forms of her brothers, until they were hidden from her sight by the winding of the path through the underwood. Still she gazed, and her heart grew sad; and tears, which she could not check, rolled down her cheeks. Did she again fancy? and did her tearful eyes now convert the bushes into the figures of two dark Indians, in the costume of the dreaded Nausetts? Surely those were human forms that moved so swiftly and so silently from the dark stem of a gigantic oak, and crossing the forest path, were instantly again concealed. Edith wiped her glistening eyes. She held her breath, and feared to move; but the beating of her young heart was audible. No sound met her listening ear--no movement again was detected by her straining eye--and she began to think that her own fears had conjured up those terrible forms. But what was that distant cry that sounded from the wood in the direction in which her brothers had gone? And why does she now behold Ludovico running wildly, and alone, down the path, with terror depicted in his countenance? Edith flew to meet him; but ere she reached him, the dreadful truth was made known to her by his agonized cry. 'O, my brother! my brother! they have taken him, Edith; they are dragging him away! They will kill him!' he shrieked aloud, as he threw himself into Edith's arms, almost choked with the violence of his feelings, and the speed with which he had fled. What could Edith do? She dared not leave him, to be carried off, perhaps, by some other prowling savage, who might still be lingering near; and she could not carry him home. Slowly she drew him on, while every moment seemed an hour, that delayed her from giving the alarm, and sending friends to the rescue of her darling brother. �O! why did he leave me?' she murmured. 'Why did he go, when I knew that danger was near?' As soon as she had brought the panting and terrified Ludovico within the precincts of the garden, she left him, and ran towards the house, calling loudly on her mother, who rushed out on hearing her voice of terror, and was instantly made acquainted with the appalling fact that had occurred. Who shall tell the agony of her feelings, or describe the sufferings of that mother's heart, when she knew that her child was in the power of the savage and relentless enemies of the white men? She was, indeed, ignorant of the peculiar vengeance that they desired to wreak on her husband and all his race; but the malevolent character of the Nausetts had been sufficiently manifested in their repeated and destructive attacks on the settlement, and their willful desecration of the graves of the exiles, to awaken the most poignant fears in her breast. Rodolph, too, was absent, and Brewster was still at the Wampanoge village; and where should she seek for succor or for counsel! Hastily calling Janet, who was the only domestic at home, she committed Ludovico to her care; and taking Edith by the hand, she hurried from the garden, scarcely knowing whither she bent her steps, but in the vague hope of meeting some of the settlers returning from their labors in the fields, and inducing them to go to the rescue of her boy. Onward she fled along the skirts of the forest, towards the fields of her husband's friend Winslow, who, she well knew, would aid her with all his power: but she found him not, and no human being appeared in sight to listen to her appeal for succor. The sun was setting, and all had returned to the village. What then could Helen do? To retrace her steps, and seek her friends and neighbors in their homes, would be to lose precious moments, on which the life and liberty of her Henrich might depend. To strike into the depths of the forest, and cross the belt of wood that divided the settlement from Mooanam's encampment would be the quickest plan, and probably the most effectual, as her Wampanoge friends would know far better than the settlers how to follow in the train of the fugitives, and how either to persuade or to compel them to release their prisoners. Helen had never dared to enter the wood, except under the protection of her husband, even in the broad light of day; and now the gloom of evening was gathering around her, and the path that led into the wood was obscured by the shadows of the thick foliage above. Bat where were all her fears and apprehensions? She was unconscious of such feelings now. The timid woman's heart was nerved to the occasion, and no danger could now make her shrink. She turned rapidly into the narrow path, and pursued her way with a firmness and decision, of which, at any other time, when she was trusting to the arm and guidance of Rodolph, she would have believed herself incapable. She knew the direction in which the Indian village lay, and the slanting rays of the declining sun occasionally penetrated the thick wood, and cast bright streaks of light on the mossy ground, and the boles of the giant trees around; but soon they faded away, and a deep gloom overspread her path. 'Mother,' said the trembling little Edith, as she clung to Helen�s hand, and exerted her utmost strength to keep up with her rapid steps; 'Mother, do you not fear to pass through this forest now? Shall we not meet more of those dreadful savages who have taken away my brother? Oh, Henrich! Henrich!' she cried--while tears burst afresh from her eyes at the recollection of her brother's fate--'why did you venture into this wood to seek plants for my bower?' and the child sobbed convulsively, from mingled grief and fear. �Cease, Edith, cease!' replied the deeply distressed, but now firm and courageous Helen: 'I fear nothing while I am seeking aid for Henrich. God will protect us, my child!� she added: and she raised her glistening eyes to heaven, and gazed, hopefully and trustingly, on one bright star that shone upon her between the summits of the lofty trees. Her heart was strengthened by her pious confidence in her heavenly Father. She remembered also that Edith looked to her for protection; and all personal fears were absorbed by that generous and elevating feeling of self-devotion, which is shared even by the lower and weaker animals when their offspring are in danger. So Helen forgot herself, and felt strong to guard her child, and strong to seek and obtain aid for him whose peril was more real and urgent. Onward she pressed in silence but her soul was pleading eloquently with God. Soon Edith checked her suddenly, and exclaimed, as she stumbled over something in the pathway, 'Oh mother, here are Henrich's tools; and there I see Ludovico's basket full of moss! This is the spot to which my brothers were coming; and yonder is the old tree, with the white flowers hanging on it, that Henrich wished to plant by my bower. It must have been here that the Indians seized him while he was at work.' That part of the wood was more light and open than the rest of their way had been; and Helen hastily surveyed it, that she might be able to guide the Wampanoges thither, and point out to them where to commence the pursuit. Again she resumed her way; and, regardless of fatigue, she never paused again until she reached the border of the quiet and lonely lake, on which the rising moon was now shining in all her silvery splendor. The huts of the friendly natives stood out, clear and dark, on the level shore of the lake, and Helen and her weary child soon reached them, and hastened to Mooanam�s lodge. There they found the Chief, and his interesting young wife and children, sitting on the matted floor, listening with deep attention to the words of life and salvation which Brewster was reading and interpreting to them from the Holy Scriptures. The hurried entrance of Helen startled and alarmed them; for her countenance plainly told them, that some calamity had occasioned her unlooked-for appearance at such an unwonted time. With breathless haste she told her sad errand, and Brewster quickly explained her words to the Chief, Mooanam seized his arms, and rushed from the lodge, calling, in a loud and commanding voice, on his people to arm themselves and accompany him in the pursuit of the cruel and vindictive Nausetts. All was hurry and excitement throughout the village, and every swarthy warrior pressed forward, and desired to share in the expedition to save their young English favorite. It was necessary, however, to leave a strong party at the village, to guard it from any act of treachery or violence on the part of their malicious rivals, who, it was now evident, were still lurking in the neighborhood; and, while Mooanam was selecting his party, and arranging his plans, a clear shrill voice was heard from the margin of the lake, crying, 'The canoes! the canoes! Quadequina is returning.' 'The canoes, the canoes!' resounded through the crowd; and Helen's heart hounded with joy and gratitude. Rodolph was near; and all would yet be well. Little Nepea had led Edith to the shore while the warriors were discussing their plans; and in a strange mixture of English and Indian words, the children were conversing on the recent sad event. The quick ear of the young savage had detected the splash of oars at the farther side of the lake, and he instantly discovered the three canoes that were leaving the opposite coast, and emerging from the deep shadow of the overhanging trees. He had raised that joyful cry; and now all the inhabitants of the village rushed down to the shore to welcome their brethren, and to tell the startling news. Nearest to the brink stood Helen and her little girl, closely attended by Mooanam and the Squaw-Sachem Apannow, who shared her impatient anxiety for the return of the embassy, that they might have the benefit of Maitland's counsel, and also obtain an addition to their forces. The elder, Brewster, was deeply moved at the misfortune that had befallen his young friend, Henrich. But he knew that not a moment was to be lost! and, while all others were crowding down to the lake side, he busied him self in arranging the volunteers for the pursuit, and seeing that his own musket was in a proper state for active service. The canoes sped swiftly across the moonlit waters; and as they neared the shore, Rodolph perceived the forms of his wife and daughter, surrounded by the dark Indians, and ready to receive him. But he felt only pleasure at this unexpected and welcome meeting. No feeling of alarm crossed his breast, until he drew near enough to distinguish Helen's countenance; and then he knew that she had come with evil tidings. He sprang from the canoe, eager to hear the truth: but all the firmness and courage which had so wonderfully sustained his wife while she was obliged to act for herself, forsook her the moment she felt herself supported by her Rodolph's arm; and faintly exclaiming, 'O my son, my son!' she fainted; while little Edith burst into tears, and sobbed out her brother's name. 'Tell me, in the name of heaven, what all this means!' exclaimed Maitland, turning a look of eager inquiry on Mooanam, who stood with characteristic silence and apparent composure, waiting the proper moment to speak. 'Tell me,' cried the distracted father again, 'what dire calamity has befallen my boy?' 'My heart is dark for you,' replied the Sachem, in a voice of perfect calmness, though a tear glistened in his coal black eye, and his brow was clouded by anxiety. 'My heart is very dark for you, and for your young warrior--for, boy as he was, he was a brave at heart.' Mooanam spoke in his native tongue, intermixed with English words and phrases, which he had learned from Brewster and the other settlers; but the father's heart comprehended all he said, and needed no interpreter. 'Is my son dead, then?' he exclaimed. 'Has accident or violence quenched his young spirit?' 'Worse than dead,' slowly replied the Sachem; and he looked pityingly at Helen, who now began to recover her senses. 'Leave your wife to the care of the squaws,' he added, 'and come with me to the wise man yonder, and he will tell you all.' He led Rodolph to where Brewster was occupied in making preparations, and soon the afflicted father was made acquainted with the fate of his son. He felt indeed that death--a calm and peaceful death beneath his own accustomed roof, and with those he dearly loved around him--would have been a far happier lot for Henrich than that to which he now feared he might be doomed--than that which, possibly, his darling boy was at that moment enduring at the hands of his cruel and malignant enemies. The thought was maddening. But there was still a hope of saving him by speed and resolution; and he urged the Sachem to depart instantly. One moment he gave to visit and endeavor to cheer his wife, who now lay powerless and weeping in Apannow's lodge; and then he joined the Chief, who, with Brewster and a band of picked men, were ready to accompany him. The pastor had already learnt from Edith all that she could tell relative to the spot where her brother had been captured; and to that spot the pursuing party hurried, and soon discovered the basket and the tools that told where the boys had been so rudely interrupted in their work. Quickly the trodden grass, and the broken branches of the thick underwood, showed in what direction the boy had been dragged by his captors; and on the track the Wampanoge warriors followed, like hounds in the chase. But, alas! the Nausetts had had a fearful start of them; and little hope existed in the breast of Mooanam that they could overtake them, in time to avert the dreadful fate that he had feared for Henrich. The Sachem was himself an Indian, and he well knew the Indian desire for retaliation and vengeance. He was, indeed, a man of a mild and generous nature, and he belonged to a tribe less distinguished by cruelty than the Nausetts. But still he felt that, according to the savage code of the natives, blood must atone for blood, and he believed that already the life of Henrich had probably been sacrificed in expiation of his father's having slain the son of the Nausett Chief. Still he led his warriors on, and neither paused nor spoke until the party emerged from the thick wood, upon a little opening that was lighted up brilliantly by the moon-beams. Here, where it was evident a small temporary encampment had existed, and had only been very recently and hastily removed, he stopped, and looked earnestly around. The poles still stood erect which lied supported the tents of the Nausetts; the fires were still burning; and many articles of domestic use lay scattered about, which the hasty departure of the inhabitants had probably prevented their removing. Rudolph hurried through the camp in search of some sign of his son; and his eager eye fell on the well-known tunic that Henrich was accustomed to wear. He snatched it up hastily; and then, with a deep groan, let it fall again upon the ground. The breast of the tunic was pierced through in several places, and the whole dress was stained with blood--blood that was newly shed. Maitland pointed to this evidence of his son's death! and when the Sachem had examined it, he set his teeth together, and drew in his breath with an oppressed, hissing sound, as of severe pain. 'It is over, my friend,' he said, in a low deep voice to Rodolph--'it is over; and we are too late. Naught now remains but to take revenge-- full, ample revenge. Let us follow the miscreants.' Rudolph turned, and looked at him. He fixed on him such a searching gaze--a gaze so full of gentle reproof and of deep settled grief-that the warm-hearted Chief stood silent, and almost abashed before his Christian friend. 'Is it thus you have learned of Brewster?' said the sorrowing father. 'Is it thus that you are taught in that book which the Great Spirit has dictated? The Father of us all has declared, "vengeance is mine; I will repay "; and since we are too late to save my son, we will not commit deeds of blood which his now happy and ransomed spirit would abhor.' Mooanam was silenced, but not convinced. Inwardly he vowed vengeance against those who had dealt so cruelly with the unoffending boy; though, under similar circumstances, he would probably have acted with the same spirit. But the Chief bad allied himself with the white men. He loved and reverenced them; and he was resolved to avenge the wrongs of Maitland, as if they had been his own. Sadly and silently the party returned to the Indian village, where they arrived at the break of day. We will not attempt to describe the mother's anguish when she was made acquainted with the dreaded fate of her son; but Helen was a Christian, and while her heart was bowed down with crushing grief, her spirit strove to hush its rebellious questionings, and to submit itself to the will of God. 'It is the Lord,' she meekly exclaimed: �let Him do what seemeth Him good!' That morning she returned with her husband and Edith to the settlement; and they were accompanied by Brewster, whose pious exhortations and sympathizing kindness were invaluable to the bereaved and afflicted parents. The grief of Edith was less capable of being suppressed; and it broke out afresh when little Ludovico came to meet them, and inquired for his brother. From the child they learnt, that while he and Henrich were busily engaged in their several occupations in the wood, two Indians had suddenly rushed from the thick brushwood, and seized on his brother before he had time to fly. Ludovico was gathering moss at some distance, but he saw what passed, and uttered a cry that attracted the attention of the savages; and one of them east a spear at him with such violence, that, missing its intended mark, it stuck firmly in a tree close behind him. Seeing this, his noble and courageous brother called out to him to hide among the bushes, and make his way home as quickly as possible; and the Indians, eager to secure the prize they had so long been watching for, hurried away through the forest, dragging Henrich with them. The murderous attempt made by these savages against the life of Ludovico proved but too clearly that the destruction of Rodolph's children was their object, and banished every hope that lingered in Helen's breast; and this conviction of their cruel intentions was still further confirmed by Janet's account of the look and gesture of the warrior who attended his Chief when the Nausetts first assailed the settlement. Rodolph had seen, and understood the action; and as he had also learnt through his Wampanoge friends that Tekoa, the son of the Nausett Chief, had fallen in the first encounter, he knew enough of Indian customs to be aware that he, as the slayer, was a marked object of their vengeance. He had, however, always concealed his suspicions from Helen; and the only effect they had produced on him was causing him, at that time, to prohibit his children from venturing unguarded into the wood, more strictly than he would otherwise have done. CHAPTER V. 'Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee: the remainder of wrath shalt thou restrain.' PSA. lxxvi,10. We will now, for a time, leave the settlement--where the sad news of the capture and supposed death of Henrich had spread a general gloom and consternation--and follow the subject of their pitying grief, from the time that he was seized and made a prisoner in the hands of the savages. They did not slay him; for the Lord had work and service in store for the young missionary, and he suffered not a hair of his head to be hurt. Coubitant--for he was one of those whose patient vigilance had, at length, been crowned by success--and his companion had hurried him at their greatest speed through the wood, to the spot where their temporary camp was pitched, and where several others of their tribe awaited their return. A few minutes sufficed to remove the matting that formed their tents, and to collect their arms and utensils; but Coubitant well knew that the child who had escaped his cruelty would soon alarm the settlers, and that an instant pursuit would follow. He therefore, devised plan to deceive, and, perhaps altogether to check the white men, at least for a time, by making them believe that the death of the captive had already taken place. He would have instantly gratified the feelings of his cruel and revengeful heart, and have shed the innocent blood of Rodolph's son to atone for the death of his friend, but that he feared to disappoint his Chief, who so earnestly desired to imbrue his own hands in the blood of the slayer. He, therefore, resolved on the stratagem we have described. He stripped off the captive's tunic, and, after piercing it several times with his dagger, he opened a vein in his own arm with the same weapon, and let the hot blood flow freely over the torn vesture. This done, he smiled a demon's smile, as he cast the tunic on the ground, and thought with malignant pleasure of the anguish that its discovery would occasion to his hated foe. Henrich gazed in trembling wonder at this act; and when Coubitant again approached him to bind his hands, he believed that he was about to plunge that blood-stained knife into his beating heart. He was young, and life was new and precious to him; and for a moment he shrank back, while the blood curdled in his veins. But, young as he was, he was also a child of God; and he knew that all events are governed by His Almighty power, and over-ruled by His wisdom and love. So he was enabled to lift up his eyes and his trusting heart to heaven, and to await his expected fate with calmness. Coubitant saw his firmness, and he wondered and admired. He placed the dagger in his belt and hastily tying the captive's hands behind his back, he motioned to his companions to follow, and struck into a narrow and almost undistinguishable path. Forcing Henrich to go before him, while he held the rope of twisted grass that bound his hands he followed close behind, and placed his foot in each print that the prisoner made, so as to destroy the impression of the boy's European shoe. The other Indians did the same; as exactly did they tread in one another's steps, that, when all had passed, it seemed as if only one solitary traveler had left his track on the soft ground. Thus, 'in Indian file,' they traversed a belt of wood, till they came out on a dry and sun-burnt plain, where their steps left no impression. Coubitant then advanced to the side of his prisoner, and, taking his arm in his powerful grasp, he compelled him to advance, at an almost breathless speed, across the plain. In the wood, on the other side, he allowed a short pause, and gave Henrich some water from a bottle made of a dried gourd, which hung about his neck; and thus they traveled on, with slight refreshment and little rest, until the sun arose in all his splendor, and displayed to Henrich's admiring gaze the wild and magnificent woodland scenery through which he was travelling. Under other circumstances, he would keenly have enjoyed the novelty and the beauty of the objects that met his eyes, so different from the luxuriant, but flat and monotonous fields, and gardens, and canals, that he so well remembered in Holland. Here all was wild and varied; and all was on a scale of grandeur that inspired him with a feeling of awe and solemnity, heightened, no doubt, by the fearful uncertainty of his fate, and the thought that, perhaps, this was the last time that he should look upon these glorious hills, and ancient forests, and wide rushing rivers--the handiworks, and the visible teachers of God's power. Something of American scenery he had become acquainted with in his rambles round the Indian village, but only enough to make him long to see more; and had he now been travelling by the side of his father, or his friend Brewster, the elastic morning air, and the splendid and ever-varying views, would have made his young heart bound with joy and health. As it was, the silent beauty of nature was not without its influence on the captive boy. He seemed to feel more strongly the presence and the goodness of his heavenly Father; and his young spirit was cheered to endure his present desolate situation, and strengthened to meet whatever future trials might await him. He had learnt from Brewster to make himself understood in the Wampanoge language, and he resolved to try whether his Nausett guide would reply to his questions in that tongue. He therefore besought him to tell him whither he was leading him, and for what purpose. But Coubitant deigned him no reply. He understood him--for the Nausett language was but another dialect of the Wampanoge--but he did not choose to inform the boy of his destination at present, and he preserved a profound silence, and an expression of sullen gravity. It was not until the evening of the fourth day that the party reached the Nausett village, which, as we have already observed, was situate near the site of the 'first encounter'; and to which Tisquantum, and the greater part of his warriors had returned, when Coubitant and a few picked associates were left to carry out his schemes of vengeance. Henrich was instantly conducted to the lodge of the old Chief; and brightly did Tisquantum's dark eyes glitter when he beheld the son of his enemy in his power. He praised the skill and the perseverance by which Coubitant had thus procured him the means of revenge; and, taking off his own brilliant coronet of feathers, he placed it on the head of the proud and successful warrior, as a distinguished mark of his approbation. Coubitant was highly gratified; but his desire for vengeance was stronger than his vanity, and forgetting the honor that had been conferred upon him, he entreated the Chief to allow him instantly to drive his spear into the boy's heart, or else with his own weapon to take the life of the slayer's child. 'Not yet!' replied Tisquantum--and Henrich comprehended the full purport of his words--'not today, Coubitant. I would pour out the blood of the white youth with pomp and ceremony, as an offering to the spirit of my murdered son. Let the boy be fed and refreshed: tomorrow, at break of day, he shall die. Go. I have said it.' 'And will the Sachem give him into my charge until the morning dawns?' inquired Coubitant. Tisquantum fixed his piercing eye on the savage, and read his malevolent feelings; and he calmly answered, 'No: the victim shall bleed because his father's blood flows in his veins. But he shall not be tortured; for his was not the hand that deprived me of my son. The boy shall remain in my own lodge, and sleep securely for this night beneath the same roof that shelters my last remaining child--my lovely Oriana.' Had the Chief observed Henrich's changing countenance, he would have perceived that all he said was understood by the intended sufferer. But he marked him not, and the boy commanded himself, and kept silence, determined to await Coubitant's departure before he made one effort to move the Chief to pity. He had, however, no opportunity of trying the effect of his earnest appeal; for Tisquantum ordered one of his attendants to remove him at once to the inner division of the lodge, and to secure him there for the night: and then, motioning Coubitant to retire, and resuming his pipe, he proceeded to 'drink smoke,' as composedly as if his evening repose had not been interrupted. But, notwithstanding his outward composure, the Nausett chief was not unmoved by the event that had just occurred. The sight of the son of him whose hand had slain his young Tekoa brought back the image of his brave young warrior, as he stood beside him at the fatal burial-ground, full of youthful ardor, to combat the invaders of his land, and the supposed enemies of his race. He recalled his daring look as he mounted the palisade, and placed in his unerring bow the arrow that wounded the English boy. And then he seemed to hear again the sharp report of the white man's musket, and to behold once more the sudden fall of his son, bleeding and expiring, to the ground. Tisquantum thought on that hour of anguish, when his duties as a chief and a warrior had forbidden all expression of his grief; and he thought of his return to his lodge, where only Oriana remained to welcome him-- for the mother of his children, whom he had loved with unusual affection, was dead--and tears gathered in the Sachem's eyes. Oriana had deeply mourned her brother's death; for since she had lost her mother, she had been permitted to enjoy much more of his society than had previously been allowed her; and her father, also, had seemed to transfer to her much of the love that be had borne towards his wife. Now his daughter was his only domestic tie; and his chief object in life was to give her in marriage to a warrior as brave as her young brother, and who would supply to him the place of his departed son. At present, this prospect was not immediate, for Oriana was only in her fourteenth year; but the Sachem was resolved that she should be worthy of the hand of the greatest warriors of her tribe, and he took pains to have her instructed in every art that was considered valuable or ornamental to an Indian female. Already she could perform the most elaborate patterns in native embroidery on her father's pouches and moccasins; and her own garments were also delicately and fancifully adorned in the same manner, with feathers, and shells, and colored grasses. Besides this accomplishment, her skill in Indian cookery was very great; and she could also use a bow and arrows, or cast a light javelin, or swim across a rapid river, with a grace and activity that delighted her proud father. Oriana, too, was gentle--as gentle as her mother, and her influence over Tisquantum bade fair to equal that which his much-cherished and deeply regretted wife had exercised over him. That influence had ever been employed in the cause of mercy! and many an enemy, and many a subject, had lived to bless the name of the Squaw-Sachem Oriana, when she had quelled the wrath of the offended Chief, and turned aside his intended vengeance. It was to the inner apartment of his spacious lodge, where his daughter and her attendants were busily engaged in their domestic occupations, that Henrich bad been led. His arms were still tied behind his back, and the end of the rope that bound them was secured to a post in the wall. The Indian who, at his chief's command, conducted him thither, briefly informed Oriana that he was a prisoner, and desired her women to look to his security: and then he left the captive to his strange and inquisitive jailers. When Tisquantum had emptied his long pipe, he bethought himself of the young captive's position, and proceeded to his daughter's apartment to give orders for his hospitable entertainment that evening, and his safe lodgment for the night--that night which he was resolved should be his last. As he approached the thick curtain of deer-skins that hung over the aperture between the two apartments, he thought he heard a strange sweet voice speaking the Indian language with a foreign accent; and hastily drawing aside the heavy drapery, he was astonished to see his prisoner, and intended victim, liberated from the cord that had bound him, and reclining on the furs and cushions that formed Oriana's usual resting-place; while his gentle Indian child knelt beside him, and offered him the food of which he was so much in need. Henrich was gratefully thanking her; and as the Sachem entered, he heard him exclaim in mournful accents-- �But why do you thus so kindly treat me? It were better to let me die of hunger and fatigue; for I know that to-morrow my blood is to be shed: the cold knife is to pierce my heart.' 'It shall not be,' replied Oriana, fervently. 'I have said that I will save you.' And then she raised her sparkling eyes as she heard her father's entrance; and springing on her feet, she darted forward, and caught his arm. 'Father!' she cried--and now she spoke so rapidly and energetically, that Henrich could only guess the purport of her words, and read it in her sweet expressive countenance--'Father! do not slay the white boy. He says that he is doomed to die because his father caused my brother's death. But surely Tekoa's generous spirit does not ask the blood of a child. My brother is now happy in the great hunting grounds where our fathers dwell. He feels no wrath against his slayer's son: he never would have sought revenge against an innocent boy. Give me the captive, O my father! and let him grow up in our lodge, and be to me a playfellow and a brother.' Tisquantum gazed at his child in wonder, and his countenance softened. She saw that he was moved and hastily turning from him, she approached Henrich, who had risen from the couch, and now stood an earnest spectator of the scene, on the issue of which his life or death, humanly speaking, depended. She took his band, and led him to her father, and again pleaded earnestly and passionately for his life; while the touching expression of his own deep blue eyes, and the beauty of his fair young face, added greatly to the power of her appeal. I have a little sister at home,' said Henrich--and the soft Indian language sounded sweetly from his foreign lips--'and she will weep for me as Oriana has wept for her brother. Let me return to Patupet, and she and my parents will bless you.' At the mention of his parents, Tisquantum's brow grew dark again. He thought of Rodolph as the destroyer of his son; and he turned away from the two youthful suppliants, whose silent eloquence he felt he could not long resist. 'Your father killed my young Tekoa,' he replied. 'His fire weapon quenched the light of my lodge, and took from me the support of my old age. Should I have pity on his son?' 'But let him dwell in our lodge, and fill my brother's vacant place!' exclaimed Oriana. 'Do not send him back to the white men; and his father, and his mother, and his little sister will still weep for him, and believe him dead.' The same idea had crossed Tisquantum's breast. He looked again at the boy, and thought how much Oriana's life would be cheered by such a companion. His desire of revenge on Rodolph would also be gratified by detaining his child, and bringing him up as an Indian, so long as his parents believed that he had met with a bloody death; and, possibly, he felt a time might come when the possession of an English captive might prove advantageous to himself and his tribe. All fear of the boy's escaping to his friends was removed from his mind; for he was about to retire from that part of the country to a wild district far to the west, and to join his allies, the Pequodees, in a hunting expedition to some distant prairies. The portion of his tribe over which he was Sachem, or chief, was willing to accompany him; and he had no intention of returning again to the neighborhood of the English intruders, who, he clearly foresaw, would ere long make themselves masters of the soil; and who had already secured to themselves such powerful allies in the Wampanoges--the enemies and rivals of the Nausetts. Tisquantum weighed all these considerations in his mind; and he resolved to spare the life of his young captive. But he would not at once announce that he had relented from his bloody purpose, and yielded to his child's solicitations. He therefore maintained the severe gravity that usually marked his countenance, and replied-- 'But what can the white boy do, that he should fill the place of an Indian chieftain's son? Can he cast the spear, or draw the bow, or wrestle with our brave youths?� Reviving hope had filled the heart of Henrich with courage, and he looked boldly up into the Sachem's face, and merely answered, 'Try me.' The brevity and the calmness of the reply pleased the red Chief, and he determined to take him at his word. 'I will,' he said. 'To-morrow you shall show what skill you possess, and your fate shall depend on your success. But how have you learned anything of Indian sports, or of the Indian tongue?' 'I have been much in Mooanam's lodge, and have played with the youths of his village,' replied Henrich; 'and the Sachem was well pleased to see me use a bow and arrow in his woods. And from him, and my young companions, I learnt to speak their tongue.' 'It is good,' said the old Chief, thoughtfully. Then, fixing his penetrating eyes on Henrich again, he hastily inquired: 'And can you use the fire-breathing weapons of your countrymen? and can you teach me to make them? 'I can use them,' answered the boy; 'but I cannot make them. They come from my father's land, beyond the great sea. But,' he added--while a stronger hope of life and liberty beamed in his bright blue eye and flushing face--'send me back to my countrymen, and they will give you muskets for my ransom.' 'No, no!' said the Sachem: and the dark cloud again passed over his countenance. 'Never will I restore you to your father, till he can give me back my son. You shall live, if you can use our Indian weapons; but you shall live and die as an Indian.' He turned and left the apartment; and the heart of Henrich sank within him. Was he then taken for ever from his parents, and his brother, and sister? Should he behold his friends, and his teacher, no more? And must he dwell with savages, and lead a savage life? Death, he thought, would be preferable to such a lot; and he half resolved to conceal his skill and dexterity in Indian exercises, that Tisquantum might cast him off and slay him, as unfit to dwell among his tribe. But hope soon revived; and his trust in the providential mercy of God restored his spirits, and enabled him even to look upon a lengthened captivity among the red men with composure. Plans for escaping out of their hands, and making his way back to the settlement, filled his mind; and a short residence among the wild men even appeared to offer some attraction to his enterprising spirit. So he turned to Oriana, who stood gazing on his changing and expressive countenance with the deepest interest, and again resumed the conversation which had been interrupted by the entrance of the Chief. Many questions did those young strangers ask each other relative to their respective homes, and native customs; and Henrich learnt, with much dismay, that the Nausetts under Tisquantum's rule were so soon to change their place of residence. His hopes of escape became less strong, but they were not destroyed: and when he was summoned to pass the night in the Sachem's apartment, he was able to lift up his heart to God in prayer, and to lie down to sleep on the rude couch prepared for him, with a calm trust in His Almighty power and goodness, and a hope that He would see fit to shorten his trials, and restore him to his friends. The Chief watched him as he knelt in prayer; and when he rose, and prepared to lie down to sleep, he abruptly asked him why he had thus remained on his knees so long? 'I was praying to my God to protect me,' answered Henrich; and a tear rose to his eye, as he remembered how he had knelt every evening with his own beloved family; and thought how his absence, and their probable belief in his death, would sadden the act of worship that would that night be performed in his father's house. 'Do you pray to the Great Spirit?' asked Tisquantum. 'I do!' replied the young Christian. 'I pray to the Great Spirit, who is the God and Father of all men; and I pray to his Son Jesus Christ, who is the friend and Savior of all who love him.' 'It is good!' said the Chief. 'We know the Great Spirit; but we know nothing of the other gods of the white men. Sleep now; for your strength and activity will be tried to-morrow.' And Henrich lay down, and slept long and peacefully. He was awakened the next morning by the gentle voice of Oriana, who stood beside him, and said, 'You must rise now, and eat with me, before you go out to try your strength and skill. Come to my apartment.' Henrich opened his eyes, and gazed around him in wonder. But quickly the whole sad reality of his situation came over him, and he felt that he must nerve himself for the coming trial. Soon he followed Oriana to her inner room, where a slight Indian repast of maize and fruits had been prepared by the young Squaw-Sachem and her attendants. Tisquantum had left the lodge, and was now occupied in preparing a spot for the exercise of the white boy's skill. At his side stood Coubitant, silent and gloomy. His indignation at the Chief's merciful intentions towards the intended victim was great; and strongly had he urged him to the immediate slaughter of the captive. But Tisquantum was not to be lightly moved, either to good or evil. He had said that the boy should live, if he proved himself worthy to bear Indian arms, and all the cruel suggestions and arguments that Coubitant could bring forward only made him more resolved to keep his word. The young savage then forbore to speak, for he saw that it was useless, and he feared to displease his Chief, whose favor was the highest object of his ambition. Since the untimely death of his son, Coubitant had been constantly his companion and attendant, until he had been left near the English settlement to carry out his schemes of revenge. His success in this enterprise a raised him still higher in Tisquantum's estimation; and visions of becoming the son-in-law of the Chief, and eventually succeeding him in his office, already floated in the brain of Coubitant. In a few years, Oriana's hand would be given to some fortunate warrior; and who could have so strong a claim to it as the man who had risked his own life to procure vengeance for her brother's death? Therefore Coubitant held his peace, and checked the expression of his deadly and malignant feelings towards the young prisoner. Soon Henrich was summoned to the ground where his fate was to be decided, and he was directed to try his powers with several Indian boys of his own age. In shooting with the bow and arrow, he could not, by any means, rival their skill and accuracy of aim; but in casting the spear, and wielding the tomahawk, he showed himself their equal; and when he was made to wrestle with his swarthy and half-naked competitors, the superior height and muscular powers of the British lad enabled him to gain the victory in almost every instance. Tisquantum was satisfied. He pronounced him worthy to live; and, notwithstanding the opposition of Coubitant, which was once more cautiously manifested, he presented Henrich with the arms that he knew so well how to use, and informed him that he should henceforth dwell in his lodge among his braves, and should no more inhabit the apartments of the women. To a young and generous mind success and approbation are always grateful; and Henrich's eye kindled, and his cheek burned, as he listened to the praises of the Chief, and felt that he owed his life, under Providence, to his own efforts. And when his little friend Oriana came bounding up to him, with joy and exultation in her intelligent countenance, and playfully flung a wreath of flowers across his shoulders in token of victory, he felt that even among these children of the wilderness--these dreaded Nausett Indians--he could find something to love. In Coubitant, he instinctively felt that he had also something to dread; but the savage tried to conceal his feeling and even to please the Chief and Oriana, by pretending an interest in their young favorite, which for a long time deceived them as to his real sentiments. The bustle of preparation for the intended removal of the encampment began that day--for Tisquantum was now more eager than ever to get beyond the reach of the settlers--and before sunset all was ready. The next morning the march commenced at daybreak, and continued for many days uninterruptedly, until the Chief and his followers reached the residence of his Pequodee allies, when he considered himself safe from pursuit, even if the settlers should attempt it. He therefore halted his party, and took up his abode among his friends, to wait until they were prepared to set out on their hunting expedition to the western prairies. A period of repose was also very needful for the women and children, for the march had been a most fatiguing one. Not only had the Sachem dreaded the pursuit of the injured settlers, and therefore hurried his party to their utmost speed; but the country through which they had traveled was inhabited by the Narragansett tribe, the ancient and hereditary foes of the Pequodees. It was, consequently, desirable for the Nausetts, as allies of the latter, to spend as little time as possible in the territories of their enemies; and little rest ad been permitted to the travelers until they had passed the boundary of the friendly Pequodees. CHAPTER VI. �The woods�oh! solemn are the boundless woods; Of the great western world, when day declines, And louder sounds the roll of distant floods, More deep the rustling of the ancient pines; When dimness gathers on the stilly air, And mystery seems o'er every leaf to brood, Awful is it for human heart to bear The might and burden of the solitude!' HEMANS. Many weeks elapsed after the Nausett party had joined the friendly Pequodees, ere any preparations were made for journeying to the west; and these days were chiefly employed by Henrich in improving his knowledge of the Indian language, and especially of the Nausett dialect, by conversing with Oriana and her young companions, both male and female. He also endeavored to learn as much as possible of the habit and the ideas of the simple people among whom his lot was now cast; for he hoped, at some future time, when he had succeeded in returning to his own countrymen, that such a knowledge might prove useful both to himself and them. He was treated with much kindness by Tisquantum; and his favor with the Chief ensured the respect and attention of all his dependants and followers. From the day that the white boy had been spared from a cruel and violent death, and established as a regular inmate of Tisquantum's dwelling, it seemed as if he had regarded him as a son, and had adopted him to fill the place of him whose death he so deeply deplored; and Oriana already looked on him as a brother, and took the greatest delight in his society. No apprehensions were now felt of his escaping to the settlement; for the distance which they had traveled through woods, and over hills and plains, to reach the Pequodee encampment, was so great, that it was utterly impossible for any one but an Indian, well accustomed to the country, to traverse it alone. Henrich was, therefore, allowed to enjoy perfect liberty, and to ramble unmolested around the camp; and it was his greatest pleasure to climb to the summit of a neighboring hill, which was crowned by a few ancient and majestic pines, and there to look in wonder and admiration at the scenery around him. To the west, a vast and trackless forest spread as far as the eye could reach, unbroken save by some distant lakes, that shone like clear mirrors in their dark green setting. Trees of gigantic growth rose high above their brethren of the wood, but wild luxuriant creepers, many of them bearing clusters of bright blossoms, had climbed ambitiously to their summits, seeking the light of day, and the warmth of the sunbeams, which could not penetrate the thick underwood that was their birth-place. It was a sea of varied and undulating foliage, beautiful and striking, but almost oppressive to the spirit; and Henrich gazed sadly over the interminable forest, and thought of the weeks, and months--and, possibly, the years that this wilderness was to be his home. Escape, under present circumstances, he felt to be impossible; and he endeavored to reconcile himself to his fate, and to look forward with hope to a dim and uncertain future. Could his parents and Edith but have been assured of his safety, he thought he could have borne his captivity more cheerfully; but to feel that they were mourning him as dead, and that, perhaps, they would never know that his blood had not been cruelly shed by his captors, was hard for the affectionate boy to endure. To Oriana, alone, could he tell his feelings, and pour out his griefs and anxieties; and Edith herself could not have listened to him with more attention and sympathy than was shown by the young Indian girl. When her domestic duties were accomplished, she would accompany her new friend to his favorite retreat on the hill-top; and there, seated by his side beneath the tall pines, she would hold his hand, and gaze into his sorrowful countenance, and listen to his fond regrets for his distant home, and all its dearly-loved inmates, till tears would gather in her soft black eyes, and she almost wished that she could restore him to his countrymen. But this she was powerless to do, even if she could have made up her mind to the sacrifice of her 'white brother,' as she called him. She had, indeed, wrought upon her father so far as to save his life, and have him adopted into their tribe and family; but she well knew that nothing would ever induce him to give up his possession of Rodolph's son, or suffer his parents to know that he lived. All this she told to Henrich; and his spirit, sanguine as it was, sickened at the prospect of a lengthened captivity among uncivilized and heathen beings. He gazed mournfully to the east; he looked over the wide expanse of country that he had lately traversed, and his eye seemed to pierce the rising hills, and lofty forests, that lay between him and his cherished home; and in the words of the Psalmist he cried, 'Oh that I had wings as a dove, for then would I flee away and be at rest!' Would you leave me, my brother?' said Oriana, in reply to this unconscious utterance of his feelings; 'would you leave me again alone, to mourn the brother I have lost?' The Sachem loves you, and I love you, too; and you may be happy in our lodge, and become a brave like our young men.' �Yes, Oriana, you and your father are kind to me; and I had never known any other mode of life, I might be happy in your lodge. But I cannot forget my parents, and me dear Edith who loved me so fondly, and my little brother also. And then I had a friend--a kind friend, and full of wisdom and goodness--who used to teach me all kinds of knowledge; and, above all, the knowledge of the way to heaven. How can I think that I may, perhaps, never see all these again, and not be sad?' And Henrich buried his face in his hands and wept without restraint. Oriana gazed at him affectionately, and tears of sympathy filled her large eyes also. But she drew away Henrich�s hand, and kissed it, and tried to cheer him in the best way that her simple mind could suggest. 'My brother must not weep,' she said; 'for he is not a child, and our Indian youths are ashamed of tears. Henrich will be a brave some day, and he will delight in hunting, and in war, as our red warriors do; and he will, I know, excel them all in strength and courage. What can he desire more than to be a Nausett warrior?' 'Oh, Oriana,' replied the boy--as he wiped away his tears, and almost smiled at her attempts to console him by such a future prospect--' I desire to return to my home, and my friends, and the worship of my God. Among your people none know anything of the true God, and none believe in His Son. I have no one to speak to me as my parents, and my venerable teacher, used to do; and no one to kneel with me in prayer to the Almighty.' 'Do not you worship the Great Mahneto--the Mighty Spirit from whom every good gift comes?' asked Oriana, with surprise. 'He is the one true God, and all the red men know and worship him.' 'Yes, Oriana, I do worship the one Great Spirit; the God and Father of all men of every color and of every clime. But the Christian's God is far more wise, and good, and merciful than the Indian's Mahneto: and He has told his servants what He is, and how they ought to serve Him.' 'Does your Mahneto speak to you?' asked the Indian girl. 'Could I hear him speak?' 'He has spoken to our fathers long ages ago,� replied Henrich; 'and we have His words written in a book. Oh, that I had that blessed book with me! How it would comfort me to read it now!' 'And you would read it to me, my brother? But tell me some of your Mahneto's words; and tell me why you say He is greater and better than the Good Spirit who protects the red men.' 'I will gladly tell you all I know of the God whom I have been taught to love and worship ever since I was a little child. I wish I could make you love Him too, Oriana, and teach you to pray to Him, and to believe in His Son as your friend and Savior.' 'I will believe all you tell me, dear Henrich,' answered the ingenuous girl; 'for I am sure you would never say the thing that is not.[*] But what do you mean by a Savior? Is it some one who will save you from the power of the evil spirit Hobbamock--the enemy of the red men?' [Footnote: The Indian expression for speaking a falsehood.] Then Henrich told her of Jesus the Merciful--Him who came to save a world that was lost and ruined through sin; and to die for those who deserve nothing but wrath and condemnation. Long the youthful teacher and his attentive pupil conversed; and many and strange were the questions that Oriana asked, and that Henrich was enabled, by the help of the Spirit, to answer. The dark searching eyes of the intelligent young Indian were fixed on his, and her glossy black hair was thrown back over her shoulders, while she listened in wonder and admiration to every word that fell from the lips of her' white brother.' That evening, a new and awakening source of interest was opened to the young captive, and the dreariness of his life seemed almost to have passed away. The affection of Oriana had hitherto been his only solace and comfort, and now the hope of repaying that affection by becoming the humble means of leading her out of the darkness of heathenism, and pointing out to her the way of eternal salvation, raised his spirits, and almost reconciled him to his present banishment from home, and all its cherished joys and comforts. More deeply than ever did he now regret that he was deprived of all access to the Word of Life, from which he might have read and translated the story of mercy to his young disciple, and have taught her the gracious promises of God. But Henrich had been well taught at home; his truly pious parents had early stored his mind with numerous passages of Scripture; and the effort he now made to recall to his memory all the most interesting stories, and most striking texts, that he had learnt from the Word of God, was the means of fixing them indelibly on his own heart. He never in after life forgot what he now taught to Oriana. The instruction was, as is generally the case, quite as much blessed to the teacher as to the learner; and Henrich was himself surprised to find how readily he could call to mind the very passage he wanted; and how easily he could convey its import to Oriana in her own melodious language. Frequently were these interesting conversations renewed, and never without Henrich's perceiving, with thankfulness, that Oriana was making progress in spiritual knowledge, and also in quickness of understanding and general intelligence; for it may truly be said, that no kind of learning awakens the dormant powers of the intellect, or quickens the growth of the mind so effectually, as the knowledge of the one true God, who created the spirit, and of his Son who died to redeem it from the ignominious and degrading bondage, of sin and Satan. Henrich had, at first, imagined that it would be utterly impossible for him to find an intelligent companion among the savage race into whose hands he bad fallen and he had deeply felt that sense of loneliness which a cultivated mind, however young, must experience in the society of those whose ideas and feelings are altogether beneath its own, and who can in no way sympathize with any of its hopes, and fears, and aspirations. But now the well-informed English boy began to perceive that the superiority of the white men over the dark aborigines of America might, possibly, arise much more from difference of education, than from difference of race and color. He remembered, also, how ardently he had desired to share with the pious Brewster and Winslow, in their projected plans for the conversion of the natives; and he hoped that, young and comparatively ignorant as he knew himself to be, it might, perhaps, please God to make him the instrument of bestowing spiritual blessings on some, at least, of the heathen among whom he dwelt. He, therefore, resolved to employ all 'his powers of argument and persuasion to convince the mind, and touch the heart of the young Squaw-Sachem; not only for the sake of her own immortal soul, but also in the hope that her influence, if she became a sincere Christian, might greatly tend to the conversion of her father and his tribe. Since the night when Tisquantum had seen his young captive kneel in prayer, and had questioned him as to the object of his worship, he had never spoken to him on the subject of his religion; and, Henrich had feared to address the stern old Chief, or to introduce a theme which, though constantly present to his own mind, and the source of all his consolation, would, probably, he rejected with scorn and contempt by the Sachem. The more the Christian boy became acquainted with the character of Tisquantum, the stronger became this fear, and the more he despaired of any influence proving sufficiently strong to break the chains of error and superstition that bound him to heathenism. The Chief was a distinguished Powow, or conjuror; and was regarded by his own people, and even by many other tribes, as possessing great super natural powers. His pretensions were great, and fully accredited by his subjects, who believed that he could control the power of the subordinate evil spirits, and even exercise a certain influence on Hobbamock himself. He was called a Mahneto, or priest; as being the servant or deputy of the Great Mahneto, and permitted by him to cure diseases by a word or a charm, to bring down rain on the thirsty land, and to foretell the issue of events, such as the results of wars or negotiations. The influence which these acknowledged powers gave him over other tribes besides his own was very gratifying to his pride and ambition; and could Henrich hope that he, a young and inexperienced boy, could have wisdom or eloquence sufficient to 'bring down the high thoughts' that exalted him, and to persuade him to 'become a disciple of the meek and lowly Jesus? No; he knew that such a hope was, humanly speaking, vain: but he knew, also, that 'with God all things are possible'; and he ceased not to pray that the Spirit of light and truth might enter the soul of the heathen Chief, and banish the spirit of evil that now reigned so triumphantly there. Henrich's desire to see the Sachem become a Christian was increased in the same measure that his hope of its accomplishment became less; for the more intimately he became acquainted with him, the more he found in his natural character that was interesting, and even estimable. Tisquantum was brave; and he was also generous and sincere, far beyond the generality of his race. We have said that the influence of his wife, whom he had, loved to an unusual degree for an Indian, had tended to soften his temper and disposition; and his regret for her loss, and his anxiety that his only daughter should resemble her, had made him more domestic in his habits than most of his brother chiefs. He was kind, also, when not roused to harshness and cruelty by either revenge or superstition; and he was capable of strong attachments where he had once taken a prepossession in favor of any individual. Such a prepossession he had formed for his English captive on the evening when his child had pleaded for his life, and when his own ingenuous and beautiful countenance had joined so eloquently in her supplications. No insidious efforts of the wily Coubitant had availed to change the Sachem's sentiments; and he continued to treat Henrich as an adopted son, and to allow him all the privileges and indulgences that had once been bestowed on his beloved Tekoa. The white boy was permitted to enjoy full and unrestricted liberty, now that he was beyond all possible reach of his countrymen. He was encouraged to hunt, and sport, and practice all athletic games and exercises with the Nausett and Pequodee youths; and he was presented with such of the arms and ornaments of the lost Tekoa as were deemed suitable to his use, and his unusually tall and muscular figure. Often when adorned with these strange and curious specimens of Indian art and ingenuity, did Haunch smile to think how Edith and Ludovico would wonder and admire if they could see him thus attired: and then he would sigh as he remembered that months and years must probably elapse--and possibly even his life might come to an end--ere he could hope to see their loved countenances, or to excite their surprise and interest by a relation of all his perils and adventures. To Oriana, alone, could he unburden his mind on such subjects; and from her he always met with deep attention and heartfelt sympathy; but every day she felt his presence to be more necessary to her happiness, and her dread of his escaping to his own people to become greater. Not only did she shrink from the idea of parting with her 'white brother '--her newly-found and delightful friend and companion--but daily, as she grew in the knowledge of Henrich's religion, and learnt to know and love the Christian's God and Savior more sincerely, did she fear the possibility of losing her zealous young teacher, and being deprived of all intercourse with the only civilized and enlightened being whom she had ever known. She therefore rejoiced when the time arrived for leaving the Pequodee village, and pursuing the intended route to the west; for in spite of the distance and the many difficulties and obstacles that divided Henrich from the British settlement, she had lived in continual fear and expectation of either seeing a band of the mighty strangers come to demand his restitution, or revenge his supposed death; or else of his escaping from the camp, and braving every danger, in the attempt to return to his happy Christian home. Henrich often assured her with sincerity that he had no idea of venturing on so hopeless an attempt; but whenever the Indian girl saw his eyes fixed sadly on the eastern horizon, and dimmed, as they often were, by tears of sad remembrance, she felt her fears again arise, and longed more earnestly to leave the spot, and plunge into the trackless forest that lay between the Pequodee encampment and she proposed hunting grounds. The summer had passed away and autumn was beginning to tinge the varied foliage of the forest with all its gaudy hues of yellow, and scarlet, and purple, when the Nausetts, and such of their Pequodee friends as desired to share in their hunting expedition, set forth from the village. Many women and girls accompanied the caravan, the greater part on foot, and bearing on their shoulders either the younger children, or a large pack of baggage; while their husbands, and fathers, and brothers, marched before them, encumbered only with their arms and hunting accoutrements. Such was, and still is, the custom among the uncivilized tribes of America, where women have ever been regarded as being very little more exulted than the beasts that perish, and have been accustomed to meet with scarcely more attention and respect. But there are exceptions to this, as to every other rule; and where women have possessed unusual strength of mind, or powers of influence, their condition has been proportionately better. Such had been the ease with Tisquantum's wife: and he had ever treated her with gentleness and respect, and had never imposed on her any of those servile duties that commonly fall to the lot of Indian squaws, even though they may be the wives and daughters of the most exalted chiefs. To his daughter the Sachem was equally considerate, and none but the lightest toils of domestic Indian life were ever required from her; nor was any burden more weighty than her own bow and quiver ever laid upon her slender and graceful shoulders, when she followed her father in his frequent wanderings. On the present occasion, as the journey promised to be unusually long and uninterrupted, Tisquantum obtained for her a small and active horse of the wild breed, that abounds in the western woods and plains; and of which valuable animals the Pequodees possessed a moderate number, which they had procured by barter from the neighboring Cree Indians. The purchase of this steed gave Henrich the first opportunity of remarking the Indian mode of buying and selling, and the article that formed their medium of commerce, and was employed as money. This consisted of square and highly-polished pieces of a peculiar kind of a peculiar muscle-shell, called quahock, in each of which a hole was bored, to enable it to be strung on a slender cord. The general name for this native money was wampum, or white, from the color of those shells most esteemed; but a dark-colored species was called luki, or black; and both were used, of various forms and sizes, as ornaments by the warriors, and their copper-colored wives and children. Several strings of wampum, both white and purple, were silently offered by the Sachem for the horse which he selected as most suitable for his daughter's use, and, after a pause, were as silently rejected by the possessor. Another pause ensued; and Tisquantum added a fresh string of the precious shell to the small heap that lay before him; and the same scene was repeated, until the owner of the horse was satisfied, when he placed the halter in the hands of the purchaser, gathered up his treasure, and, with a look of mournful affection at the faithful creature whom he was resigning to the power of another master, hurried away to his wigwam. The next day the march began; and proud and happy was Oriana as she closely followed her father's steps, mounted on her new palfrey, and led by her adopted brother; while by her side bounded a favorite young dog, of the celebrated breed now called Newfoundland, which had been given to her brother as a puppy just before his melancholy death, and had been her only playfellow and loved companion, until Henrich had arrived to rival the faithful creature in her affections. At his request, the dog received the name of Rodolph, in memory of his father; and Henrich was never tired of caressing him, and teaching him to fetch and carry, and to plunge into his favorite element, and bring from the foamy torrent, or the placid lake, any object which he directed him to seize. He was a noble fellow, and returned the care and kindness of his new friend with all the ardor and faithfulness of his nature. It was his duty to accompany Henrich in all his expeditions in pursuit of game, and to bring to his feet every bird, or small animal, that his increasing skill in archery enabled him to pierce with his light and bone-pointed arrows. During his residence in the Pequodee village, he had generally gone on such expeditions in company with several other men and boys; and Oriana had, consequently, enjoyed little opportunity of perceiving how much he had improved in dexterity since he had made his first trial before his captors. But now, as they traversed the woods together, he frequently aimed, at her desire, at some brilliant bird, or bounding squirrel; and the young maiden exulted at his success, and at the sagacity and obedience of Rodolph in bringing her the game. The constant occupation, and the change of scene that Henrich enjoyed during this journey, tended greatly to raise his spirits, and even to reconcile him to his new mode of life. He did not forget his friends and his home--he did not even cease to think of them with the same regret and affection; but it was with softened feelings, and with a settled hope of eventually returning to them after a certain period of wandering and adventure. The kind of life which he had often longed to try was now his lot, and he enjoyed it under, peculiarly favorable circumstances; for he partook of its wildness and excitement, without enduring any of its hardships. No wonder, then, that a high-spirited and active-minded youth of Henrich's age, should often forget that his wanderings were compulsory; and should feel cheerful, and even exhilarated, as he roamed through the boundless primeval forests, or crossed the summits of the ranges of lofty hills that occasionally lifted their barren crags above the otherwise unbroken sea of foliage. Pitching the camp for the night was always a season of excitement and pleasure to the young traveler, and his lively companion, Oriana. The selection of an open glade, and the procuring wood and water, and erecting temporary huts, were all delightful from their novelty. And, then, when all was done, and fires were kindled, and the frugal evening meal was finished, it was pleasant to sit with Oriana beneath the lofty trees, whose smooth straight trunks rose like stately columns, and to watch the glancing beams of the setting sun as they shone on the varied foliage now tinted with all the hues of autumn, and listen to the sighing of the evening breeze, that made solemn music while it swept through the forest. These were happy and tranquil hours; for then Henrich would resume the interesting topics to which his dusky pupil was never weary of listening. He would tell her--but no longer with tears--of his home, and all its occupations and joys; he would repeat the holy instructions that he had himself received; and, when far removed from the observation of other eyes and ears, he would teach her to kneel by his side, as Edith used to do, and to join him in supplications to 'the High and Lofty One that inhabiteth eternity'; but who yet listens to the humblest prayers that are addressed to Him in sincerity, and hears every petition that is offered up in the name of His beloved Son. The heart of Oriana was touched; and with a beautiful child-like simplicity, she received all the blessed truths that her 'white brother' taught her. Her affections were strongly drawn towards the character of Jesus the Merciful, as she always called the Savior; and she became sensitively alive to the guilt of every sin, as showing ingratitude to the Benefactor who had laid down His life for His creatures. Oriana was, in fact, a Christian--a young and a weak one, it is true: but she possessed that faith which alone can constitute any one 'a branch in the true vine�; and Henrich now felt that lie had found a sister indeed. As the young Indian grew in grace, she grew also in sweetness of manner and refinement of taste and behavior. She was no longer a savage, either in mind or in conduct; and Henrich often looked at her in wonder and admiration, when she had made her simple toilette by the side of a clear stream, and had decked her glossy raven hair with one of the magnificent water lilies that be had gathered for her on its brink: and he wished that his mother and his fair young sister could behold his little Indian beauty, for he knew that they would love her, and would forget that she had a dusky skin, and was born of a savage and heathen race. CHAPTER VII. 'We saw thee, O stranger, and wept! We looked for the youth of the sunny glance, Whose step was the fleetest in chase or dance! The light of his eye was a joy to see; The path of his arrows a storm to flee! But there came a voice from a distant shore; He was call'd�he his found 'midst his tribe no more! He is not in his place when the night fire, burn; But we look for him still--he will yet return! His brother sat with a drooping brow, In the gloom of the shadowing cypress bough. We roused him--we bade him no longer pine; For we heard a step--but that step was thine.' HEMANS. 'What was that cry of joy, Oriana?' exclaimed Henrich, as one evening during their journey, he and his companion had strayed a little from their party, who were seeking a resting-place for the night. 'What was that cry of joy: and who is this Indian youth who has sprung from the ground so eagerly, and is now hurrying towards us from that group of overhanging trees? Is he a friend of yours?' �I know him not!� replied Oriana. 'I never passed through this forest before: but I have heard that it is inhabited by the Crees. They are friendly to our allies, the Pequodees, so we need not fear to meet them.' As she spoke, the young stranger rapidly approached them, with an expression of hope and expectation on his animated countenance; but this changed as quickly to a look of deep despondence and grief, when he had advanced within a few paces, and fixed his searching eyes en Henrich's face. 'No!' he murmured, in a low and mournful voice, and clasping his hands in bitterness of disappointment.'No; it is not Uncas. It is not my brother of the fleet foot, and the steady hand. Why does he yet tarry so long? Four moons have come, and have waned away again, since he began his journey to the land of spirits; and I have sat by his grave, and supplied him with food and water, and watched and wept for his return; and yet he does not come. O, Uncas, my brother! when shall I hear thy step, and see thy bright glancing eye? I will go back, and wait, and hope again.' And the young Indian turned away, too much absorbed in his own feelings to take any further notice of Henrich and Oriana, who, both surprised and affected at his words and manner, followed him silently. Several other Indians of the Cree tribe now made their appearance among the trees, and hastened towards the travelers. But a look of disappointment was visible on every countenance: and the young travelers wondered greatly.[1 and 2] [Footnote 1: 'J'ai passé moi-même chez une peuplade Indienne, qui se prenaît a pleurer à la vue d'un voyageur, parce qu'il lui rappelait des amis partis pour la contrée des Ames, et depuis long-temps en voyage.� --CHATEAUBRIAND.] [Footnote 2: 'They fancy their deceased friends and relatives to be only gone on a journey; and, being in constant expectation of their return, look for them vainly amongst foreign travelers.�--PICART.] But, though evidently grieved at not meeting the being they looked for so earnestly, the elder Crees did not forget the duties of hospitality. With simple courtesy they invited Henrich and his companion to accompany them to their wigwams, which were situated in a beautiful glade close by, and were only concealed by the luxuriant growth of underwood, that formed a sort of verdant and flowering screen around them. The invitation was gratefully accepted; for the countenances of the Crees inspired confidence, and Oriana knew that her father intended to visit a settlement of these friendly people, in the district they were now traversing. She also felt her curiosity strongly excited by what had just occurred, and she longed for an explanation of the conduct of the interesting young savage who had first accosted them. She therefore requested one of their new acquaintances to go in search of the main body of their party, and to inform the Sachem that she and Henrich had preceded them to the wigwams; and then--with a dignity and composure that were astonishing in one so young and accustomed to so wild a life--she guided her palfrey into the narrow path that wound through the undergrowth of evergreens, while Henrich walked by her side, and Rodolph bounded before her. They came to the spot where the young Indian sat by a grave; and tears were falling from his eyes as he gazed at the grass-covered mound, around which wore arranged several highly-carved and ornamented weapons, and articles of attire; and also a small quantity of firewood, and food, and tobacco, intended for the use of the departed on his long journey to the land of spirits. This is a well-known custom of most of the North American tribes; but the Crees have several superstitions peculiar to themselves, especially that melancholy one to which we have just alluded, and which subjects them to such lengthened sorrow and disappointment; for they watch and look for the return of their lost and lamented friends, who can never come again to gladden their eyes on earth. O that they were taught to place their hopes of a blessed reunion with those they love on the only sure foundation for such hopes--even on Him who is 'the Resurrection and the Life!� Then they need never be disappointed. It was this strange expectation of the reappearance, in human form, of the lately dead, that occasioned the incident we have just related. An epidemic disease had been prevalent in the Cree village; and, among those who had fallen victims to it, Uncas, the eldest orphan son of the principal man of the village, was the most deeply regretted, and his return was the most anxiously desired. Especially was this vain hope cherished by his younger brother Jyanough, to whom he had been an object of the fondest love and most unbounded admiration; and who daily, as the evening closed, took fresh food and water to the grave, and sat there till night closed in, calling on Uncas, and listening for his coming footsteps. Then he retired sadly to his wigwam, to lament his brother's continued absence, and to hope for better success the following evening. During each night the dogs of the village, or the wild animals of the forest, devoured the food designed for Uncas; but Jyanough believed it had been used by his brother's spirit, and continued still to renew the store, and to hope that, at length, the departed would show himself, and would return to dwell in his wigwam. When Haunch approached the grave, leading Oriana's pony, the mourner looked up, and gazed in his face again with that sad and inquiring look. But now it did not change to disappointment, for he knew that the stranger was not Uncas. There was even pleasure in his countenance as the clear glance of the English boy's deep blue eye met his own; and he rose from his seat at the head of the grave, and, going up to Henrich, gently took his hand, and said-- 'Will the white stranger be Jyanough's brother? His step is free, and his eyes are bright, and his glance goes deep into Jyanough's heart. Will the pale-face be the friend of him who has now no friend; for four moons are guile and Uncas does not answer to my call?' Henrich and Jyanough were strangers: they were altogether different in race, in education, and in their mode of thinking and feeling. Yet there was one ground of sympathy between them, of which the young Indian seemed instinctively conscious. Both had recently known deep sorrow; and both had felt that sickening sense of loneliness that falls on the young heart when suddenly divided from all it most dearly loves, by death or other circumstances. Jyanough and his elder brother Uncas had been deprived of both their parents, not many months before the fatal disease broke out which had carried off so many victims amongst the Crees. The orphan youths had then become all-in-all to each other, and their mutual attachment had excited the respect and admiration of the whole village, of which, at his father's death, Uncas became the leading man. Had he lived his brother would have assisted him in the government and direction of that portion of the tribe but when he fell before the desolating pestilence, Jyanough was too young and inexperienced to be made Sachem, and the title was conferred on a warrior who was deemed more capable of supporting the dignity of the community. Thenceforth the youth was alone in his wigwam. He had no sister to under take its domestic duties, and no friend with whom it pleased him to dwell. He saw something in Henrich's countenance that promised sympathy, and he frankly demanded his friendship; and the open-hearted English boy did not refuse to bestow it on the young Indian. He spoke to him in his own tongue; and Jyanough's black eyes sparkled with joy as he heard words of kindness from the lips of the pale-faced stranger. Henrich's height and manly figure made him appear much older than he really was; and as he and his new friend walked together towards the village, he seemed to be Jyanough's equal in age and strength, although the young savage was several years his senior. As they entered the glade that was surrounded by lofty trees, and studded with wigwams, Tisquantum and the rest of the party approached by a path on the other side, and they all met in the center of the open space, and were welcomed by the friendly Crees. Wigwams were appointed to the Sachem and his daughter, and the most distinguished of the Nausetts and their Pequodee allies; while the inferior Indians of both tribes were directed to form huts for themselves beneath the neigh boring trees and all were invited to partake freely of the hospitality of their hosts, and to rest at the Cree settlement for several days, before they resumed their journey. Jyanough conducted his English friend to his own wigwam, which was neatly furnished, and adorned with native tools and weapons. He bade him repose his tired limbs on Uncas' deserted couch; and while Henrich lay on the bed of soft grass covered with deer skins, that occupied one corner of the hut, the Indian youth busied himself in preparing an evening repast for his guest. The chief article of this simple supper consisted of _nokake,_ a kind of meal made of parched maize or Indian corn, which Jyanough mixed with water in a calabash bowl, and, having well kneaded it, made it into small cakes, and baked them on the embers of his wood-fire. The nokake, in its raw state, constitutes the only food of many Indian tribes when on a journey. They carry it in a bag, or a hollow leathern girdle; and when they reach a brook or pond, they take a spoonful of the dry meal, and then one of water, to prevent its choking them. Three or four spoonfuls are sufficient for a meal for these hardy and abstemious people; and, with a few dried shellfish, or a morsel of deer's flesh, they will subsist on it for months. Such viands, with the addition of some wild fruits from the forest, were all that Jyanough had to offer to his guest; but Henrich had known privation at home, and he had become accustomed to Indian fare. The kindness, also, and the courtesy of the untutored savage, as he warmly expressed his pleasure at receiving him into has wigwam, were so engaging, that the young traveler would cheerfully have put up with worse accommodation. From Jyanough he now heard the story of his sorrows, which deeply interested him; and, in return, he told his host all that he could remember of his own past life, from his residence in Holland, and his removal to America, even till the moment when he and Oriana had approached the Cree village that evening The red man listened with profound attention, and constantly interrupted the narrator with intelligent questions on every subject that was interesting to him. But especially was his curiosity awakened when Henrich, in speaking of his grief at being torn from all his friends and relations, and his horror when he had anticipated a sudden and violent death, alluded to his trust in God as the only thing that had then supported him under his trials and sufferings, and still enabled him to hope for the future. The young Christian was not slow in answering all his inquiries as to the nature of the white man's Mahneto, and explaining to him why the true believer can endure, even with cheerfulness, afflictions and bereavements that are most trying to flesh and blood, in the confident hope that God will over-rule every event to his people's good, and will eventually restore all that they have lost. 'Then if I worship your _Keechee-Mahneto_[*] eagerly asked Jyanough, will he give back to me my brother Uncas? I have called on my Mahneto for four long moons in vain. I have offered him the best of my weapons, and the chief of my prey in hunting; and I have promised to pour on Uncas' grave the blood of the first prisoner I capture in war, or the first of our enemies that I can take by subtlety. Still Mahneto does not hear me. Tell me, then, pale-face, would your God hear me?� [Footnote: _Keechee-Mahneto_ or Great Master of Life, is the name given by the Crees to their notion of the Supreme Being. Maatche-Mahneto is the Great Spirit of Evil.] Henrich was much moved at the impassioned eagerness of the Indian, whose naturally mild and pensive expression was now changed for one of bitter disappointment, and even of ferocity, and then again animated with a look of anxious hope and inquiry. 'Yes, Jyanough,' he replied, with earnest solemnity; 'my God will hear you; but he will not give you back your brother in this world. If you learn to believe in Him; and to serve Him, and to pray to Him in sincerity, He will guide you to that blessed land where, after death, all His people meet together, and where there is neither sorrow nor separation.' 'But is Uncas there?' cried the young savage. 'Is my brother there? For I will serve no Mahneto who will not restore me to him!' Our young theologian was disconcerted, for a moment, at this puzzling question, which has excited doubts and difficulties in wiser heads than his, end to which Scripture gives no direct reply. He paused awhile; and then he remembered that passage in the second chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, where the Apostle is speaking of the requirements of the law, and goes on to say, 'When the Gentiles which have not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, these, having not the law, are a law unto themselves: which show the work of the law written in their hearts, their conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts the mean while accusing or else excusing one another.' 'If St. Paul could say this of the severe and uncompromising law, surely,' thought Henrich 'the Gospel of love and mercy must hold out equal hope for those heathen who perish in involuntary ignorance, but who have acted up to that law of conscience which was their only guide.' He also recollected that Jesus himself, when on earth, declared, that 'He that _knew not,_ and did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes': and, therefore, he felt justified in permitting the young Indian to hope that, hereafter, he might again behold that brother whose virtues and whose affection were the object of his pride and his regret. 'I believe,' he replied, 'that your brother--who you say was always kind, and just, and upright while he lived on earth--is now, through the mercy of God, in a state of happiness: and I believe that, if you also act up to what you know to be right, you will join him there, and dwell with him for ever. But I can tell you how to attain a more perfect happiness, and to share the highest joys of heaven in the kingdom that God has prepared for His own son. I can tell you what He has declared to be His will with regard to all His human creatures; even that they should love that Son, and look to Him as their Savior and their King. O, Jyanough, ask Oriana if she is not happier since she learnt to love and worship the God of the Christians!--the only God who can be just, and yet most merciful!' In the vehemence of his feelings, Henrich bad rather outstripped his companion's powers of following and comprehending him. He saw this in Jyanough's wandering and incredulous eyes; and he carefully and patiently proceeded to explain to him the first rudiments of religion, as he had done to Oriana: and to reply to all his doubts and questions according to the ability that God gave him. A willing learner is generally a quick one; and Henrich was well pleased with his second pupil. If he was not ready to relinquish his old ideas and superstitions, he was, at least, well inclined to listen to the doctrines of his new friend, and even to receive them in connection with many of his heathen opinions. Time, and the grace of God, Henrich knew, could only cause these to give place to a purer belief, and entirely banish the _�unclean birds�_ that dwelt in the �cage' of the young Indian's mind. But the fallow ground had already been, in a manner, broken up, and some good seed scattered on the surface: and Henrich lay down to rest with a fervent prayer that the dew of the Spirit might fall upon it, and cause it to grow, and to bring forth fruit. From the time of Henrich's captivity, he bad endeavored to keep up in his own mind a remembrance of the Sabbath, or the Lord's Day (as it was always called by the Puritans); and, as far as it was in his power to do so, he observed it as a day of rest from common occupations and amusements. On that day, he invariably declined joining any hunting or fishing parties; and he also selected it as the time for his longest spiritual conversations with Oriana; as he desired that she, also, should learn to attach a peculiar feeling of reverence to a day that must be sacred to every Christian, but which was always observed with remarkable strictness by the sect to which Henrich belonged. In this, as in all other customs that the young pale-face wished to follow, he was unopposed by Tisquantum; who seemed entirely indifferent as to the religious feelings or social habits of his adopted son, so long as he acquired a skill in the arts of war and hunting: and, in these respects, Henrich's progress fully answered his expectations. He was, like most youths of his age, extremely fond of every kind of sport; and his strength and activity--which had greatly increased since he had adopted the wild life of the Indians--rendered every active exercise easy and delightful to him. He consequently grew rapidly in the Sachem's favor, and in that of all his companions, who learnt to love his kind and courteous manners, as much as they admired his courage and address. One only of the red men envied him the esteem that he gained, and hated him for it. This was Coubitant--the aspirant for the chief place in Tisquantum's favor, and for the honor of one day becoming his son-in-law. From the moment that the captor's life had been spared by the Sachem, and he had been disappointed of his expected vengeance for the death of his friend Tekoa, the savage had harbored in his breast a feeling of hatred towards the son of the slayer, and had burned with a malicious desire for Henrich s destruction. This feeling he was compelled, as we have observed, to conceal from Tisquantum; but it only gained strength by the restraint imposed on its outward expression, and many were the schemes that he devised for its gratification. At present, however, he found it impossible to execute any of them; and the object of his hate and jealousy was happily unconscious that he had so deadly an enemy continually near him. An instinctive feeling had, indeed, caused Henrich to shun the fierce young Indian, and to be less at ease in his company than in that of the other red warriors; but his own generous and forgiving nature forbade his suspecting the real sentiments entertained towards him by Coubitant, or even supposing that his expressions of approval and encouragement were all feigned to suit his own evil purposes. Oriana had never liked him; and time only strengthened the prejudice she felt against him. She knew that he hoped eventually to make her his wife--or rather his slave--for Coubitant was not a man to relax from any of the domestic tyranny of his race; and the more she saw of her 'white brother,' and the more she heard from him of the habits and manners of his countrymen, and of their treatment of their women, the more she felt the usual life of an Indian squaw to be intolerable. Even the companionship of the young females of her own race became distasteful to her; for their ignorance, and utter want of civilization, struck painfully on her now partially cultivated and awakened mind, and made her feel ashamed of the coarseness of taste and manners occasionally displayed by her former friends and associates. In the Christian captive alone had she found, since her mother's death, a companion who could sympathize in her tastes and feelings, which had ever been above the standard of any others with whom she was acquainted. And Henrich could do more than sympathize in her aspirations--he could instruct her how they might be fully realized in the attainment of divine knowledge, and the experience of Christian love. No wonder, then, that Henrich held already the first place in her heart and imagination, and was endowed by her lively fancy with every quality and every perfection, both of mind and body, that she could conceive to herself. The simple-minded girl made no concealment of her preference for the young stranger, whom she regarded as a brother--but a brother in every way immeasurably her superior--and her father never checked her growing attachment. The youth of both parties, the position that Henrich occupied in his family as his adopted son, and the difference of race and color, prevented him from even anticipating that a warmer sentiment than fraternal affection could arise between them; and he fully regarded his daughter as the future inmate and mistress of an Indian warrior's lodge--whether that of Coubitant or of some other brave, would, he considered, entirely depend on the comparative prowess in war and hunting, and the value of the presents that would be the offering of those who claimed her hand. That she should exercise any choice in the matter never occurred to him; and, probably, had he foreseen that such would be the case, and that the choice would fill on the son of a stranger--on the pale-faced captive whose father had slain her only brother--he would have removed her from such dangerous influence. But he thought not of such consequences resulting from the intimacy of Henrich and Oriana: he only saw that his child was happy, and that she daily improved in grace and intelligence, and in the skilful and punctual performance of all her domestic duties; and he was well satisfied that he had not shed the blood of the Christian youth on the grave of his lost Tekoa. His own esteem and affection for his adopted son also continued to increase; and, young as Henrich was, the influence of his superior cultivation of mind, and rectitude of principle, was felt even by the aged Chief, and caused him to treat him, at times, with a degree of respect that added bitterness to Coubitant's malicious feelings. He saw how fondly Oriana regarded her adopted brother, and personal jealousy made him more clear-sighted as to the possibility of her affection ripening into love than her father had as yet become; and gladly would the rival of the unsuspecting Henrich have blackened him in the eyes of the Chieftain, and caused him to be banished from the lodge, had he been able to find any accusation against him. But in this he invariably failed; for the pale-face was brave, honest, and truthful, to a degree that baffled the ingenuity of his wily foe: and Coubitant found that, instead of lowering Henrich in the regard of the Sachem, he only excited him to take his part still more, and also ran a great risk of losing all the favor which he had himself attained in Tisquantum's eyes. The sudden friendship that the young Jyanough had conceived for the white stranger, and the consequent favor with which he was looked upon by Oriana, tended still more to irritate the malignant savage; and when, a few days after the arrival of Tisquantum's party at the Cree village, he saw the three young friends seated amicably together beneath a shadowing tree, and evidently engaged in earnest conversation, he could not resist stealing silently behind them, and lurking in the underwood that formed a thick background to their position, in order to listen to the subject of their discourse. How astonished and how indignant was he to find that Henrich was reasoning eloquently against the cruel and ridiculous superstitions of the Indian tribes, and pointing out to his attentive hearers the infinite superiority of the Christian's belief and the Christian's practice! The acquiescence that Oriana expressed to the simple but forcible arguments of the pale-face added to his exasperation; and he was also angry, as well as astonished, to perceive that the young Cree, although he was yet unconvinced, was still a willing listener, and an anxious inquirer as to the creed of his white friend. Maddened with rage, and excited also by the hope of at length arousing the anger of the Sachem against the Christian youth, he forgot his former caution, and hurried away, with quick and noiseless step, to the wigwam occupied by Tisquantum, and broke unceremoniously upon his repose as he sat, in a half-dreaming state, on the soft mat that covered the floor, and 'drank smoke' from his long, clay pipe. With vehement gestures, Coubitant explained to the Sachem the cause of his sudden interruption, and implored him to listen to the counsel of his most faithful friend and subject, and to lose no time in banishing from his favor and presence one who showed himself unworthy of all the benefits he had heaped upon him, and who employed the life that had been so unduly spared in perverting the mind of his benefactor's only child. In vain his eloquence--in vain his wrath. Tisquantum regarded him calmly until he had exhausted his torrent of passionate expostulations, and then, quietly removing the pipe from his lips, he replied, with his and decision-- 'My brother is angry. His zeal for the honor of Mahneto has made him forget his respect for the Sachem and the Sachem's adopted son. The life of the white stranger was spared that he might bring joy to the mournful eyes of Oriana. He has done so. My daughter smiles again, and it is well. Coubitant may go.� He then resumed his pipe, and, closing his eyes again, gave himself up to the drowsy contemplations, which the entrance of Coubitant had interrupted; and the disappointed warrior retired with a scowl on his dark brow, and aggravated malice in his still darker heart. CHAPTER VIII. �They proceed from evil to evil, and they know not me, saith the Lord� JER. IX, 3. The indifference of Tisquantum on the subject of the religious opinions that his daughter might imbibe from her Christian companion, may seem strange. But the Sachem, though a heathen, was, in fact, no fanatic. He believed--or professed to believe--that he was himself in the possession of supernatural powers; and so long as these pretensions were acknowledged, and he continued to enjoy the confidence and veneration of his ignorant countrymen, he was perfectly satisfied. Henrich had also, on their first acquaintance, distinctly professed his faith in the existence and the power of the Great Mahneto, or _Master of Life;_ and this was all the _religion_--properly so called--of which Tisquantum had any idea. He did not, therefore, give himself any concern as to the other objects of his adopted son's belief or worship; neither did he care to prevent Oriana from listening to the doctrines of the pale-face, so long as she continued obedient and gentle, and neglected none of the duties of an Indian squaw. The feelings of Coubitant were different. Not only did he burn with an eager desire to deprive his rival of the Sachem's love and esteem, but he also entertained a strong abhorrence of the religion of the white men, as he had seen it practiced, and knew it was disseminated, by the Spanish settlers in Mexico, whither he had traveled in his early youth. In his eyes, these Christians were base idolaters; for such was the impression made on him by the images and crucifixes that he beheld, and the marks of veneration that were paid to these idols of wood and stone, by the superstitious and degenerate Spaniards of that district. When, therefore, he heard Henrich endeavoring to inculcate the worship of Jesus, as the Son of God, on Oriana and Jyanough, he not unnaturally regarded him as a believer in all the deities whose images he had seen associated with that of Jesus, and receiving equal homage. Such, unhappily, has too often been the impression made on the minds of the heathen, in every quarter of the globe, by the vain and superstitious observances of the Roman Church, when her ministers have proposed to their acceptance so corrupt a form of Christianity, instead of the pure and holy doctrines of unadulterated Scripture. To those nations already given over to idolatry it has appeared that their civilized teachers were only offering them another kind of image- worship; but to the Indians of North America--who make use of no images of their deity, and generally acknowledge but one Great Spirit of universal power and beneficence, and one Spirit of evil--the carved and painted figures of the Spanish invaders naturally gave the idea of a multitude of gods; and, in some of them, excited unbounded indignation and hatred. This was the case with Coubitant; who, though totally uninfluenced by any love or fear of the Great Mahneto whom he professed to worship, was yet--like many other bigots of various countries and creeds--keenly jealous of any innovations in the religion of his nation; and ready to oppose, and even to exterminate, all who attempted to subvert it. He now regarded Henrich as such an aggressor on the national faith and practice; and he consequently hated him with a redoubled hatred, and ceased not to plot in secret his ultimate destruction. Meanwhile, his intended victim was passing his time in considerable enjoyment, and with a sense of perfect security, among the Crees. This tribe was at that time remarkable for hospitality, and likewise for courage and integrity. These good qualities have sadly degenerated since their intercourse with Europeans has enabled them to gratify the passion of all savages for intoxicating liquors: but at the period of which we are speaking, they were a singularly fine race of Indians, and their renown as warriors enabled them to extend protection to such of the neighboring tribes as entered into alliance with them. Disease had, indeed, recently reduced their numbers in many of the villages that were situated in the dense forest, and were thus deprived of a free circulation of air; and the wigwams at which Tisquantum's party had arrived were among those that had suffered most severely. Several of the lodges had been altogether deserted, in consequence of the death of the proprietors; in which case the Indians frequently strip off the thick mats which form the outer covering of the wigwam, and leave the bare poles a perishing monument of desolation! This is only done when the head of the family dies. The property of which he has not otherwise disposed during his life, is then buried with him; and his friends continue, for a long period, to revisit the grave, and make offerings of food, arms, and cooking utensils. These articles are deemed sacred to the spirit of the departed, and no Indian would think of taking them away unless he replaced them with something of equal value. This is permitted; and the custom must often afford relief to the hungry traveler through the forests, who comes unexpectedly upon the burial grounds of some of his race, and finds the graves amply supplied with maize and tobacco--more useful to the living than to the dead. Many such graves, besides that of Uncas, were to be seen in the vicinity of the Cree village: and it seemed likely that their numbers would be still augmented; for the disease which had already proved so fatal, had not left the wigwams, although its violence had considerably abated. Old Terah, the uncle of Jyanough, and the chief of the present Sachem's council, lay dangerously ill; and all the charms, and all the barbarous remedies usually resorted to in such cases, had been employed by the Cree Powows in vain. Terah was one of the Pinces, or Pnieses--a dignity conferred only on men of approved courage and wisdom--and many a successful incursion had he led into the great plains of Saskatchawan, where dwelt the Stone Indians, with whom the Crees had long been at enmity--and many a prisoner had he brought back to his village, and slain as an offering to Maatche-Mahneto, while he hung the scalp that he had torn from the quivering victim on the walls of his lodge, as its proudest ornament. Terah was also as wise in counsel as he was valiant in war; and, although his age prevented his assuming the office of Sachem, or ruler of the village,[*] on the death of his brother, yet his wisdom and experience gave him great influence with Chingook, the present Chief, and caused his life to be regarded as of peculiar value by the whole community. [Footnote: Almost every considerable village has its Sachem, or Chief, who is subordinate to the great Sachem or Sagamore, of the whole tribe.] The arrival of so celebrated a Powow as Tisquantum during a time of sickness-and especially when the death of so important a personage as Terah was apprehended--was hailed with great joy by the whole village; and presents of food, clothing, and arms poured into the lodge that formed his temporary abode, from such of the Crees as desired to secure his medical and supernatural aid for the relief of their suffering relatives. All day he was occupied in visiting the wigwams of the sick, and employing charms or incantations to drive away the evil spirits from his patients; sometimes also administering violent emetics, and other drugs from his _obee-bag,_ or medicine-pouch; which contained a multitude of heterogeneous articles, such as herbs, bones, shells, serpents' teeth, and pebbles--all necessary to the arts and practices of a Powow. On the venerable Terah his skill and patience were principally exercised, and many were the torments that he inflicted on the dying old savage, and which were borne by the Pince with all the calm endurance that became his dignity and reputation. Terah, like all others of his exalted rank, had attained to the honor of being a Pince by serving a hard apprenticeship to suffering and privation in his early youth. He had passed through the ordeal triumphantly--and he who had run barefoot through sharp and tearing thorns--who had endured to have his shins beaten with a hard and heavy mallet, and his flesh burned with red hot spears�and had not even betrayed a sense of pain-- in order to attain the rank of a great counselor, and the privilege of attending the Sachem as one of his guard of honor--did not shrink when his barbarous physician burned a blister on his chest with red-hot ashes, and scarified the horny soles of his feet till the blood flowed plentifully. Those, and strong emetic herbs, which he forced his patient to repeat until he fainted away, constituted the medical treatment of Tisquantum: but much greater benefit was expected--and, such is the power of imagination in these ignorant savages, that it was often attained--from the practice of his charms and conjurations. As soon as Tisquantum saw his noble patient reduced to a state of unconsciousness by his physical treatment, he commenced a course of spiritual incantations. In a fierce and unnatural voice, he called on Hobbamock, or Satan, who he declared was visible to him in one of his many forms of an eagle, a deer, a fawn, and sometimes a gigantic human being. He then adjured the evil spirit, and commanded him to remove the disease; promising, in return, to offer to him skins, and hatchets, and even the scalps of his foes. If any signs of returning consciousness appeared, the Powow speedily banished them by a repetition of his wild howling, which he continued for hours, at the same time throwing himself about with wild and unnatural gestures, and striking his hands violently on his legs, until he became as much exhausted as his unlucky patient. It was during one of these awful exhibitions of heathen cruelty and superstition, that Henrich one evening drew nigh to the lodge of Terah, accompanied by Oriana; and paused at the open entrance, in amazement and horror at the scene he beheld. The dying man lay stretched on the ground, in the center of the outer room of the hut, where he had been placed that he might enjoy the full benefit of the great Powow's skill. His eyes were closed and his gray hairs hung matted end disordered on the ground, while his emaciated features appeared to be fixed in death. A frightful wound was on his breast, and blood was trickling from his lacerated feet; while the involuntary contractions of his limbs alone denoted that he was yet alive, and sensible to suffering, which he was now unable to make any effort to conceal. Around the walls of the hut stood many of his relatives and dependants, whose countenances expressed anxiety and hope, mingled with fear of the priestly Sachem. Among the bystanders, Henrich instantly recognized his friend Jyanough; and he shuddered to see the ingenious and inquiring youth assisting at such satanic rites. But the figure that chiefly attracted his attention, and to which his eyes became riveted, was that of Tisquantum--the father of his gentle and beloved Oriana! There stood the Sachem: he whose countenance he had seldom seen disturbed from his usual expression of gravity and composure, and whose dignity of manner had hitherto always commanded his respect. There he now stood--a victim to satanic influence! His tall figure was dilated to its utmost height by excitement and violent muscular effort, as he stood by the side of the sick man. His eyes were fixed with a fearful and unmeaning glare on the darkest corner of the hut, and seemed to be starting from their sockets; while his hands, stiff and motionless, were extended over the body of Terah, as if to guard him from the assault of some demons visible to the conjuror alone. In this statue-like posture he remained for some moments, while his breast heaved convulsively, and foam gathered on his parted lips. Then, suddenly, he uttered a yell--so loud and so unearthly that Henrich started with surprise and terror: and Oriana caught his hand, and tried to draw him away from a scene that now filled her soul with shame and sorrow. But Henrich did not move: he did not heed the beseeching voice, and the gentle violence of his companion, whose wishes were generally commands to her white brother. That yell had recalled the patient to partial consciousness, and he rolled his blood-shot eyes around him, as if endeavoring to collect his wandering senses; and then his haggard countenance again resumed the expression of imperturbable composure and firm endurance that an Indian warrior thinks it a disgrace to lose, even in the extremity of suffering. Then Tisquantum sank on one knee beside him, and burst forth into a passionate address to his deities--the powers of good and evil-- whom he regarded as almost equally mighty to decide the fate of the patient. 'O, Mahneto!' he exclaimed, in a hoarse and howling voice; 'O, Richtan-Mahneto,[1] who created the first man and woman out of a stone, and placed them in these forests to be the parents of thy red children; is it thy will that Terah shall leave his brethren to mourn his departed goodness and wisdom, and go on that long and toilsome journey that leads to the hunting-grounds of our forefathers? Surely when his spirit _knocks at the door,_ it will be opened to him, and the warriors of our tribe will welcome him, while his foes will be driven away with the awful sentence, _Quachet!_[2] Yes, Terah, the wise in counsel, and the fearless in war, shall surely dwell in the fields of happiness, and again strike the prey with the renewed strength and skill of his youth. But not yet, Mahneto! O, not yet! I see Hobbamock lurking there in the gloom! I see his fiery eagle eyes, and I hear the flap of his heavy wing; and I know that he hovers here to suck the blood of Terah, with all his murderous Weettakos around him![3] But Tisquantum's charms are too strong for him: he cannot approach the sick man now. Ha! Maatche- Mahneto!' he cried--and again he fixed his glaring eyes on the dark space in the far corner of the hut, from which the spectators had shrunk trembling away--' Ha! spirit of evil! I behold thee--and I defy thee! Terah is not thine; and my power has compelled thee to send the _Ashkook,_[4] with his healing tongue, to lick my brother's wounds; and _Wobsacuck,_ with eagle beak, to devour the venom that clogs his veins, and makes his breath come short and thick. I feel them on my shoulders, as they sit there, and stretch out their necks to do my bidding! Terah shall live!' [Footnote 1: _�Richtan,�_ supposed to signify old--�Ancient of Days�-- the Maker] [Footnote 2: _Quachet,_ begone, or _march off;_ supposed to be the sentence of condemnation uttered against the souls of the wicked, when they present themselves, and _�knock at the door'_ that leads to the Indian Paradise.] [Footnote 3: _Weettako,_ a kind of vampire or devil, into which the Crees and other tribes suppose all who have ever fed on human flesh to be transformed after death.] [Footnote 4: _Ashkooke,_ a demon in the form of a snake, who, with his brother-fiend, _Wobsacuck,_ are supposed to be sent by Hobbamock to heal the sick, when forced, by the potent spells of the great Powow, to work good instead of evil.] Tisquantum closed his wild oration with another loud and prolonged yell, to which all the spectators, who crowded the sides of the hut, replied by a short and yelping cry: and the Powow sank on the ground by the side of his patient, faint and exhausted by the violent and sustained exertions to which both his mind and body had been subjected for several hours without intermission. The attendants, among whom Jyanough was foremost, hastened to his assistance, and administered to him some needful refreshment; and Henrich turned away, grieved and disgusted, and fall of sympathy for his once heathen companion, who, he now remembered, was standing by his side, and witnessing the wild and degrading extravagances of a father whom she both loved and respected. He looked into her deep expressive eyes, and saw that they were filled with tears of humiliation and mental agony. How could it be otherwise? How could she--who had learned to love a God of mercy, and to believe in a meek and lowly Savior--bear to see her father thus the slave of Satan, and the minister of cruel and heathen superstition? Especially, how could she bear that so degrading a scene should he witnessed by him from whom she had derived all she knew of the gospel of joy and peace, and whose esteem was more precious to her than the opinion of all the world beside? Silently she walked by Henrich's side for neither of them were inclined to speak the thoughts that filled their minds. And silently they would have proceeded to Oriana's dwelling, where her white brother proposed to leave her with her attendants, and then to return and seek his deluded friend Jyanough; but ere they reached Tisquantum's lodge, they were overtaken by the Indian youth. Jyanough had been too much engrossed by the exciting scene that took place in Terah's dwelling--and too eagerly watching for some favorable appearances that might encourage him to hope for the life of his only surviving relative--to observe that Henrich was also a spectator of these heathen rites, until all was concluded, and the patient and his physician were alike overpowered by heat and exhaustion. Then he had glanced towards the door, and had seen the saddened expression that clouded the open features of the Christian youth, and the look of anguish that Oriana cast on her degraded father; and then all the truths that Henrich had endeavored so simply and so patiently to impress upon his mind--all the arguments that his white friend had employed to win him from heathen darkness, and guide him into Divine truth--rushed at once upon his memory. He felt ashamed of the remaining superstition that had led him to take part in such vain ceremonies, and to deem that they could conduce to his uncle's recovery, after he had heard, and even assented to, the holy belief of the Christians in the universal power of Almighty God, and the victory of His Son Jesus Christ over the devil and all his angels. And he was grieved, also, that his kind and anxious young teacher should regard him as an ungrateful, and, possibly, even as a deceitful hearer. He, therefore, hastened after Henrich and Oriana, and overtook them as they approached the lodge appropriated to the Nausett Sachem. 'Are you angry with your red brother?' he inquired earnestly, as he laid his hand on Henrich's shoulder, and looked sadly in his face. 'Do you think that Jyanough is a deceiver, and that he has listened to the teaching of the white stranger only to gain his friendship, and then to forsake him, and betray him, and return to the religion of his own people? O, no! Jyanough's heart is open and clear before the eyes of his friend; and he will gladly listen again to all the good things that Henrich tells him, for his heart says that they are true. But his soul is still very dark; and when he saw Terah ready to die, and felt that, when he was gone, there would be none to love him among all his tribe, the cloud grew thicker and thicker; and Maatche-Mahneto seemed to look out of the midst of the deep gloom with wrathful eyes of fire, and beckon him to follow to Terah's lodge, and join in the worship which the great Powow was about to offer. Will your Mahneto forgive him, Henrich? The heart of the Christian boy was penetrated with joy and thankfulness at this frank confession of the young Indian. He clearly saw that the struggle--the universal and enduring struggle--between the powers of good and evil, had already commenced in the soul of the red man; and he had full confidence in the blessed declaration, that 'He who hath begun a good work of grace in the immortal spirit, will surely perfect it unto the end.' Therefore, he replied without hesitation, 'He will certainly forgive you, Jyanough; and if you desire His help to make your soul light, and strong, and joyful, and ask for that help in sincerity and truth, He will most assuredly give it to you. Let us enter the lodge, and there unite our prayers to the Great Spirit, who is the God and Father of all his creatures, that He will graciously shed His light and His truth into all our hearts; and, especially, that He will remove all the doubts and fears that still lie sadly and heavily on our brother's spirit.' The three young friends did so: and in the deserted chamber of the great heathen Powow, Tisquantum, the voice of Christian supplication ascended to the throne of a prayer-answering God. Could it ascend unheeded? or fail to bring down, in His own good time, an answer of peace? CHAPTER IX �The dark places of the earth are full of the habitations of cruelty.� PSA. lxxiv, 20 The night that followed this conversation, Jyanough passed in Terah's lodge, and he nursed his suffering relative with gentle patience. But he saw no signs of recovery, although the women and the Cree Powows assured him that the fatal disease was driven away by Tisquantum's powerful incantations, and that, when the sun rose, he would see the spirit of Terah revive. So had the conjuror declared; and so these misguided heathens believed. But when the first beams of opening day entered the door of the lodge, which was set open to receive them, and fell on the dark and pallid features of the aged sufferer, Jyanough could no longer be deceived into hope. He saw that his revered uncle was dying, and he hastened to inform Henrich of the fact, and to entreat him to return with him to Terah's wigwam, and to prey to the Great Spirit in his behalf. Henrich readily complied: and he, too, was convinced, by the first glance at the dying Indian, that no human aid, however skilful, could long retain that once powerful spirit in its worn and wasted tenement of clay. He knelt down by the side of Terah's couch, and Jyanough knelt with him; and, regardless of the wondering gaze of the ignorant attendants, he offered up a short and simple prayer to God for the soul of the departing warrior. The Cree Powows who had watched the sick man during the night, had left the lodge as soon as daylight set in, to collect materials for a great burnt offering they deigned to make, as a last resource, in front of the Pince's dwelling. As Henrich and Jyanough rose from their knees, the heathen priest entered, bearing strings of wampum, articles of furniture, of clothing, food, tobacco, and everything of any value that they had been able to obtain from the friends of Terah. All these various articles were displayed before the dim eyes of the invalid, for whose benefit they were to be reduced to a heap of useless ashes; and a faint smile of satisfaction passed over Terah's countenance: but he spoke not. Jyanough then bent down, and pressed his lips to the cold brow of his almost unconscious uncle, and hurried with Henrich from the lodge; for he could not bear again to witness any repetition of the heathen ceremonies that had caused him so much shame the preceding day: neither could he endure to see his last relative leave the world, surrounded by a spiritual darkness which it was not in his power to dispel. The young friends took their way into the forest, that they might be beyond the sight and the sound of those rites that were about to be performed for the recovery of one who had already begun to travel through �the valley of the shadow of death.� They had not, however, gone far in a westerly direction, before they chanced their intention, and resolved to return to the village. The cause of this change of purpose was their meeting with a band of Cree warriors, who had gone out, some weeks previously, on an expedition against a settlement of their enemies, the Stone Indians; and were now returning from the plains of the Saskatchawan, laden with spoils. Many of the Crees bore scalps suspended from their belts, as bloody trophies of victory; and all had arms, and skins, and ornaments that they had carried away from the pillaged wigwams of their foes. Henrich could not help gazing with admiration at the party of warriors as they approached. The greater part of them were mounted on beautiful and spirited horses of the wild breed of the western prairies, which they rode with an ease and grace that astonished the young Englishman. They wore no covering on their heads, and their black hair was cut short, except one long scalp-lock hanging behind; so that their fine countenances, which were rather of the Roman cast, were fully exposed to view. Their dress consisted of a large blanket, wrapped gracefully round the waist, and confined by a belt, so as to leave the bust and arms bare; and so perfect and muscular were their figures, that they had the appearance of noble bronze statues. Their native weapons, consisting of spears and bows, with highly ornamented quivers suspended from their shoulders, and battle-axes hung to their belts, added much to their martial and picturesque effect. Behind the horsemen followed a band on foot, who carried the stolen treasures of the wasted village; and Henrich looked with curiosity at the various and beautifully decorated articles of dress, and hunting equipments, that had formed the pride and the wealth of the defeated Stone Indians. But the part of the spoil that interested and distressed both Henrich and his companion more than all the rest, was a young Indian warrior, who, with his wife and her infant, had been brought away as prisoners to add to the triumph, and, probably, to glut the vengeance, of their conquerors. There was an unextinguished fire in the eye of the captive, and an expression of fearless indignation in the proud bearing with which he strode by the side of his captors, that clearly told how bravely he would sell his life but for the cords that tightly bound his wrists behind him, and were held by a powerful Cree on each side. Behind him walked his wife, with downcast features and faltering steps, and at her back hung her little infant, suspended in a bag or pouch of deer skin, half filled with the soft bog-moss, so much used by Indian squaws to form the bed--and, indeed, the only covering--of their children during the first year of their existence. The eyes of the captive young mother were fixed tearfully on the majestic form of her husband, who was too proud--perhaps, also, too sad--to turn and meet her gaze, while the eyes of his foes were upon him to detect his slightest weakness. Even the low wailing cry of her child was unheeded by this broken hearted wife in that sad hour; for she well knew the customs of Indian warfare, and she had no hope for the life of her warrior, even if her own should be spared. Henrich gazed on the little group in pity; for be instinctively read their story, and their coming fate, in their countenances, and in the cruel glances that fell on them from their guards. He looked at Jyanough; and in his expressive features he saw a fell confirmation of his worst fears. 'They will sacrifice them to Maatche-Mahneto in the vain hope of lengthening Terah's life,' he softly whispered in Henrich's ear. 'Let us go back and seek Oriana. Perhaps, for her sake, Tisquantum may ask the lives of the squaw and her young child; and, as Chingook's honored guest, they would be granted to him; but there is no hope for the warrior. His blood will surely be shed to appease Maatche-Mahneto, and to atone for the death of several of the Cree braves who have fallen this year by the hands of the Stone tribe.' Hastily Henrich turned; and, followed by Jyanough, took a by-path well known to them, and entered the village before the arrival of the warriors and their unhappy prisoners. A brief explanation was sufficient to enlist all the kindly feelings, and all the Christian spirit, of Oriana in favor of their project; and she lost no time in seeking her father, who had again repaired to Terah's hut, to superintend the costly sacrifice that was being offered in his behalf. She found him exulting in a partial improvement in his patient, whose senses had again returned with a brief and deceitful brilliance, and attributing what he called the aged Pince's recovery to the potency of his own spells. This was no time for Oriana to argue with the elated Powow on the fallacy of his pretensions. She therefore listened patiently to his boastings; and then, with much feeling and natural eloquence, told him the cause of her interrupting him at such a moment, and besought him to exert all his great influence with the Crees, to induce them to spare the lives of the Stone captives. Tisquantum listened with attention to her story and her petition, for he was always gentle to Oriana; but he gave her little hope of that fell success which her warm young heart desired, and anticipated. 'My child,' he said, 'I will do what you ask, so far as to request that the woman and child may be placed at your disposal. But the warrior's life I cannot demand, for it would be an insult to the brave Crees to suppose that they would suffer an enemy to escape, and tell his tribe that they were woman-hearted. No, he must die; and, if the soul of his ancestors dwells in him, he will exult in the opportunity of showing how even a Stone Indian can meet death.' Oriana was repulsed, but not defeated, by this reply. 'Nay, my father,' she again began, 'either save all, or let all perish. Do not take the brave young warrior from his wife and child, and leave them in poverty and sorrow; but plead for mercy to be shown to him also--and so may mercy be shown to his conquerors, and to you, his deliverer, when--' 'Peace, child,' interrupted the Sachem, with more asperity than he usually showed to Oriana. 'These are the notions you have learned from your white brother, and I desire not to hear them. Tisquantum knows his duty. I will demand the lives of the woman and child of whom you speak; but the warrior must abide his fate. And think you that he would not scorn to live when honor is gone I Go'--he added more gently, as he saw the sorrow that dimmed her eye--'go, and tell Jyanough to meet me at the Sachem's lodge. Terah may yet be saved--this victim comes at s happy moment, and surely Mahneto demands his life as at offering for that of the venerable Pince.' Oriana shuddered at what she saw to be her father's meaning. Once she would have felt as he did and have believed that their god could be propitiated by blood and agony. But now she knew that all such cruel sacrifices were worse than vain; and deeply she regretted her own inability to bring her countrymen, and especially her own beloved father, to a knowledge of the Gospel of mercy and peace; and thus save them from imbruing their hands in the blood of their fellow men, and thinking that they did good service to the Great Spirit. She hurried back to her companions, and, weeping, told them of her partial success. It was all, and more than all, that Jyanough expected; and he immediately went to meet Tisquantum at the lodge of the Cree Sachem, Chingook, where he found the war party and their prisoners assembled. After a few words to Jyanough, Tisquantum commenced a long speech to his brother Sachem, in which he dilated on the friendship that subsisted between them, and the joy that he had felt in exercising his skill for the benefit of the brave and hospitable Crees. He then spoke of Terah's perilous condition, and his fears that even his powers had been baffled by the spirit of evil; and that the Pince would yet be taken from them, unless some offering could be found more precious than all that were now piled before his dwelling, and only waited for the auspicious moment to be wrapped inflame, us a sacrifice to the offended deity who had brought the pestilence. 'And have we not such an offering here?' he added, pointing to the captive warrior, who stood, with head erect, awaiting the sentence that he knew would be pronounced. 'Have we not here a victim, sent by Mahneto himself, at the very moment when Terah's life seems hanging on a breath? Lead him, then, to the sacred pile; and as his soul goes forth, the soul of Terah shall revive. This speech was received with acclamations by the Crees; and already the warriors were hurrying away their captive, while his wife followed, as if mechanically, to share her husband's fate. Bat here Tisquantum interposed, and, in his daughter's name, requested the life of the woman and her child. His request was readily granted by Chingook; for of what value was a squaw in the eyes of these Indian braves? The daughter of our friend and benefactor shall be denied nothing that she asks,' replied the Cree Chief. 'Take the woman to Oriana's lodge, and let her be her slave.' Jyanough approached to lead away the unhappy woman but she turned on him a look of despairing misery, and, laying her band on her husband's arm, said quickly, 'I will see my Lincoya die, and then I will follow you where you will, for Mailah has no home.' Jyanough did not oppose her, for his heart was touched by her sorrow and her fortitude; and the captive warrior turned his head, and bent on her sad countenance one look of tenderness and approbation, that told how deeply he was sensible of her devotion. He did not speak--perchance he could not trust his voice in that trying moment--but he followed his guards, and his eye was again steadfast, and his step was firm. Henrich and Oriana waited anxiously for the return of Jyanough: but he came not; and they almost feared that Tisquantum's request had been too coldly urged to prove successful. It was a calm autumnal day; and as the sun rose high in the heavens, his beams were shrouded by heavy thunder clouds, while a low and distant murmur foretold an approaching storm, and added to the gloom that weighed heavily on Oriana's spirit. All the sin and degradation of the faith of her countrymen seemed to strike upon her mind with a force hitherto unknown, and to bow her down in shame and sadness. Even to Henrich--to her loved Christian friend and teacher--she could not now utter her feelings; and when, to divert her thoughts, and remove her from the village where he knew so cruel a scene would soon be enacted, he led her towards the forest, she followed him silently. They seated themselves beneath an overshadowing tree; and, for some time, no sound broke the oppressive silence save the soft rustling of the leaves, that seemed to be moved by the spirits of the air-for no wind was stirring. Presently a shriek--one single cry of agony--arose from the village: and all was still again. 'It was a woman's voice!' exclaimed Oriana, in a tone of deep suffering. 'O, Henrich! they murder the helpless and the innocent; and my father consents to the deed!' Henrich did not reply; he had no comfort to offer. But they both gazed towards the village, as if hoping to discover, through the impervious wood that surrounded it, some indications of what was going on in those 'habitations of cruelty.� Soon a dense cloud of smoke rose high in the still at; and flames shot up above the intervening trees. And then burst forth a mingled din of wild unearthly sounds, that told of sated vengeance, and malignant joy, and demoniac worship. Fiercely the war cry of the Crees rang in the air, while above it rose the shrill sound of clashing spears and tomahawks; and Oriana knew that the savages were dancing round a death- fire, and calling on Mahneto to accept their bloody offering. But now the threatening storm broke suddenly on that dark place of the earth; and it seemed to Oriana's troubled spirit that the wrath of heaven was poured upon her benighted race. Peal after peal resounded in quick succession, and reverberated from the distant kills; while flashes of forked lightning followed one another rapidly, and dispelled, for a moment, the unnatural darkness. The young Indian clung trembling and terrified to her companion, and hid her face on his shoulder, to shut out the fearful scene, while Henrich spoke to her words of comfort and encouragement, and at length succeeded in calming her agitation. The rain poured down in torrents but so dense was the foliage that hung over Oriana and her companion that it could not penetrate their place of refuge; and they remained awaiting its cessation, and watching the curling smoke, that seemed to die away as the falling torrent extinguished the fire. But as it disappeared, another cloud arose near the same spot; and wider and fiercer flames sprang up, that defied the rain, and continued to burn with more and more strength. Whence could they arise? Surely the wigwams were on fire! Henrich communicated this fear to Oriana, and they arose and hurried together towards the village, where an appalling scene met their eyes. In front of Terah's dwelling were the smoldering remains of the sacrificial fire, on which--still upheld by the stake to which he had been bound--the burnt and, blackened form of a man was visible; while close by the ashes lay a woman, so motionless that she seemed as totally deprived of life as the wretched victim himself, and a child was reclining on her shoulder, whose faint wailing cry showed that it yet lived and suffered. None heeded the melancholy group; for the warriors, whose wild songs and frantic dances had been interrupted by the sudden violence of the storm, were all now engaged in fruitless efforts to extinguish the flames that were rapidly consuming the lodge of Terah. The lightning had struck it, and ignited its roof of reeds; and so rapidly had the whole dwelling become a prey to the dreadful element, that even the removal of the dying sage had been despaired of. But Jyanough, who had been a silent spectator of all the previous scene of cruelty, was not to be daunted by the smoke and flame that burst through the entrance, and drove from the chamber of death all the attendants of the sufferer. Boldly he rushed into Terah's dwelling; and, just as Henrich and Oriana entered the open space in front of it, they beheld him issuing forth, blackened with smoke and scorched with fire, and bending beneath the weight of his uncle's corpse. Yes; Terah was already a corpse! All the charms and incantations of the Powows bad failed to banish the disease that was sent to summon him away. All the treasure that had been destroyed, and the precious life- blood that had been spilled to propitiate false deities, could not for one moment arrest the fiat of the true 'Master of life,' or detain the spirit which was recalled by �Him who gave it' That spirit had passed away amidst the noise of the tempest; and when Henrich sprang forward, and assisted his friend to lay the body gently on the earth, they saw that the spark of life had fled! All further attempts at extinguishing the fire were now abandoned; and the Crees gathered round their departed friend to condole with Jyanough, who was his nearest relative, and to commence that dismal howling by which they express their grief on such occasions. All the property of the dead man was already consumed; but the best mats and skins that Jyanough�s wigwam contained were brought to wrap the corpse in; and when the site of his former dwelling could be cleared of ashes and rubbish, a grave was speedily dug in the center of it, and the, body laid by the simple sepulchre, around which the friends of the venerated Pince seated themselves, and howled, and wept, and detailed the virtues and the wisdom of the dead. Jyanough was expected to act the part of chief mourner in these ceremonies; and the real affection he had entertained for his uncle induced him to comply, and to remain all that day, and all the following night, at the grate. But he refused to cover his face with soot--as is customary on such occasions of domestic sorrow--or to join the Powows in their frantic cries and exorcisms, to drive off the Weettakos from sucking the dead man's blood. The presence of Henrich seemed to annoy and irritate these priests of Satan; and he was glad to retire from a scene so repugnant to his better feelings, and to return to Oriana, by whose care and direction the unhappy Mailah and her infant had been promptly removed from the place of death and desolation, and conveyed to her own apartment in Tisquantum�s lodge. Her kind efforts had restored the poor young widow to consciousness; and she now sat on the floor, with her child on her knee, listening with a calmness that almost seemed apathy, to the words of comfort that were uttered by the gentle Squaw-Sachem. Mailah was very young. Scarcely sixteen summers had passed over her head; and yet--such is Indian life--she had already been a wife and a mother; and now, alas! she was a widow. Her grief had been passionate at the last, and had burst forth in that one wild cry that had startled Oriana�s ear in the forest. But that was over now, and she seemed resigned to her hard fate, and willing to endure it. Perhaps this was for her infant's sake; and, perhaps, her sensibilities were blunted by the life she had led, in common with the rest of her race and sex--a life in which the best feelings and sympathies of our nature are almost unknown. It was not until Oriana led her to speak of her past life, and the home of her youth--now desolate and in ruins--that tears of natural grief flowed from her eyes. Then she seemed roused to a full sense of all she had lost, end broke out into mournful lamentations for her murdered Lincoya, whose noble qualities and high lineage she eloquently extolled; while she sadly contrasted her present lonely and desolate position with her happiness as the squaw of so distinguished a warrior, and so successful a hunter. Oriana said all she could to console her; and assured her of her protection and friendship, and of a home in her lodge when they returned to their own country, where she should live as her sister, and bring up her little Lincoya to emulate his father's courage and virtues: and, ere long, the simple young savage again grew calm, said lifted up her soft black eyes, and smiled gratefully at her new friend and benefactor. She said she bad no wish to return to her own tribe, for all her family and friends had been destroyed in the recent massacre; and the village where she had spent such happy days was reduced to ashes. She, therefore, was well content to remain with the youthful Squaw-Sachem, to whose intercession she knew she owed her own life and that of her child, and in whose service she professed her willingness to live and die. Her manner and appearance greatly interested Henrich, for they were marked by much greater refinement than he had seen in any of the Indian females, except Oriana. This was to be accounted for by her noble birth; for in those days the Indian chieftains prided themselves on the purity and nobility of their lineage; and no member of a Sachem's family was allowed to marry one of an inferior race. A certain air of dignity generally distinguished the privileged class, even among the females; although their lives were not exempt from much of hardship and servitude, and they were regarded as altogether the inferiors of their lords and masters. To Oriana the arrival of the young mother and her playful child was a source of much pleasure and comfort; for she had begun to feel the want of female society, and the women who accompanied Tisquantum's party, and assisted her in the domestic duties of the family, were no companions to her. In Mailah she saw that she could find a friend; and her kindness and sympathy soon attached the lonely young squaw to her, and even restored her to cheerfulness and activity. It was only when she visited the grave in which Henrich and Jyanough had laid the murdered Lincoya, and decked it with flowers and green boughs, that the widow seemed to feel the greatness of her affliction. Then she would weep bitterly, and, with passionate gestures, lament her brave warrior. But, at other times, she was fully occupied with the care of her little Lincoya, or in assisting Oriana in the light household duties that devolved upon her. And her sweet voice was often heard singing to the child, which generally hung at her back, nestled in its soft bed of moss. CHAPTER X. �The noble courser broke away. And bounded o'er the plain? The desert echoed to his tread, As high he toss'd his graceful head, And shook his flowing name. King of the Western deserts! Thou Art still untam'd and free! Ne'er shall that crest he forced to bow Beneath the yoke of drudgery low: But still in freedom shalt thou roam The boundless fields that form thy home Thy native Prairie!' ANON. The camp of the Indian hunters looked cheerful and picturesque, as Oriana and Mailah approached it one evening on their return from a ramble in the forest, where they had been to seek the wild fruits that now abounded there, and paused at the skirt of the wood, to admire the scene before them. The proposed hunting-ground had been reached the preceding day, and already the temporary huts were completed, and the tents of the Sachem pitched beneath a grove of lofty oaks and walnuts, free from underwood, and on the border of a clear and rippling stream. The Nausett and Pequodee hunters had purchased a considerable number of horses from their Cree friends; and, therefore, the journey from Chingook's village to the prairie, in which the encampment now stood, had been performed with much ease and expedition; and the hardy animals were so little fatigued by their march through the forest, that several of the younger Indians had mounted again the morning after their arrival, and gone off on a reconnoitering expedition, to discover what prospect there was of finding much game in that neighborhood. Henrich--proud and happy in the possession of a spirited horse, with which Tisquantum had presented him--insisted on being one of the party; end he was accompanied, also, by Jyanough, who had left his native village, now rendered sad and gloomy in his eyes, to follow his white friend, and share his society at least for a time. This arrangement gave Henrich the greatest satisfaction for the young Cree was the only Indian of his own sex in whom he had been able to find a companion, or who had peculiarly attached himself to the stranger: and the more he saw of Jyanough the more he found in him to win his esteem and friendship. Oriana and Mailah seated themselves on the luxuriant grass to rest; and the young Indian mother removed her child from the strange cradle in which she always carried it, and laid it on her knees; and then, after gazing at it for a few moments, she began to sing a wild, sweet song, to hush it to sleep. In a soft, monotonous cadence, she sang the sad story of its little life--its birth--its captivity--and the death of its murdered father, whom she exhorted it to imitate, and live to equal in courage and in skill. And thus she sang: 'Child of the slain Lincoya, sleep In peace! Thy mother wakes to guard thee. But where is he whose smile once fell on thee as sunshine--thy father, Lincoya? He is gone to the far distant hunting-grounds and there, again, he casts the spear; and there he draws the unerring bow; and there he quaffs the cup of immortality, with the spirits of the good and brave. O Lincoya! thy voice was to me as a sweet song, or as the summer breeze among the tall cypress trees--why didst thou leave me? Thy step was swift and graceful as the roe upon the mountains--why didst thou leave me? But I will follow thee, my warrior, The death-bird has called me, and I come to thee! Thy child shall live; for Mahneto has given him friends and a home. He shall grow up like thee, and Oriana shill be o mother to him when I am gone: and the blue-eyed stranger, whom she loves as I loved thee, shall guide his hand in war, and in the chase. Lincoya! I come to thee!� Oriana listened to the mournful chant of the young widow with much interest and sympathy; but when she spoke of her love for her white brother, in terms so new and strange, she almost felt offended. She did not, however, remark on her friend's allusion to herself, but turned the discourse to Mailah's sad prophecy of her own early death, which she knew could only be grounded on one of the wild superstitions of her race. 'Why do you talk of dying, Mailah?' she asked. 'You are young and strong; and you may again be happy. Why do you say you will leave your child, and go to the land of spirits?' 'The death-bird[*] called to me last night, as I sat at the open door of the hut, and looked at the moon, and thought how its soft light was guiding my Lincoya on long, long, journey, to the everlasting hunting fields of his fathers. Cheepai-Peethees called me twice from the tree that hung over the lodge; but when I called to it again, and whistled clearly, it made no answer. I heard it the day before the Crees destroyed our village. It called my husband then, and would not answer him; and in two days he was slain. The death-bird is never mistaken.� [Footnote: A small owl called _Cheepai-Peethees,_ or the _death-bird,_ which the Indians attach the superstition here alluded to, and believe, if it does not answer to their whistle, it denotes their speedy death.] �O, Mailah!' replied the young Christian squaw, 'say not so. Surely it is not thus that the great Mahneto calls His children to come to Him. Once I believed all these Indian stories; but now I know that they are false and vain. I know that our lives, and all things that befall us, are in the hands of the wise and good God--the Mahneto of the Christians and of the red men too. And now I have no fear of any of those strange sounds that used to make me sad, and terrify me with thoughts of coming evil. I most teach you to believe as I do now: or, rather, my _white brother_ shall teach you; for he knows the words of Mahneto himself. See, Mailah! There my brother comes--let us go to meet him.' A flush of joy mounted to the clear olive cheek of Oriana as she said these words, and she sprang to her feet with the lightness of a fawn. Mailah rose more gently, and replacing her infant in the pouch, slung it over her shoulder, and followed her friend, softly whispering in her ear, �The white stranger is your Lincoya.' The Indian beauty smiled, and blushed more deeply: but she did not bound across the glade to meet Henrich as she had purposed doing. She drew her slender figure to its full height, and stood still; and as Henrich galloped across the green meadow, and alighted, full of animation, to tell her of his success in his first essay at hunting the elk, he wondered why she greeted him so coldly. The fact was that Oriana was beginning to find that the blue-eyed stranger possessed even more interest in her eyes than she had ever felt for her own dark brother, Tekon; and when Mailah had openly alluded to this sentiment--which she thought unknown to all but herself--her natural and instinctive delicacy was wounded. But the feeling quickly wore away; and as Henrich and Jyanough detailed the exciting sports of the day, she forgot all but the pleasure of listening to his voice, and gazing at his fine countenance and bright sweet smile. She was happy; and she though not of the future. And Henrich was happy, too. He had now found companions whom he could love; and the life of the Indian hunters was all that he had ever pictured to himself of freedom and adventure. The beauty of the scenery--the clearness of the sky--and the glow of health and excitement that animated his whole frame when he joined in the chase with his savage friends, were all so entirely different to the life he had led in damp and foggy Holland, that it was no wonder he enjoyed it, and that his youthful spirits enabled him to subdue the oft-recurring grief that he felt at each remembrance of his family and his home. Hope was strong in his breast; and he trusted once again to meet all whom he loved so dearly: and the present was so bright and inspiring that he could not desire to change it yet. For many weeks the camp remained pitched in the same lovely situation; and the time of the hunters was fully occupied in the discovery and pursuit of the various wild animals that abounded in the uncultivated, but richly verdant, prairie. Of these, the elk and the buffalo were the most common victims to the spears and arrows of the Indians; and every evening large quantities of meat were brought into the camp, and given to the care of the squaws to dry and cure for winter consumption. These larger animals were too heavy to be transported whole to the huts; end therefore the hunters always skinned them and cut off the flesh where they fell, and left the carcasses to the wolves and the birds of prey that were ever ready at hand. But the smaller animals, and the wild turkeys and other birds, that were killed in great numbers, were brought in and thrown down by the blazing camp fires, that lighted up the glade every night, and were speedily prepared and cooked for the supper of the hungry hunters. As the leader of the expedition, Tisquantum was always presented with the choicest of the game; and it was Oriana's task to superintend the curing of the elk and buffalo meat, and the cooking that was required for her father's lodge. In all these household cares she was greatly assisted by Mailah, who was both active and skilful in all the duties of an Indian squaw: and eager also to evince her gratitude for the kindness and protection that were afforded to herself and her child by the Nausett Chief, by doing all that she could to lighten Oriana's labors. Time and occupation did not fail to have their usual effect on one so young, and naturally so light-hearted as Mailah; and animated cheerfulness took the place of the mournful expression that had hitherto so frequently sat on her countenance. She did not forget Lincoya; but she forgot the call of the death-bird: and when she sang her child to sleep, it was no longer with the same sad cadence as at first. Sorrow could not strike very deep, or abide very long in the heart of a being so gay, and with a mind and feelings so utterly uncultivated as those of the young Stone Indian. Neither could she live so much in the society of the white stranger, and his two chosen companions, without imbibing something of their intelligence, and becoming sensible of their superiority of mind to all others with whom she had ever associated: and she grew more and more attached to them, and learnt to regret less the friends and companions among whom her youth had been spent. She was a high-spirited and courageous creature: she would have followed her husband unhesitatingly to death, had she been called on to do so; or she would have died to save him, if her life could have availed to purchase his. But now that he was gone, and she could not even weep over his grave, and deck it with flowers and gifts, her lively spirit rose again, and led her to seek amusement and occupation in everything within her reach. The accounts which Henrich and Jyanough continually gave to her and Oriana of their exciting adventures in the prairie, had aroused in both of them a strong desire to be spectators of the sport; and they sought and obtained Tisquantum's permission to accompany the hunters one morning to the buffalo ground that lay nearest to the camp, and there to witness the pursuit and capture of some of those magnificent animals. A short ride through the forest brought the party out upon a vast and glorious prairie, on which the rich autumnal sun was shining in all his strength. On a rising ground that partially overlooked the plain, Oriana and her companion took up their position, beneath the shade of a grove of pines; and they watched the hunters as they examined the foot- prints on the dewy turf, or followed the tracks of the elks and buffaloes through the long prairie-grass, in order to make their arrangements for enclosing the game and driving the animals into an open and central situation. In the course of this examination, the recent tracks of a number of wild horses were discovered, and fresh excitement was felt by the whole party, for all were desirous to attempt the capture of these most valuable animals; and they resolved, on this occasion, to make them the chief objects of their pursuit. A ring was, therefore, formed by the numerous company of horsemen, enclosing a very large space of the beautiful park-like ground, which was studded with trees, either single or in groups; while underneath them, in the distance, could be seen many buffaloes lying down or grazing. The scene had the appearance of a wide extent of finely-cultivated pasture, ornamented with timber of every kind; end it forcibly recalled to Henrich's memory the fields and the cattle that had surrounded his European home. But the size of the trees, the extent of the natural meadow, and, above all, the wild aspect of the red hunters with their spears, and bows, and tomahawks, soon destroyed the fancied resemblance; while the eagerness and excitement of the novel sport banished all the sad recollections to which it had given rise. A desire also to distinguish himself in the presence of Oriana, and show her that a pale-face could equal her own dark race in courage and dexterity, inspired him with peculiar ardor; and he galloped to the station appointed him by Tisquantum, with a heart that bounded with pride and pleasure. The hunters were each provided with a long coil of grass rope, with a noose at the end--now called a _lariat_ or _lasso_--used by the Indians for casting over the horns of the elks and buffaloes, or the necks of the wild horses, that they desired to capture. These they carried in such a manner as to be ready to throw them off in an instant to their whole length, if necessary; but much practice is required to do this with precision, and Henrich did not yet hope for success in the difficult art. His only chance of capturing a wild courser lay in his skill in casting the spear, which might enable him to pierce the animal through the upper part of the neck, and thus produce a temporary insensibility, during which time he might be secured without any permanent injury. This also requires great precision and address; but Henrich had become an adept in the use of the light lance, and he felt sanguine of success if the opportunity should he afforded him. The string of horsemen slowly and warily drew in towards the open spot that was intended to be the scene of their operations, and of which Oriana and Mailah had a good view from their safe and elevated position; and soon a troop of wild horses were disturbed by one of the hunters, and burst forth from a thick grove of trees that had previously concealed them. They rushed madly over the plain, mingling with the affrighted buffaloes and American deer, that had not hitherto perceived the stealthy approach of their foes. At every point where they attempted to escape from the enclosure they were met by a mounted huntsman, and were driven back, with shouts and cries, towards the center. All other game was now forgotten; and each hunter singled out, for his own object of pursuit, the steed that pleased him best, and of which he thought he could most easily gain possession. But one there was--the leader of the troop--on which many eyes were fixed with eager desire. He was a noble creature, of perfect form and proportions; and as he pranced before his companions, with neck erect, and throwing his head from side to side, as if to reconnoiter his assailants--while his mane and tail floated in the breeze, and his glossy coal-black skin gave back the rays of the morning sun--he looked like the King of the Prairie, going forth in the pride of perfect freedom. The ring grew smaller and smaller; and every hand was steady, and every eye was fixed for the moment of trial: and soon the headlong pursuit commenced. At the first scattering of the wild troop, several of the younger and more feeble horses were secured; and some of the hunters, who despaired of nobler game, contented themselves with capturing or slaying either elks or buffaloes. But the finest horses escaped the first assault, and broke through the circling ring into the boundless meadow, where they were followed at mad speed by the hunters, poising their spears, and swinging their nooses round their heads, ready for a cast. Henrich and Jyanough, and several others of the best mounted Indians, had joined in the chase of the black leader, and dashed furiously after him over the plain. The horse that the English boy rode was strong and fleet, and the light weight of his rider enabled him to keep with the foremost of the red hunters' steeds, and, at length, to come almost alongside the noble courser. The spear was poised in Henrich's hand, and was just about to fly, when suddenly his horse fell to the ground, and rolled over on the turf, leaving his rider prostrate, but uninjured, except being stunned for a moment by the shock. When he opened his eyes, and sprang to his feet, he saw the king of the desert galloping up a rising ground, over which he quickly disappeared, still hotly pursued by Coubitant and several of the hunters. Jyanough and the rest of his companions, had dismounted to assist their fallen friend, and to form conjectures as to the probable cause of the unlucky accident. For some time none could be perceived; but on carefully examining his horse, Henrich at length discovered a small wound in the hind leg, and found that the creature was lame. How, or by whom, the wound had been given, he could not even surmise; for in the eagerness of the chase he had not observed that Coubitant rode close behind him: and that he had passed him at full speed the moment his horse stumbled and fell. But Jyanough had remarked it; and from what he had already seen of the wily Indian, he felt convinced that, prompted by malicious jealousy, he had thus sought to deprive his rival of his hoped-for success, and, perhaps, even to inflict on him some grievous personal injury. The young Indian had, however, the good sense to conceal his suspicions from Henrich at present, and to allow him to regard the whole affair as accidental; but he determined to keep a strict watch over the conduct of Coubitant for the future, and, if possible, to guard his friend from all his evil machinations. Soon the Nausett and the rest of the hunters returned from their fruitless chase, and reported the escape of the noble wild coursers and when Jyanough heard the regrets that Coubitant expressed for the accident that had befallen Henrich, and the condolences he offered on his having thus missed the object which otherwise his skill most surely have attained, he could scarcely contain his indignation at such hypocrisy, or refrain from opening the eyes of the unsuspicious young Englishman. They all returned together, at a slow pace, to the main body of the hunters, for Henrich's horse was too lame to be mounted; and, as soon as the adventure was made known, much sympathy and interest were shown for the disappointment of the pale-face, in which Oriana's countenance and manner showed she partook so warmly, that Coubitant turned aside to conceal his anger and vexation, and heartily wished that his well-aimed blow had not only deprived Henrich of the glory of that day's hunting, but had also put a stop for ever to the success for which he both hated and envied him. The sport continued, after this interruption, as actively as before, but neither Henrich nor his horse could take any further share in it; and he remained with Oriana and Mailah, enjoying the beauty of the scenery, and gathering flowers and fruit for his companions, and for the little. Lincoya, who, freed from the restraint of his moss-lined bed, now rolled on the turf with Rodolph, and played with the gentle and intelligent animal. How happy was Oriana that day! She was proud of the gallant bearing of her 'white brother' among the red warriors of her own wild race, and she had exulted at the praises which she had heard bestowed on his address as a hunter, and his shill in horsemanship, by Tisquantum and the elder Indians; and now, though she regretted his accident, and the disappointment which it had caused him, she did not suspect that it had been effected by the malice of a deadly enemy, and she rejoiced that it had given her the pleasure of his society for the rest of the day--a pleasure which she had but seldom enjoyed since their arrival in the prairie. At the close of the day the game was collected, and, after due preparation, was carried back to the camp, where the squaws had already lighted the evening fires, and made every necessary arrangement for cooking the expected supper. Around these fires the hunters sat in groups, and discussed the events of the day, among which the accident that had befallen the pale-face excited much interest and conjecture. Jyanough listened to the probable and improbable causes that were assigned by all the speakers, especially by Coubitant, to account for so strange a circumstance; but he held his peace, for in his inmost soul he was only more and more convinced that the subtle and dark- brewed savage was the perpetrator of the malicious deed. In this suspicion, he was the more strongly confirmed by an event that occurred a few days afterwards. It had been discovered that the stream that ran so gently by the side of the encampment fell, at some distance to the west, into a river of considerable size and depth, which then ran on over a descending and rocky bed, forming alternately smooth broad sheets of water and noisy broken falls, until it precipitated itself over a sudden precipice of great depth, and fell dashing and foaming into the basin which its continual fall had worn in the rocks below. The distant roar of this cataract had frequently been heard in the camp, when the wind came from that direction, and when the stillness of the night--broken only by the occasional howl of wild beasts seeking their prey, or the melancholy cry of the goat-sucker[*]� succeeded to the sounds of labor or idleness that generally kept the temporary village alive by day. But, hitherto, no one had had leisure or inclination to leave the excitement and novelty of hunting to explore the river, or ascertain its capabilities for fishing. [Footnote: This mournful sound is believed by the Indians to be the moaning of the departed spirits of women who have committed infanticide; and who are, consequently, excluded by Mahneto from the happy mountains which are the abode of the blessed.] Now, however, Coubitant brought in a report one evening that the great stream abounded in fish; and proposed in to Henrich that, as he was for the present unable to join in the more active business of the chase, he should assist him in forming a light canoe, in which they could go out and spear the game that lay beneath the clear blue water in the smooth reaches of the river. To this proposal Henrich readily assented; for the sport was one of which he had beard his Indian friends speak with great pleasure, and he greatly wished to enjoy it. The canoe was immediately commenced; and as it merely consisted of the trunk of a straight tulip-tree, hollowed out by means of fire, and shaped with a hatchet, it was completed in a couple of days. The light spears that were to pierce the fish were prepared, and long slender lines of twisted grass were fastened to their shafts for the purpose of drawing in their prey; and the following morning, when the hunters were ready to set out on their usual expedition, Coubitant desired Henrich to accompany him to the river side, where their little bark lay ready to receive them. Why, on hearing this proposal, did Jyanough still linger when all the rest of the hunters were mounted, and his own steed was pawing the ground, impatient of his master's delay? And why, after gazing a few moments at Coubitant's dark countenance, did he declare his wish to join the fishing party, and requested the Nausett to allow him to take a place in the canoe? Did he see treachery in that eye of fire? Jyanough could lend his horse to the pale-face, if he should happen to wish to hunt. His request was, however, negatived decidedly by Coubitant; who assured him, with assumed courtesy, that he regretted the size of the boat was too small to admit of its carrying a third sportsman with safety; but invited him to join him in the same sport the following day, when, he added--with that smile that Oriana hated--Jyanough could lend his horse to the pale-face, if he should happen to wish to hunt. The young Cree was baffled. He would gladly have pre vented his friend from accompanying Coubitant on the expedition; but be had no means of doing so, or even of putting him on his guard against any possible evil designs on the part of his companion. So he sprang upon his eager horse, and galloped after the hunters, hoping that his fears and suspicions were unfounded. Oriana and Mailah, attended by their faithful companion Rodolph, walked down to the edge of the river, to see the fishermen embark in their frail vessel; and, for some time, they watched the sport with considerable interest, and admired the skill with which Coubitant pierced and brought up several large fish. These he attracted towards the canoe by means of some preparation that he scattered on the surface of the water; and when the fish appeared within reach of his spear, he darted it with unerring aim, and drew in his struggling victim with the line that was attached to it. Henrich was also provided with weapons; but as the sport was entirely new to him, he found it difficult to take a steady aim, and his success was slight. Coubitant, however, had soon secured a considerable stock of fish, and he rowed to the shore, and requested Oriana and her companion to convey them to the Sachem's lodge; adding, in a careless tone, that it would not be worth their while to return to the river, as he was going to a reach at some distance down the stream, towards the head of the cataract, where he expected to show Henrich excellent sport. The two young women returned to the camp; and, having committed the fine fish to the care of the inferior squaws, they agreed to go again towards the river, and take this opportunity of visiting the falls, which they much desired to see, and near which they should probably again meet the fishermen. They rambled through the wood, taking a direct course towards the cataract, the sound of whose waters soon became sufficiently audible to guide them in their unknown way. Sometimes they came in sight of the river; and again they saw the little canoe, either standing motionless on the smooth surface of the water where the stream was wide and unbroken, or else passing, under the skilful guidance of Coubitant, between the rocks that occasionally disturbed its course, and formed foaming rapids, down which the little bark darted with fearful velocity. The last reach of the broad river was as calm and smooth as a lake. It seemed as if the collected mass of water, which had gathered there from many a broken and troubled stream, and had struggled through many windings and many difficulties, was reposing there, and gaining strength for its last great leap over the dark precipice. As Oriana and Mailah approached the verge of the scattered forest, and stood to gaze on the magnificent scene before them, they perceived the canoe descend a narrow rapid, and then take up a position below an elevated mass of rock, where the water was perfectly still, and where the fishermen could quietly pursue their occupation. They evidently did not perceive their female friends, and the roar of the cataract was now so loud as to prevent all possibility of their hearing their voices. For a short time Oriana and her friend watched their movements, and saw several fish captured; and then proceeded along the steep and rocky bank, in order to obtain a still better view of the waterfall. It was a beautiful scene on which those two young Indians looked; and they felt its power and grandeur, and stood silent and motionless. The cataract was beneath them; and its roar came up like thunder from the dark deep basin into which its weight of waters fell, and threw up a cloud of foam and spray; and then it rushed away again, as if in gladness at its safe descent and free course, until the shining stream was hidden by the rocks and overhanging trees that marked its winding course. The natural platform on which Oriana and Mailah stood, commanded a view not only of the wild cataract and the lower stretch of the river, but also of the bold steep rocks on the opposite side, and the dark forest that stretched away to the distant mountains that bounded the horizon. It likewise enabled them to perceive the small canoe, lying motionless on the water, in the shadow of the projecting rock. By and by the boat was rowed into the center of the river, and Coubitant appeared to be seeking for a good fishing spot, as he pointed in different directions, and once or twice darted his spear into the water, and drew it out again without any success. Meanwhile, the canoe floated slowly down the stream, but its motion gradually increased as it approached the fall; and Oriana gazed at it, expecting every moment that Coubitant, who had now taken the oar in his powerful grasp, would turn its course, and either draw towards the shore; or else row back again up the river, and land below the first rapids. To her surprise, and somewhat to her anxiety, he still continued, however, to allow the canoe to proceed; and she saw Henrich take a dart in his hand, and stand erect as if to strike at something beneath the surface, to which Coubitant pointed with the paddle. Another instant, and her white brother was in the water, and struggling to catch the side of the canoe! Breathlessly she gazed; and she distinctly saw the paddle which Coubitant held, extended towards the uplifted hand of Henrich. Still he did not grasp it! O! why was this? And then the boat, which bad already floated perilously near to the fall, was Suddenly turned, and she beheld Coubitant making violent efforts to overcome the force of the current, and row to the opposite and nearest shore. He was alone! And where was Henrich? Where was the brave young stranger? Battling desperately with the rapid stream which was carrying him onward to destruction. He rose and sank, rose again, and the current bore him on with resistless force. For a moment, Oriana clasped her hands over her eyes, to shut out the dreadful sight; and then, as if inspired by a gleam of supernatural hope, she darted forward, calling Rodolph, and pointing to the stream. The intelligent creature had seen the form of Henrich in the water, and only waited his mistress's command to risk his life in the attempt to save him. But his sagacity taught him that it was useless to enter the river above the fall; and he bounded down the steep bank that led to its foot, and stood eager, and panting, on a point of rock that overhung the basin. Oriana was quickly on the same spot, followed by Mailah; but ere they reached it, the dog had plunged into the foaming waters, and now appeared, upholding the inanimate form of Henrich, and struggling fearfully to drag him from the whirlpool. O, it was a sickening sight! and Oriana's heart stood still in the agony of suspense She could not aid her brother! She could not cope with that mad whirl of water! But she leaped down the steep rocks, and stood on the narrow ledge of shore below, to wait the moment for action. At length--after what appeared almost a hopeless conflict with the dashing waters--Rodolph appeared through the cloud of foam and slowly and feebly swam towards the shore, still supporting the lifeless burden that seemed almost to drag him beneath the surface. Now was the time for the Indian girl to prove her skill and courage. Lightly she sprang into the water, and in a moment she was at Rodolph�s side; and, with one arm sustaining the drooping head of Henrich, while, with the other, she dexterously swam back to the spot where Mailah stood ready to assist her. With much difficulty they lifted the senseless form of Henrich on the shore, and proceeded to adopt every means in their power to restore suspended animation; while Rodolph--the faithful devoted Rodolph--lay down panting and exhausted, but still keeping a watchful eye on him whom he had so daringly rescued. Long the two young Indians labored in silence, and almost in despair; for no color returned to those pallid lips, and no warmth was perceptible in the chilled and stiffened hands, that fell powerless by his side. Still they persevered: and no tear, no lamentation, betrayed the anguish that wrung the heart of Oriana, while she believed that all was in vain. But her soul was lifted up in prayer to the One True God, in whom she had been taught to put her trust by her beloved �white brother�: and in His mercy was her only hope. Nor was that hope in vain. The warm beams of the mid-day sun fell powerfully on that sheltered spot where the little group were gathered, and, combined with the continued friction that Oriana and Mailah employed, at length brought back the life-blood to Henrich's cheeks and lips, and his anxious nurses had the joy of perceiving that he breathed. A few minutes more, and he opened his deep blue eyes, and looked wildly around him, and spoke some English words that Oriana heard amid the din of the falling waters, and knew were of his home and his kindred. And then he uttered her own name, and attempted to rise, but fell back again into her arms, and smiled sweetly and gratefully when her eyes met his, and he saw that she was watching over him. There was joy--deep joy and gratitude--in those young hearts at that moment; but Henrich's weakness, and the noise of, the roaring cataract, prevented them from communicating their feelings in words, and Oriana forbore to ask any questions of Henrich relative to the cause of his perilous adventure. After some time he seemed greatly to recover, and, rising from the ground, he slowly mounted the bank, supported by Oriana and her friend. But it was evident that he was quite unable to proceed on foot to the camp, and it was agreed that Mailah should return as quickly as possible and bring such assistance as she could procure from thence, while Henrich and Oriana should advance as far as his enfeebled state would admit of. Mailah's light form soon disappeared in the wood, and it was not long ere she reached the camp, and hastened to the tent of Tisquantum, who, on that day, had not joined the hunting party. She told her story, in which the old Chief showed the deepest interest; and she observed a dark frown on his brow while she related the unsuccessful attempts of Coubitant to draw Henrich from the water with his paddle; but he made no remark. The hunters were still absent, and few men remained in the camp. These were all engaged in felling wood and other laborious employments, and Tisquantum prepared to lead his own horse out to meet his adopted son. But, just as he and Mailah were leaving the camp for this purpose, Coubitant came rapidly up from the river's brink, and, hurrying towards them, began to relate, with expressions of grief and consternation, the sad fate which he believed to have befallen the young stranger, and the exertions that he had made to save his life, but which had, unhappily, proved unavailing to avert the calamity. The sorrow of the Nausett Indian seemed excessive; and Tisquantum probably considered it so, for he listened with perfect calmness to his recital, and then merely replied, 'Happily, the youth is safe. Mahneto has succored him, and I go to bring him back to the camp.' Coubitant started: and he looked embarrassed for a moment, when he caught the penetrating eye of Mailah fixed on his countenance. But he quickly recovered his self-possession, and manifested such joy at the escape of the white stranger from a watery grave, that Mailah almost chid herself for her dreadful suspicions. Coubitant accompanied her and the Sachem on their way through the forest, and when they met Henrich and Oriana, he again assumed such an appearance of pleasure, and so warmly congratulated the former on his miraculous deliverance, that the generous English youth strove to banish from his mind the fearful thoughts that had arisen there while he struggled for life close to the canoe, and wondered at the want of skill and strength displayed by his companion in his abortive attempts to save him. Oriana coldly received his greeting. She had long suspected that he regarded Henrich with hatred and jealousy; and her worst suspicions had that day received a strong confirmation. Still she resolved to conceal them--at least at present--from all but Jyanough, whose friendship for Henrich would, she knew, render him peculiarly alive to all that concerned his safety. She had not long to wait, for the hunters soon returned; and she observed that, when Jyanough heard the story of the day's adventure, he cast a glance on Coubitant that made the conscious savage quail. But when she related to the young Cree all that she and Mailah had observed, he could restrain his feelings no longer, and plainly told her that he was convinced that Coubitant was the author of the calamity, and that it was not the first attempt he had made at Henrich's life. They resolved that he should communicate all his suspicions to the Sachem the following morning, and urge him to take measures for the safety of his adopted son: but what was Jyanough's surprise, when he opened the subject to Tisquantum, at being informed that Coubitant had already left the camp with the Pequodees! Jyanough knew that it was their intention that morning, at day-break, to set off on their return to their own woods and plains, and he found that the wily Nausett had expressed a desire to accompany them, and join in the war that was going on between their tribe and some of their neighbors, in order to distinguish himself as a warrior. It was not the Sachem's intention to rejoin his tribe for a considerable time. He was fond of wandering, and proposed to travel towards the north when the hunting season should be over; and he also felt a reluctance to take his now greatly beloved captive back to that part of the country where it was possible he might gain intelligence of his friends, or, perhaps, even make his escape to them. He had, therefore, consented to Coubitant's request, and evidently felt an undefined satisfaction in his absence. This being the case, and the departure of Coubitant having removed all present danger to Henrich from his malicious schemes, Jyanough forbore to express all he felt to the old Sachem; and he returned to Oriana with the pleasant intelligence that the enemy of her white brother had departed. To the young Squaw-Sachem this news imparted infinite relief; and even Henrich could not regret it, although he found it difficult to believe that all the suspicions of his friends were well-founded. Still the events of the preceding day were quite sufficient to make him doubt more than ever the sincerity of Coubitant's professed regard; and he felt that he should be happier now that the dark-browed savage was gone. To his pleasant life of freedom we will now leave him, and return to New Plymouth, where many events--deeply interesting to the settlers--had occurred since his involuntary departure, and supposed death. CHAPTER XI. 'There went a dirge through the forest's gloom. An exile was borne to a lonely tomb, �Brother;�--so the chant was sung In the slumberer�s native tongue-- �Friend and brother! not for thee Shall the sound of weeping be.�� HEMANS. Sadly and slowly the Pilgrim Fathers passed along the scattered village of log huts which was their home in their voluntary exile, and wound up the pathway that led towards the summit of the mount, afterwards called 'the Burying Hill,' on which they had constructed a rude fort or storehouse, and whither they were now bearing to his last earthly home the chief and the most respected of their community. The Governor Carver--he who had presided over their councils, and directed all their movements since the memorable day of their landing, and had been the friend, the physician, the comforter of his little flock, through all their trials and all their sufferings--had fallen a victim to disease and over-exertion, just as spring, with all its brighter hopes for the future, had set in. It was but a few days after Henrich's capture that this heavy affliction befell the colony, and added greatly to the gloom which the loss of young Maitland had already cast over the whole village. The departure, also, of the vessel in which the Pilgrims had come out to America, occurred at the same time; and, although not one of the exiles desired to return to the land of their birth, and to abandon the enterprise on which they had entered so devotedly, yet it was a melancholy hour when they bade adieu to the captain and his crew, and saw the Mayflower sail away towards their still much-loved, country. The scurvy and other diseases�combined with the hardships and privations to which they had been exposed during the winter and early spring--had fearfully reduced the number of the ship's company; and of those who remained, the greater part were weakened by illness, and dispirited by the loss of so many of their brave comrades, whose graves they had dug on the bleak shores of New England. The return of spring, and the supply of provisions that the settlers were able to obtain from the friendly Indians, had checked the progress of the fatal complaints that had so fearfully ravaged the colony during the severity of winter; and had restored the survivors of the ship's crew to comparative health and strength. The captain was, therefore, glad to seize the first opportunity of abandoning a shore which had presented to him so cheerless and melancholy an aspect, and of leaving the steadfast and devoted exiles to the fate which they had chosen, and which they were resolved to abide in faith and hope. On the very day that the Mayflower set sail, and while its white sails could still be distinguished in the eastern horizon, the Governor--who took an active part in every occupation, and even every labor that engaged the settlers--was busily employed in sowing corn in the fields that were considered as the common property of the colony. In directing and superintending this work, he was greatly assisted by the skill and experience of Squanto, the native who, as we have already related, had been so treacherously carried off to England by Hunt, and had, on his return to America, sought out, and attached himself to, the settlers. By them he was greatly regarded, and his knowledge of the English language rendered his services of inestimable value in all their intercourse with the Indian tribes; while his acquaintance with the soil on which they had established themselves, and the native modes of cultivating grain and other vegetable produce, was of the greatest use to men who were only accustomed to European agriculture. The maize and other grain were sown in the fields that had been richly manured with fish, to ensure an abundant crop;[*] and the laborers returned in a body to the village, led by their venerable and respected President; but no sooner had Carver re-entered his dwelling than he swooned away and never recovered his consciousness. In a few days he breathed his last, to the unutterable grief of his widow, and the deep regret of all the settlers, whose love and confidence he had won during his brief government, by his clear-sighted wisdom and his universal kindness. [Footnote: It was the custom of the Indians to manure their fields with _shads_ or _allezes,_ a small fish that comes up the rivers in vast numbers at the spawning season. About a thousand fish were used for every acre of land; and a single alleze was usually put into every corn-hill, when they buried their grain for winter consumption; probably as a charm to keep off the evil demons and hostile wandering spirits.] As his funeral procession wound up the hill, tears might be seen on the cheek of many a sturdy Pilgrim; and sobs and lamentations broke forth from the women and children. After his remains were laid in their resting-place, a fervent prayer was offered up by Brewster (whose age and character caused him to be regarded as the pastor of the colony, although he had never been called to the ministry after the custom of the Puritans); and then a hymn was sung by the united voices of the whole congregation. When this simple ceremony was over, and the grave of the departed President was closed, and laid level with the surrounding ground--in order to conceal it from the prowling Indians--the assembly repaired to the fort, or store-house, that stood on the summit of the hill, and which also served the purpose of a meeting-house or chapel. Its rude end unadorned simplicity suited, the peculiar ideas of the Puritans, who, in their zeal to escape from the elaborate ornaments and pompous ceremonial employed by the Papists, had rushed into the opposite extreme, and desired that both their place of worship, and their mode of performing it, should be divested of every external decoration and every prescribed form. The more their place of meeting for prayer resembled an ordinary habitation, the better they considered it suited to the sacred purpose; and they were, therefore, perfectly satisfied to possess no other church than the rude fort, built of logs and posts, and used indifferently as a granary for the public stores, and as a fortress for the defense of the colony from any incursions of the hostile tribes. In this primitive chapel, Brewster was accustomed to lead the devotions of the Pilgrims and their families, every 'Lord's Day' morning and afternoon;[*] and also on any other occasion of their assembling together. But as they were in continual expectation of the arrival of the venerated John Robinson, to resume his office of regular pastor of the flock, they had not taken any measures to gratify their ardent desire of hearing the _'blessed sermon'_ three times en every Lord's Day, from some holy man entirely devoted to the service of God. The addresses occasionally delivered to the congregation by Brewster, or by any other of the ruling elders who might preside at a meeting, were called _�discourses�_ not sermons; and the interpretation of certain portions of Scripture, which was sometimes undertaken by any member of the congregation who felt equal to it, was called _'prophesying.'_ These were the only modes of spiritual instruction employed by the first settlers, until they procured clergymen from England, or appointed ministers from among their own elders; and these means were highly valued by the settlers, who had abandoned home, and kindred, and the comforts of civilized life, for no other motive than to secure to themselves the privilege of worshipping God according to their own ideas of what was good and profitable to their souls. The talents and the elevated piety of William Brewster rendered him both a very valuable teacher, and also, in the eyes of the Puritans, an efficient substitute for their expected pastor. [Footnote: The Puritans never used the names _Sunday_ or _Sabbath._ They objected is the first as savoring of Paganism and to the second as pertaining to Judaism; and yet they enforced the observance of the Christian�s day of rest with almost Mosaic strictness.] On the present mournful occasion he addressed the congregation, in a very impressive manner, on the heavy loss they had sustained in the death of their valued President; and exhorted them to remember and to imitate his piety, his charity, and his exemplary patience and self- denial, under the trying circumstances that had marked the period of his brief government. These circumstances had become less painful, it is true, since their friendly intercourse with the Wampanoges, and the genial change in the weather; but still the trials of the Pilgrims were by no means over, and their need of faith in the good providence of God, and of persevering resolution in the path which they had chosen for themselves, remained as great as ever. Deeply was the less of their first President felt by the colony, for every individual mourned him as a private friend, as well as a wise end benevolent ruler. But the blow fell with more crushing power on her who had shared his checkered life of joy and sorrow for many years in Europe, and had accompanied him into exile, with the devoted feeling that his presence would make the wilderness a home. His sudden removal, and the cheerless blank that succeeded, were more than the strength of his afflicted widow could endure; and in six weeks she followed him the grave. From that time, it appeared as if the severity of the scourge that had ravaged the infant settlement was exhausted, for scarcely any more deaths occurred during that year; and many who had hitherto suffered from the effects of disease, regained their usual strength, and lived to a remarkably advanced age. William Bradford was the individual selected by the community to fill the arduous and responsible office that had been held so few months by Carver; and the choice was a most judicious one, for he was a man well suited to be the leader of a colony exposed to the peculiar difficulties that surrounded the Puritan exiles. His uncommon sagacity and penetration of character, and his undaunted resolution in times of danger, caused him to be regarded as the very prop and support of the settlement; and his worth was so generally acknowledged, and so highly appreciated, that he continued to be annually elected Governor for twelve succeeding years: and never did he disappoint the confidence thus reposed in him. His treatment of the Indians was one point on which he showed both the correctness of his judgement, and the right feelings of his heart. He ever acted towards them with true Christian benevolence and equity; and, at the same, he preserved that authority and superiority over them which were necessary to the safety and well- being of the colony; and he also carefully kept from them those European weapons, the possession of which might render them dangerous to the settlers, and aggravate the frequent hostilities among their own rival tribes. Unhappily, a different course was afterwards pursued by the leaders of the colony of Massachusetts; and the evil con sequences of such short-sighted policy were soon but too apparent, and tended to involve not only the new settlers, but also the original colony of New Plymouth, in quarrels and disturbances with the natives. This however, did not occur for some time after the period of which we are now speaking; and, for the present, Bradford succeeded in maintaining the best possible relations with the already friendly Wampanoges. William Bradford had been originally brought up as a husbandman; and although he had abandoned this calling to devote himself to the study of the Scriptures, and the writings of the Fathers--for which purpose he had acquired the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages--he still retained such a, know ledge of agriculture as proved extremely useful to him as the leader of a young colony, whose support was to be mainly derived from the land of which they had taken possession. He also spoke French and Dutch fluently; and the diary and letters that he has left to posterity show him to have been both a well informed and a truly pious man. When the Puritans left Amsterdam under their pastor, John Robinson, and settled at Leyden, Bradford was scarcely twenty years of age. He there learnt the art of dyeing silk, in order to support himself while he pursued his theological studies, and also performed the part of historian to the community of which he had become a member; and he remained with the congregation during all the years of their residence in Holland, and attached himself with the most affectionate reverence to their generally beloved and respected minister. One of the first acts of his administration, as Governor of New Plymouth, was to send another embassy to Masasoyt, the Great Sagamore of the whole Wampanoge tribe, in order to strengthen and confirm his present amicable feelings towards the white men, by means of presents, and other marks of friendship. Squanto, as usual, accompanied the party as interpreter; and nothing could be more satisfactory than the interview proved to all parties, especially to the Indian Chief, who was made both proud and happy by the gift of a red military coat, adorned with silver lace. This he immediately put on, over the paint and other savage ornaments in which he was decorated for the state occasion; and he greatly diverted the members of the embassy by the increased air of dignity that he assumed, and the grandiloquous manner in which he began to extol his own power and glory. 'Am I not,' he exclaimed, in a loud voice, 'Masasoyt, the great king? Am I not lord of all the people of the Lowsons; and of such and such places? And he enumerated nearly thirty uncouth Indian names of places over which he claimed sovereignty, his wild subjects uttering a yell of joy and exultation in answer to each word he uttered. The savage monarch then proceeded to ratify and augment the agreement into which he had already catered with Edward Winslow, and promised to guarantee to the English settlers an exclusive trade with his tribe; at the same time entreating them to prevent his powerful enemies, the Narragansetts, from carrying on a commercial intercourse with the French colonists. Notwithstanding the boasted power of this 'Chief of chiefs,' the scarcity of provisions was so great in his village of Packanokick at the time of this embassy, that he was only able to offer his white friends one meal during their visit to him, which lasted a day and two nights; and this solitary display of regal hospitality consisted of two large fishes just caught in a neighboring lake, and which were divided amongst forty hungry persons. In spite of this temporary distress, he pressed the deputation to remain longer with him; but the object of their mission having been attained, they were glad to leave the residence of the Sagamore, which possessed far less of comfort and civilization than were to be found in the picturesque summer camp of his son and inferior Sachem, Mooanam. This lovely spot continued to be much frequented by the settlers, between whom and their copper-colored neighbors a strong feeling of mutual regard became established; and this friendship proved a great advantage to both parties, in a social as well as a political point of view. The Wampanoges found the benefit of their alliance with the mighty English during the autumn of that year, when the dread which their name and power had inspired proved a safeguard to the friendly Indian tribe, and preserved them from a combined attack of several other tribes who had, by some mysterious means, been instigated to unite for their destruction. The intelligence of this conspiracy reached the settlers when a party of them were on the peninsula of Cape Cod, whither they had gone to bring back a young English boy, named Francis Billington, who had lost himself in the forest some time previously, and, after having subsisted for several days on wild fruits and berries, had reached a camp of the Nausett Indians, hitherto so adverse to the Pilgrims. This seemed a good opportunity for endeavoring to establish more friendly relations with the tribe, and Bradford sent off ten men in the shallop to negotiate for the boy's restoration, and to offer gifts to the Nausetts, who, happily, were not so cruel and blood-thirsty a party as those who had kidnapped Henrich Maitland. The overtures of the settlers were well received, and they presented the Chief of the village with a pair of knives, and also returned to the natives a quantity of corn, more than equal to that which they had taken from the graves and huts that they had discovered on their first landing, and which belonged to the Nausetts. This act of justice gained for the settlers the esteem and confidence of the Indians; and as these original possessors of the soil did not dispute the title of the newcomers to the portion of the American soil on which they had established themselves, they considered henceforth that their claim was valid, and that they could stand before the natives on terms of equality. The lost child was safely restored to Rodolph, who, as usual, shared the conduct of the expedition with Edward Winslow. The joy and gratitude of the boy's father, at being permitted to convey him home uninjured, may be better imagined than described; and while Maitland sympathized in his feelings, he could not help sadly contrasting the fate of his own lost Henrich with that of the more fortunate Francis Billington. But he believed that his son's earthly career had closed for ever; and both he and Helen had submitted to the bereavement with Christian piety and resignation, and had taught their wounded hearts to restrain every impulse to repine, and even to feel thankful that their beloved boy had been spared any protracted sufferings and trials, and had been permitted so speedily to enter into his rest. Had they known his actual late and condition, how much of painful anxiety would have mingled with the sorrow of separation, from which they were now exempt! The restoration of the little wanderer having been effected, and a good understanding having been established with the Nausetts of Cape Cod, the negotiating party lost no time in returning to New Plymouth, and communicating to Governor Bradford the intelligence of the conspiracy against Masasoyt, to which allusion has already been made, and of which they had been informed by the Nausett Sachem. The news was startling to Bradford and to his council, who all felt the imperative necessity of using immediate efforts for the assistance of the friendly Wampanoges. They were impelled to this resolution, not only in consideration of the alliance that had been formed between themselves and the Sagamore Masasoyt, but also from a conviction that the safety and welfare of the infant colony depended essentially upon their possessing the friendship and the protection of some powerful tribe, like the Wampanoges, whose numbers and warlike character caused them to be both feared and respected by their weaker neighbors. It could only be by a combination of several tribes that any important defeat Of the Wampanoges could possibly be effected: and such a combination the Nausetts declared they knew to have been already formed; though by what means, and with what motive, remained at present a mystery. The Indian interpreter, Squanto, was therefore sent off to Masasoyt's residence at Lowams, in order to ascertain the grounds of the quarrel, and to effect, if possible, a reconciliation, without the necessity of the Pilgrims having recourse to arms in defense of their allies. The interpreter was also accompanied by Hobomak, a subject of the Wampanoge chieftain's, who had lately left his own wigwams and settled among the English, and who had already attached himself to the white men with an uncommon degree of devotion. But ere the swarthy ambassadors reached the village of Packanokick, they were suddenly attacked by a small party of Narragansett warriors, who lay in ambush near their path through the forest, and were conveyed away captives to the presence of a fierce looking Indian, who appeared to be a man of power and authority, and who was evidently awaiting their arrival in a small temporary encampment at a little distance. No sooner had Hobomak glanced at this dark chieftain, than he recognized Coubitant, the bitter foe of the settlers, and the captor of Henrich Maitland. Coubitant had originally been a subject of the Sachem Masasoyt; but some offence, either real or imaginary, had converted him from a friend into a bitter foe; and then it was that he had wandered towards the Spanish settlements, and obtained that prejudiced notion of Christianity to which we have formerly alluded. When tired of his wild roaming life, he had united himself to that portion of the Nausett tribe which was under the guidance of Tisquantum; and his attachment to the Sachem's son, Tekoa, had induced him to remain a member of the tribe during his life, and to devote himself to the object of revenging his death, after that event had occurred at the first encounter with the white settlers. Hitherto that object had been frustrated by what appeared to him Tisquantum's incomprehensible partiality fur Henrich, which had so entirely prevented his wreaking his vengeance on the innocent son of the slayer. But his was not a revenge that could expire unsatiated, or change to friendship, and expend itself in acts of kindness, as that of Tisquantum had done. No: the thirst for blood remained as strong in the breast of Coubitant as it was on that very hour when he beheld his brother-in-arms fall, bleeding and dying, beneath the mysterious firearms of the white men; and he hoped still to pour forth the white man's blood, as an oblation to the spirit of his friend. Therefore it was that, when he found himself foiled in all his malicious schemes for Henrich's destruction, and also perceived that he was himself becoming an object of suspicion to Jyanough and to the Sachem, he had resolved on quitting the Nausetts, and returning with the Pequodees into the neighborhood of the English settlement. He hoped to stir up several smaller tribes to join with the Narragansetts, and to make war against the Wampanoges--the allies of the Pilgrims--and thus to deprive the hated whites of their aid and protection, and, possibly, also to engage the settlers in the quarrel, and then to find an opportunity of taking one or more of them captive, and slaking the desires of his vindictive spirit in the agonies that he would inflict on his victims. Truly, 'the dark places' of his heart were �full of the habitations of cruelty.' These deep-laid schemes of the wily savage had hitherto met with full success; and by means of deceit and misrepresentation, he had roused up and irritated the feelings of several Sachems and their dependants, and induced them to agree to coalesce for the destruction of the Wampanoges, and then to turn their arms against the settlers, with the view of expelling them altogether from the country. His spies had discovered the intended embassy of Squanto and Hobomak to the village of the great Sagamore of Lowams; and he had, consequently, taken effectual means to intercept it, as he feared its having a favorable aspect. On the captives being brought before him, he scornfully reproached them as the dastardly tools of the white men, and as traitors to their own nation; and he declared his intention of detaining Squanto as a prisoner, and as a hostage also, in order to ensure the return of Hobomak to New Plymouth, with the message that be designed for the Governor. This message consisted of a threat--which Hobomak well knew he would execute--that if, on being liberated, he proceeded to Packanokick, instead of returning to the settlement, he would flay the unhappy Squanto alive, and send his skin and scalp to the white-hearted English, to show them that the red men scorned their interference, and knew how to punish it. Hobomak departed, and reluctantly left his companion in the hands of the cruel Coubitant. But he had no power to liberate him, and his only hope of obtaining any effectual succor for him, was in hastening to New Plymouth, and persuading the Governor to send a well-armed force to cut off the retreat of the Narragansetts and their leader, and attempt the rescue of their caked interpreter. Hobomak was fleet of foot, and he rested not until he had arrived in Bradford's presence, and told him of the fate that had befallen Squanto. Weak as the colonists were, and sincerely desirous as they also felt to preserve peace with the natives, they yet deemed it incumbent on them to show the Indians that they would not tamely submit to any insult or injury. Captain Standish was, therefore, immediately dispatched with a body of fourteen men, well armed and disciplined, who were at that time nearly all the men capable of bearing arms of whom the colony could boast. Led by Hobomak, they rapidly traversed the forest, and came upon Coubitant's party soon after they had left their encampment. The Indian leader had anticipated, and desired, this result of his conduct; and his heart swelled with malignant joy when he beheld the hated Rodolph among the foremost of the assailants. Now he deemed the evil spirit whom he worshipped was about to repay him for all his abortive schemes and disappointed efforts, by throwing the very object of his vengeful hatred into his power. Forward he sprang, whirling his heavy tomahawk round his head, as if it had been a child's toy, and preparing to bring it down on the white man's skull with a force that must have cloven it in two. But Standish saw the impending blow, and, quick as thought, he drew a pistol from his belt, and fired it at the savage. The ball passed through his arm, and the tomahawk fell bloodless to the ground. Had it but drunk the life-blood of Rodolph, Coubitant would have been content to die. But his foe still lived unharmed; and quickly he saw that three of his own followers were also severely wounded, and that his party of naked warriors were altogether incapable of resisting the fierce and well- sustained attack of their civilized assailants. His only chance of safety, and of future vengeance, lay in flight; and to that last resource of a brave spirit he betook himself. He was quickly followed by all his band, who were dismayed at the sound and the fatal effects of the British fire-arms and, leaving Squanto behind them, they were soon concealed from view by the thick underwood of the forest. The object of the expedition having been attained, Standish did not pursue the fugitives, but returned in triumph to the settlement, well satisfied that he had given the Indians a salutary impression of the decisive conduct, and the powerful measures, that would ever be adopted by the white men, when their honor was insulted in the slightest degree. That such an impression had been made on the red men was soon evident, from the anxiety which was manifested by several of the neighboring tribes to be admitted into the semblance, at least, of an alliance with the mighty strangers. Nine Sachems intimated their desire to acknowledge themselves the subjects of the white men's king, who dwelt on the other side of 'the great water'; and a paper was accordingly drawn up by Captain Standish to that effect, and subscribed with the uncouth autographs of the copper-colored chieftains. Among these-- strange to say--the mark of Coubitant, who had been raised to the rank of Sachem by the Narragansetts, was to be seen; but the sincerity of his friendly professions will be shown hereafter. At present, it suited him to unite with the other chiefs in their pledge of allegiance to King James, and of amity towards his British subjects; but he never openly approached their settlement, or made the slightest advance towards becoming better acquainted with them. His evil designs slept, indeed, but they had not expired. They only waited the fitting opportunity to be as actively pursued as ever. CHAPTER XII. �Calm on the bosom of thy God, Young spirit! rest thee now! E'en while with us thy footsteps trod His seat was on thy brow. Dust to its narrow house beneath! Soul to its place on high! They that have seen thy look in death, No more may fear to die. Lone are the paths, and sad the bowers, Whence thy meek smile is gone But oh! a brighter borne than ours, In Heaven, is now thine own.' HEMANS. We have observed that very few deaths took place in the colony of New Plymouth during the second year of their exile, and after the fatal stroke that deprived them of their President; but among those few, there was one that carried grief and desolation into the hearts of the family with whom our story is chiefly connected, and who were already deeply afflicted by the loss of the first-born. Ludovico Maitland had always been a delicate child, and on him, consequently, the care and attention of his mother had been principally bestowed. Helen had watched and tended him through all the severities of the first winters in the New World, and many had been the privations that she had voluntarily endured, unknown even to Rodolph, who would not have suffered her thus to risk her own health, in order to add to the comforts of her youngest and most helpless child. When the blessed springtime came, and all nature began again to smile, she hoped that Ludovico would also be renovated, and bloom again like the flowers he loved so well. And her hopes appeared to be realized: for the sweet playful child resumed his sports, and the bright color again glowed on his soft cheek; and his parents deemed it the hue of health. At the time when Henrich was stolen away, the little fellow had been remarkably well, and even Helen's fears for him had almost subsided; but, whether it was the effect of the shock that he sustained when he saw his brother seized by the fierce savages, and torn away from him, and when he fled so breathlessly to tell the fearful tidings; or whether it was merely the result of his own delicate constitution, which could no longer bear up against the change of climate and food-- from that time, he visibly declined. It is true he never complained, and his cheerful spirits were unaltered; but the watchful eye of affection could trace the insidious steps of disease in the changing color, and the too frequently brilliant eye. Since Edith had lost her constant friend and companion, Henrich, she naturally devoted herself more to her younger brother, and little Ludovico became not only her lively play-fellow, but also her intelligent pupil; and the occupation which she found in the care of the engaging child served to divert her mind from the first real grief she had ever known. Her mother's sorrow, though borne with the most perfect resignation, had greatly affected her health; and as she had entire confidence in Edith's steadiness, she was glad to leave the care of Ludovico principally to her, especially when she observed the good effect which the new responsibility had on her spirits. The two children were, therefore, left much to themselves; and, with their mother's sanction they passed a great portion of their time at the camp of Mooanam, where they were always most kindly received, and where they made rapid progress in acquiring the language, and also many of the useful and ingenious arts, of their swarthy friends. The departure of Coubitant and his savage band, after their cruel design against the peace of Rodolph's family had been accomplished, removed all fears of injury or molestation from the minds of the settlers; for no hostile Indians now remained in their immediate neighborhood, and the path from New Plymouth to the village of the friendly Wampanoges became a beaten and frequented track; so that Edith and her little charge could go to and fro in safety, under the protection of Fingal, a magnificent dog belonging to their father, and their constant companion and playfellow; and frequently they were accompanied, on their return to the British village, by the Chieftain's wife, Apannow, and her little boy, Nepea, who was the darling of both Edith and Ludovico. A strong attachment also sprang up between Apannow and Helen; for the Squaw-Sachem was possessed of much natural gentleness of disposition, and was most ready to adopt all those habits of civilized life that she saw practiced among her English friends, and that it was possible for her to transplant to her Indian home. She was, likewise, willing to listen to the doctrines and precepts of the Gospel, and to admit their beauty and their holiness, although it was long--very long--ere she, or any of the adults of her tribe, were so far converted to the Christian truth as to be either desirous or fit to be baptized. But there was no bigotry or opposition in the mind of Apannow; and she became a kind and sympathizing friend to Helen and to her children. Rodolph was necessarily much engaged in agricultural occupations, and also in the business of the government, as he was one of the council who were appointed to assist the President, and to share the labors and responsibilities of his frequently very difficult office. The gradual change in little Ludovico's health was, therefore, not so soon observed by his father as by Helen and Edith; and when he returned to his much- loved home after the toils and cares of the day, his wife forbore to arouse fresh anxiety in his breast, by telling him of her own fears. On the contrary, she rejoiced to see the pleasure and animation that lighted up the sweet child's expressive countenance, as he ran to meet his father, and the happiness of both as they played under the wide- spreading trees that shaded their now luxuriant garden. At such times, while listening to Ludovico's ringing laugh, and watching his light footsteps as he chased his father and Edith from tree to tree, she flattered herself that all must be well with the joyous child, and that her apprehensions were unfounded. But, again, when the following day found him pale and exhausted, and all the more so for the excitement and exercise of the previous evening, these foreboding fears would return, and her heart would sink heavily at the prospect of the coming woe. The short summer of North America attained its height; and, as the heat increased, so did Ludovico's young life wane away, and his strength become daily less. Rudolph now saw, as plainly as his afflicted wife, that their only remaining son was soon to be taken from them; and he strove to arm both himself and her with the only power that could support them under such an aggravated calamity. He constantly led her to look only to Him who 'gave,' and who also 'takes away,' and without whom 'not a sparrow falleth to the ground'; and to trust Him even in the depth of sorrow: and he had the satisfaction of seeing her become more and more resigned, and more and more strong in faith to meet the coming trial. Slowly and gently it came; but it came at last: and though his parents and his sister had long given up all hope of retaining their loved Ludovico on earth, and had endeavored to resign him into the hands of his Heavenly Father, yet, when the blow came, they felt it sudden, and found how little they were prepared for it. One warm summer evening the sweet child was carried by Rodolph to Edith's bower, that he might look once more at the flowers he had helped to plant and to tend; and his soft eyes seemed to take a last farewell of every cherished object, and to follow the setting sun with a fixed gaze, that said those eyes would never see it set again. But there was no sadness--no regret--in the gentle countenance; and the infantine lips still smiled, as they whispered the evening prayer that he had so often repeated with Edith. Young as he was, Ludovico had learnt to love his Redeemer, and to feel that to 'depart, and be with Christ, was far better than to abide on earth; and the 'valley of the shadow or death,' which the Lord so mercifully made easy to his flesh, had no terrors for his young spirit. Could his parents, then--could even his broken-hearted sister--bear to disturb his angelic calmness by any display of their own grief? No: they restrained it; and even tried to smile again as they replied to his touching remarks, and spoke of the happy day when they should all meet again in heaven, and dwell for ever in the presence of that gracious Savior, who was new taking him, as they believed, to join his dear brother Henrich. As twilight came on, his father bore him back to the house, and laid him again on his little couch; and ere the glorious sun arose to lighten the earth once more, his spirit had passed away into that realm of perfect light where they 'have no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it; for the glory of God does lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.' And many tears were shed for him, when the sight of the grief of those he loved so dearly could no longer disturb his peace, or check the willing spirit in its heavenward flight. The sorrows of the Maitlands--thus renewed and aggravated--excited the warmest sympathy throughout the colony; for they were universally respected and beloved, and their calm and pious resignation drew forth the admiration of the whole community of Puritans, who deemed any strong expressions of grief to be altogether unsuitable to Christians. But Rodolph and Helen did not the less feel their chastisement, because they forbore to express their feelings to any other than to God, and to their revered friend and minister, Brewster. On Edith, this second blow fell even more heavily than the first; for, since Henrich's loss, she had devoted herself to her younger brother, and felt for him almost a mother's love: and now her pupil, her playfellow--the sunshine of her life--was taken away from her! Truly, the Lord was preparing her in the furnace of affliction for the future lot to which He had appointed her; and sorrow did net visit her in vain. Her character was strengthened and matured, and her mind was taught to find resources in itself that proved hereafter of inestimable value to her, and to those most nearly connected with her. The thoughts and attention of her parents--and indeed of the whole colony--were at this time diverted greatly from their own private cares and interests, by an event of much importance to the settlement. This was the arrival of a vessel, called the Fortune, from the mother- country, bringing out to the colony a new and more comprehensive charter, obtained for them by the Society of Plymouth, and also twenty- five fresh settlers, who were chiefly friends and relatives of those already established in New England. How welcome these familiar countenances, that recalled days of happiness long passed but not forgotten, were to the hearts and memories of their brethren, none but exiles can tell! The new comers were indeed joyfully received, and hospitably entertained by the Pilgrim Fathers; who invited them to take up their quarters in their rude but comfortable dwellings, and to share their scanty stores. Unfortunately, the new settlers were unable to contribute any thing to these stores; for all their own provisions were already consumed on the voyage. This accession to their numbers, therefore, added greatly to the inconvenience of the colony, and occasioned such a scarcity of food, that the Governor was obliged to put the whole community upon a daily allowance; an arrangement to which they all submitted without a murmur. And not only did the original settlers thus consent to endure privation for the sake of their newly- arrived friends and relatives, but they also contributed more liberally than their narrow means could well afford, to provision the Fortune for her voyage home. This was the occasion of the first mercantile adventure of the Pilgrims, who took the opportunity of the return of the ship to England, to send to the Society with which they were connected a quantity of furs and timber to the value of five hundred pounds. But success did not attend their speculation; for the vessel fell into the hands of the French, and all their hopes of profit were, for the present, blasted. It is needless to dwell on all the continued and various hardships that these brave men, and their families, had to endure for several ensuing winters. A few circumstances that more especially exemplify their manners and mode of life, will be sufficient for the purposes of our narrative, the course of which must necessarily be somewhat interrupted by these details. Some knowledge of the habits of the adventurers, and of the events that befell them at this early period of their history, is however needful for the illustration of the story; and they shall be briefly given, before we take up the thread of the narrative a few years subsequent to the period of which we are now speaking. For some time the friendly relations with the Wampanoges, which had been established by Carver and further cemented by Bradford, remained undisturbed, and no signs of hostility were shown by any other of the neighboring Indian tribes. This was probably owing, in a great degree, to the wholesome example of decided measures that had been given to the natives on the occasion of the capture of Hobomak and Squanto, and also to the efficient means of defense that were now adopted by the settlers. On their first arrival in New England, they had planted their guns on the hill which commanded the rising city of New Plymouth, and which afterwards received the name of 'the Burying Hill.' There, as we have seen, the remains of the venerable Carver were deposited; and there the infant form of Ludovico Maitland was laid in its last narrow resting-place, and shaded by shrubs and plants that Edith, and the faithful servant Janet, delighted to place there, and to tend and water with untiring care and watchfulness. This hill was converted, during the first year of the Pilgrim's residence in New England, into a kind of irregular fortification. The storehouse--which was also the chapel and the council hall--stood on the summit, and this was surrounded by a strong wall of timber, well furnished with batteries, on which a watch was kept night and day, to look out for the approach of any hostile parties of Indians. At a considerable distance from this building ran a strong wooden palisade, that enclosed the height entirely, and was divided into four portions, the entrance to which was securely fastened every night; and the able- bodied men of the colony, under the command of Miles Standish, were arranged in four squadrons, to the care of each of which one quarter was entrusted. The occupation which this charge entailed on the limited number of men who were capable of undertaking it, in addition to their necessary labors and employments in building their dwellings, cultivating their fields, and procuring provisions by hunting and fishing was both heavy and incessant; but disease had nearly left the colony, and want, though occasionally felt to a painful degree, was not always their portion; and the Pilgrim Fathers were cheerfully contented with their lot. Still, it was a lot that involved much of hardship and personal privation, as a drawback to the liberty, both religious and political, that had been obtained by emigration. The harvests were scanty, and not nearly sufficient to provide bread for the increasing community, and also seed for the following year, and the supplies that were occasionally procured from the Wampanoges, and their allies, were very uncertain. At one time, every species of grain became so scarce that the settlers had recourse to pig-nuts as a substitute for bread; and the last pint of corn that remained to the colony, after the fields were sown, was counted out among the whole community, when _five grains_ fell to the share of each person, and these were looked upon as a rare treat, and eaten as a particular dainty. Cattle were, as yet, unknown in the colony; and their chief subsistence consisted of game, wild fowl, and fish, of which the supply was frequently both scanty and precarious. 'Often,' we are told in the diary of the Governor Bradford, 'we do not know in the evening where we shall get a meal next morning; but yet we bear our want with joy, and trust in Providence.' And strong, indeed, must have been the faith and patience of these Pilgrim Fathers, which sustained their spirits amidst such long-continued trials, and enabled them to meet and overcome such complicated difficulties without hesitation and without a murmur! At one period their only food was fish, and occasionally merely shellfish; but never was this miserable fare partaken of by the emigrants, who assembled to receive their respective portions, without a blessing being asked, and thanks being offered by the pious Brewster, who, with a spirit of gratitude too often unknown to those who revel in abundance, praised God for having permitted them 'to suck out of the fullness of the sea, and for the treasures sunk in the sand.' While such an example of holy trust, and patient submission to the will of God, was set by the leading men of this suffering colony--men who were both loved and respected--not a complaining word was uttered by the rest. All felt that they were bound to emulate the faith and piety of their high-souled Governor, and their venerated elder. And, truly, they had need of every motive, and of every aid--both human and divine--that could keep their souls in peace, when actual famine at length stared them in the face. The second winter had been endured; and, in spite of cold and privation, the health of the colony had improved; and spring again brought brighter hopes, and better prospects of the summer's harvest. But before the grain was well grown up, a drought came on, that threatened the utter destruction of the crops. For six long weeks not one drop of rain fell on the thirsty land. 'The sky was as brass' to the fainting emigrants, and 'the earth was as iron' to them. Yet these men of God did not despair. They were accustomed to regard every dispensation of Providence, whether prosperous or afflictive, either as a special blessing from the hand of God, to support and encourage His believing people, or as a Fatherly chastisement, to punish their iniquities, and excite them to greater piety and watchfulness. 'It pleased God,' said Edward Winslow, in speaking of this inflict ion, 'to send a great dearth for our further punishment.' Under this conviction, the congregation were called on by the Governor and the elders to set apart a day for special humiliation and prayer, in order to entreat the Lord to remove from them his chastening hand, and to 'send a gracious rain upon His inheritance.' The call was universally obeyed; and men, women, and children assembled themselves together, fasting, on 'the Burying Hill,' to listen to the solemn address delivered by Brewster, and to unite in fervent prayers and humble confessions to their God and Father. The sky that morning was clear and bright as ever; and the sun walked in unclouded brilliance and majesty through the deep blue vault of heaven. For eight hours, the devotions of the assembly continued almost without interruption; and it seemed as if 'none regarded, neither was there any that answered.' But as the sun was sinking towards the western horizon, a cloud, 'as it were a man�s hand,' was seen to rise as if to meet the glowing orb; and, ere he sank, his rays were obscured by a heavy bank of clouds. Joy and gratitude now filled the breasts of the suppliants, and the dim and anxious eye of many a mother, who had watched the declining forms of her little ones in silent anguish, was lighted up with hope, and glistened with a tear of thankfulness. Such, indeed, had been the sufferings of the younger children, although the greatest sacrifices had been made by their parents in order to provide them with the food so necessary to their existence, that Helen had frequently poured forth her heartfelt thanksgivings to her Heavenly Father, that He had seen fit to remove her gentle and idolized Ludovico from a scene of so much distress; and had called him away to a land where want, as well as sorrow, is unknown, in a manner, and at a time, which allowed her to ensure his ease and comfort to the last. To have seen her darling pine for food, which she could not procure for him--to have watched that fondly-cherished child sinking into his grave from the actual want of proper nourishment, and to know that in the land they had abandoned all that was needed to prolong his precious life was teeming in profusion--would, she weakly thought, have been more than her faith could have endured. But Helen erred in that doubting thought. She was a _Christian:_ and had her Lord and Savior seen fit thus to try her, He would also have given her grace to meet the trial as a _Christian;_ for His promise to each one of His people is sure: 'As thy day is, so shall thy strength be.' Edith, her only remaining child, was strong and energetic in mind and body; and she was no burden to her mother. Cheerfully she had borne her share of privation; and, uncomplainingly, she had assisted Helen and Janet in seeking for roots and berries hour after hour in the forest, when no other food was to be obtained. Now, on this day of fasting and prayer, she stood beside her mother and Rodolph, and lifted up her young voice in prayer for heavenly succor, and in praise, when the first signal of coming aid was seen in the crimson west. The whole congregation had risen from their posture of supplication, and were gazing with deep interest and emotion at the gathering clouds, when they were startled at observing a large party of Indians emerging from the thicket below, and advancing towards the palisade that formed their outer fortification. At first they imagined them to be a hostile body of Narragansetts, or Pequodees, who had discovered the manner in which that day was being spent among the pale-faces, and had resolved upon breaking the recently-formed treaty, and attempting their destruction while they were thus assembled together and unarmed. But these apprehensions were soon removed by the appearance of their friend Mooanam, who advanced from the rest of his party, and hurried forward, holding in his hands a fine fish, and calling on his allies to open their gates and admit him and his followers into the fortress, for that he had brought them food. Joyfully his summons was answered, and the generous red men entered the enclosure, and laid before the Governor a quantity of, fish, sufficient to supply the whole community with several wholesome and acceptable meals. The kindness of this offering was highly estimated by the settlers; for they well knew that their Indian friends had long been suffering privations little less than what they had themselves endured, and that their prospects for the future were hardly more cheering than their own. The native and untaught courtesy, also, with which the seasonable gift was offered, added not a little to its value. 'Behold!' said Mooanam to the President, when he and his attendants had placed the fresh spoils of their lake in order before him--'Behold what the good Mahneto has given to his children in their day of distress! And the red men could not eat and be in plenty, while they knew that the faces of their white brethren were pale with want, and their little children were crying for food. Take this, my brother, and let the hearts of your people be glad, and bless Mahneto while they eat. I and my young men will return to the supper that our squaws are preparing.' 'We do bless Mahneto, who is the God and father both of the red and white men!' replied Bradford with solemnity; for he was deeply impressed by the pious feelings of the Sachem, and touched by his considerate kindness. 'We do bless Mahneto; and we bless you also, our faithful and generous friends, who have thus so promptly shared with us the produce of your labors, instead of reserving it for your own future wants. But here is enough for you and us; and you and your young men must abide tonight in our village, and partake with us of the abundance that you have provided. We leave the future in the bountiful hands of Him who has thus made you His instruments to provide for us a table in the wilderness.' 'We will remain,' said Mooanam, 'and to-morrow some of your people shall go with us to our lakes, and fish in our canoes. The clouds are rising, and we shall, perhaps, have even better success than we have met with today. But tell me, my white brother,' he continued--while he looked inquiringly at Bradford--'tell me why your village is deserted this evening, and why no sounds of labor met our ears as we passed through the silent street? This is not the white men's day of rest; and the white men do not leave their work to sleep or dance, as the red men too often do. Why, then, are you and your people--even your squaws and your little ones--assembled here today, and what caused that joyful song that died away as we came to the foot hill?' �We have spent the day in fasting and prayer,' replied the President. 'We know that our Great Father has sent this long drought upon us, to chasten us for our sins: and we have met to humble ourselves before Him, and implore Him to send us the fruitful showers from heaven, before our crops are altogether withered in the ground. He alone can command the clouds to drop fatness; and when He sees that His punishment has done its appointed work, He surely will take it away. Even now, while we were making our prayers and supplications unto Him, and confessing our sins, He has sent a token that He has heard our cry, and will grant our request. Look at those clouds that are rising over the western hills, and gradually spreading like a curtain across the sky. For six weary weeks those clouds have been withheld, and we have been humbled; and, at times, our faith has well nigh failed. But the faithfulness of our God never fails; and now we are confident that, ere long, His blessing will descend upon us.' Mooanam made no reply; but he gazed intently on the gathering clouds, and then looked searchingly into Bradford's fine expressive countenance, as if to be assured that he had heard and understood aright. Squanto stood beside him; and his aid had been several times required by both parties, in order to the carrying out the above discourse: and now the Sachem drew him aside, and conversed earnestly with him in a low voice. He was making him repeat, in his own tongue, the words of the white man; and Bradford heard him say to the interpreter, as he turned away to rejoin him, 'Now we shall see whether the Great Spirit really hears the prayers of the white men.' The President understood this remark, and fervently he lifted up his own heart to the Lord, and prayed that the hopes of His suffering and trusting people might now be fulfilled; not only for their own relief, but also that the minds of the dark heathen might be impressed, and that they might see and feel the power and the goodness of the Christians' covenant God. While Mooanam and the Governor were engaged in conversation, the assembly had dispersed to their own homes; each family carrying with them their respective portion of the food so liberally offered by their Indian friends, and eager to partake of the first plentiful meal that they had enjoyed for several weeks; The hope of coming rain also cheered the hearts of the Pilgrims; and there was joy and gratitude throughout the village that evening. The Sachem and his people were gladly received and entertained in the dwellings of the Governor and principal inhabitants; and when Mooanam lay down to rest, he long gazed through the opening in the wooden wall of the chamber that formed its only window, and watched the heavy clouds as they sped across the sky, and observed the face of the glimmering moon, that looked out so calmly and brightly between their dark moving masses. The soul of the Sachem was deeply impressed; and he thought of all that Bradford had said to him, and wondered whether the God of the white men was indeed the God of the Indians also. CHAPTER XIII. 'It shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.' ISA. lxv, 24. Mooanam awoke from his sleep soon after the dawn of day appeared. He looked up at the open window, and a strange feeling of awe came over his soul, as he beheld the rain falling gently and steadily from the dull grey sky. He sprang to his feet, and hurried into the next apartment, where he found the President and his family already assembled, and gazing at the descending shower in silent admiration. The Sachem caught the hands of Bradford in both his own; and while a tear of deep emotion glistened in his dark eye he exclaimed-- 'Now I see that your God loves you. When the red men ask for rain, and use their conjuring arts to induce the Great Spirit to hear their wild cries, he gives it, it is true; but he gives it with hail and thunder, which makes the evil still greater. Your rain is of the right kind; it will restore the drooping corn. Now we see that your God hears you, and cares for you.' The same impression, to a certain degree, was made on all the Indians, who were taught to regard this seasonable rain as the settlers themselves regarded it--as a special interposition of Providence for their relief. And were they wrong in thus looking upon it as an answer to their prayers, from a prayer-hearing God? And was it vain superstition that led them to rejoice as much in this proof of the goodness and benevolence of the God whom they served, and of His guiding and protecting hand being outstretched for their succor, as in the prospect of coming plenty that was thus afforded to them? Surely not. Their faith, and love, and confidence in God were all animated and strengthened by their conviction that the relief thus seasonably received came directly from Him who has promised in his faithful Word, that _�all things,�_ whether joyous or grievous, 'shall work together for good to them that love Him; to them that are called according to His purpose.� So deeply was Hobomak, the Wampanoge interpreter, impressed by this instance of the pious trust of his white friends in the providence of their God, and of the protection they enjoyed under His guidance and government, that he gave himself up to a serious consideration of their religion and so sincere was his desire for spiritual knowledge, and so humble and teachable did he show himself, that, after a time, he was judged fit to be admitted into the pale of the Christian church. He was baptized as the first fruits of the settlers' efforts to evangelize the heathen among whom they had cast their lot: and he lived a firm friend of the white men, and died, after residing many years among them, 'leaving a good-hope that his soul went to rest.� The welcome rain continued to fall for several hours without intermission, on the morning that succeeded the Pilgrim's day of prayer and humiliation; and Mooanam sent his young men home to fish in the lake, while he remained with his white friends, intending to follow them in the afternoon, with a party of the settlers, to share their sport. As the day advanced, the clouds broke, and warm sunshine, interrupted by frequent refreshing showers, succeeded to the settled rain of the morning. So favorable, altogether, was the change, that Winslow gratefully remarks: 'It is difficult to say whether our withered corn, or our depressed spirits, were most refreshed and quickened. So great was the benevolence and goodness of our God!' The Pilgrims had prayed for rain; and when their prayers were granted, they did not neglect the equally incumbent Christian duty of thanksgiving. Again the congregation ascended 'the Burying Hill'; and again their united voices rose to heaven in prayers and songs of praise. Mooanam formed one of the assembly; and he listened with deep and reverent attention to the devotions of his friends, frequently applying to Hobomak, who stood at his side, to explain to him the words and sentences that he did not comprehend. The service concluded, and the women and children were descending the hill by the path that led to the village, leaving the Governor and his council to discuss some public business, and the other men to arrange themselves as usual into companies, for the manning of their fortification and other necessary employments. Just at that moment a native, attired in the costume and equipments of a Narragansett, was seen to approach the foot of the hill, bearing a bundle of strange appearance in his hands. With a quick and decided step he mounted the height, and glanced fiercely at the females and their children, whom he passed in the winding path, and who all involuntarily shrank from the gaze of his piercing and singularly expressive eye. In the breast of Janet that glance struck a chill of horror; for she had once before encountered it, and never could she forget or mistake it again. It seemed that Fingal recognized it also, and knew the evil that it foreboded. He was bounding down the hill by Edith's side, and, with expressive looks and actions, inviting the pensive child to join in his gambols, when the savage approached. Instantly he paused, and took his stand close to his young mistress, as if to guard her from some apprehended danger; and, as the red warrior passed, and bent his eye on Edith, the sagacious creature uttered a low deep growl, and seemed ready to spring at his throat, if the hand and voice of his young companion had not restrained him. Fingal was a noble specimen of the St. Bernard breed of dogs, whose sagacity is such as frequently to appear like human reason, and his intelligence was not inferior to that of the best of his race. In this instance it did not mislead him. The dark warrior strode on without one sign of courtesy, and paused not until he had entered the group of elders and councilors who stood around the President, prepared to attend him to the public hall. The white men made way for him to approach the Governor; and, as he did so, his keen eye met that of Rodolph Maitland, and instantly kindled with a deeper fire, and gleamed with an expression of almost diabolical vengeance, which was seen by Rodolph, and understood by him for he, too, could not fail to recognize in the Narragansett warrior that same Coubitant who had fought so well at 'the first encounter,' and who had afterwards attended the Nausett Chief, Tisquantum, when he and his people were repulsed in their attack on New Plymouth. It was evident to Maitland that this savage entertained towards him and his race a peculiar sentiment of hatred; but the cause of this feeling was unknown to him. The idea, however, that Henrich's loss was in some way connected with this man--or that he could give him some information respecting the nature of his son's death, and the place where his remains had been deposited--came forcibly to his mind; and, regardless of the cold malignant gaze that Coubitant fixed on him, he hastily approached him, and exclaimed in the Indian tongue--'Surely you are the Nausett warrior whom I saw with the Sachem of that tribe. If so, you can tell me the fate of my son--the boy who was carried off, and, I fear, cruelly slain when Tisquantum and his people retired from these woods. O, tell me how my boy was murdered, and where his dear remains were laid!� Rodolph's fine countenance was lighted up with eager animation. A tear of fond regret and affection glistened in his eye, and he could have grasped the hand of the swarthy savage, and almost have blessed him, if he would have told him that his darling Henrich had died by a single blow, and that his body had been laid unmolested to rest. But Coubitant drew back, and with a smile of fierce mockery and infernal triumph, replied briefly-- 'Ha! you found his bloody coat then. May your heart's blood soon flow forth as his did; and may my eyes see your body equally mangled and defaced!' At the same moment, he placed the bundle that he carried on the ground before the President, saying, 'This comes from the Chief of the Narragansetts!' and, turning away, hastily descended the hill, and was lost to view among the trees of the skirting wood, before the council had time to resolve on the course they should pursue respecting his detention, or Rodolph had recovered the shock that his cruel words had inflicted. The curiosity of the Governor and his friends was now directed to the strange-looking package that lay on the ground. On examination, they found the envelope to be composed of a dried snakeskin, which was quickly opened, and disclosed several Indian arrows. Squanto gazed on these with a significant look; and on being questioned by Bradford as to the meaning of so singular an offering, he informed him that it was the native mode of declaring war. The well-known enmity of the Narragansetts towards the Wampanoges--the friends and allies of the settlers--rendered this hostile declaration no surprise to the Governor and his council. But the fact of its being conveyed by Coubitant, who had so lately, in the character of a subordinate Narragansett chieftain, subscribed the written acknowledgement of King James's supremacy, excited no small astonishment. It was a source, also, of regret, as it proved how little dependence could be placed in the professions of the natives. To enter on a war with the numerous and powerful tribe of the Narragansetts, was likewise far from being desirable in any point of view; for the Pilgrims were little prepared either to meet such formidable antagonist's in the field, or to resist the continual attacks and aggression's that constitute the greatest share of Indian warfare. A consultation was therefore held as to the best method of replying to the challenge of the Narragansett Sachem; and it was finally determined that the most prudent and effectual course would be to show a resolute appearance, and give no cause to the native's to suppose that they dreaded their enmity. A bold acceptance of the challenge might, it was urged both by Squanto and Hobomak, strike terror into the savages, and deter them from prosecuting their present hostile intentions. Bradford, therefore, adopted the Indian method of communicating this reply by expressive signs; and, taking the arrows--which appeared to be poisoned--from the snakeskin, he placed some gunpowder and balls in the significant wrapper. He then inquired who among his trusty warrior's would volunteer to take the packet to the dwelling of Cundincus,[*] the Chief of the Narragansetts. Several offered their services; and, among those, none was so eager to be employed as Rodolph Maitland. He felt an earnest desire to see and speak with Coubitant once more: and no fear of the personal risk that he might incur in the expedition could deter him from thus making another attempt to obtain some certain information respecting his lost son. [Footnote: Afterwards called by the settlers, �Canonicus.�] Had the President known how much reason there was to fear that treachery might be exercised towards Maitland, he would surely not have suffered him thus to risk his valuable life. Rut he was ignorant of all the peculiar circumstances that had occurred to show that he was a special mark for the vengeance of Coubitant: and the confidence he felt in his courage and ability led him--on this occasion, as on many others--to select him as his ambassador. Two companions were assigned to him, and Squanto was desired to attend the party as interpreter. When Helen heard that her husband was appointed to convey a reply to the war-like message of the dark savage whom she had met on the hill, and whose aspect had filled her with terror, she felt an involuntary dread; and gladly would she have dissuaded him from accepting the office of ambassador--which she knew not he had so earnestly solicited--had she not been well aware that all such attempts would be useless. Rodolph was not a man to shrink from any service that was required of him for the public good; and least of all from any service that involved danger and difficulty. He, however, concealed from his anxious wife the fact that he had recognized in the Narragansett messenger a deadly and determined foe, knowing how greatly--and perhaps how justly--her fears would be increased, if she suspected that the Indian champion was one of those who had planned and executed the capture of her eldest son. But Janet had, as we have seen, remembered the swarthy savage, and the scene with which his countenance was associated in her mind; and when she had an opportunity of speaking to her master in private, she implored him to resign the embassy into other hands, and not thus rashly to encounter a foe, whose public conduct had proved him to be unworthy of confidence, and whose expression of countenance betokened both cruelty and treachery. But all her arguments were unavailing. Maitland had undertaken the charge of the expedition at his own request; and he would have felt himself dishonored in now declining it from any personal motives, even had he been, in the least degree, inclined to do so. On the contrary, his spirit was roused and excited by the very perils he was conscious he might have to encounter; and his desire to obtain, and convey to Helen, some intelligence of Henrich-- even if that intelligence should still for ever the doubts end hopes, that, in spite of every past circumstance, would sometimes arise in his own heart, and that of his own wife--was so great that nothing could have turned him from his purpose. He, therefore, desired the faithful Janet to preserve the same silence on the subject of Coubitant that she had already so judiciously adopted towards her mistress; and assured her that he would neglect no precaution that might preserve him from the treacherous intentions of the Indian, should any such be actually entertained by him. The next morning Rodolph started at break of day, to convey the reply of the Governor to the Narragansett Sachem, whose tribe inhabited the district now called Rhode Island, lying to the south-west of New Plymouth. He was accompanied by two friends, and likewise by the interpreter, Squanto. His faithful dog, Fingal, also showed such a strong desire to follow his master, that, although it was Maitland's usual custom to leave him at home as a guard, during any of his occasional absences, when his services in hunting were not required, he could not, in this instance, resist his eager pleadings. Helen, also, assured him that she should feel no apprehension at being deprived of her usual protector, as no danger was likely to menace her dwelling; and the increase in the population of the village, from the arrival of the new settlers, had added an inmate to the family, in the person of Claude Felton, a stout young laboring man, who had become the useful assistant of Maitland in his agricultural occupations, and proved a good and faithful servant. To his protection and watchful care Rodolph Maitland committed his little family; and, taking a cheerful farewell of his wife and Edith, he commenced his journey through the wild and almost trackless woods. Guided by Squanto, the party reached the village of Cundineus, and were received into the presence of the Sachem and his nephew Miantonomo, who shared with him the cares and the dignity of his chieftainship. With the assistance of the interpreter, Rodolph informed the Chiefs that he was the bearer of the reply of the mighty strangers to the bold challenge that had been sent to them on the part of Cundineus and Miantonomo; and he invited them to open the packet which he laid before them, in order that they might fully understand the nature of that reply, and judge whether the subjects of the powerful king of Great Britain were terrified at the audacity of the red men. Probably Squanto made some additions of his own to the harangue of the ambassador; for a very ludicrous change of expression appeared on the countenances of the savage Chieftains. The looks of fierce defiance with which they had received the embassy gave way to anxious and timid glances, which they hastily cast at the ominous snake-skin, while they involuntarily drew back, as if they feared it would explode, and punish their rash temerity. Rodolph saw the effect of Squanto's version of his speech, and resolved to increase it. He understood enough of the native tongue to perceive that the interpreter had alluded to the potent and deadly properties of the contents of the snake-skin, and he desired him to inform the Chiefs that the musket which he carried in his hand contained a very small portion of the same substance, and he would give them proof of its power. He then glanced for a moment into the lofty trees that surrounded the place of audience, and perceiving a monkey that was clinging to one of the wide-spreading branches, nod chattering angrily at the intrusive foreigners, he took a deliberate aim, and in another instant the creature lay lifeless and motionless on the ground. The Indians were startled at the report, and amazed at the effect of the invisible messenger of death. They hastened to examine the dead animal but one drop of blood issuing from its skull was the only indication that some missile had pierced its brain; and the veneration of the Narragansetts and their Chiefs for the prowess of the white men evidently rose in a great degree. But there was one among them who did not share the wonder or the awe of the assembly. He stood silent and motionless, at a little distance from the group, with his eyes intently fixed on Rodolph's countenance, and a smile of malignant scorn and triumph on his own dark features. His arms were folded across his scarred and painted breast, and his right hand grasped the handle of a long knife that was stuck into his deerskin belt. The action seemed to be involuntary, and without any present purpose; for he remained in the same position, unobserved by Rodolph, until he and his attendants had retired to the hut appointed them by Cundineus, to rest and refresh themselves, end await the reply of the Chief. Rodolph then desired Squanto to make inquiries for Coubitant, and, if possible, to bring him to the hut. But the sagacious interpreter had seen and recognized the white man�s face; and he earnestly entreated Maitland not to give him any opportunity of executing the vengeance which was evidently burning at his heart, and ready to break forth in some deed of fatal violence. Rodolph's English friends also joined so warmly in these entreaties that he at length consented that Squanto should seek the savage, and endeavor to draw from him all the information that he could give respecting Henrich's death. He did so, and a long conversation took place that evening, the result of which was that he assured Rodolph that his son had indeed been murdered in the wood, as he had always supposed, and that his scalp had been torn off even before life was extinct, whilst his body had been conveyed to the next encampment, and burned with many heathen rites, to appease the troubled spirit of Tisquantum's son Tekoa. The father shuddered, and turned away to hide the rising tear, as he listened to this harrowing but false account. He, however, fully believed it; and felt that, henceforth, it would be vain to cherish any hope concerning his son, except that blessed hope which is the privilege of the Christian--the sure and certain hope of meeting hereafter, in the presence of the God and Savior in whom he had taught his child to place his trust. He said no more; he did not even question Squanto as to the cause of his having spent so long a time in conferring with Coubitant, when all the information he had obtained amounted merely to the sad assurance that his son had suffered a dreadful death. Had he done so, the interpreter might have found it difficult to account for his conduct, as he had professed a strong dislike to Coubitant, and a distrust of all his motives and actions. The fact was, that the wily savage had discovered Squanto's love of importance, and his desire to be supposed to possess the confidence of the white men, and by flattering his vanity, he had drawn from him all the information he could give with respect to the strength of the settlers, and their capability of resisting an attack of the natives. Squanto took care to exaggerate the numbers and the power of his employers; but still it appeared to Coubitant, that if he could once more induce the neighboring tribes to combine and invade their territory, there was every probability of their being utterly exterminated and nothing short of this could satisfy the feeling of hatred that he entertained towards the whole race of the strangers. By way of exalting the might of the settlers in the minds of the native, Squanto assured Coubitant that the white men kept the plague, of which the Indians well knew the desolating effects, imprisoned in a cellar, where they also stowed, their gunpowder, and that they could let it loose upon their foes at their pleasure. This strange evidence was heard also by Miantonomo, whom Coubitant called to join the conference, as he, knew that he already hated the English; and he desired to strengthen that feeling to the utmost, for the furtherance of his own plans. From Coubitant, Squanto also received some intelligence, which, in the minds both of the superstitious interpreter and his heathen informant, was of vital importance to the settlers, and calculated to inspire them with dread. This was the awful fact that, a short time previous, several of the neighboring tribes had met in the adjacent forest, and that the Powows of the whole district had passed three days and nights in cursing the strangers, and uttering against them the most horrible imprecations. The effect of this diabolical proceeding, in causing the defeat of their foes, Coubitant did not do not; and, in spite of his veneration for the English, and his conviction that their deities were more powerful than the Indian demons, Squanto was filled with apprehensions on their account. He communicated the circumstance to Rodolph, and was surprised and almost offended at the smile of indifference and contempt with which the Christian listened to him. But he found it impossible to make him attach any importance to what seemed to him so serious a calamity; and, by degrees, his own fears subsided and his mind was reassured by the arguments and the cool composure of Maitland. Rodolph and his companions lay down to rest for the night in the Indian hut, across the entrance of which Squanto placed several strong boughs, and spread a cloak of deer-skin over them. This was done ostensibly for the purpose of keeping out the cold night wind, but really to serve as a screen from the prying eyes of Coubitant, whose intentions he much mistrusted, and also as an obstacle to any attempt he might possibly make to violate the laws of honor and hospitality, by a secret attack on the person of the ambassador. Whether the savage actually meditated any such act of treachery, was not known; but if he approached the hut with a murderous purpose, he was probably deterred more by the fierce growlings of Fingal--who lay at the entrance, but scarcely slept that night--than by the barrier of boughs and deerskin. Several times were the party awakened by the trusty watch-dog's angry bark; and once, when Rodolph hastened to the entrance, and drew aside the curtain, he thought he could descry more than one retreating figure in the uncertain darkness. The continued uneasiness of Fingal prevented his master from again giving way to sleep until after day had dawned, when his faithful guard became tranquil, and he likewise sought the repose which he greatly needed before recommencing his fatiguing journey. Ere he set out on his homeward way, Rodolph again repaired, with Squanto, to the presence of the Chief; to demand his message to the British Governor; and he was informed by Cundincus, that he had already dispatched a messenger to restore the dreaded packet, and to deprecate the wrath of the pale-faced Chieftain. This was all the ambassador could desire; and, taking a courteous leave of the Sachem, he and his attendants resumed their journey without further delay. For a considerable distance their path lay through the forest; and the underwood was so close and thick that the road consisted of a narrow track, scarcely wider than would admit of two persons passing one another along it, and only calculated for travelling in 'Indian file,' which is so much practiced by the natives. In this manner our party proceeded, Rodolph leading the way, and his attendants following singly; while Fingal, who seemed rejoiced to have left the village, bounded along at his master's side, ever and anon leaping up to express his joy by licking his face and hands. 'Down, Fingal!' said his master, kindly patting his favorite's head, and stroking his thick shaggy mane. 'Down, my good fellow; your joy is too boisterous for this narrow, thorny path. You shall expend your superfluous strength and spirits on the plain yonder; for I think I detect some game scudding across the green meadow before us.' Rodolph paused to adjust his gun; and the sagacious dog ceased his wild demonstrations, end paused also until the task was completed. Then as his master rose to proceed, he once more sprang up to his shoulder, end his intelligent eyes asked leave to dash through the covert, and drive out the expected game. But why did that bound of pleasure change instantaneously into a convulsion of agony? and why did the noble creature fall by his master's side and look so earnestly up into his face? Surely, in the midst of his own death struggle, he sought to tell him, with that mute eloquence of love, that danger was near. Rodolph knew that it was so; but no danger could then have compelled him to leave his dying friend-- the friend whose life was now ebbing away as a sacrifice for his own. Yes! the shaft that had pierced through the neck of Fingal was designed for Rodolph's breast; and he who cast it deemed that it had found its intended mark, when, through the bushes, he saw the white man's form bend quickly and suddenly to the ground. Then Coubitant fled exultingly, and his savage heart beat high with joy and triumph. But Rodolph thought not of him, or of his malice. He only saw his faithful dog expiring at his side, and knew that he had no power to aid him. It was evident that the arrow was poisoned, for the wound, otherwise, appeared too slight to be mortal; and the foam that gathered on Fingal's jaws, and the convulsive struggle that shook his form, showed too plainly that his sufferings would soon be over. The companions of Rodolph urged him to join them in instant flight; for they felt the peril of their present situation, where the surrounding thicket gave such ample opportunity to their lurking foes to take a deadly aim, while, at the same time, it prevented them from either discovering or pursuing their assailants. But all their arguments, and all their entreaties, were unavailing so long as Fingal continued to lick his master's caressing hand, and to reply to his well-known voice, by looks of intelligent affection. Soon, however, his head sank powerless on Rodolph's knee, and the bright glance of his eye faded away, and life and motion ceased. Was it unmanly in his master to brush a tear from his eye, as he rose from the ground, and turned away one moment from the lifeless form of his favorite? �I will not leave him here,' he said. 'The savages shall not mangle his body, as they would gladly have mangled mine. His death has saved my life; and all that remains of him shall be carried to a place of safety, and buried beyond the reach of those who slew him.' 'Yes,' replied Squanto readily--for he desired the removal of the dog from that spot, for other reasons beside the gratification of Maitland's feelings--' Yes; we will carry him away, and hide him from Coubitant�s eyes. Doubtless he will return here, as soon as all is quiet, to see the success of his murderous attempt; and when he finds the path thus stained with blood, he will be satisfied, and pursue us no further than to see whether we bury our dead companion in the forest, or bear him to his home. We must, therefore, carry Fingal all the way to New Plymouth, lest he should follow on our trail, and discover that he has only slain a dog.� Rodolph's English companions concurred in this view, and willingly lent their aid to convey the body of Fingal from the place of his death. A couple of poles were cut hastily, and a rude light litter was formed; for Squanto wished that Coubitant should find traces of such preparations, as they would help to convince him that they had thus borne away the wounded or dead form of the ambassador. 'Now,' said he, when all was ready, 'not another moment must be lost. Even now the keen eye of the foe may be upon us, and our stratagem may be in vain. Two of you must bear the litter, and must carefully place your feet in the same spot, so as to form but one track; and lead our pursuers to believe that only three men have passed along. And there, throw that bloody handkerchief on the path, and Coubitant will take it as a trophy of success. �Stay,� he exclaimed, as Rodolph and one of his friends were about to raise the lifeless form of Fingal from the ground 'stay one moment, and I will completely deceive that deceiver.' He smiled as he spoke, for he felt it a pleasure and a triumph to outwit the wily Coubitant. Then, while the body of the dog was supported, he carefully pressed his feet on the soft path, so as to leave a distinct impression, and convince any who should examine the trail that it was not the dog who had been wounded. This cunning device he practiced again and again until they had passed through the wood, and entered the grassy meadow, where such precautions were no longer needed. Then the party quickened their steps, and paused not again until they had struck deeply into the forest that succeeded to the undulating reach of meadowland. The way seemed long to Rodolph. He desired to reach his cherished home; and yet he dreaded to return and sadden the heart of his little Edith with the story of Fingal's death, and the sight of the inanimate form of her last and much-loved playfellow. Had it not been for this catastrophe, he would have kept from his wife and child the knowledge of the cruel attempt that had been made on his life as such knowledge could only distress them, and cause them needless anxiety and alarm in future. But the death of Fingal must be accounted for; and, let the consequence be what it might, it must be accounted for truly, and without prevarication. Therefore it was that Rodolph dreaded meeting those whose presence was the joy and the sunlight of his life. He reached his home, and silently entered his blooming garden; and, with Squanto's assistance, laid the body of Fingal, now cold and stiff, beneath the venerable tree that shaded Edith's bower. Then he entered his dwelling, and found its inmates busily employed at their usual domestic occupations, and overjoyed at his sudden and unexpected arrival. But, in spite of his own pleasure, a shade of sadness and anxiety was on his brow, which he could not hide from the quick eye of Helen; and she eagerly inquired the cause. Sadly Rodolph told his story; and joy and deep gratitude for the preservation of her beloved husband so filled and engrossed the heart of Helen, as, for a time, to overpower every feeling of regret for the loss of the faithful animal, who seemed to have been providentially directed to accompany his master, and save his life at the sacrifice of his own. But Edith keenly felt the loss she had sustained. She was thankful-- very thankful--that her father had been restored to their home in safety; but she did not the less deplore the death of her dear companion: and, unable to restrain her tears, she hurried from the house, and ran to hide her grief in her lonely bower. For some time her parents did not perceive her absence, for they were occupied with their own feelings of pious gratitude; but presently Rodolph remarked that she had left the room, and remembered where he had deposited the body of her favorite. He rose, and went towards the spot, accompanied by Helen; and tears of sorrowful sympathy arose in the eyes of both, as they beheld the desolate child lying on the ground by Fingal�s side, with her arms around his neck, and her long waving hair hanging over his inanimate face, that had never before met her gaze without an answering look of intelligence and affection. Gently they raised her, and spoke to her words of love and comfort; but she long refused to be comforted. And though, at length, she became calm and resigned, and never was heard to utter one murmur at this fresh stroke of sorrow, yet her pensive sadness became more confirmed, and plainly showed that she mourned for Fingal, not only as her lost companion, but also as a connecting link between her own heart and the memory of her lamented brother. Poor Edith! her early life was one of trial and disappointment; but �it was good for her to be afflicted.' CHAPTER XIV. 'O Christian warriors! wherefore did you thus Forget the precepts of your Lord and Chief, And lend yourselves to deeds of guilt and blood! Did ye not know--or, knowing, did not heed-- Those solemn words of His, when death was nigh, And He bequeathed a _legacy of "peace"_ To His disciples? �They that take the sword Shall perish with the sword.� O, well it were If ye who left your native land, and sought A desert for the liberty of faith, Had acted more according to that faith, And sought to win the souls you rashly sent To meet their God and yours!' ANON. Yes, well, indeed, lied it been if the settlers had been able and willing to preserve, unbroken, the friendly relations with the Indians, which, after the first natural distrust felt by the natives towards the white strangers had subsided, they were, in several instances, able to establish. But such was not the case. They received many provocations from the natives, even from those who professed to be most friendly towards them, and also from the settlers who followed them from the mother-country; and they did not always meet these provocations in the truly Christian spirit which, it must be allowed, generally pervaded their councils, and actuated their public and private proceedings with the wild tribes by whom they were surrounded. Even Masasoyt--their friend and ally--was about this time nearly estranged from them, and on the point of joining the Narragansetts in a project for their destruction. This change in his sentiments was the result of the machinations of Coubitant, assisted by the foolish pretensions and love of interference which rendered Squanto almost as dangerous as he was useful to his employers. His boasting tales about the power of the English settlers to imprison and to let loose the desolating plague at their will and pleasure, had been told to the Sagamore of the Wampanoges, as well as to Coubitant and Miantonomo; and suspicions had arisen in the breast of Masasoyt, which he vainly strove to infuse into his more enlightened and trustworthy son, Mooanam. Nothing that his father could say had any effect in weakening the friendship entertained by the young Sachem, and his brother Quadequina, towards the emigrants; and it was owing to this steady friendship that they were made acquainted with the altered feelings of the Sagamore in time to prevent their ripening into open hostility. Mooanam communicated to the President the doubts and suspicions that had taken possession of his father's mind, and advised him immediately to send the faithful and devoted Hobomak to Packanokick, to endeavor to remove the evil impression, and restore his confidence in the Pilgrim Fathers. He also convinced both Bradford and his council that the conspiracy which Squanto had represented as already formed, and only waiting the concurrence of Masasoyt to be carried into deadly effect, was as yet in its infancy, and might, by judicious management, be altogether broken up. The Pokanokit interpreter had greatly exaggerated, in his report to the Governor, all that he had heard from Coubitant while at the Narragansett village; and had persuaded him, in spite of the opinion expressed by Rodolph, to believe not only that he and his people had been cursed by the Powows, but also that the tribes to which these satanic conjurors belonged were uniting for the common purpose of attacking and destroying the British settlement. All this was done by Squanto, with no serious intention of injuring his new friends, but from a vain desire to make himself important, and show the extent of his knowledge and sagacity. His vanity was, however, very near proving fatal to him: for when the trusty Hobomak had explained to the Sagamore the real motives and intentions of the settlers towards the natives, and had convinced him that all the strange and mysterious stories that Squanto delighted to tell were either pure inventions or gross exaggerations, a second change was effected in the old Chief's feelings, and he sent to demand that the faithless interpreter should be immediately delivered up to him. The Governor was extremely reluctant to comply with this demand, as he well knew how cruel and how summary were the judgements of the native Chiefs; and he, as well as the whole of the colony, felt a regard for Squanto, notwithstanding his folly and his errors. Nevertheless, the Pokanokit was a subject of the Sagamore, who had made an express stipulation in his treaty with the settlers that any of his people, who might take up their abode in the colony, should be given up to him whenever he required it; and therefore Bradford felt himself compelled to abandon Squanto to his fate. The messengers who accompanied Hobomak on his return to New Plymouth were loaded with a quantity of valuable beaver-skins, which they laid in a pile at the Governor's feet, as a bribe to induce him to comply with Masasoyt's demand. These the Governor rejected with indignant scorn, observing that no man's life could be purchased from the English; and that if he resigned the interpreter into the power of his native sovereign, it was only because truth and justice required it, and not from any base motives either of fear or advantage. Then the messengers approached the wretched man, who stood calmly awaiting the decision of the Governor; and he saw one of them draw from his belt the knife that Masasoyt had commanded him to plunge into the culprit's heart. But Squanto did not tremble. All the native fortitude, so characteristic of his race, was manifested in this awful moment; and the bystanders felt a respect for the Pokanokit that he had never before inspired. Gladly would each individual have interposed to save him; and breathlessly they watched the movements of the President, whose signal was to fix the moment of Squanto's death. Bradford hesitated: the word trembled on his lips, when suddenly looking towards the sea from the summit of �the Burying Hill,' on which the assembly stood, he espied a shallop bounding over the waves, and advancing directly towards the shore beneath. He made this a pretext--certainly, not a very well grounded one�for delaying the execution of Squanto's sentence; and declared that he would not give the fatal signal until he had ascertained the object and the contents of the approaching vessel. This faltering on the part of the Governor excited great wrath in the messengers of Masasoyt; and, without any farther parley, they took up their beaver skins, and departed to their home. Squanto's forfeited life was thus providentially spared; and the conduct of Bradford was, through Mooanam's good offices, overlooked b the Sagamore. But that life was not greatly prolonged. Very soon after this event he was seized with I virulent fever, while on a short journey with the Governor, and, in spite of all the care and attention that were bestowed on him, he died, much regretted by the whole colony. The boat, whose seasonable approach had been the means of arresting the fatal stroke, was found to have been sent from some English fishing vessels, many of which now constantly frequented the shores of New England. It conveyed to the colony an addition of several able-bodied men, who were joyfully welcomed by the settlers, as laborers were just then much wanted, both in the fields and in the increasing town. These men were sent out by an English merchant named Weston, who had long endeavored to encourage the colonization of New England; but from very different motives to those which had actuated the Pilgrim Fathers, and led them to forsake the comforts of a European home for the toils and uncertainties of an American wilderness. A desire for profit appears to have been the ruling principle in Weston's mind. He was, therefore, very indifferent as to the moral character of the men whom he sent out to join the emigrants, and was only solicitous to secure a quick return of the money that he had expended: and, finding that the prospect of gain from a connection with the New Plymouthers was doubtful and tardy, he had resolved to found a colony himself. For this purpose he had, some time previously, obtained a grant of a portion of land in Massachusetts, and sent over sixty men to cultivate it, in two ships, which he placed under the command of his brother-in- law. The arrival of this fresh band of emigrants had proved a fruitful source of trouble and annoyance to the first settlers, for they were chiefly idle and profligate vagabonds, who had no settled occupation at home, and no characters to sustain. Weston himself described them in a letter to Bradford, as 'tolerably rude and profane.' And a friend of the Pilgrims wrote from England to warn them against having any connection with the new colony: and recommended them to have it distinctly explained to the Indians, that they were a new and independent society, for whose conduct and good faith they could in no way be responsible. Notwithstanding all these warnings, and the very unprepossessing appearance of the new emigrants, the Plymouthers had shown more kindness and hospitality than they had prudence and caution: and had received their countrymen into their own settlement on their arrival in America. They had even permitted on half of their number to reside at New Plymouth during the whole summer, while the strongest and healthiest had proceeded to Massachusetts to fix on a spot for their settlement, and prepare habitations. They had decided on a place called Wessagussett,[*] a little to the south of Boston; and thither they were afterwards followed by their companions from New Plymouth. The long residence of these men among the pious and high-minded Pilgrims had not, however, made any salutary impression on their minds: and all the kindness and hospitality they had received were most ungratefully forgotten. [Footnote: New Weymouth] In various ways the new colony vexed and annoyed the men of Plymouth; but in no way more seriously than by their conduct towards the natives, which was so different to the just and upright dealings of the Pilgrims, that the Indians began to lose their confidence in the white men, and to suspect deceit and imposition where hitherto they had only found truth and justice. Weston's colony was, indeed, scarcely settled at Wessagussett, before complaints were sent by the Indians to their friends at Plymouth, of the repeated depredations that were committed by the new settlers, who were continually carrying off their stores of corn, and other property: and these accusations were by no means surprising to Bradford and his council, as they had already detected them in many acts of theft during their stay at New Plymouth. The harvest of this year was poor and scanty; and the great accession to their numbers, caused by the visit of Weston's settlers, had entirely consumed the stores of the Plymouthers, and reduced them again to actual want. Joyfully, therefore, they hailed the arrival of two ships from the mother country, laden with knives, beads, and various other articles, that would be acceptable to the Indians in the way of barter, and enable the settlers to purchase from them the necessary supply of provisions, for which they had hitherto been compelled to pay very dear in skins and furs. Meanwhile, the colony of Wessagussett was in a still worse condition. They had quickly consumed all the food with which the generous Plymouthers had supplied them, and had then stolen everything on which they could lay their hands. They had also sold almost all their clothes and bedding, and even their weapons; and were brought to such extreme necessity that they did not refuse to do the meanest services for the Indians who dwelt near their settlement, in return for such means of subsistence as the red men were able to furnish them with. For this condescension--so unlike the dignified yet kind deportment of the Plymouthers--the natives despised them, and treated them with contempt, and even violence. Thus early was the British name brought into disrepute with the Indians, when men bearing that name came among them for mere purposes of speculation and profit, and ware not governed by the Christian principles of humanity and justice that distinguished the earliest settlers in New England from all those who followed them. Nor did the evil consequences of their ill conduct rest with themselves. They fell also on the peaceably-disposed colony of Plymouth, and were the means of involving them in hostilities with the natives, which had hitherto been warded off by the kind and judicious management of the Governor and his assistants. The general state of peace which had, up to this period, been maintained with the Indians, was greatly to be attributed to the bold and decisive measures that were always adopted by Miles Standish, the military chief of the little community, and the leader of every warlike expedition. He well knew how to impress the natives with a due respect, for he never tolerated the slightest injury or insult, and yet he never permitted his men to be guilty of any act of injustice or oppression towards the red men. Since the arrival of Weston's disorderly colony, Captain Standish had shown himself even more decided in maintaining the rights and the dignity of the Plymouthers, and had endeavored to show the natives that they were not to identify the new comers with those whom they had already learnt to know and to respect. But at length, in spite of all these judicious measures, the Pilgrims were drawn into the quarrel that subsisted between their countrymen of Wessagussett and the natives; and, having drawn the sword, they certainly forgot the principles of mercy and humanity that had hitherto guided them. Active measures were, undoubtedly, called for; but cruelty and stratagem were unworthy of these Christian warriors. The continued marauding expeditions of the men of Wessagussett had exasperated the neighboring tribes to the last degree; and the state of weakness to which they were reduced by their own thoughtless and improvident conduct, led the natives to suppose that they would fall an easy prey to their combined force. They, therefore, again formed a combination to attack and utterly destroy these oppressive intruders into their country. Probably the council of Chiefs, who met in the depths of the forest to arrange their plan of operations, would have contented themselves with contriving the destruction of the new and offending colony, which they might easily have effected had they confined their projected operations to that object alone. But there was one in the council who could not rest satisfied with such a partial vengeance on the white strangers; and his fiery eloquence, and false assertions and insinuations, prevailed over the rest of the Chiefs to disregard every treaty, and every obligation that ought to have bound them to the settlers of New Plymouth, and to include them also in their savage scheme of massacre and plunder. The argument by which he finally overcame the scruples of those Chiefs who had allied themselves with the first emigrants, and had acquired a regard and respect for them, was one of self-preservation. He boldly asserted that the men of New Plymouth would never either pardon or forget the destruction of their countrymen of Wessagussett, but would immediately lay aside the mask of kindness and forbearance with which they had hitherto concealed their undoubted project of acquiring the dominion of the whole country, and gradually destroying the red men; and would call forth all their supernatural powers, and blast them with fire and plague, unless they were taken by surprise, and annihilated at one fell swoop. All the superstitious fears of the ignorant natives were thus aroused, and if there were any in the assembly who were too well acquainted with the white men to credit all that Coubitant asserted, they thought it either unsafe or unwise to express their opinions any further. Happily for the settlers, one such faithful and friendly spirit was there to watch for their interests, and provide for their preservation. Masasoyt had resumed all his kindly feelings towards his English allies, since the misunderstanding occasioned by Squanto's meddling propensities had been explained away by the trusty Hobomak. He had also recently been visited by Edward Winslow, when he was afflicted with a severe illness, and the Christian soldier had ministered to his relief in a way that had excited both the wonder and the lively gratitude of the Sagamore. When, therefore, he obeyed the summons of Coubitant to join the general council of Chiefs, he had no intention of consenting to any hostile measures being undertaken against his powerful and beneficent friends. Weston's wild and disorderly crew had excited his anger in common with that of all the other neighboring Sachems; and he was quite willing to combine with his red brethren for their chastisement--perhaps, even for their utter destruction: but he did not confound the Pilgrim Fathers, who had never failed in truth and honesty, with the deceitful and marauding vagabonds who wore white faces, and called themselves Christian subjects of King James, while they acted like heathen savages. At first, Masasoyt met the malignant arguments and false assertions of Coubitant with an open and generous statement of the upright conduct of the strangers towards himself and his tribe, during the three years of their residence in New England; and urged the assembled Chiefs to beware how they attempted to molest men whose power to resist and punish any such attempt was only equaled by their willingness and ability to benefit those who treated them with confidence and integrity. But he soon perceived that his arguments in favor of mercy and justice were powerless, when opposed to the fierce and crafty harangues of Coubitant; and he, therefore, forbore to make any further reply, and even appeared to acquiesce in the decision of the council, that the only means of securing the safety and independence of the Indian tribes was utterly to exterminate the invaders. The proposed plan for accomplishing this barbarous project, was first to surround and fall on the miserable and sickly colony of Wessagussett; and then, before the news of the massacre could reach New Plymouth, to hasten thither, and wreak on its unsuspecting and unprepared inhabitants the same fierce vengeance. The day and hour were fixed, and every necessary preliminary was minutely arranged; and then the council broke up, and the Chiefs returned to their respective dwellings, to collect and fully arm their followers, and prepare to meet again at the appointed time and place, with both hands and hearts read to execute the bloody deed. Masasoyt retired like the rest; and, attended by the little band of warriors who formed his bodyguard, be took the forest path that led to his dwelling at Packanokick. But he did not long pursue that path. When he had proceeded such a distance through the forest as to feel sure that he should not, by turning to the right, cross the route of any of the other Chiefs, he dismissed all his followers, except two of the most trusty and confidential. The rest he desired to proceed immediately to Packanokick, and inform his people that they must prepare for a warlike expedition, and that he was going to visit his son, Mooanam, in order to give him directions to join in the enterprise with that portion of the tribe that was under his authority. This was very far from being the truth; but the Indian Sagamore considered that every falsehood and stratagem was allowable, and even meritorious, that could further a desired object, especially if that object was so undoubtedly good in itself as that which now engrossed his thoughts and wishes. He did not know that it is sin to �do evil that good may come�; and therefore we must judge him by his generous motives, and not by his heathen practice. Having thus freed himself from those on whose discretion and fidelity he could not fully rely, he changed his course, and traveled straight towards New Plymouth. There was no beaten track through the tangled woods in that direction; but the position of the sun, and the appearance of the trees, were sufficient guides for the sagacious Indian Chief, and, in spite of his advanced age, he pursued his way with vigor and activity. Frequently his path was obstructed by the luxuriant growth of underwood, or by the cable-like creepers that hung in every direction, crossing each other like the rigging of a ship, and presenting obstacles that nothing but the tomahawks that hung from the girdles of the natives enabled them to overcome. With these weapons-- ever ready, in the hand of an Indian, either to cut his way through the forest, to fell the timbers for his wigwam or his canoe, to slay the game that his arrows have brought to the ground, or to cleave the skull of his enemy--did old Masasoyt and his devoted followers divide the large tough climbing plants that obstructed their passage. Sometimes, also, when the sun was totally obscured and the necessary windings in their course would hive rendered them uncertain whether they were following the right direction, these useful tomahawks enabled them to consult the Indian compass. The manner in which these children of the wilderness supply to themselves the want of that invaluable instrument is both curious and ingenious, and it proved of essential use to the Wampanoge Chief on this occasion. Whenever he found himself at fault from the absence of the sun, or any other direct indication of the proper course, he raised his battle-axe, and struck a heavy blow at some neighboring pine or birch tree, on each side of which he cut a deep notch, and then, by examining the grain of the wood, he could tell which was the north, and which the south side--the former being easily ascertained by the greater closeness of the concentric rings, and consequent hardness of the fiber. The sap being more drawn to the south side by the action of the sun, causes the rings on that side to swell more; and this operation of nature has been observed by nature's children, and employed by them as a sure guide in their long wanderings through the pathless forests where they find a home. The journey to New Plymouth was rather a long one; but the Sagamore and his companions were each provided with a small quantity of their usual travelling food, _nokake_--or meal made of parched maize--which they carried, in true Indian fashion, in their hollow leathern girdles. When they came to a pond, or brook, they paused to eat a few handsful of this simple provision, which is so dry that it can only be swallowed when either water or snow is at hand, ready to wash down each mouthful; and, consequently, in summer the natives have sometimes to travel long distances before they can avail themselves of the food that is already in their hands. Immediately on his arrival at New Plymouth, the Sagamore repaired to the dwelling of Bradford; and, requesting a private interview--at which no one was allowed to be present except the Wampanoge interpreter Hobomak--he informed him of the conspiracy of the natives, and warned him to be well prepared for the intended attack. Could he have given this warning, and ensured the safety of his allies, without betraying the whole of the conspirators' projects, he would gladly have done so; for he both despised and hated the men of Wessagussett, and he was willing that they should he treated as they seemed disposed to treat such of his race as they could get into their power. He even made an attempt to persuade Bradford to leave them to the fate they so well deserved, and to connive at their destruction, which would remove an increasing evil from the first colony. But the President soon convinced him that such a course would be altogether at variance with the precepts and principles of that religion in which he gloried, and which it was his chief aim, and that of all his Christian brethren, to exalt and make honorable in the eyes of the natives: and that, therefore, no selfish considerations could induce them to abandon their countrymen to destruction, notwithstanding their ingratitude towards themselves, and their ill conduct towards the Indians. With this decision Masasoyt was extremely dissatisfied: but he could not now withdraw the information he had imparted, even if he desired it; and he also felt it to be most politic to secure the friendship of the white men, even if it should involve the sacrifice of the lives of some of his own countrymen, and interfere with their projects of vengeance on their foes. This was most likely to be the case in the present instance; for the Governor was excited to great indignation by the intelligence f this second conspiracy, in which several of the Chiefs who had signed the treaty with Captain Standish were concerned; and he immediately summoned the gallant soldier, and the rest of his council, to deliberate on the best means of defeating it. It now only wanted three days of the time appointed for the gathering of the red warriors, and the attack on Wessagussett. No time was, therefore, to be lost; and it was soon determined that Standish, with a band of eight men, should march the following morning at day-break, and come stealthily upon the savages before they could he fully prepared for the assault. It was a bold--perhaps a rash--measure, for so small a party to go forth, and encounter the native forces thus combined. But Standish, though a man of prudence and discretion, was a stranger to fear; and he and his followers had already learnt the power of order and discipline, in compensating for any disadvantage of numbers. It was, therefore, with cheerful confidence that the military force of the settlement prepared for their march and they plainly showed on what that confidence was founded, by requesting the prayers of the congregation for their success. A great part of the night was, accordingly, spent in prayer; and the blessing of the God of truth and mercy was solemnly asked upon an enterprise that the leaders well knew was about to be carried out by fraud and cruelty. At sunrise, the soldiers met on 'the Burying Hill,' and the staff of office was given, with much solemnity, to Captain Standish, by the pious and venerable Brewster. They had already taken leave of their wives and families, who did not altogether share the cheerful exultation displayed by the Puritan warriors; and who were not permitted to be present at this final ceremony, lest their anxious fears should disturb the composure of their husbands and fathers. Notwithstanding this characteristic prohibition, Helen, and her younger daughter Edith, had ventured to station themselves in the path that led down 'the Burying Hill,' in the direction in which Standish and his men were to march, that they might take one more farewell of Rodolph before he left them on an expedition which, to their minds, seemed fraught with danger and uncertainty; and where they feared he might again be exposed to the vengeance of his untiring foe. The gallant little band marched down the hill, and came where Edith and her child stood waiting, beneath a tree, for what might be their last look on one most dearly loved; and when Rodolph saw them he forgot the strictness of discipline and order required by his commander, and left the ranks to indulge the feelings of his heart, by again embracing his weeping wife and child. The stern captain instantly recalled him; and when he saw a tear glistening in the eye of the husband and father, a slight expression of wonder and contempt passed over his countenance. He marveled that so brave a soldier and so strict a Puritan as Rodolph Maitland should still remain subject to so much worldly weakness. But Standish was not, at that time, a married man; and he was very deeply imbued with all the severe and unbending principles of his sect, which even went so far as to demand the suppression of all natural feelings--making it a fault for a mother to kiss her children on the Lord's day--and inflicting actual punishment on the captain of a ship for having embraced his wife on 5 Sunday, when, after a long separation, she hurried to meet him, as he landed from the vessel! To such puerile littlenesses will even great minds descend. Rodolph was unmoved by the commander's contemptuous glance. He knew his own unflinching Puritan principles, and his own undaunted courage; and he knew his value in the eyes of Standish. The captain knew it also, for he never liked to go on any enterprise that required bravery and cool judgement without securing the aid of Maitland; and although the tenderness of his friend's feelings, and the warmth of his domestic attachments--so different to the coolness and apathy which was so prevalent in the community--were a continual subject of surprise and pity to the iron-hearted leader, yet he highly respected him, and even loved him, as much as such a gentle feeling as love of any kind could find admittance to his breast. They journeyed on then�that stern captain, who had no tie to life, and deemed it a privilege to die with 'the sword of the Lord and of Gideon' in his hand, fighting for the cause of his own peculiar sect, in which alone he thought salvation could be found; and that warm-hearted husband and father, who felt that he had left behind him what was far dearer than life itself--those who alone made life precious to him-and who yet was willing to sacrifice all, if honor and duty demanded it. Which was the braver man of the two? Both were brave; but Standish was the most unscrupulous. He considered that any stratagem was lawful which could place his heathen enemies in his power; and no arguments of the high-minded and truthful Maitland could convince him that deceit and treachery, even towards their infidel foes, were unworthy of Christian warriors. Miles Standish was resolved to use some device to get the chiefs of the conspiracy off their guard, and, by destroying them, to break up the hostile confederacy altogether: and as Maitland was bound to obey his orders, and also knew the utter impossibility either of changing the resolves of his captain or of deserting the enterprise, he was compelled to join in proceedings that he could not approve. When the little band had arrived at the spot indicated by Masasoyt, and within a short distance of the Indian place of rendezvous, Standish commanded his men to halt for rest and refreshment for the last time before the expected encounter with the army of savages who were assembling for their destruction. This halting-place was situated on the summit of a considerable elevation, well covered with trees and bushes, and overlooking a plain, on the further side of which the Indian camp was formed. The advantageous position in which the emigrants were posted enabled them to obtain a full view of their enemies without being perceived by them; and Captain Standish resolved to remain there quietly that night, in order to recruit the strength of his men after their rapid and toilsome journey, and to mature his plans for subduing the horde of natives before him with so small a band as now surrounded him, and who waited but his orders to rush on to the most desperate enterprise. The Wampanoge interpreter, Hobomak, accompanied the party at his own desire, and that, also, of his sovereign, Masasoyt. Standish was glad of his assistance in his capacity of interpreter: he had already shown such devoted attachment to the English, that they entertained no fears of his either betraying or deserting their cause; and, on this occasion, he fully justified their confidence. Early in the morning, the leader announced his intention of going himself to the Indian camp, to make overtures of peace, and to invite the Chiefs to a conference; and he desired his men to construct a strong and spacious wigwam for their reception, and to make a door to it, which could be closed and fastened securely. He did not then explain his project more clearly; but Rudolph understood it, and his soul revolted from the treachery he suspected. 'Now,' said the captain, having finished his directions to his well-disciplined followers, 'who will volunteer to go down with me and Hobomak to the heathen camp, and to carry the flag of truce before me? It may be a service of danger to enter that hornet's nest; and no one who has left his soldier's heart at home with his wife or his children, had better attempt it.' Rudolph felt the sarcasm, though it was uttered good humoredly, and he instantly replied-- 'I am ready, my chief, to attend you wherever you may go; and if I have left my heart's affections at New Plymouth, you shall see that I have brought with me none the less of courage and fidelity to my leaders and my countrymen. The dearer my home, the more energetic shall be my efforts to preserve it from desolation. Besides,' he added, In an undertone, so that only Standish should hear: 'I much prefer going boldly into the midst of the enemy, even at the risk of my life, to remaining here to assist in constructing a trap for their destruction.' 'You are a brave fellow, Maitland,' said the captain, grasping his hand with warmth and energy, 'but you have brought some peculiar prejudices over from Europe with you, and do not yet perceive the difference of warring on equal terms with civilized troops--as you were accustomed to do in your youth--and contending with a horde of savages, who know nothing of the laws of honor, and who are even now combined to destroy us all, without either challenge or preparation. Come along with me, and leave the rest to do as I have directed. Necessity has no law; and if we do not meet those cunning natives with equal cunning, we shall have no chance against them.' 'Truth and sincerity appear to me the strongest necessity; and the God of truth will order the results as he pleases,' answered Rodolph. 'But I have sworn to obey your orders, and you need not fear the constancy of either my heart or hand. I know my duty as a soldier, and I will do it.' 'I know you will, Maitland,' replied his commander; and his respect for his conscientious friend rose higher than ever, while a slight misgiving as to the righteousness of his own projected plan passed through his breast. It did not abide there, however, for he was really satisfied that he was acting in conformity to the will of God, and that he was fully justified in asking for His blessing to crown his murderous schemes with success. Maitland took the flag of truce, which consisted of a long spear, with a white handkerchief attached to the summit, and preceded the captain, who followed in full uniform, attended by his swarthy interpreter. As soon as they emerged from the wood that covered the halting-place, and entered the open plain, they were espied by the keen and watchful eyes of the natives; and a messenger was dispatched to meet them, and bring them to the presence of the Indian leader, Wattawamat, who was regarded as the chief of the conspirators. Captain Standish assumed a pacific air, and desired Hobomak to advance before him, and inform the Chiefs that he came to propose terms of reconciliation and peace. He then himself approached them; and, with the aid of the interpreter, made to them a rather lengthy harangue on the benefits that would accrue to them from preserving peace with the white men; and his sorrow, and that of his employers, on having accidentally discovered that the tribes of Massachusetts entertained feelings of enmity towards the British settlers at Wessagussett. Ever and anon, during the translations of the various paragraphs of this speech, Rodolph observed the keen eyes of the captain, as they carefully surveyed the surrounding force, and examined the individuals who appeared to be their leaders. And once, when his own eye followed the direction of his commander's, his glance encountered one that instantly riveted it, and excited in his breast some sensations--not of _fear,_ for Rodolph knew not the feeling--but of inquietude and distrust. Yes; Coubitant was there, gazing at his supposed victim with amazement and hatred; and half inclined to believe that some supernatural power must belong to the man who could have been wounded with his deadly arrow, and yet survive to confront him once more. There he stood--with disappointed vengeance in his heart, and fury flashing from that eye of fire. But while he kept a continual watch on every movement of Rodolph's, his quick ear lost not one word of the speech that Hobomak was rendering into his native tongue. He heard when, in Standish's name, he invited the Chiefs to meet him in the wigwam that his men were constructing on the border of the thicket, and where, he said, he would smoke with them the pipe of peace, and give to them the presents that the Governor had sent, as pledges of his friendly intentions. The moment this invitation had been delivered, Coubitant approached Wattawamat, and whispered a few words in his ear, to which the Chieftain gave a sign of acquiescence; and then the Nansett left the assembly, and disappeared among the trees and bushes that bounded the plain on every side. Wattawamat gave no immediate reply to the proposal of the English Chief; but, as is not unusual with the Indians, kept up a long discourse, and contrived to lengthen the audience for a considerable time. Another Indian then approached the Sachem, and again whispered to him some words that gave him evident satisfaction, for he smiled grimly, and displayed his fine row of ivory teeth for a moment, as he nodded approbation to the messenger. Then, resuming his wonted gravity of demeanor, he replied to Captain Standish that he was satisfied, by his assurances, of the good faith of the white men, and that he and his brother Chiefs would avail themselves of his invitation, and meet in the wigwam a little before sunset; where he hoped so to arrange all the little disagreements that had occurred between the red men and the mighty strangers, as to be able to establish between them and all his countrymen the same friendship and alliance that appeared to exist with the Wampanoge tribe, whose Chief, he observed, with a slight curl of his lip, had failed in his promise to attend their meeting that day. The cause of this favorable decision on the part of Wattawamat was the report that Coubitant had just sent him of the insignificant force of the English, which that crafty and swift-footed warrior had contrived to ascertain, by running round the border of the weed to the place where Standish's men were at work, and taking an accurate and unobserved survey of their numbers. He felt convinced that it would be easy for the Chiefs, and such of their attendants as might be allowed to follow them to the place of conference, to overpower and destroy every one of the little band of whites, and then to prosecute their original intention of carrying fire and slaughter into both the British settlements. In all this scheme there was nothing so grateful to the ruthless heart of Coubitant as the idea of Rodolph's death; and that too, as he trusted, by his own hand. O, how he panted for the devilish joy of tearing off his scalp, and carrying it back to throw it triumphantly at Henrich's feet! We shall see whether such joy was accorded to him. Standish and his companions took their leave, and returned to the hill, where they found great progress had been made in building the wigwam; and two hours before sunset it was completely wattled round, leaving only a small aperture near the top to admit light, and a narrow place of entrance, to which a strong door was affixed. The captain then explained his plan, which was approved by all but Maitland; and he forbore to urge any further opposition, which, he felt, would now be useless. A temperate meal was partaken of, and a hymn sung by the undaunted little company; and pipes and tobacco having been plentifully placed in the hut, the sides of which were decorated with pieces of gay colored calico, and a few knives and trinkets, as pretended gifts to the Chiefs, nothing remained but to await the arrival of the victims. Soon the Indian Chiefs, decked in all their bravery of feathers and embroidered skins, came marching a cross the plain, followed by a few attendants less richly adorned. Standish and his party went to meet them, and conducted them with much courtesy to the wigwam, which was soon obscured by the clouds of smoke that issued from the pipes of the grave and silent assembly. But this silent gravity did not long continue. Captain Standish addressed the Chiefs, and strove to speak kindly to men whose deaths he was compassing all the while: but, whether his resolution somewhat failed as the moment for the execution of his bloody purpose drew on, or whether he was disconcerted by the absence of Rodolph, who refused to enter the wigwam, and assist at the slaughter, so it was that he manifested evident signs of weakness and indecision. The Chiefs were emboldened by this, and they were troubled by no qualms of conscience on the subject of shedding the white men's blood. They rose from their seats on the ground, and began to taunt the captain with his want of eloquence, and also with the smallness of his stature, which was despicable in their eyes. Then, growing still bolder as they became excited, they drew their knives, and whetted them before the eyes of their hosts: flourishing them round their heads, and boasting how they had already shed the blood of many white men in the distant European settlements. It was a fearful scene: but the real peril of his situation instantly restored the commander to his wonted resolution and firmness. He called on his men to be ready, and not to allow one of the Chiefs to escape from the wigwam, and with his hand on his pistols, he waited the proper moment for action. The Indians continued to pour forth the most abusive epithets: but they did not begin the expected attack, and it was evident that they were a little intimidated by the undaunted bearing of the white men. One of them, however, seemed actuated by some desperate purpose, and to be regardless of aught else. From the moment of his entrance into the wigwam, his eyes had sought some object that they did not find: and now, in all the excitement of the approaching conflict, his only aim seemed to be to make his way through the entrance in search of some person on whom he desired to wreak his fury. It was Rodolph whom Coubitant sought, and who was now, providentially, out of his reach, and waiting the result of the deed against which he had vainly protested. At length the wrath of Standish broke loose. He gave the appointed signal, and the door was closed--shutting in friends and foes in one small field of battle, or, rather, of carnage. The scene in the dimly- lighted wigwam was terrific; and the yells of the infuriated natives broke, with a sickening effect, on the ears of Rodolph Maitland, who could not consent to share in what he considered a murderous conflict, and not an honorable war; and who yet felt as if he was deserting his countrymen, by thus remaining inactive. But if he felt undecided as to his proper course of action, that indecision did not last long. In a few moments the door of the wigwam was violently burst open, and the combatants rushed out, struggling and bleeding, from the den of slaughter. All the white men came forth, for, though many of them were wounded, not one had fallen. But three of the Indians lay dead and dying on the floor of the hut; one of them being the mangled body of Wattawamat, who was slain by Standish with his own knife--that very knife which the savage had sharpened for the purpose of plunging it into the heart of the white chief! Where was Rodolph now? In the midst of the fray, fighting desperately and successfully. The moment he saw the battle raging in open field, and beheld the blood flowing from the wounds of his countrymen, he forgot all else except that his strong right arm wielded a trusty blade; and its skilful stroke soon brought another of the red warriors to the ground, and chased away those who sought to secure their wounded comrade. The Indians saw that they were overmatched, and that nothing but flight could save the remainder of their party; they therefore uttered their wild war-cry once more, and commenced a rapid retreat down the hill, pausing several times to send back a volley of arrows on their victorious foes; which, however, fell harmless to the earth, though more than one was aimed at Rodolph, by the strong and skilful hand of Coubitant. But rest was not to be afforded to the little conquering band. While they were securing the wounded Indian, and binding up their own wounds, they discovered a movement in the body of savages on the other side of the plain, and truly surmised that they were preparing to attack them in greater numbers. Standish instantly gave orders that the Indian whom Rodolph had brought to the ground should be hung to a neighboring tree, which was as instantly executed; and he re-entered the tent, to make sure that no life remained in those three who lay on its bloody floor. All were dead: and Standish, approaching the body of the Chieftain Wattawamat, raised his good broad sword, and at one blow severed the head from the trunk. Then seizing the gory head by the long scalp-lock, he carried it forth as a trophy, and desired one of his men to secure it, and carry it back to New Plymouth. No time remained for further parley. A band of Indians were approaching across the plain; and Standish disdained to fly, even before such superior numbers. Every musket and pistol was hastily loaded, and the undaunted party marched down the hill to meet the coming foe. They met: and in spite of the furious onset of the savages, they were again made to feel that their undisciplined hordes were no match for the well- aimed fire-arms of the white men, and had no power to break the order of their steady ranks. Once more they fled, leaving another of their number dead on the field, and they returned no more to the charge. During all this affair, Hobomak had remained a quiet spectator of the combat, and of the defeat of his countrymen; and now he approached the English captain, and complacently praised his bravery and military prowess; and he remained as devoted as ever to his Christian friends. The triumphant soldiers returned to New Plymouth, and were received with joyful exultation by the Governor and the inhabitants, who felt deeply grateful for the deliverance that had been accorded to them, and the safety of the brave men who had fought in their defense. All the little band had been preserved from serious personal injury; but Rodolph Maitland had also been preserved from blood-guiltiness, and that was more to him than life and safety, and to his Christian and devoted wife also. The head of Wattawamat was brought to New Plymouth, and the dreadful trophy was conspicuously placed over the entrance to the fortress, as a warning to the natives against any future conspiracies for the destruction of the white men. So great, indeed, was the terror inspired by the power and the severity of the settlers, that many of the natives--who were conscious of having been engaged in the conspiracy, though undiscovered--left their wigwams, and fled into the woods, or concealed themselves in reedy morasses, where a great number of them perished from hunger and disease. The settlers were much distressed at this result of their proceedings, which, at the same time, they considered to have been perfectly justified by the necessity of self- preservation. But when their venerated pastor Robinson--to whom they had, ever since their emigration, looked for guidance and sympathy-- heard of these sad events, he expressed the deepest sorrow, and begged them never again to be led away by the fiery temper of their leader; adding these touching and impressive words--' How happy a thing had it been, if you had _converted some_ before you had killed any!' CHAPTER XV. �A change came o'er the spirit of my dream: The boy was sprung to manhood; to the wilds Of distant climes he made himself a home. And his soul drank their beauties; he was girt With strange and dusky aspects; he was not Himself like what he had been:--on the sea, And on the shore, he was a wanderer.' BYRON. On the border of a green meadow, watered by a narrow stream, the wigwams of a large Indian settlement were lighted up by the slanting beams of the setting sun, as they shone, soft and bright, through the tall dark pines and gently-waving birch trees beneath which the village was erected. The deep red trunks of the ancient fir trees contrasted beautifully with the silvery bark of the birch; and between the shadows which were cast by the gigantic boles of these, and many other varieties of timber, the sunbeams played on the smooth soft turf, and illuminated a scene of peaceful joy and contentment. Towards the center of the broken and irregular semi-circle in which the huts were arranged, rose two wigwams, of a size and construction superior to the rest; and around them were planted many flowering shrubs and fruit-bearing plants, that clearly showed the habitations to have been permanently fixed for some seasons, and to have been occupied by persons who possessed more of good taste and forethought than are commonly displayed by the improvident natives. Many climbing plants also threw their luxuriant branches over the sides and roof of these rude, but picturesque dwellings, and the brilliant blossoms hung gracefully around the eaves and the doorway, and moved gently in the evening breeze. On a neatly-carved bench, in front of one of these wigwams, sat an aged Indian Chief, and by his side a young woman, who seemed to possess all the ease of manner and refinement of a European, but whose clear brown skin, and glossy jet-black hair and eyes, at once showed her to be of the same race as her venerable companion. Her dress was also Indian, but arranged with a taste and delicacy that rendered it eminently becoming to her graceful figure; while her hair, instead of being either drawn up to knot on the crown of the head, or left loose and disheveled in native fashion, was braided into a truly classical form, and simply adorned with a beautiful white water-lily--a flower that Oriana always loved. Two other figures completed the group that was formed near the wigwam door. One of them was a young man of tall end muscular form, whose dress and richly-carved weapons would have proclaimed him to be an Indian warrior and chieftain, had not his curling brown hair, and deep blue eyes, spoken of a Saxon lineage. Courage and intelligence gleamed in those fearless eyes, but no Indian fierceness or cunning were there; and as the tall warrior stooped towards the ground, and lifted up in his arms a laughing little child that was reclining on the mossy turf, and tearing to pieces a handful of bright-colored flowers that his father had gathered for him, the smile of affection and happiness that lighted up those clear blue eyes, showed that a warm and manly heart was there. 'Ah! Ludovico!' said the happy young father, as he fondly kissed the child, whose azure eyes, and long black eyelashes and curling raven hair, showed his descent both from the fair race of Britain, and America's wild wandering children. 'Ah, Ludovico! how well I remember your uncle, when he was a merry infant like you, and used to roll on the grass in my sweet sister Edith's garden, and tear its gaudy blossoms, as you do these flowers of the forest. Those were happy days,' he added--and the bright smile of careless mirth changed to one of pensive sadness--'yes; those were happy days that never can return. If my sisters, and my playful little brother, yet live, they must be changed indeed from what they were when last I saw their sweet faces on that eventful evening, that fixed the course of my destiny. Edith must now be a woman--a lovely woman, too; and little Ludovico a fine open- hearted boy. And my beloved parents, too: O, that I knew they were alive and well and that ere long they would see and bless my Oriana and my child!' And Henrich seated himself by the side of his young Indian wife, and gazed in the face of his laughing boy, with an expression at once so sad and sweet, that the child became silent and thoughtful too; and, dropping the flowers that filled his little hands, he gently clasped them as if in prayer, and looked long and searchingly into his father's eyes. 'There, now you look exactly as my brother used to do when he knelt at my mother's knee, and she taught him to lisp his evening prayer,' exclaimed Henrich and his eyes glistened with emotion, as home, and all its loved associations, rushed into his mind. Oriana saw his sadness; and felt--as she often had done before on similar occasions--a pang of painful regret, and even of jealousy, towards those much-loved relatives whom her husband still so deeply regretted. She laid her hand on his, and raising her large expressive eyes to his now melancholy countenance, she gently said-- 'Does Henrich still grieve that the red men stole him away from the home of his childhood, and brought him to dwell among the forests? Is not Oriana better to him than a sister, and are not the smiles of his own Ludovico sweeter to his heart than even those of his little brother used to be? And is not my father his father also? O Henrich--my own Henrich'--she added, while she leaned her head on his shoulder, and tears burst from her eyes, and chased each other down her clear olive checks, to which deep emotion now gave a richer glow--'tell me, do you wish to be set free from all the ties that bind you to our race, and return to your own people, to dwell again with them; and, perhaps, to lift the tomahawk, and east the spear against those who have loved you, and cherished you so fondly? Often have you told me that your Indian wife and child are dearer to you than all that you have left behind you at New Plymouth. But tell it to me again! Let me hear you say again that you are happy here, and will never desert us; for when I see that sorrowful look in your dear eyes, and remember all you have lost, and still are losing, to live in a wilderness with wild and savage men, my heart misgives me; and I feel that you were never made for such a life, and that your love is far too precious to be given for ever to an Indian girl.' The smile returned to Henrich's eyes, as he listened to this fond appeal; and he almost reproached himself for ever suffering regret for the blessings he had lost to arise in his mind, when those he still possessed were so many and so great. 'Dear Oriana, you need not fear,' he replied, affectionately; 'I speak the truth of my heart when I tell you that I would not exchange my Indian home, and sacrifice my Indian squaw, and my little half-bred son, for all the comforts and pleasures of civilized life--no, not even to be restored to the parents I still love so dearly, and the brother and sister who played with me in childhood. But still I yearn to look upon their faces again, and to hear once more their words of love. I well know how they have all mourned for me: and I know how, even after so many years have passed, they would rejoice at finding me again!� 'Yes; they must indeed have mourned for you, Henrich. That must have been a sad night to them when Coubitant bore you away. But I owe all the happiness of my life to that cruel deed--and can I regret it? If my "white brother" had not come to our camp, I should have lived and died an ignorant Indian squaw--I should have known no thing of true religion, or of the Christian's God--and,' continued Oriana, smiling at her husband with a sweetness and archness of expression that made her countenance really beautiful, 'I should never have known my Henrich.' 'Child!' said old Tisquantum, rousing himself from the half-dreamy reverie in which he had been sitting, and enjoying the warm sunbeams as they fell on his now feeble limbs, and long white hair. 'Child, are you talking again of Henrich leaving us? It is wrong of you to doubt him. My son has given me his word that he will never take you from me until Mahneto recalls my spirit to himself, and I dwell again with my fathers. Has he not also said that he will never leave or forsake you and his boy? Why, then, do you make your heart sad? Henrich has never deceived us--he has never, in all the years that he has lived in our wigwam, and shared our wanderings, said the thing that was not: and shall we suspect him now? No, Oriana; I trust him as I would have trusted my own Tekoa: and had my brave boy lived he could not have been dearer to me than Henrich is. He could not have surpassed him in hunting or in war: he could not have guided and governed my people with more wisdom, now that I am too old and feeble to be their leader: and he could not have watched over my declining years with more of gentleness and love. Henrich will never desert us: no, not if we return to the head-quarters of our tribe near Paomet,[*] as I hope to do ere I close my eyes in death. So long as I feared my white son would leave us, and return to his own people, I never turned my feet towards Paomet; for he had wound himself into my heart, and had taken Tekoa's place there: and I saw that he had wound himself into your heart too, my child; and I knew that he was more to us than the land of our birth. Therefore I have kept my hunters wandering from north to south, and from east to west, and have visited the mountains, and the prairies, and the mighty rivers, and the great lakes; and have found a home in all. But now our Henrich is one of us, and never will forsake us for any others. Is he not Sachem of my warriors, and do they not look to him as their leader and their father? No; Henrich will never leave us now!' [Footnote: The native name for Cape Cod, near which the main body of the Nausetts resided.] And the old man, who had become excited during this long harangue, smiled at his children with love and confidence, and again leaned back and closed his eyes, relapsing into that quiet dreamy state in which the Indians, especially the more aged among them, are so fond of indulging. Tisquantum was now a very old man; and the great changes and vicissitudes of climate and mode of life, and the severe bodily exertions in warfare and hunting, to which he had been all his life exposed, made him appear more advanced in years than he actually was. Since the marriage of his daughter to the white stranger--which occurred about three years previous to the time at which our narrative has now arrived--he had indulged himself in an almost total cessation from business, and from every active employment, and had resigned the government of his followers into the able and energetic hands of his son-in-law. Henrich was now regarded as Chieftain of that branch of the Nausett tribe over which Tisquantum held authority; and so much had he. made himself both loved and respected during his residence among the red men, that all jealousy of his English origin and foreign complexion had gradually died away, and his guidance in war or in council was always promptly and implicitly followed. And Henrich was happy--very happy--in his wild and wandering life. He had passed from boyhood to manhood amid the scenery and the inhabitants of the wilderness; and though his heart and his memory would still frequently revert to the home of his parents, and all that he had loved and prized of the connections and the habits of civilized life, yet he now hardly wished to resume those habits. Indeed, had such a resumption implied the abandoning his wife and child, and his venerable father-in- law, no consideration would ever have induced him to think of it. He had likewise, as Tisquantum said, on obtaining his consent to his marriage with Oriana, solemnly promised never to take her away from him while he lived; therefore, at present he entertained no intention of again rejoining his countrymen, and renouncing his Indian mode of life. Still 'the voices of his home' were often ringing in his ear by day and by night; and the desire to know the fate of his beloved family, and once more to behold each fondly-cherished member of it, would sometimes come over him with an intensity that seemed to absorb every other feeling. Then he would devise plan after plan, by which he might hope to obtain some intelligence of the settlement, or convey to his relatives the knowledge of his safety. But never had he yet succeeded. Tisquantum had taken watchful care, for several years, to prevent any such communication being effected; and it was, as we have seen mainly with this object that he had absented himself from the rest of his tribe, and his own former place of abode. He had led his warriors and their families far to the north, and there he had resided for several years; only returning occasionally to the south-western prairies for the hunting season, and again travelling northward when the buffalo and the elk were no longer abundant in the plains. In all these wanderings Henrich had rejoiced; and his whole soul had been elevated by such constant communion with the grandest works of nature--or rather, of nature's God. He had gazed on the stupendous cataract of Niagara, and listened to its thunders,[*] till he felt himself in the immediate presence of Deity in all its omnipotence. [Footnote: O-ni-ga-rah, �the Thunder of Waters,� is the Indian name for these magnificent falls.] He had crossed the mighty rivers of America, that seemed to European eyes to be arms of the sea; and had passed in light and frail canoes over those vast lakes that are themselves like inland oceans. And, in the high latitudes to which the restless and apprehensive spirit of Tisquantum had led him, he had traveled over boundless fields of snow in the sledges of the diminutive Esquimaux, and lodged in their strange winter-dwellings of frozen snow, that look as if they were built of the purest alabaster, with windows of ice as clear as crystal. And marvelously beautiful those dwellings were in Henrich's eyes, as be passed along the many rooms, with their cold walls glittering with the lamp-light, or glowing from the reflection of the fire of pine branches, that burnt so brightly in the center on a hearth of stone. Well and warmly, too, had he slept on the bedsteads of snow, that these small northern men find so comfortable, when they have strewn them with a thick layer of pine boughs, and covered them with an abundant supply of deerskins. And then the lights of the north--the lovely Aurora, with its glowing hues of crimson and yellow and violet! When this beauteous phenomena was gleaming in the horizon, and shooting up its spires of colored light far into the deep blue sky, bow ardently did Henrich desire the presence of his sister--of his Edith who used to share his every feeling, and sympathize in all him love and reverence for the works of God! But in all those days and months and years that elapsed between the time when we left Henrich in the hunting-grounds of the west, and the time to which we have now carried him, Oriana had been a sister--yes, more than a sister-to him; and she had learnt to think as he thought, and to feel as he felt, till he used to tell her that he almost fancied the spirit of Edith had passed into her form, and had come to share his exile. Certainly, the mind and feelings of the Indian girl did ripen and expand with wonderful rapidity; and, as she grew to womanhood, her gentle gracefulness of manner, and her devoted affection towards Henrich, confirmed the attachment that had been gradually forming in his heart ever since he had been her adopted brother, and made him resolve to ask her of the Sachem as his wife. Since the conduct of Coubitant had excited--as we saw in a former chapter--the suspicions of Tisquantum, and had so evidently increased the dislike of Oriana, the Chieftain had abandoned all idea of bestowing his daughter's hand on him or of making him his successor in his official situation; and the departure of the cruel and wily savage had been to him, as well as to Oriana and Henrich, a great satisfaction and relief. None of them wished to see his dark countenance again, or to be exposed to his evil machinations; and all were fully aware that the marriage of the white stranger to the Sachem's lovely daughter was a circumstance that would arouse all his jealousy and all his vengeance. Nevertheless, this apprehension did not deter the old Chief from giving a joyful consent to the proposal of Henrich to become his son in fact, as he had long been in name and affection; and the summer of the year 1627 had seen the nuptials celebrated in Indian fashion. On the same day, also, the young widow, Mailah, became the wife of Henrich's chosen friend and companion, Jyanough, who had never left the Nausetts since first he joined them, but had followed his brother-in- arms in all his various wanderings. It was a joyful day to the tribe when this double marriage took place; and great was the feasting beneath the trees on the shores of the mighty lake Ontario, where their camp was pitched. Game was roasted in abundance, and much tobacco was consumed in honor of the happy couples, who were all beloved by their simple followers; and for whom fresh wigwams were built, and strewed with sweet sprays of pine and fir, and furnished with all that Indian wants demanded, and Indian art could furnish. With some difficulty, Henrich prevailed on the Sachem to permit his daughter to forego the native custom of cutting off her hair on the day of her marriage, and wearing an uncouth head-dress until it grew again; but at length he was successful, on the plea that Oriana, being a Christian, and about to unite herself to a Christian also, could not be bound to observe the superstitious and barbarous ceremonies of her race. Her fine black locks were, therefore, spared; but Mailah was a second time robbed of hers, and appeared for many months afterwards with her head closely shrouded in the prescribed covering. Much did Henrich wish that he and his bride could have received the blessing of a minister of the Gospel, as a sacred sanction of their union. But this could not be: and he endeavored to supply the deficiency, and to give a holy and Christian character to what he felt to be the most solemn act of his life, by uniting in earnest prayer with Oriana, Mailah, and Jyanough, that the blessing of God might rest upon them all, and enable them to fulfil their new and relative duties faithfully and affectionately and 'as unto the Lord.' Three years had elapsed since that day, and no event had occurred to interrupt the domestic happiness of those young couples, or to disturb the perfect friendship and unanimity that reigned between them. They were a little Christian community--small indeed, but faithful and sincere, and likely to increase in time; for little Lincoya was carefully instructed in the blessed doctrines which his mother and his step-father had received, and when Henrich's own son was born, he baptized him in the name of the Holy Trinity, and gave him the Christian name of his own loved brother Ludovico; and earnestly he asked a blessing on his child, and prayed that he might be enabled to bring him up a Christian, not in name only, but in deed and in truth. CHAPTER XVI. �Wrath is cruel, and anger is outrageous; but who is able to stand before envy? 'Open rebuke is better than secret love. 'Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.' PROV. xxii, 4--6 Tisquantum still sat dozing on his favorite seat before his dwelling, and Henrich and Oriana remained beside him, silently watching the peaceful slumbers of their venerable parent, and the playful sports of their child, who was again roiling on the soft green turf at their feet, and busily engaged in decking the shaggy head and neck of a magnificent dog with the gay flowers that were scattered around him. It was Rodolph--the faithful Rodolph--who had once saved Henrich's life from the treacherous designs of Coubitant, and who had often since proved his guard and his, watchful protector in many seasons of peril and difficulty. His devotion to his master was as strong as ever; and his strength and swiftness were still unabated, whether in the flood or the field. But years had somewhat subdued the former restless activity of his spirits, and, now that he had dwelt so long in a settled home, his manners had become so domestic, that he seemed to think his chief duty consisted in amusing the little Ludovico, and carrying him about on his bread shaggy shoulders, where he looked like the infant Hercules mounted on his lion. They were, indeed, a picturesque pair, and no wonder that the young parents of the beautiful child smiled as they watched him wreathing his little hands in the long curling mane of the good-tempered animal, and laying his soft rosy cheek on his back. Such was the group that occupied the small cultivated spot in front of the chief, lodges of the village: and thus happy and tranquil might they have remained, until the fading light had warned Oriana that it was time to lay her child to rest in his mossy bed, and to prepare the usual meal for her husband and her father. But they were interrupted by the approach of Jyanough and Mailah, accompanied by the young Lincoya; and also by a stranger, whose form seemed familiar to them, but whose features the shadow of the over-hanging trees prevented them at first from recognizing. But, as the party approached, a chill struck into the heart of Oriana, and she instinctively clung closer to her husband's arm, as if she felt that some danger threatened him; while the open, manly brow of Henrich contracted for an instant, and was crossed by a look of doubt and suspicion that was seldom seen to darken it, and could not rest there long. In a moment that cloud had passed away, and he rose to greet the stranger with a frank and dignified courtesy, that showed he felt suspicion and distrust to be unworthy of him. Rodolph, also, seemed to be affected by the same kind of unpleasant sensations that were felt by his more intellectual, but not more sagacious fellow-creatures. No sooner did the stranger advance beyond the shadow of trees, and thus afford the dog a full view of his very peculiar and striking countenance, than he uttered a low deep growl of anger; and, slowly rising from the ground, placed himself between his little charge and the supposed enemy, on whom he kept his keen eye immovably fixed, while his strong white teeth were displayed in a very formidable row. Coubitant--for it could be no other than he--saw clearly the impression that his appearance had excited on the assembled party of his old acquaintances; but he was an adept in dissimulation, and he entirely concealed his feelings under the garb of pleasure at this reunion after so long a separation. The candid disposition of Henrich rendered him liable to be deceived by these false professions of his former rival; and he readily believed that Coubitant had, during his absence of so many years, forgotten and laid aside all those feelings of envy and jealousy that once appeared to fill his breast, and to actuate him to deeds of enmity towards the white stranger, whose father had slain his chosen friend and companion. But was it so? Had the cruel and wily savage indeed become the friend of him who had, he deemed, supplanted him--not only in the favor of his Chief, but also in the good graces of his intended bride--and who was now, as he had learnt from Jyanough, the husband of Oriana, and the virtual Sachem of Tisquantum's subject warriors? No: 'jealousy is cruel as the grave; the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame'; and in the soul of Coubitant there dwelt no gentle principles of mercy and forgiveness to quench this fiery flame. He was a heathen: and, in his eyes, revenge was a virtue, and the gratification of it a deep joy: and in the hope of attaining this joy, he was willing to endure years of difficulty and disappointment, and to forego all that he knew of home and of comfort. Therefore had he left the tribe of his adoption, and the friends of his choice, and dwelt for so many winters and summers among the Narragansetts, until he had acquired influence in their councils, and won for himself rank in their tribe. And all this rank and influence he had, as we have seen, exerted to procure the destruction of the white men, because one of their number had caused the death of his friend, and he had vowed to be revenged on the race. He hated the pale-faces, and he hated their religion and their peaceable disposition, which he considered to be merely superstition and cowardice; and now that he had failed in all his deep-laid schemes for their annihilation, all his hatred was concentrated against Henrich, and he resolved once more to seek him out, and, by again uniting himself to the band of Nausetts under Tisquantum, to find an opportunity of ridding himself of one who seemed born to cross his path, and blight his prospects in life. Until Coubitant had traced his old associates through many forests, and over many plains, and had, at length, found the place of their present abode, he knew not that all his former hopes of becoming the Sachem's son-in law, and succeeding to his dignity, were already blasted by the marriage of Oriana to Henrich, and the association of the latter in the cares and the honors of the chieftainship. For some years after his abrupt departure from the Nausetts--and while he was striving for distinction, as well as for revenge, among the Narragansetts--he had contrived, from time to time, to obtain information of the proceedings of those whom he had thought it politic to leave for a time; and, as he found that no steps were taken towards connecting the pale-faced stranger with the family of the Sachem by marriage, after he had attained the age at which Indian youths generally take wives; and it was even reported that Tisquantum designed to unite him to the widow of Lincoya--his jealous fears were hushed to sleep, and he still hoped to succeed, ultimately, in his long-cherished plans. It was not that he loved Oriana. His heart was incapable of that sentiment which alone is worthy of the name. But he had set his mind on obtaining her, because she was, in every way, superior to the rest of her young companions; and because such a union would aggrandize him in the estimation of the tribe, and tend to further his views of becoming their chief. After the failure of his schemes for the utter destruction of the British settlements, and all his malicious designs against Rodolph in particular, his personal views with regard to Oriana and Henrich, and his desire to rule in Tisquantum's stead, returned to his mind with unabated force, and he resolved again to join the Sachem, and endeavor to regain his former influence over him, and the consideration in which he had once been held by his subject-warriors. But the removal of the tribe to the north, and their frequent journeyings from place to place, had, for a great length of time, baffled his search; and when, at last, he was successful, and a Nausett hunter--who had been dispatched from Paomet on an errand to Tisquantum--met him, and guided him to the encampment, it was only to have all his hopes dashed for ever to the ground, and his soul more inflamed with wrath and malice than ever. On reaching the Nausett village Coubitant had met Jyanough, and been conducted by him to his hut, where he learnt from him and Mailah all that had happened to themselves and their friends since he had lost sight of them; and it had required all the red-man's habitual self- command and habit of dissimulation to enable him to conceal his fury and disappointment. He did conceal them, however; and so effectually, that both the Cree and his wife were deceived, and though that the narrative excited in him no deeper interest than former intimacy would naturally create. But this was far from being the case. Oriana and the chieftainship were lost to him at present, it is true; but revenge might still be his--that prize that Satan holds out to his slaves to tempt them on to further guilt and ruin. To win that prize--and, possibly, even more than that--was worth some further effort: and deceit was no great effort to Coubitant. So he smiled in return to Henrich's greeting, and tried to draw Oriana into friendly conversation, by noticing her lovely boy; who, however, received his advances with a very bad grace. He also addressed Tisquantum with all that respectful deference that is expected by an aged Indian--more especially a Sachem--from the younger members of his race; and, at length, he succeeded in banishing from the minds of almost all his former acquaintances those doubts and suspicions that his conduct had once aroused; and he was again admitted to the same terms of intimacy with the Chief and his family that he had enjoyed in years long gone by. Still, there was one who could not put confidence in Coubitant's friendly manner, or believe that the feelings of enmity he once so evidently entertained towards Henrich were altogether banished from his mind. This was Jyanough, whose devoted attachment to the white stranger had first led him to mistrust his rival; and who still resolved to watch his movements with jealous care, and, if possible, to guard his friend from any evil that might be designed against him. For some time, he could detect nothing in Coubitant's manner or actions that could, in any way, confirm his suspicions, which he did not communicate to any one but Mailah; for he felt it would be ungenerous to fill the minds of others with the doubts that he could not banish from his own. The summer advanced, and became one of extreme heat. The winding stream that flowed through the meadow--on the skirts of which the Nausett encampment was formed--gradually decreased, from the failure of the springs that supplied it, until, at length, its shallow waters were reduced to a rippling brook--so narrow, that young Lincoya could leap over it, and Rodolph could carry his little charge across without any risk of wetting his feet. The long grass and beautiful lilies, and other wild flowers, that had grown so luxuriantly along the river's brink, now faded for want of moisture; and the fresh verdure of the meadow was changed to a dry and dusky yellow. Day by day the brook dried up, and it became necessary for the camp to be removed to some more favored spot, where the inhabitants and their cattle could still find a sufficient supply of water. For this purpose, it was resolved to migrate southwards, to the banks of the broad Missouri, which no drought could sensibly affect; and there to remain until the summer heat had passed away, and the season for travelling had arrived. Then Tisquantum purposed to bend his steps once more towards the land of his birth, that he might end his days in his native Paomet, and behold the home of his fathers before his death. To this plan Henrich gave a glad assent; for he surely hoped that, when he reached a district that bordered so nearly on the British territories, he should be able to obtain some information respecting his relatives, and, perhaps, even to see them. And Oriana no longer dreaded returning to the dwellings of her childhood, for she felt assured--notwithstanding the occasional misgivings that troubled her anxious heart--that Henrich loved her far too well ever to desert her; and that he loved truth too well ever to take her from her aged father, let the temptation be never so great. All, therefore, looked forward with satisfaction to the autumn, when the long journey towards the east was to commence: but they well knew that its accomplishment would occupy several seasons; for the movement of so large a party, of every age and sex, and the transport of all their baggage across a district of many hundreds of miles in extent, must, necessarily, be extremely slow, and interrupted by many pauses for rest, as well as by the heat or the inclemency of the weather. Coubitant also expressed his pleasure at the proposed change, which would afford occupation and excitement to his restless spirit, and which, likewise, promised him better opportunities for carrying out his ultimate schemes than he could hope for in his present tranquil mode of life. His constant attention to Tisquantum, and his assiduous care to consult his every wish and desire, had won upon the old man's feelings, and he again regarded him rather as the proved friend of his lost Tekoa, than as the suspected foe of his adopted son Henrich. He frequently employed him in executing any affairs in which he still took an active interest, and he soon came to be looked upon by the tribe as a sort of coadjutor to their white Sachem, and the confidential friend of the old Chieftain. This was just what Coubitant desired; and he lost no opportunity of strengthening his influence over the Nausett warriors, and making his presence agreeable and necessary to Tisquantum. The time appointed for the breaking up of the encampment drew near, and both Henrich and Oriana felt much regret at the prospect of leaving the peaceful home where they had spent so many happy days, and where their little Ludovico had been born. Their comfortable and substantial lodge, shaded with the plants that decorated it so profusely and so gaily, had been the most permanent dwelling that they had ever known since their childhood: and though they hoped eventually to enjoy a still more settled home, they could not look on this work of their own labor and taste without affection, or leave it for ever without sorrow. In order to lessen the fatigue of Tisquantum it was arranged, at the suggestion of Coubitant, that he should precede the old Sachem, and his immediate family and attendants, to the place of their intended encampment; and should select a suitable situation on the banks of the Missouri, where he and the Nansett warriors could fell timber, and prepare temporary huts for their reception. This part of the country was familiar to him, as he had traveled through it, and dwelt among its plains and its woods in the days of his wandering youth: and he gave Henrich minute directions as to the route he must take, in order to follow him to the river, which, he said, lay about three days' journey to the southward. To the south of the present encampment arose a considerable eminence, that was thickly wooded to the summit on the side that overlooked the Nausett village, and partially sheltered it from the heat of the summer sun. On the other side it was broken into steep precipices, and its banks were scantily clothed with shrubs and grass, which the unusual drought had now rendered dry and withered. A winding and narrow path round the foot of this hill was the only road that led immediately into the plain below; and by this path Coubitant proposed to conduct the tribe, in order to avoid a long detour to the west, where a more easy road would have been found. He described it to Henrich, who had often been to the summit of the range of hills that overlooked it in pursuit of game, but who was ignorant of the proposed route into the Missouri district; and, after some conversation on the subject, he proposed that the young Sachem should accompany him the following morning to the brow of the mountain, from whence he could point out to him the road he must take through the broken and undulating ground that lay at the bottom of the hill; and the exact direction he must follow, after he reached the wide and trackless prairie that intervened between that range and the hills that bordered the Missouri. At break of day the march of the tribe was to commence; but as several of the Nausetts were acquainted with the intricate path round the base of the hills, it was not necessary for Coubitant to lead them that part of their journey in person. He therefore proposed, after pointing out to Henrich all the necessary land-marks which could be so well observed from the summit, to find his own way down the steep side of the rugged precipice, and rejoin the party in the plain. This plan was agreed to; and Coubitant invited Oriana to accompany her husband, that she also might see and admire the extensive view that was visible from the heights, and observe the track that her countrymen would follow through the valley beneath. Oriana readily acceded to this proposal, not only because she loved to go by Henrich's side wherever she could be his companion, but also because--in spite of the present friendly terms to which Coubitant was admitted by her father and Henrich--she never felt quite easy when the latter was alone with the dark-browed warrior. The morning was clear and bright; and before the sun had risen far above the horizon, and ere the sultry heat of the day had commenced, Coubitant came to Henrich's lodge, and summoned him and his wife to their early walk up the mountain. With light and active steps they took their way through the wood, and Rodolph followed close behind them--not now bounding and harking with joy, but at a measured pace, and with his keen bright eye ever fixed on Coubitant. In passing through the scattered village of huts, the dwelling of Jyanough lay near the path. Coubitant ceased to speak as he and his companions approached it; and Oriana thought he quickened his pace, and glanced anxiously at the dwelling, as if desirous to pass it unobserved by its inmates. If such was his wish, he was, however, disappointed; for, just as the party were leaving it behind them, they heard the short sharp bark of Rodolph at the wigwam door, and immediately afterwards the answering voice of Jyanough. 'Rodolph, my old fellow, is it you?' exclaimed the Cree, as he came forth from his hut, and looked anxiously at his friends, who now, to Coubitant's inward vexation, stood to greet him. 'Where are you off to so early?� he inquired of Henrich; and why is Coubitant not leading our warriors on their way?' 'We are but going to the brow of the hill,' replied Henrich, 'that Coubitant may point out to me the path by which we are to follow him. He will then join his party in the plain, and I will quickly return to accompany you on our projected hunting scheme. We must add to our stock of provisions before we commence our journey.' 'I will ascend the hill with you,' said Jyanough; and Coubitant saw that he took a spear in his hand from the door of the wigwam. Forcing a smile, he observed, as if carelessly-- 'It is needless, my friend. Henrich's eye is so good that he will readily understand all the directions that I shall give him. Do you doubt the skill of our young Sachem to lead his people through the woods and the savannas, being as great as his prowess in war and his dexterity in hunting? Let him show that he is an Indian indeed, and wants no aid in performing an Indian's duties.' 'Be it so,' answered Jyanough; and he laid aside the spear, and reentered the hut, rather to Henrich's surprise, and Oriana's disappointment, but much to the satisfaction of Coubitant. Rodolph seemed displeased at this change in the apparent intentions of his friend; and he lingered a few moments at the door of the lodge, looking wistfully at its master. But Jyanough bade him go; and a call from Henrich soon brought him again to his former position, and his watchful observation of every movement of Coubitant. The brow of the hill was gained: and so grand and extensive was the view to the south and west, that Oriana stood for some time contemplating it with a refined pleasure, and forgot every feeling that could interrupt the pure and lofty enjoyment. Beneath the precipitous hill on which she stood, a plain, or wide savanna, stretched away for many miles, covered with the tall prairie-grass, now dry and yellow, and waving gracefully in the morning breeze. Its flat monotony was only broken by a few clumps of trees and shrubs, that almost looked like distant vessels crossing the wide trackless sea. But to the west this plain was bounded by a range of hills, on which the rising sun shed a brilliant glow, marking their clear outline against the deep blue sky behind. And nearer to the hill from which she looked, the character of the view was different, but not less interesting. It seemed as if some mighty convulsion of nature had torn away the side of the hill, and strewed the fragments in huge end broken masses in the valley beneath. Over these crags the hand of nature had spread a partial covering of moss and creeping plants; and many trees had grown up amongst them, striking their roots deeply into the crevices, and adorning their rough surfaces by their waving and pendant boughs. Through the rock-strewn valley, a narrow and intricate path had been worn by the feet of the wandering natives, and by the constant migrations of the herds of wild animals that inhabited the prairie, in search of water or of fresher herbage during the parching heat of an Indian summer. Along this difficult path the Nausett warriors and their families were now slowly winding their way, many of them on horseback, followed by their squaws and their children on foot; and others, less barbarous, leading the steeds on which the women and infants were placed on the summit of a pile of baggage, and carrying their own bows and quivers, and long and slender spears. It was a picturesque scene: and the low chanting song of the distant Indians--to which their march kept time--sounded sweetly, though mournfully, as it rose on the breeze to the elevated position occupied by Oriana and her two companions. The latter seemed fully occupied--the one in pointing out, and the other in observing the route of the travelers. But the eye of Henrich was not unobservant of the beauties of the prospect; and that of Coubitant was restlessly roving to and fro with quick and furtive glances, that seemed to indicate some secret purpose, and to be watching for the moment to effect it. Some of the Nausetts in the path below looked upwards; and, observing their young Sachem and his companions, they raised a shout of recognition, that caused the rocks to echo, and also made the brows of Coubitant to contract. He saw that he must delay his purpose until the travelers were out of sight: and this chafed his spirit: but he controlled it, and proposed to Henrich and Oriana to seat themselves on the verge of the precipice, and watch the course of the travelers, while he went to reconnoiter the steep path by which he designed to join them. They did so, and the hushes that grew to the edge of the steep declivity shaded the spot, and hid them from the retreating form of Coubitant. For some time they sat together, admiring the beauty of the scene before them, and watching the long procession in the defile below, as it wound, 'in Indian file,� between the rocks and tangled bushes that cumbered the vale, until it was almost out of sight. Rudolph lay beside them, apparently asleep; but the slumber of a faithful watch-dog is always light, and Rodolph was one of the most vigilant of his race. Why did he now utter a low uneasy moan, as if he dreamt of danger? It was so low that, if Henrich heard it, he did not pay any heed to it, and continued talking to Oriana of their approaching journey, and of their plans for the future, in perfect security. But their conversation was suddenly and painfully interrupted. A fierce bark from Rodolph, as he sprang on some one in the bush close beside Henrich, and the grasp of a powerful hand upon his shoulder at the same instant, caused the young Sachem to glance round. He found himself held to the ground by Coubitant, who was endeavoring to force him over the precipice; and would, from the suddenness and strength of the attack, have undoubtedly succeeded, but for the timely aid of Rodolph, who had seized on his left arm, and held it back in his powerful jaws. He was, however, unable to displace the savage, or release his master from the perilous situation in which he was placed; and, owing to the manner in which Henrich had seated himself on the extreme verge of the rock that overhung the precipice, it was out of his power to spring to his feet, or offer any effectual resistance. The slender but not feeble arm of Oriana, as she clung frantically to her husband, and strove to draw him back to safety, was, apparently, the only human power that now preserved him from instant destruction. Not a sound was uttered by one of the struggling group; scarcely a breath was drawn--so intense was the mental emotion, and the muscular effort that nerved every fiber during these awfully protracted moments. But help was nigh! He, in whose hands are the lives of His creatures, sent aid when aid was so needful. A loud cry was heard in the thicket; and, as Coubitant made one more desperate effort to hurl his detested rival from the rock, and almost succeeded in flinging the whole group together into the depths below--he felt himself encircled by arms as muscular as his own, and suddenly dragged backwards. Henrich sprang on the firm ground, and beheld his faithful friend Jyanough in fierce conflict with the treacherous Coubitant, and powerfully assisted by Rodolph, who had loosed the murderer's arm, but continued to assail and wound him as he struggled to draw his new antagonist to the brink, and seemed resolved to have one victim, even if he shared the same dreadful fate himself. Henrich flew to the aid of his friend, leaving Oriana motionless, and almost breathless, on the spot where she had endured such agony of mind, and such violent bodily exertion. For once, her strength and spirit failed her; for the trial had been too great, and faintness overcame her as she saw her husband again approach his deadly and now undisguised foe. Coubitant saw her sink to the ground, and, with a mighty effort, he shook off the grasp of Jyanough, and darted towards Oriana. He had thought to carry her off, a living prize, after the murder of her husband; but now his only hope was vengeance and her destruction would be vengeance, indeed, on Henrich. But love is stronger even than hate. The arms of Henrich snatched his unconscious wife from the threatened peril; and, as he bore her away from the scene of conflict, Jyanough again closed on the villain, and the deadly struggle was resumed. It was brief, but awful. The strength of Coubitant was becoming exhausted--his grasp began to loosen, and his foot to falter. 'Spare him!' cried Henrich, as he saw the combatants on the verge of the craggy platform, and feared they would fall together on the rocks beneath. 'Spare him; and secure him for the judgement of Tisquantum.' And again he laid Oriana on the ground, and rushed to save alike his friend and foe. 'He dies!' exclaimed Jyanough. 'Let him meet the fate he merits!' And springing backwards himself, he dashed his antagonist over the rock. One moment Henrich saw his falling form, and met the still fiery glance of that matchless eye--the next, he heard the crash of breaking branches, and listened for the last fatal sound of the expiring body on the rocks below. But the depth was too great: an awful stillness followed; and, though Henrich strove to look downwards, and ascertain the fate of his departed foe, the boughs and creepers that clothed the perpendicular face of the rock, entirely prevented his doing so. 'He is gone!' he exclaimed; and not in a voice of either joy or triumph, for his soul was moved within him at the appalling fate of such a man as Coubitant and at such a moment! 'He is gone to his last account: and O! what fearful passions were in his heart! Thank God, he did not drag you with him to death, my faithful Jyanough! But tell me,' he added--as they returned together to where Oriana lay, still unconscious of the dreadful tragedy that had just been enacted so near her--' tell me, my friend, how it was that you were so near at hand, when danger, which I could not repel, hung over me, and your hand was interposed to save me?' 'My mind misgave me that some treachery was intended,' replied Jyanough, 'when I saw that wily serpent leading you to the mountain's brow; and my suspicions were confirmed by his evident reluctance to my joining the party. Rodolph's expressive countenance told me, too, that there was danger to be feared; and no red man can excel Rodolph in sagacity. So I resolved to be at hand if succor should be needed; and, having waited till you were all fairly out of sight and hearing, I followed slowly and stealthily, and reached the verge of the thicket just in time to hear the warning cry of your noble dog, and see that dastardly villain spring upon you from the bush. The rest you know: and now you will believe me, when I own my conviction that your destruction has been his object since the time I joined your camp: and that, to accomplish it, and obtain possession of Oriana, he returned to Tisquantum's tribe, and has worn the mask of friendship for so many months. My soul is relieved of a burden by his death; and forgive me, Henrich, if I own that I glory in having executed on him the vengeance he deserved, and having devoted him to the fate he designed for you.' Henrich could not regret the death, however dreadful, of one who seemed to have been so bent on the destruction of his happiness and his life; but the thought of all the guilt that lay on Coubitant's soul, unrepented of and unatoned, saddened and solemnized his spirit; and he only replied to Jyanough's exulting words by a kindly pressure of his friend's hand, as they approached Oriana. Her senses bad returned, and, with them, a painful sense of danger and of dread, and she looked anxiously, and almost wildly, around her, as Henrich knelt beside her, and gently raised her from the ground. �Where is he?' she exclaimed. 'Where is that fearful form, and those eyes of unearthly fire that glared on me just now? You are safe, my Henrich,' she added; and, as she looked up in his face, tears of joy and gratitude burst from her large expressive eyes, and relieved her bursting heart. You are safe, my Henrich: and oh that that dark form of dread and evil might never, never, cross my path again!' 'Fear not, Oriana,' replied Jyanough, 'he never more will darken your way through life. He has met the death he designed for Henrich, and let us think of him no more. It is time to return to the camp; and your husband and I will support you down the hill.' 'I am well, quite well, now !' cried Oriana, and she rose from the ground, and clung to Henrich's arm, as if to assure herself of his presence and safety. 'I could walk through the world thus supported, and thus guarded, too,' she added, as she stroked the head of the joyous Rodolph, who now bounded round her and Henrich with all his wonted spirit. 'I owe much to my two trusty friends; for, but for their care and watchfulness, what would now have been my dreadful fate! Let us leave this spot--so beautiful, but now so full of fearful images!' CHAPTER XVII. �Hither and thither; hither and thither! Madly they fly! Whither, O, whither! Whither, O, whither? - 'Tis but to die! Fire is behind them: fire is, around them: Black is the sky? Horror pursues them; anguish has found them: Destruction is nigh! And where is refuge? where is safety now? Father of mercy! None can Save but Thou?' ANON. 'What is that distant cloud, Henrich?' inquired Oriana, as they rode by Tisquantum's side on the evening of the day of their journey towards the Missouri. 'It seems like the smoke of an encampment, as I see it over the tall waving grass: but it must be too near to be the camp of our people; unless, indeed, they have tarried there, waiting the arrival of Coubitant, who never will rejoin them more.' 'I see the cloud you speak of, Oriana; and I have been watching it with some anxiety for several minutes. It cannot be what you suggest, for you know your father received a message from the trusty Salon--next in command to Coubitant--to tell him that their leader not having joined the party as he promised, a search had been made, and his mangled body found at the foot of the rock, where, it was supposed, he must have fallen in attempting the sleep descent. Salon's messenger further stated that, having buried the corpse where it lay, he had led the people on, and should pursue the path pointed out by Coubitant, and hasten to prepare the necessary huts for our reception. I dispatched the messenger again with further directions to Salon; and ere this, no doubt, the encampment is formed on the shores of the great river to which we are journeying. 'Father,' he added, as he turned towards Tisquantum, �your eye is dim, but your sagacity is as keen as ever. Can you discern that rising smoke, and tell us its cause?' The aged Sachem had been riding silently and abstractedly along. The tall dry grass--now ripe, and shedding its seeds on every side--rose frequently above his head; for he was mounted on a low strong horse, and he had not observed the cloud that had attracted the attention of the younger travelers. He now paused, and looked earnestly to the south, in which direction the smoke appeared right before the advancing party, and from whence a strong and sultry wind was blowing. As the prairie grass rose and fell in undulating waves, the old man obtained a distinct view of the smoke, which now seemed to have spread considerably to the right and left, and also to be approaching towards the travelers. The narrow, zigzag track of the deer and the buffaloes was the only beaten path through the prairie; and this could only be traveled by two or three horsemen abreast. The old Sachem, and Henrich, and Oriana, led the party; and Jyanough, and Mailah, and young Lincoya, all well mounted, rode immediately in the rear. The attendants of the two families, and a few experienced warriors, some on foot and some on horseback, followed in the winding path. On the halt of the foremost rank, the rest rode up, and were immediately made aware of the ominous signs which hitherto they had not noticed. Instantly terror was depicted in every countenance; and the deep low voice of Tisquantum sank into every heart, as he exclaimed, 'The prairie is on fire!' 'Turn!' cried Henrich, 'and fly! Let each horseman take one of those on foot behind, and fly for your lives. Cast the baggage on the ground-- stay for nothing, but our people's lives.' He was obeyed: men and women were all mounted; and Henrich snatched his boy from the arms of the woman who carried him, and, giving the child to Oriana, took up the terrified attendant on his own powerful steed. The wind rose higher: and now the roar of the pursuing flames came fearfully on the fugitives, growing louder and louder, while volumes of dense smoke were driven over their heads, and darkened the sky that had so lately shone in all its summer brightness. Headlong the party dashed along the winding path, and sometimes the terrified horses leaped into the tall grass, seeking a straighter course, or eager to pass by those who had fled before them. But this was a vain attempt. The wild pea-vines, and other creeping plants that stretched among the grass, offered such impediments to rapid flight, as forced them again into the path. And now the wild inhabitants of the broad savanna came rushing on, and joined the furious flight, adding difficulty and confusion to the horror of the scene. Buffaloes, elks, and antelopes, tore madly through the grass, jostling the horses and their riders, and leaving them far in the rear. The screaming eagle rode high above among the clouds of smoke, and many smaller birds fell suffocated to the ground; while all the insect tribe took wing, and everything that had life strove to escape the dread pursuer. It was a desperate race! The strength of the fugitives began to fail, and no refuge, no hope, seemed near. Alas! to some the race was lost. The blinding effect of the dense smoke that filled the atmosphere, the suffocating smell of the burning mass of vegetable matter, and the lurid glare of the red flames that came on so rapidly, overpowered alike the horses and their riders: while the roaring of the fire--which sounded like a mighty rushing cataract--and the oppressive heat, seemed to confuse the senses, and destroy the vital powers of the more feeble and ill-mounted of the fugitives. Several of the horses fell, and their devoted riders sank to the ground, unable any longer to sustain the effort for life; and Henrich had the agony of passing by the wretched victims, and leaving them to their fate, for he knew that he had no power to save them. Many miles were traversed--and still the unbroken level of the prairie spread out before them--and still the roaring and destructive flames came borne on the mighty winds behind them. A few scattered trees were the only objects that broke the monotony of the plains; and the hills, at the foot of which they had traveled that morning, and where alone they could lock for safety, were still at a great distance. At length, the aged Tisquantum's powers of endurance began to give way. The reins almost fell from his hands; and, in trembling accents, he declared his total inability to proceed any further. Leave me, my children!' he exclaimed, 'to perish here; for my strength is gone; and what matters it where the old Tisquantum breathes his last. Mahneto is here, even in this awful hour, to receive my spirit; and I shall but lose a few short months or years of age and infirmity.' 'Never, my father!' cried H enrich, as he caught the reins of the Sachem's horse; and while he still urged his own overloaded steed to fresh exertions, endeavored also to support the failing form of his father-in-law. 'Never will we leave you to die alone in this fiery desert. Hold on, my father! hold on yet a little longer till we gain the defile, where the flames cannot follow as, and all will yet be well!' 'I cannot, my son!' replied the old man. 'Farewell, my dear, my noble boy!--farewell, my Oriana!� And his head sank down upon the neck of his horse. He would have fallen to the ground but for Henrich, who now checked the panting steeds, and sprang down to his feet in time to receive him in his arms. Fly, Oriana!' he exclaimed, as his wife also drew the bridle of her foaming horse by his side. 'Fly, Oriana, my beloved! save your own life, and that of our child! If possible, I will preserve your father-- but if not, farewell! and God be with you!' One moment Oriana urged her horse again to its swiftest pace, as if in obedience to her husband's command--the next, she was at Mailah's side, holding her infant in one arm, white with the other she guided and controlled the terrified animal on which she rode. 'Here, Mailah!' she cried--and she clasped the child to her breast, and imprinted one passionate kiss on its cheek--' Take my Ludovico, and save his life, and I will return to my husband and father. If we follow you, well. If not, be a mother to my child, and may the blessing of God be on you!' She almost flung the infant into the extended arms of Mailah; and then, having with difficulty turned her horse, and forced him to retrace his steps, she again rejoined those with whom she was resolved to live or die. One glance of affectionate reproach she met from her Henrich's eyes: but he did not speak. With the assistance of Ludovico's nurse, who rode behind him, he had just lifted Tisquantum to his own saddle, and was preparing to mount himself, and endeavor to support the unconscious old man, and again commence the race far life or death. But it seemed a hopeless attempt--so utterly helpless was the Sachem, and so unable to retain his seat. Quick as thought Oriana unbound her long twisted girdle of many colors; and, flinging it to Henrich, desired him to bind the failing form of her father to his own. He did so: and the nurse having mounted behind Oriana, again the now furious steeds started forward. All these actions had taken less time to perform than they have to relate; but yet the pursuing flames had gained much way, and the flight became more desperate, and more hazardous. Again the prostrate forms of horses and their riders met the eyes of Henrich and Oriana; but in the thickness of the air, and the wild speed at which they were compelled to pass, it was impossible to distinguish who were the unhappy victims. 'Heaven be praised!' at length Henrich exclaimed--and they were the first words he had uttered since the flight had been resumed--' Heaven be praised! I see the rocks dimly through the clouds of smoke. Yet a few moments, and we shall be safe. Already the grass around us is shorter and thinner: we are leaving the savanna, and shall soon reach the barren defile, where the flames will find no fuel' The horses seemed to know that safety was near at hand, for they bounded forward with fresh vigor, and quickly joined the group of breathless fugitives, who, having reached the extremity of the prairie, had paused to rest from their desperate exertions, and to look out for those of their companions who were missing, but who they hoped would soon overtake them. Oriana snatched her now smiling boy from Mailah's arms, and embraced him with a fervency and emotion that showed how little she had hoped to see his face again. But her own happy and grateful feelings were painfully interrupted by her friend's exclamation of agony-- 'Where is my Lincoya?' she cried. 'Did he not follow with you? I saw him close to me when I paused to take your child: and he is not here! O, my Lincoya! my brave, my beautiful boy! Have you perished in the flames, with none to help you?' And she broke forth into cries and lamentations that wrung the heart of Oriana. She could give her no tidings of the lost youth, for she knew not whose fainting forms she had passed in the narrow shrouded path; and it was utterly impossible now to go and seek him, for the flames had followed hard upon their flight, and were still raging over the mass of dry herbage, and consuming even the scattered tufts that grew among the stones at the entrance to the ravine. So intense was the heat of the glowing surface, even after the blaze had died away, that it would not be practicable to pass over it for many hours; and the party, who had reached a place of safety, were compelled to make arrangements for passing the night where they were, not only that they might be ready to seek the remains of their lost friends the next morning, but also because their own weary limbs, and those of their trembling horses, refused to carry them any further. All the provisions and other baggage, which they had carried for their journey, had been abandoned in the flight, end had become a rapid prey to the devouring flames. But several of the scorched and affrighted prairie fowls, and a few hares-- exhausted with their long race--were easily secured by the young hunters, end afforded a supper to the weary company. The horses were then turned loose to find fodder for themselves, and to drink at the little brook that still trickled among the rocks; and large fires having been lighted to scare the wild beasts that, like our travelers, had been driven for refuge to the ravine, all lay down to sleep, thankful to the deities in whom they respectively trusted, for their preservation in such imminent peril. Fervent were the prayers and praises that were offered up that night by the little band of Christians, among whom Henrich always officiated as minister: and even the distressed spirit of Mailah was comforted and calmed as she joined in his words of thanksgiving, and in his heartfelt petitions that the lost Lincoya might yet be restored to his parents; or that, if his spirit had already passed away from earth, it might have been purified by faith, and received into the presence of its God and Savior. Mailah was tranquilized; but her grief and anxiety were not removed: and she passed that sad night in sleepless reflection on the dreadful fate of her only child, and in sincere endeavors so to realize and apply all the blessed truths she had learnt from Henrich, as to derive from them that comfort to her own soul, and that perfect resignation to the will of God, that she well knew they were designed to afford to the Christian believer. And that night of watchfulness did not pass unprofitably to Mailah's spirit. But where was Lincoya? Where was the youth whose mother mourned him as dead? He was safe amid the top most boughs of a lonely tree, that now stood scorched and leafless in the midst of the smoldering plain, several miles from the safe retreat that had been gained by his friends. The horse on which he rode that day, though fleet and active, was young, and uninured to long continued and violent exertion; and, at length, its foot getting entangled in some creeping plant that had grown across the pathway, it had fallen violently to the ground, and thrown its young rider among the prairie-grass, where he lay, stunned, and unable to rise, until all his companions had passed by. Then he regained the path, and attempted to raise the exhausted creature from the earth: but all in vain. Its trembling limbs were unable to support it; and Lincoya saw that he could no longer look to his favorite steed for the safety of his own life, and must abandon it to perish in the flames. But the boy was an Indian, and accustomed to Indian difficulties and Indian expedients. He glanced rapidly around for some means of preservation; and, seeing a tree of some magnitude, and at no great distance, he resolved to try to reach it ere the coming fire had seized on the surrounding herbage, and seek for a refuge in its summit. With much difficulty, he forced his way through the tall rank grass that waved above his head, and the wild vines that were entangled with it in every direction; and he reached the foot of the tree just as the flames were beginning to scorch its outmost branches. He sprang upward; and, climbing with the agility of a squirrel, he was soon in the highest fork of the tree, and enabled to look down in security on the devastating fire beneath him. All around was one wide sea of ruddy flames, that shot up in forked and waving tongues high amid the heavy clouds of smoke. Happily for Lincoya, the herbage beneath his tree of refuge grew thin and scanty, and did not afford much food for the devouring elements; otherwise it must have consumed his retreat, and suffocated him even in its topmost boughs. As it was, the lower branches only were destroyed, and the boy was able to endure the heat and smoke until the roaring flames had passed beneath him, and he watched them driving onward in the wake of his flying friends. To follow his companions that night was hopeless, for how could he traverse that red-hot plain? He, therefore, settled himself firmly among the sheltering branches, to one of which he bound himself with his belt of deer skin, and prepared to pass the night in that position, as he had passed many similar ones when he had been out on hunting expeditions with his father-in-law Jyanough. Long he gazed on the strange aspect of the wide savanna, as it glowed in the darkness of night, with a lurid and fearful glare, that only made the gloom more visible. But weariness and exhaustion at length overcame him, and he fell asleep, and did not awake until the sun was high in the heavens. The prospect around him was changed, but the plain looked even more dreary and desolate than it appeared while the fire was at work on its clothing of grass. Now all was laid low, and smoking ashes alone covered the nakedness of the savanna. Lincoya gazed earnestly in every direction, that he might make sure of the route he must follow in order to rejoin his friends; and his attention was attracted by the figures of two men approaching towards the tree in which he sat, and apparently engage d in earnest conversation. For a moment his hopes led him to believe that they were Jyanough and Henrich, who had returned, probably, in search of him; and he was about to hail them with a loud and joyful cry. But the caution so early instilled into the mind of an Indian restrained him: and well it was for him that he had not thus given vent to his feelings. The men drew nearer, and he saw, to his amazement, that they were Coubitant--he whose death and burial had been so confidently reported, and Salon--the trusty Salon--to whom the conduct of the tribe had been deputed after the supposed death of the appointed leader. They came beneath the tree; and, seating themselves at its foot, proceeded to refresh themselves with food and water, that looked tempting to the eyes of the fasting and parched Lincoya, as he gazed noiselessly and attentively at their proceedings, and listened to their discourse. 'At last I have been successful, Salon,' said Coubitant to his companion. 'At last I may rejoice in the destruction of those I hate with so bitter a hatred. Those burnt and broken weapons were Henrich's, end this ornament belonged to Oriana.' As he said this he displayed in his hand a girdle clasp, that Lincoya recognized as having been worn by the Squaw-Sachem on the previous day. It had fallen to the ground when she gave the girdle to Henrich: and many of his personal accoutrements had also been cast there, unheeded, in his anxiety to save Tisquantum. 'I would I could have been more sure of all the bodies that lay just beyond,' continued the savage; 'but I think I could not be mistaken in those I most wished to find, burnt and disfigured as they were. And the horses, too, were surely those they rode; for I knew the fragments of Tisquantum's trappings, and recognized the form of Lincoya's pony. Yes! they are all destroyed; I know it, and I exult in it! Now, who shall prevent my being Sachem of the tribe, and leading my warriors to the destruction of the detested white invaders of our land? 'Truly,' replied Salon, 'your last scheme has succeeded better than any of the others you have tried; and I now gladly hail you as Sachem of our tribe. I have made sure of the fidelity of many of our bravest warriors; and when those who would have taken the white man's part, and followed him in obedience to Tisquantum's wishes, find that he is dead, they will readily take you for their leader, as the bravest of our tribe, and the most determined foe of the pale-faces. But it is possible that Henrich has even yet escaped us. The bodies that lie scorched on the ashes are fewer than the number that were to follow us. We must, therefore, take measures to seize and destroy those who yet live, if they are likely to disturb our scheme. Of course, they will again set out on the same track, as being that which will most quickly bring them where food and water are to be found. We have only to lie in wait at the other side of the savanna, where the narrow mountain pass leads to the river, and our arrows and spears will be sufficient to silence every tongue that could speak against your claims.� 'You are right, nay faithful Salon,' answered Coubitant, with a sign of warns approbation of the forethought of his accomplice. 'Let us lose no time in crossing the plain; for, doubtless, the survivors of this glorious fire will be early on their march, and it would not do for them to overtake us in the midst of the ruin we have wrought. We will set all inquiries to rest, and then we will report to our tribe that the dreadful conflagration has deprived them of both their Chiefs, and that it rests with themselves to choose another. O, Salon! my soul burns to lead them to Paomet, that stronghold of our country's foes!' The murderers arose, and took their way directly across the prairie: for all the rank herbage being now reduced to ashes, they were no longer obliged to follow the winding course of the buffalo track. They proceeded at a rapid pace; but it was some time ere Lincoya ventured to descend from his hiding-place, as he feared being observed on the level plain, if either of those ruthless villains should east a glance behind them. At length their retreating forms appeared to him like specks in the distance; and he came down from his watch-tower, and fled as fast as his active young limbs could carry him, towards the spot where he hoped to rejoin his friends. He had not very long continued his flight, when he perceived several persons on horseback approaching towards him; and soon he found himself in the arms of his joyful mother, and was affectionately greeted by Jyanough and Henrich, who, with several others, had come out to look if any of their missing companions were still within reach of human aid. All but Lincoya had perished! The fire and the smoke had not only destroyed their lives, but had so blackened and disfigured them that it was impossible to identify a single individual. A grave was dug in the yet warm earth; and all the victims were buried sufficiently deep to preserve their remains from the ravages of wild beasts; and then the party returned in all haste to those who anxiously awaited them at their place of refuge. On the way, Lincoya related to his father-in-law and Henrich the whole of the conversation which he had heard between Coubitant and Salon, while he was in his safe retreat; and their surprise at finding that the former had survived his desperate fall from the brow of the precipice, and still lived to plan and work out schemes of cruelty and malice, was only equaled by their indignation at thus discovering the treachery and deceit of Salon. They had hitherto put the most entire confidence in the fidelity of this man: and if they had still entertained any doubts or suspicions as to the honesty of Coubitant's intentions, they had relied on Salon to discover his plans, and prevent any mischief being accomplished. The whole story was told to Tisquantum; and his counsel was asked as to the best mode of now counteracting the further schemes of the traitors, and escaping the snare which they found was yet to be laid for their destruction. It would be impossible for them to reach the camp on the banks of the Missouri, by the path which Coubitant had pointed out, without passing through the defile where the villain and his confederate now proposed to lie in wait for them, and where, in spite of their superior numbers, many of their party would probably be wounded by the arrows and darts of their hidden foes, without having any opportunity of defending themselves. That route was therefore abandoned. But the old Sachem remembered having traversed this part of the continent many years ago, and he knew of a track to the west, by which the mountains that skirted the course of the Missouri might be avoided, and the rivers reached at a considerable distance above the place at which the encampment was appointed to be formed. This road was, indeed, much longer than that across the prairie, and would occupy several days to traverse; so that it was doubtful whether Coubitant would wait so long in his lurking-place, or whether he would conclude that the Chiefs were dead, and return to take the command of the tribe. Nevertheless, no other course was open; and, with as little delay as possible, the journey was commenced. A scanty supply of food was obtained by the bows and arrows of the hunters, and water was occasionally met with in the small rivulets that flowed from the hills, and wandered on until they eventually lost themselves in the broad Missouri. Inured to privations and to toilsome journeys, the Indian party heeded them not, but cheerfully proceeded on their way until, at length, they beheld the wigwams of their tribe standing on a green meadow near the river's side. They hastened on, and were received with joyful acclamations by the inhabitants, who had almost despaired of ever seeing them again. The conflagration of the prairie was known to them; but almost all of them were ignorant of the true cause of the awful calamity, and attributed it entirely to accident. Nor were any suspicions aroused in their minds by the conduct of Coubitant and Salon, who had pretended the greatest alarm and anxiety for the fate of the Chiefs and their party, and had set out as soon as it was possible to traverse the savanna, in the hope, as they declared, of rendering assistance to any of the Sachem's company who might have survived the catastrophe. Much to the relief of all the party, they found that neither Coubitant nor his accomplice had yet returned to the camp; and their prolonged absence was becoming a source of uneasiness to the rest of the tribe, who were preparing to send out a party of men to search for them, the very day that Henrich led his detachment into the village. It was agreed by the Sachems and Jyanough, that they would not communicate to the rest of their people all they had discovered of the treachery of Coubitant and Salon; as they knew not yet how many of the warriors might have been induced to join in the conspiracy, and connive at their crimes. They, therefore, accounted for having traveled by so circuitous a route, on the plea of their inability to cross the prairie without any supply of either provisions or water; and they commanded the party who were about to search for Coubitant and. Salon, to set out immediately, and to use every possible exertion to find them, and bring them in safety to the camp. They could have told their messengers exactly where the villains were to be found; but that would have betrayed a greater knowledge of their movements than it would have been prudent to disclose; and they only directed the men to shout aloud every now and then, as they traversed the mountain passes, that the lost travelers might know of their approach; and also to carry with them a supply of food sufficient to last several days. The messengers departed: and then Jyanough set himself to work, with all an Indian's sagacity, to find out the extent to which the conspiracy had been carried among the warriors of the tribe. He succeeded in convicting four men of the design to elevate Coubitant to the chieftainship, and of a knowledge and participation in his last desperate scheme for the destruction of the Sachem and all his family. Summary justice was, therefore, executed on the culprits, who scorned to deny their crimes when once they were charged with them; and submitted to the sentence of their Chief with a fortitude that almost seemed to expiate their offence. The most daring of the four openly exulted in his rebellious projects, and boasted of his long-concealed hatred towards the pale-faced stranger, who presumed to exercise authority over the free red men; and Tisquantum deemed it politic to inflict on him a capital punishment. He was, therefore, directed to kneel down before him, which he did with the greatest composure; and the aged Chief then drew his long sharp knife, and, with a steady hand and unflinching eye, plunged it into the heart of the criminal. He expired without a groan or a struggle; and then the other three wretches were led up together, and placed in the same humble posture before the offended Sachem. At Henrich's request, the capital sentence was remitted; but one of agony and shame was inflicted in its stead-- one that is commonly reserved for the punishment of repeated cases of theft. The Sachem's knife again was lifted, and, with a dexterous movement of his hand, he slit the noses of each of the culprits from top to bottom, and dismissed them, to carry for life the marks of their disgrace. No cry was uttered by any one of the victims, nor the slightest resistance offered to their venerable judge and executioner; for such cowardice would, in the estimation of the Indians, have been far more contemptible than the crime of which they had been convicted. Silently they withdrew; nor did they, even by the expression of their countenances, seem to question the justice of their chastisement. The next step to be pursued, was to prepare for securing Coubitant and Salon the moment they should make their appearance in the camp, and before they could be made aware of the discovery at their treason. For this purpose, very effectual steps were taken; and Jyanough--the faithful and energetic Jyanough--took the command of the band of trusty warriors who were appointed to seize the leaders of the conspiracy, and to bring them into the presence of the Chiefs. That evening, soon after sunset, the searching party returned; and, no sooner did Jyanough perceive, from the spot where he had posted his men among the rocks and bushes that commanded the pathway, that Coubitant and his fellow-criminal were with them, than he gave the concerted signal, and rushed upon them. In an instant, they were seized by the arms, and dragged forcibly forward to the village. They asked no questions of their captors--for conscience told them that their sin had found them out, and that they were about to expiate their crimes by a death, probably both lingering and agonizing. Doggedly they walked on, and were led to the spot where Tisquantum and his son-in-law awaited their arrival. This was beneath a spreading tree that grew near the banks of the river, which in that part were rather high and precipitous. The shades of evening were deepening; and the dark visage of Coubitant looked darker than ever, while the lurid light of his deep-set eyes seemed to glow with even unwonted luster from beneath his shaggy and overhanging brows. The greatest part of the tribe were gathered together in that place, and stood silently around to view the criminals, and to witness their expected fate; for now all were acquainted with their guilt and all who were assembled here were indignant at their treachery against their venerable and beloved Sachem, and their scarcely less respected white Chieftain. The voice of Tisquantum broke the ominous silence. �Coubitant,� he solemnly began, 'you have deceived your Chief. You have spoken to him words of peace, when death was in your heart. Is it not so?� 'I would be Chief myself,' replied the savage, in a deep, undaunted voice. 'I was taught to believe that I should succeed you; and a pale- faced stranger has taken my place. I have lived but to obtain vengeance--vengeance that you, Tisquantum, who were bound to wreak it on the slayer of your son, refused to take. A mighty vengeance was in my soul; and to possess it, I would have sacrificed the whole tribe. Now do to me as I would have done to Henrich.' And he glared on his hated rival with the eye of a beast of prey. Tisquantum regarded him calmly, and gravely continued his examination. 'And you have also drawn some of my people into rebel lion, and persuaded them to consent to the murder of their Chief. One of them has already shed his life-blood in punishment of his sin; and the rest will bear the marks of shame to their graves. All this is your work.' 'If more of your people had the courage to join me in resisting the pretensions of the proud stranger, you and Henrich would now have been lying dead at my feet. You would never again have been obeyed as Sachems by the Nausetts. But they loved their slavery--and let them keep it. My soul is free. You may send it forth in agony, if you will: for I am in your power, and I ask no mercy from those to whom I would have shown none. Do your worst. Coubitant's heart is strong; and I shall soon be with the spirits of my fathers, where no white men can enter. The wrath of Tisquantum was stirred by the taunts and the bold defiance of his prisoner; and he resolved to execute on him a sentence that should strike terror into any others of the tribe who might have harbored thoughts of rebellion. �The death that you intended should be my portion, and that of all my family, shall be your own!' he exclaimed. The torments of fire shall put a stop to your boasting. My children,' he added--turning to the warriors who stood around him--' I call on you to do justice on this villain. Form a pile of wood here on the river's brink; end when his body is consumed, his ashes shall he cast on the stream, and go to tell, in other lands, how Tisquantum punishes treachery.' A smile of scorn curled the lip of Coubitant, but he spoke not; and no quivering feature betrayed any inward fear of the approaching agony. �Hear me yet, Coubitant,' resumed the old Chieftain; and, as he spoke, the strokes of his warriors' hatchets among the neighboring trees fell on the victim's ear, but did not seem to move him. 'Hear me yet, and answer me. Was it by your arts that Salon's soul was turned away from his lawful Chief, and filled with thoughts of murder? Was he true to me and mine until you returned to put evil thoughts into his heart? or had pride and jealousy already crept in there, which you have only fostered?' 'Salon hugged his chains till I showed him that they were unworthy of a true-born Indian. The smooth tongue of the pale-face had beguiled him, till I told him that it would lead him to ruin and subjection. Yes: I taught Salon to long for freedom for himself, and freedom for his race. And now he will die for it, as a red man ought to die. Let the same pile consume us both!' 'No!' interrupted Henrich, eagerly. 'His guilt is far less than yours, and mercy may be extended to him. By every law of God and man your life, Coubitant, is forfeited; and justice requires that you should die. But I would desire your death to be speedy, and I would spare you all needless agony. My father,' he continued, addressing Tisquantum, 'let my request be heard in favor of Salon, that he may live to become our trusty friend again; and since Coubitant must die, let it be by the quick stroke of the knife, and not in the lingering horrors of the stake.' 'Cease to urge me, my son,' replied the Chief, in a tone of firm determination, that forbad all hope of success. 'I have said that Coubitant shall die the death he intended for us; and his funeral pile shall light up this spot ere I retire to my lodge. Salon, also, shall die: but, as he was deceived by the greater villain, he shall die a warriors death.' The Sachem rose from his seat, and took a spear that leaned against the trunk of the tree beside him. 'Now meet the stroke like a man!' he cried; and gathering his somewhat failing strength, he bore with all his force against the naked breast of Salon. The life-blood gushed forth, and he fell a corpse upon the earth. 'Now drive in the stake, and heap the pile!' exclaimed the aged Chieftain in a clear, loud voice of command, as he withdrew the bloody lance, and waved it high above his head. He was excited by the scene he was enacting, and the feelings of his race were aroused within him with a violence that had been long unknown to him. He felt the joy that savage natures feel in revenging themselves on their foes; and he forgot the influence that Henrich's example and precepts of forbearance had so lung exerted over his conduct, though they had not yet succeeded in changing his heart. 'Heap the pile high!' he cried; 'and let the flames bring back the light of day, and show me the death struggles of him who would have slain me, and all I love on earth. Drag the wretch forward, and bind him strongly. The searching flames may yet have power to conquer his calm indifference.' The lighted brand was ready, and the victim was led to the foot of the pile. A rope was passed around his arms, and the noose was about to be drawn tight, when, quick as lightning, the devoted victim saw that there was yet one chance for life. The river was rolling beneath his feet. Could he but reach it! His arms were snatched from those who held them with a sudden violence, for which they were unprepared; and, with one desperate bound, the prisoner gained the steep bank of the broad dark stream. Another moment, and a heavy plash was heard in the waters. Darkness was gathering around the scene; and those who looked into the river could distinguish no human form on its surface. 'Fire the pile!' cried Tisquantum; and the flames burst up from the dry crackling wood, and threw a broad sheet of light on the dark stream below. 'He is there!' again shouted the infuriated Chieftain. 'I see the white foam that his rapid strokes leave behind him. Send your arrows after him, my brave warriors, and suffer him not to escape. Ha! will Mahneto let him thus avoid my vengeance?' The bow-strings twanged, and the arrows flew over the water. Where did they fall? Not on Coubitant's struggling form; for he had heard the Sachem's command, and had dived deeply beneath the surface of the water, and changed his course down the stream. When he rose again, it was in a part of the river that the flames did not illuminate; and those who sought his life saw him no more. 'Surely he was wounded, and has sunk, never to rise again!' exclaimed Henrich. 'His doom has followed him!' 'Mahneto be praised!' cried Tisquantum; 'but I would I had seen him writhing in those flames!' And he turned and left the spot. Coubitant gained the western shore of the river; and he smiled a strange and ominous smile, as he looked across the waters, and saw the forms of his enemies by the light of that fire which had been intended to consume his quivering flesh, and dismiss from earth his undaunted and cruel spirit. 'I will have vengeance yet!' ha muttered: and then he turned his steps towards the south, and paused not until he had traveled many miles down the river, when he lay down on its margin, and slept as soundly as if no guilt lay on his soul. CHAPTER XVIII �Out of small beginnings great things have arisen, and as one small candle may light a thousand. So the light here kindled hath shone on many.� GOVERNOR BRADFORD�S JOURNAL. Once more we must leave our Indian friends, and return to New Plymouth, and to comparatively civilized life, with all its cares and anxieties, from so many of which the wild tenants of the woods are free. Cares and anxieties had, indeed, continued to be the portion of the Pilgrim Fathers and their families, though mingled with many blessings. Their numbers had considerably increased during the years that elapsed since last we took a view of their condition; and their town bad assumed a much more comfortable and imposing appearance. Many trading vessels had also visited the rising colony from the mother-country, and had brought out to the settlers useful supplies of clothing, and other articles of great value. Among these, none were more acceptable to the emigrants than the first specimens of horned cattle, consisting of three cows and a bull, that reached the settlement about the third year after its establishment. They were hailed with universal joy by all the inhabitants of New Plymouth, who seemed to feel as if the presence of such old accustomed objects, brought back to them a something of home that they had never felt before in the land of their exile. These precious cattle were a common possession of the whole colony, and were not divided until the year 1627, when their numbers had greatly increased, and when a regular division of the houses and lands also took place. The trade of the colony had, likewise, been considerably augmented, both with the Indians and with the English, whose fishing vessels frequented the coast, and were the means of their carrying on a constant intercourse and traffic with their friends at home. One of these vessels brought out to the emigrants the sad intelligence of the death of their beloved pastor, John Robinson--he who had been honored and respected by every Puritan community, whether in Europe or America, and for whose arrival the Pilgrims had looked, with anxious hope, ever since the day of their sorrowful parting in Holland. 'Surely'--as a friend of Bradford's wrote to him from Leyden--our pastor would never have gone from hence, if prayers, tears or means of aid could have saved him.' The consternation of the settlers was great indeed. Year after year they had gone on, expecting and waiting for his coming to resume his official duties among them; and, therefore, they had never taken any measures to provide themselves with regular pastors, who might preach the gospel to them three times every Lord's day, according to their custom in Europe and also administer to them the sacrament, which, previous to their exile, all the grown-up members of the community had habitually received every Sunday. The death of their spiritual leader and counselor had destroyed all their hopes of being again united to him on earth; and the blow fell heavily on all, and cast a gloom over the settlement that was not soon dispersed; but still the Pilgrims did not immediately proceed to choose another minister. The belief that the divine service could receive no part of its sanctity from either time, place, or person, but only from the Holy Spirit of God, which hallows it--was then, as it is now, a leading feature of the Independent and Presbyterian churches of America, and, therefore, the Puritans of New Plymouth did not feel it a necessity--although they deemed it a _privilege_--to enjoy the spiritual ministrations of ordained clergymen. Hitherto the venerable Brewster, with the occasional aid of Bradford, Winslow, and a few others distinguished for piety and eloquence, had delivered the customary addresses and prayers, and had performed the rite of baptism. At length, in the year 1628, Allerton, the assistant of Bradford, after he had been on a mission to England, brought back with him a young preacher of the name of Rogers, who very shortly gave such evident signs of insanity, that the settlers were obliged to send him back to his native land, at a considerable expense and trouble. In the meantime, the number of settlers on other parts of the coast of New England had augmented to a great extent; and in Salem alone there were four ministers who had come out with the English emigrants, of whom only two could find adequate employment. One of the others, therefore, named Ralph Smith, who was a man of much piety, and judged orthodox by the Puritans, went to Plymouth, and offered himself as pastor to the inhabitants. He was chosen by the people to be their spiritual leader, and became the first regularly-appointed preacher who officiated among these, the earliest settlers in New England. Two or three small vessels were, about this time, built by the men of Plymouth for their own use, and proved of great service to them, as their connection with other colonies of Europeans on the American coast became more extensive and profitable. A friendly intercourse with the Dutch settlers at the mouth of the great river Hudson had also lately been established, to the great satisfaction of the Plymouthers, and to the mutual advantage and comfort of both parties. It was commenced by the men of Holland soon after their formal settlement near the Hudson, where they erected a village, and a fortress called Fort Amsterdam. From thence they addressed a courteous letter to their old connections, the English exiles from Leyden; and invited them to an occasional barter of their respective goods and productions, and also offered them their services in any other way that could be useful. Governor Bradford--who still by annual election retained his important office--returned an equally friendly reply to these overtures: and at the same time tendered his own and his people's grateful acknowledgements of all the kindness and hospitality that they had received during their residence in Holland, in years gone by. The following year they were surprised and gratified by a visit from De Brazier, the Secretary of the Dutch colony, who anchored at Manomet, a place twenty miles to the south of New Plymouth, and from thence sent to request the Pilgrims to send a boat for him. His ship was well stocked with such wares as were likely to be acceptable to the English; and, according to the custom of the times, he was attended by several gaily dressed trumpeters, and a numerous retinue of servants. The new pinnace, which had recently been built at Manomet, was immediately dispatched for the welcome visitors, and he was hospitably entertained by his new friends for three days; after which the Governor, attended by Rodolph and some others, returned with him to his vessel, to make their purchases, and to give in exchange for their European goods, such furs, and skins, and tobacco, as they had been able to collect in their general storehouse on 'the Burying Hill.' From this period, an active trade was carried on between the two settlements, which proved highly advantageous to both--the Dutch supplying the men of Plymouth with sugar, linen, and other stuffs, in return for their skins, timber, and tobacco. During all this time, an almost perfect peace was maintained with the neighboring Indian tribes; and the friendship that had so early been established between the English settlers and the Wampanoges became more confirmed and strengthened. All external matters now wore a far more prosperous aspect than they had hitherto done; and the Pilgrims felt that they had both the means and the leisure to add to the comforts of their social and domestic life. Some years previously, a small portion of land had been assigned to each family for its own particular use: but the possession of this land had not been made hereditary; and although the fact of its being appropriated to one household had considerably increased the zeal and industry of the cultivators, yet they still desired that feeling of inalienable property which so greatly adds to the value of every possession. To gratify this natural desire, the Governor and his council had deemed it advisable to depart so far from the terms of the original treaty as to allot to each colonist an acre of land, as near the town as possible, in order that, if any danger threatened, they might be able to unite speedily for the general defense. This arrangement gave much satisfaction to the settlers; but in the year 1627 they were placed in a still more comfortable and independent position. They were, by their charter, lords of all the neighboring land for a circle of more than one hundred miles. That portion of their territory, therefore, which was most contiguous to the town, was divided into portions of twenty acres, five long on the side next the coast, and four broad; and to each citizen one of these portions was assigned, with the liberty of purchasing another for his wife, and also one for every child who resided with him. To every six of these pieces were allotted a cow, two goats, and a few pigs; so that each settler became possessed of a little farm of his own, and a small herd of cattle to stock it with: and peace and plenty at length seemed to smile on the hardy and long- enduring settlers. Meanwhile, the colony of Massachusetts, which had been founded in the year 1624, increased rapidly. It was first planted at Nantasket, a deserted village of the Indians, at the entrance of the Bay of Massachusetts, where the Plymouth settlers had previously erected a few houses, for the convenience of carrying on their trade with the neighboring tribes. Another settlement had been formed, two years later, at Naumkeak, a tongue of land of remarkable fertility, where also a deserted Indian village was found, which formed the commencement of the town afterwards called Salem; and which had become--at the period we have now arrived at in our story--a place of some importance. It was founded by a man of much zeal end enthusiasm, of the name of Endicott; who was one of the original possessors of the patent granted to several gentlemen of Dorsetshire, for the land in Massachusetts Bay, extending from the Merrimak to the Charles River, from north to south; but stretching to an indefinite distance westward, even over the unexplored regions between the boisterous Atlantic, and the �Silent Sea,� as the Pacific has been very aptly and beautifully designated. Endicott had been invested, by the society to which he belonged in England, with the government of the whole district of Massachusetts; and he soon found himself called on to exercise his authority for the suppression of the disturbances excited by the settlers of Quincy. This place was inhabited by a set of low and immoral men, one of whom, named Thomas Morton, had come over in the wild and dissolute train sent out by Weston several years previously. He was a man of some talent, but of very contemptible character: and had attached himself to the retinue of Captain Wollaston and his companions, who first settled at Quincy, and gave it the name of Mount Wollaston. He afterwards, with his friends, removed to Virginia, leaving some of his servants and an overseer to manage the plantation during his absence. But, no sooner was Morton relieved of the presence of those who had hitherto kept him in some restraint, than he roused the servants to a complete mutiny, which ended in their driving the overseer from the plantation, and indulging in every kind of excess. They even had the boldness and the dishonesty to sell the land which had been left in their charge by the lawful possessors, to the Indians; and to obtain fresh estates, which they claimed as their own. And, having thus established a sort of lawless independence, they passed their time in drinking and wild revelry. On the first of May, they erected a may-pole, in old-English fashion; but, not contented with celebrating that day of spring-time and flowers with innocent pastimes, they hung the pole with verses of an immoral and impious character, and, inviting the ignorant heathen to share in their festivities, they abandoned themselves to drunkenness and profligacy. The horror and indignation of the severe Puritans of New Plymouth at this outbreak of licentiousness, was great indeed. In their eyes almost every amusement was looked upon as a sin; and the most innocent village dance round a maypole was regarded as nearly allied to the heathenish games in honor of the Goddess Flora. The conduct, therefore, of the disorderly settlers of Quincy filled them with shame and grief; and they felt humbled, as well as indignant, when they reflected on the discredit which such proceedings must necessarily bring on the Christian profession, and the British name. Nor was this all: it was not merely discredit that they had to fear. The insane and profligate conduct of Morton threatened to bring on them eventually, as well as on all the emigrants, evils of a more personal kind. For, when Morton and his wild associates found their means of self-gratification again running short, they had the folly to part with arms and ammunition to the Indians, and to teach them how to use them; thus giving them the power of not only resisting the authority of the English, but also of effectually attacking them whenever any subjects of dispute should arise between them and the pale-faced invaders. Most joyfully the natives took advantage of this impolitic weakness; and so eagerly did they purchase the coveted firearms of their rivals, that Morton sent to England for a fresh supply of the dangerous merchandise. Such conduct was quite sufficient to arouse the fears and the vigilance of every other colony of New England; and the chief inhabitants of the various plantations agreed to request the interference of their brethren of New Plymouth, as being the oldest and most powerful settlement, in order to bring the offenders to their senses. Bradford willingly listened to their petition; for he desired nothing more earnestly than to have an opportunity of openly manifesting to his countrymen, and to the Indians, how greatly opposed he and his people were to the proceedings of Morton's gang. He had also a very sufficient pretext for such interference, as he could bring forward the positive command of his sovereign, that no arms of any kind should be given or sold to the natives. He resolved, however, before he had recourse to harsher measures, to try and bring Morton and his wild crew to a better mode of life, by friendly and persuasive messages. But these only excited the contempt and derision of the ruffian; and the doughty warrior, Miles Standish, was therefore dispatched, with a band of his veteran followers, to seize on the desperadoes. They came upon them when they were in the midst of their drunken revelry, and, after a fierce struggle, succeeded in making them all prisoners, and conveying them safely to Plymouth. From thence Morton was sent, by the first opportunity, to England, to be tried by the High Council, who, however, did not take any active measures against him or his followers. Many of the latter escaped, and continued their disorderly life, until they were checked by the vigorous proceedings of Endicott, who severely reprimanded them, and cut down the may-pole which had given rise to so much offence, and he named the hill on which the notorious plantation was situated, 'Mount Dagon,' in memory of the profane doings of its inhabitants. The coast of Massachusetts Bay was now studded with plantations, and with rising towns and villages. The stream of emigration continued to increase; and the wealth and prosperity of the colonies in general kept pace with the addition to their numbers, and with their extended trade with foreign colonies and with the mother-country. Boston had become a place of some note, and seemed to be regarded as the seat of commerce for the Massachusetts district, as well as the center of the civil government. Most of the families of the neighboring plantations, especially of Charlestown, removed to Boston; and ere long it was deemed expedient to found a regular church there, and the building of a house of God was commenced. Winthrop, the governor, also exerted himself in the erection of a fortress, to repel the dreaded attacks of the Indians; but he soon perceived that this was a needless precaution, for all the neighboring tribes readily offered their friendship, and even their submission; and, as the strength of the colony daily increased, he found that he had less and less to fear from the Indians. The Sagamore of Sawgus, in the vicinity of Boston, remained the steady friend of the English until his death; and Chickatabot, Sachem of Neponset, one of the neighboring Chiefs of the Massachusetts, frequently visited the rising town of Boston. On one of these occasions he excited the mirth of the Governor and his suite, by requesting to be allowed to purchase his fall-dress coat, to which he had taken a great fancy. To this strange and original request, the Governor courteously replied that it was not the custom of the English Sagamores to dispose of their raiment in that manner; but he consoled the disappointed Chieftain by sending for his tailor, and ordering him to measure Chickatabot for a full suit. This treasure the Sachem carried away with him three days afterwards, to astonish the eyes of his subjects in his native wilds; and his loyalty towards the English was greatly strengthened by so handsome and judicious a present. Cundincus, also, the Chief of the powerful and much dreaded Narragansetts, sent his son with a friendly greeting to the new settlers of Boston; and, in the following year, his nephew and co-ruler, Miantonomo, came on a visit to the Governor. He was for some days an inmate of Winthrop's house; and it is recorded that he not only conducted himself with the greatest decorum, but that be also sat patiently to listen to a sermon of an hour and a half's duration, of which, of course, he scarcely comprehended one word. Governor Winthrop followed the good example that had already been set by both Carver and Bradford at New Plymouth, in regard to all dealings with the natives. He always maintained their rights with the most strict and impartial justice; and if any Englishman committed an injury against the property of an Indian, he compelled him to replace it--in some cases even to twice the value of the article in question. The new settlers had always been on very friendly terms with the elder colony of Plymouth; and visits were frequently exchanged between the Governors and others of the inhabitants, which, though performed with much difficulty and even danger, were a source of mutual pleasure to the two bands of British emigrants. If the men of Plymouth regarded with some feeling of jealous anxiety the growing power and greatness of their rival, it was but natural. Nevertheless, no differences of any importance arose between the colonies on the subject of civil superiority. It was on spiritual matters that they sometimes disagreed; and on these points the Plymouthers watched the newcomers with suspicious sensitiveness, and resolved to maintain their dearly- purchased based rights to religious freedom, against any pretensions that might be made by the church of Boston. This latter community was frequently subject to divisions and disputes, on those points of faith and discipline that each party regarded as all-important, but on the carrying out of which they could not agree; and a certain spirit of intolerance had already begun to show itself among them, which, in later times, ripened into actual cruelty and persecution. The first instance of any display of this unchristian spirit with which our narrative is concerned, was the treatment of a young clergyman, named Roger Williams, who came over to New England several years after the emigration of the Pilgrim Fathers, when the renewed oppression of the Puritan ministers, by the English bishops, drove many of their number to seek a refuge in America. In the same year also arrived John Elliott, a man whose name is deservedly remembered and respected in New England, as standing conspicuous for zeal and virtue. So great and so successful were his labors among the native heathen, and so eminent were his piety and his self-denying charity, that he has been well named the _'Prince of Missionaries'_ and 'the Great Apostle of the Indians.' The arrival of these holy and zealous--though somewhat eccentric--men, and of several others equally resolved to maintain the freedom of their religious views and practices, tended greatly to strengthen and establish the emigrants; and also added considerably to their comfort, as every settlement became provided with regular and authorized ministers of the gospel, and could enjoy all those religious privileges from which they had been so long debarred. But it must also be confessed that it became the source of much dissension and party feeling, and led to that display of bigotry and intolerance that eventually disgraced the Christian profession of the men of Massachusetts.[*] [Footnote: The cruel fate of Mary Dyer, the Quaker, who was condemned to death by Governor Endicott, at Boston, is a lamentable instance of the narrow-minded and cruel policy of the rulers of that community. She was banished from the state, but 'felt a call' to return and rebuke the austerity of the men of Boston, and reprove them for their spiritual pride. She was accompanied by two friends, William Robinson and Marmaduke Stevenson, and all three were seized, imprisoned, and, after a summary trial, were sent to the gallows. The two men were executed; but at the moment when Mary Dyer was standing, calm and resigned, with the rope around her neck, expecting to be launched into eternity, a reprieve arrived, and the victim was released. But it was only for a little time. She was again banished; and again returned, as if to seek her fate. A second trial took place, and she was again condemned. Her husband, who knew not of her return to Boston until it was too late, appeared before the magistrates, and pleaded with all the eloquence of affection and anguish. But he wept and prayed in vain. His young and lovely wife was led to the scaffold, where she met her fate with a pious and even cheerful resignation; but her blood has left a dark stain on the history of the Church of Boston, that no time will ever efface. This dreadful event occurred about forty years after that period of which we are now treating.] Roger Williams was a man comparatively unknown in his own country, but he was destined to exercise considerable influence in the land of his adoption, by his peculiar views of religious freedom which went far beyond those of the generality of his fellow Puritans. He desired to extend to others that liberty of conscience which he claimed as his own privilege, and for the attainment of which he had become a wanderer and an exile. But he soon found that many of his countrymen had forgotten in America the principles of spiritual freedom, for which they had so nobly contended in England, and were ready to employ against those who differed from them, the same 'carnal weapons' that had already driven them from their mother-country. His sufferings were indeed light, in comparison of those which were afterwards inflicted on the miserable Quakers by the government of Massachusetts; but still they were hard for flesh and blood to bear, and galling to a free spirit to receive from those who boasted of their own love of freedom. Roger Williams was not more than thirty-two years of age when he arrived in New England. He had boldly separated himself from all communion with the high church of his native country; and, before he would attach himself to the Church of Boston, he demanded from its members a similar declaration of independence. The fathers of the colony were, however, by no means prepared to take so decided a step, which would lay them open to the attacks of the English hierarchy; and although a few years afterwards, when they could do it with less risk of punishment, they abjured all connection with the Church of England, yet they dared not at present give any countenance to such individual boldness as that which Williams had manifested. His uncompromising principles were, however, in unison with those of the Church of Salem; and he was invited by that community to be their teacher, as an assistant to their pastor, Skelton, whose health was then declining. The rulers of Boston were extremely indignant at this act of independence on the part of the Salemers; and they addressed to them a remonstrance, desiring them to take no such steps without the concurrence of the government of the state of Massachusetts. But the men of Salem did not withdraw their invitation, which was accepted by Roger Williams; and in a short time his piety, his eloquence, and the kind courtesy of his manners, gained for him the esteem and affection of the whole community. He was not, however, permitted to remain in peace in his new home. The suspicion and ill-will of the Boston government followed him to Salem, and so greatly embittered his life, and interrupted his labors, that he found it expedient to withdraw to Plymouth, where he found employment as assistant to the regular pastor, Ralph Smith. His preaching caused great excitement in New Plymouth, from the fervor of his eloquence, and the freedom of his opinions, which aroused the sympathy of many of the Pilgrim Fathers. Governor Bradford was much interested by the young and enthusiastic minister; and he described him in his journal as 'a man full of the fear of God, and of zeal, but very unsettled in judgement.' Certainly, his opinions were peculiar, and his spirit bold and defying, to a degree that rather shocked and astonished the sober, severe, and exclusive men of Plymouth; but his sincere piety caused him to be respected, even by those who shrank from going such lengths as he did; and his engaging manners won the affection of all who were admitted to his intimacy. One cause of the anger of the rulers of Boston against this energetic young man was an essay which he wrote and addressed to the Governor of Plymouth, in which he stated his conviction that 'the King of England had no right whatever to give away these lands on which they had settled; but that they belonged exclusively to the natives, and must be bought in by auction from them.' No one who entertains a sense of justice will now be disposed to object to this opinion; but it gave great offence to the government of Boston, and he was summoned before the general court, to answer to Governor Winthrop for having promulgated such notions. He did not, however, attempt to defend them, but good-humoredly declared that they were privately addressed to Bradford, who, with tin chief men of Plymouth, agreed with him in all the material points of his essay, and he offend to burn it if it had given offence at Boston. The subject was then dropped, and Williams returned to Plymouth, where he continued to reside for a considerable time. During that period, he not only gained many friends among the inhabitants, but he also, by a constant intercourse with the Wampanoges and other neighboring tribes, obtained a considerable knowledge of their language and manners, and secured their veneration and love. This, as we shall have occasion to observe, proved afterwards of the greatest advantage to him. But his own restless spirit was not satisfied with quietly discharging the duties of his office, and enjoying the society of his own countrymen and their Indian allies. Again he drew upon himself the wrath of the Boston Church, by openly stating his conviction that no civil government had a right to punish any individual for a breach of the Sabbath, or for any offence against either of the four commandments, or the first table. He maintained that these points should be left to the conscience alone; or, in the case of those who had agreed to a church covenant, to the authorities of the church. The civil magistrates he considered as only empowered to punish such violations of the law as interfered with the public peace. This unheard-of heresy against the principles by which the Bostoners were governed, was received with amazement and indignation: and, although they could not take any immediate measures to testify their displeasure, and to punish the offender, yet he thenceforth became the object of hatred and suspicion to the rulers, and they only waited for a fitting opportunity of openly manifesting it. Williams was aware of the feeling entertained towards him by the government of Massachusetts, but he was not thereby deterred from expressing his opinions in New Plymouth; and so great was his attachment to the people of Salem, who had first afforded him a home, that he would again have ventured thither, had he not been detained by his new friends. They were both numerous and sincere: and, among them, none were more attached to him than the Maitland family, who agreed with him in most of his religious and political opinions, and valued his society on account of his unaffected piety, and the various powers and accomplishments of his mind. Possibly, it was the attraction that Roger Williams found in this family that caused him so long to turn a deaf ear to the repeated solicitations of his old friends at Salem, that he would again take up his abode among them. Certainly, it was not fear of the rulers of Boston that kept his undaunted spirit in a district over which they had no authority; neither was it altogether the harmony that subsisted between his views and those of the hospitable Plymouthers. On many points they agreed, but not on all; and those who differed from him feared that his continued residence among them might excite a party spirit, and mar that peace which had hitherto reigned in their community. Still Roger Williams did continue to dwell at New Plymouth; and still his visits to the house of Maitland became more and more frequent.[*] [Footnote: A few liberties are taken with the private life of this interesting character, in order to connect him more closely with the events of the narrative. But all the incidents which can be regarded as important are strictly historical, although the date and order of them may be slightly altered.] CHAPTER XIX. My child, my child, thou leav'st me!--I shall hear The gentle voice no more that blest mine ear With its first utterance I shall miss the sound Of thy light step, amidst the flowers around; And thy soft breathing hymn at twilight's close; And thy �good night,� at parting for repose! ----Yet blessings with thee go! Love guard thee, gentlest! and the exile's woe From thy young heart be far!' HEMANS. At the period when Roger Williams was induced to seek a home among the Pilgrim Fathers of New Plymouth, Edith Maitland had attained to womanhood. She was not beautiful, strictly speaking, but she was possessed of that 'something than beauty dearer,'--that nameless and indescribable charm that is sometimes seen to surround a person whose form and features would not satisfy the critical eye of an artist. It was Edith's character which looked out from her clear hazel eye, and won the interest and the affection of all who knew her. Gentle and affectionate in disposition, but at the same time, firm, enduring, and fall of energy, she combined the characteristic qualities of both her parents, and added to them an originality all her own. Her education, in the common acceptation of the term, had necessarily been both desultory and imperfect; and yet, under its influence, the mind and character of Edith had strengthened and matured in no common degree. The very circumstances by which she was surrounded had educated her; and sorrow--deep, abiding sorrow, for the loss of both her much-loved brothers--had taught her to look on life in a different point of view, and with different expectations from those with which it is usually regarded by the young. Her mother had watched her opening mind and disposition with much care and anxiety: but she had not sought to check its interesting peculiarity, or to control the wild exuberance of thought and feeling that were occasionally manifested by her intelligent and engaging child. As she grew older, she became more and more the companion of Helen, who studied her character attentively: and, if we be allowed such a figure of speech, wisely endeavored to train it in a right direction, rather than to prune it to any conventional form. Thus a perfect confidence was established, and ever subsisted between the mother and daughter; and the natural thoughtfulness of spirit, and energy of purpose, that belonged to Edith, were unchecked, and she was allowed to possess an individuality of character that is, unhappily, too often repressed and destroyed in these present days of high civilization and uniformity of education. The courteous manners which both Helen and her husband had acquired in early life--when they dwelt in comparative affluence in England--were inherited by their daughter in full measure; and her whole manner and conduct were marked by a refinement and elegance that seemed little in keeping with the life of extreme simplicity, and even of hardship, that she had experienced from her early childhood. While her brothers were spared to her, she was their constant companion and playfellow; and except when her mother required her attendance, either as her pupil or her assistant in domestic occupations, she spent the greatest part of the day in rambling with them on the sea-shore, or through the adjacent woods, or else in the active and tasteful cultivation of their garden. And when successive calamities deprived her of these cherished objects of her early affection, she still continued to wander to the spots where they had played and conversed together, under the guardianship of the faithful Fingal; and, with no companion but the powerful and sagacious animal, she was even permitted to ramble through the woods as far as the Wampanoge village, and divert her sorrowful thoughts in the society of Apannow, and her lively little son Nepea. But after the sad day when Edith wept on the lifeless body of her favorite Fingal, and saw him laid in the grave that was dug for him beneath the great tulip-tree, she seemed to concentrate her affections on the bower that Henrich had erected, and the plants that he and Ludovico had transplanted from the forest to cover its trellised walls, and to decorate the garden that surrounded it. Many of these were again removed, and planted on Fingal's grave; and there--on a seat that her brother had constructed�would Edith sit, hour after hour, either buried in contemplations of the past and the future, or else devouring with avidity the few books that her parents possessed, or that she could procure from their friends and neighbors. She formed no intimacy with any of her own young countrywomen. They were too unlike herself--they had generally known no sorrow: or, if it had fallen on them, its strokes had not made a like impression on their characters; and Edith could find no consolation or pleasure in their society. So she lived alone with her own spirit, and indulged her own high aspirations; and none but Helen was the confidant of any of her thoughts and imaginings. Many of them she kept within her own breast, for she felt that it would distress her mother to know how little charm remained to her in life, and how often she looked up into the blue depths of heaven, and wished that she had 'the wings of a dove, and could flee away' from this cold world, 'and be at rest' where Henrich and Ludovico dwelt. And yet Edith was not unhappy. As she grew up, and became a more equal and rational companion to her parents, the cares and business of life necessarily occupied more of her time and thoughts, and gave her less leisure for solitary meditation; and her daily increasing sense of the duties and responsibilities of a Christian, led her to regard as selfishness that indulgence of her own thoughts and feelings in which she had so much delighted. She was therefore cheerful, and even gay, at home; but she desired no pleasures beyond those that her home afforded, and that were perfectly consistent with the self denying views and principles of her Puritan fellow-countrymen. In all the doctrines of her sect; Edith was thoroughly well-informed; and to all those that were really scriptural, she gave a sincere and heart-felt assent. But the stern severity of Puritan principles and Puritan bigotry found no response in her gentle nature, and the narrow- minded intolerance of the Boston Church aroused both her contempt and indignation. She was, therefore, quite prepared to regard with interest and favor the free-minded young minister who had made himself obnoxious to their laws end customs, and had sought a refuge among the more liberal and kindly Pilgrims of New Plymouth. The acquaintance of Roger Williams was soon made by the Maitlands; and, once begun, it quickly ripened into intimacy and friendship. In Rodolph he found a sound and able adviser; in Helen, a kind friend and a well-informed companion; but in Edith he found a kindred spirit to his own--one who could understand and sympathize in his yearnings for freedom of thought and action, and in his strong sense of the injustice of his oppressors. In all their tastes and pursuits they were, likewise, as well agreed as in their religious and social opinions. Edith's passionate love of natural beauty was fully shared by the young refugee; and many an hour passed swiftly away while he instructed his quick and willing scholar in the mysteries of sketching, in which pleasant art he was himself a proficient. Edith loved music also, and frequently accompanied her own rich voice with the simple notes of the mandolin, while she sang the old songs of her fatherland. Hitherto, her mother had been her only instructor in this most refined and refining of all human pleasures; but now she found an able and very ready teacher in Roger Williams: and it was a matter of astonishment to her father when he observed the rapid progress she made both in the science and the practice of music, from the time the interesting stranger undertook to give her lessons. His deep, manly voice harmonized perfectly with her sweet tones; and they often brought tears to the eyes of Helen, and called forth a sigh from the breast of Rodolph, as they sang together some ancient English ballad, or united their voices in the chants and anthems that were dear to the hearts of the exiles, and recalled days of youth and happiness long passed away, and never to return. Edith's bower was the usual scene of these domestic concerts; and there the long, sweet summer evenings glided away in happiness, that the 'queen of that bower '--as Henrich had named her--had never known since the last evening that she spent there with her brother. She began to wonder why she had hitherto associated none but melancholy ideas with the lovely spot; and to find that it was possible to feel even gay and light-hearted while surrounded by Henrich's flowers, and looking on Fingal's grave. How strange it seemed--and yet, how pleasant! A new existence seemed opening before Edith's soul; and life no longer appeared a dreary pilgrimage, which duty alone could render interesting. The powers of her mind also received a fresh impulse from the society of the cultivated Englishman, and was drawn out in a manner as agreeable as it was new. Roger had brought from his native land a collection of books, which, though small in number, seemed to Edith a perfect library; and all were offered for her perusal. Several of them were, of course, on controversial and doctrinal subjects; and these she was able to understand and to appreciate: but among these graver and more abstruse treatises, were some of a more attractive nature--some volumes of foreign travel, and ancient legends, and heart-stirring poetry, in which the soul of Edith reveled, as in a garden of new and fragrant flowers. It was a fresh, and a very rich enjoyment to one who had known so few literary pleasures, to pore over these volumes, and find her own vivid thoughts and wild imaginings set before her in all the captivating colors of poetry and fiction; or to follow the wanderings of travelers through the civilized and enlightened countries of the old continent, and learn from books those manners and customs of refined life, which, in all human probability, it would never be her lot to witness. But this enjoyment was more than doubled when Roger took the book, and--as he often did--read to her and her mother while they sat at their work in Edith's bower in the heat of the day; and if the younger listener did occasionally pause in her occupation, and forget to ply her needle while she looked up at the fine expressive countenance of the reader, she may be pardoned; for the voice and the expression were in such perfect unison, that the one added greatly to the effect of the other. Perhaps these days of peaceful intercourse, and growing, but unacknowledged, affection, were among the happiest of Edith's checkered life: certain it is that, in after days of trial and difficulty, she looked back upon them as on some green and sunny spot in the varied field of memory. But they could not last for ever. Days and weeks passed by, and Edith was too happy in the present to occupy herself much about the future. But her parents thought of it for her; and Roger thought of it for her, and for himself. Her graceful manners and appearance had attracted him on his first acquaintance with her, and the favorable impression had been strengthened from day to day, as he acquired a more intimate knowledge of her thoughtful character and amiable temper: and it was not long ere he felt that his future happiness in life depended on her returning those sentiments with which she had inspired him. Had he been possessed of much vanity, he would not long have entertained any doubt on this interesting point; for Edith was too open and ingenuous, and too little in the habit of disguising her feelings, to pretend an indifference that her heart soon denied. But the very admiration and respect with which she inspired Roger prevented him from 'laying the flattering unction to his soul'; and caused him, for some time, to suppose that the very evident pleasure she felt in his society arose from the solitary life she had hitherto led, and the natural enjoyment of an intelligent mind in conversing with one who could enter into her feelings and tastes, and impart some fresh ideas to give food to her thoughts and imagination. Helen, however, was not under this misconception with regard to her daughter's feelings, and she felt much anxiety as to the result of her acquaintance with the young clergyman. The remarkable transparency of Edith's character rendered it easy for a parent's eye to discover the deep impression that Roger's fascinating manners, and rare accomplishments, had made both on her fancy and her heart; and it was equally easy to perceive that his affections were entirely gained, and that he was not a man to draw back in this, or any other pursuit in which his feelings were deeply engaged. There was a simple earnestness of manner in every thing that he said or did that irresistibly won both confidence and love; and Helen and her husband entertained not the slightest doubt of the sincerity of his attachment to their child, or of his full intention to offer his hand to her, as soon as he could feel any certainty of its being accepted. Neither did they doubt his power to make her happy; for it was evident that their tastes and dispositions were admirably suited, and their characters marked to a great degree by the same peculiarities. But it was these very peculiarities in which they so well agreed, and which each would probably strengthen and confirm in the other, that gave rise to the anxious thoughts that dwelt in Helen's mind, and which she communicated to Rudolph. Roger Williams was already a marked man, and an object of suspicion and displeasure to the rising power of Boston. Already he had been compelled to retire before the persecuting spirit of the Boston Church, and to seek shelter in the rival and more charitable colony, where his peculiar opinions were tolerated, even if they were not approved. But the Maitlands knew that his position at New Plymouth did not satisfy the yearnings of his earnest and aspiring soul, and that he felt a strong desire to return to Salem, and minister among those who had been his first friends, and his first congregation. His reason for so bag delaying this measure was very evident; and Edith's parents justly feared that, as soon as the object which now engrossed his whole mind was attained, and he had won their daughter's heart and band, be would take her from her present safe and peaceful home, to share with him the trials and difficulties, and even dangers, which might await him on his return to the state of Massachusetts, where they felt sure he would again proclaim the opinions that had already given so much offence. This was a reasonable cause for anxiety; but it was not a sufficient ground on which to refuse a connection with such a man as Roger Williams--a man who might, indeed, by his daring freedom of spirit and uncompromising opinions, bring earthly trial on himself and any one whose fate was united to his; but whose lofty piety and steadfast faith must carry with them a spiritual blessing, and gild and cheer the path, however dark and thorny, in which he and his partner should be called to tread. It was, therefore, with mingled feelings of pain and pleasure that Helen heard from Edith that Roger had, at length, taken courage to declare to her his own feelings, and to ask whether she could return them. Her glowing cheek and glistening eye, as she revealed the interesting fact, would have left her mother in no doubt as to the answer she had returned, even if she had not already guessed her sentiments; and she and Rodolph could but give their consent to her wishes, and ask a blessing on her choice. The joy and gratitude of Roger knew no bounds. Now he felt that life lay all bright and clear before him, and that no outward trials could have power to cloud his path, so long as Edith walked by his side, to divide his sorrows and double his joys. He employed all his eloquence to persuade Rodolph and Helen to consent to his speedy marriage; for, now that his object in lingering at Plymouth was attained, all his love for his flock at Salem, and his desire once more to dwell among them, returned with added force. He was impatient to resume his spiritual duties where first he had commenced them in New England; and he was eager, also, to present Edith as his bride to the friends who had once so kindly received him, and who now so pressingly invited him to return. The aspect of affairs in the State of Massachusetts was then peaceable, and no demonstration of enmity towards Roger had lately been made by the Boston rulers; so that Rodolph and Helen had no well-grounded pretext for delaying their daughter's marriage, and her removal to Salem with her husband. The letter of invitation to Roger Williams from that community, also contained such alarming accounts of the rapidly declining health of their pastor, Skelton, that the necessity for the presence of his intended successor could not be denied. With some reluctance the Maitlands, therefore, agreed to an early day for the performance of the simple ceremony that would unite their beloved and only remaining child to one whom they loved and respected, but whose fiery zeal inspired them with doubt and anxiety. No sooner was the happy day fixed, than Roger hastened to dispatch a trusty messenger to Roxburgh, with a letter to his valued friend and brother minister, Elliot--who was appointed preacher in that town--to entreat him to be present at his marriage, and to honor the ceremony by giving the customary address at its conclusion. Much to his satisfaction--and that of all the Maitland family--this request was acceded to, and the 'Prince of Missionaries' arrived at New Plymouth, accompanied also by his bride. He was betrothed when he left England, but circumstances had then prevented his intended wife from accompanying him. But as soon as he was settled at Roxburgh, she followed him to the land of his exile, and became his faithful and devoted companion through a long and toilsome life, and his able and efficient helpmate in all his difficulties. The chief object of this excellent man, in leaving his own country, was not so much to escape the persecution that then awaited the ministers of his sect, as to attempt the conversion of the native heathen. For this pious and disinterested purpose, he abandoned home and kindred, and all that was dear to him, and, at the age of twenty-seven, entered that land of distant promise, to the evangelization of which he had resolved to devote all the powers of his life, and the faculties of his energetic mind. So abstemious and self-denying was he, that his mode of life resembled that of a hermit; and, at the same time, so liberal was he in relieving the wants of others--whether his own countrymen or the red Indians--that, if his wife had not been a careful and clever manager, they must often have been reduced to absolute want. There is an anecdote recorded of him, so characteristic of the self-forgetting spirit of the 'Great Apostle of the Indians,' that it ought not to be omitted here, where we are endeavoring to give a faithful picture of the manners and the principles of the Pilgrim Fathers, and their immediate followers. The society in England, under whose auspices he had emigrated, allowed him a salary of £50 a year, a great portion of which, as well as of his small private resources, was always dedicated to charitable purposes. It was his custom, when he received his quarterly payment from the treasurer of the colony, to give away a considerable part of it before he reached his home, so that _Dame_ Elliot--as she was called--only received a very small sum, inadequate to the necessary expenses of her frugal housekeeping. The paymaster knew the good man's peculiarities, and was aware of the domestic embarrassments that his too-liberal bounty often occasioned. He therefore tied the money up in a handkerchief with so many knots, that he was sure the pastor could never untie them; and gave it to him, saying in jest, 'Now really, reverend sir, you must this time give it all to your worthy spouse.� Elliot smiled, and departed: but, before he reached his dwelling, he remembered an afflicted family who stood in need of his assistance and consolation; and, on going to visit them, he found them overwhelmed with unexpected distress. He immediately attempted to open his handkerchief, but all his efforts were unavailing to loosen the complicated knots. 'Well, well,' he said, at last, 'I see it is the will of the Lord that you should have the whole.� And, giving them all his wealth, he returned home penniless. Dame Elliot never showed any displeasure at these improvident acts of her husband. She admired and respected his pious motives, and his beautiful spirit of self-denial: and she only strove the more to limit her expenses, and to make their home cheerful and comfortable with the scanty means she possessed, while she willingly conformed to the life of extreme simplicity which he felt it right to adopt. More than one dish was never allowed to appear on his table, and water was his only beverage. If wine was offered him at the house of a friend, he courteously declined, but never blamed in others the indulgence which he denied to himself. He used to say, 'Wine is a precious, noble thing, and we should thank the Lord for it; but to suit me aright, water should rather be there.' Such were the Christian pair who came to attend the wedding of Edith and Roger; and to offer their congratulations on the event, and their prayers that it might tend to the present and the eternal happiness of their valued friend and his interesting bride. It could not be otherwise than that Dame Elliot and Edith should form a speedy and a lasting friendship. There was a similarity of feeling, and a difference of character, that rendered them peculiarly agreeable to each other; and made them mutually rejoice in the prospect of future intercourse which the strong regard that subsisted between Elliot and Williams, and the nearness of Salem to Roxburgh, promised to afford them. The young matron was of a much more calm and subdued temperament than her new friend. Her early life and education had been very different from Edith's; and the man on whom she had fixed her affections, and the mode of life to which her marriage had conducted her, had alike tended to promote a quiet composure, and steady regulation of mind, rather than to arouse the enthusiastic feelings and the lively fancies that distinguished Edith's character, and which had proved so irresistible a charm to the fervid soul of Williams. But each of the young women was well adapted to the lot which Providence had assigned them; and each proved a blessing, and a support through life, to their respective partners. But little preparation was required for the Puritan nuptials that were now about to be celebrated: and little gaiety or display was manifested on the occasion. According to the custom of the sect, the marriage ceremony was performed by Bradford, as the chief civil magistrate, and the personal friend of the family. At that period, marriage was regarded as a mere civil act; and either the magistrate of the place, or a commissary appointed for the purpose, was alone required by law to officiate. If a clergyman chanced to be present, he was generally requested to offer up a prayer, or even to deliver a suitable discourse to the, parties; but this was a matter of choice, and not of necessity, and had no share in the validity of the ceremony. Even the wedding ring had already begun to be regarded by the Plymouthers as a relic of Popish corruption and superstition, and was, in many cases, dispensed with, and some time afterwards formally forbidden. But on this occasion it was retained, at the wish of both Edith and her mother; who were accustomed to regard it as a beautiful, and almost a sacred, symbol of the purity and the duration of the holy tie of marriage. On the appointed day, the civil rite was duly and solemnly performed by the Governor, in the presence of a few chosen friends, among whom none felt more interest in the future welfare of the young bride than the venerable William Brewster. Although he was not a regular minister, he was invited by Rodolph and Helen to offer up a prayer for the temporal and eternal happiness of their beloved child, and fervently and eloquently the old man complied with their request: and tears of affection and anxiety glistened in his eyes as he concluded his prayer, and added his own heartfelt blessing to that which he had asked from Heaven. Elliot then delivered a powerful and impressive address to the young married couple, on their social and domestic, as well as their spiritual duties; and a simple, but well-arranged repast at Rodolph's house completed the ceremonies of the day. It was about this time that the marriage of Henrich and Oriana was celebrated in the distant wilderness, where all the outward circumstances were so different, and where no prescribed forms could be observed, to render the simple ceremony legal or impressive. And, yet, surely it was as sacred and as binding to those who then plighted their faith to each other as if it had been performed with all the rites of civilized life. The vows of Henrich and his Christian bride were made in the presence of that God who instituted marriage, and hollowed it; and they were sanctified by the 'prayer of faith,� which rises as freely, and as acceptably, from the wilderness as from the stately cathedral. Had Edith and her much-loved brother known that their earthly fate was thus being decided so nearly at the same period, how would the supplications which they offered for themselves have been mingled with prayers for the happiness of one another! A brief sojourn in her much-loved home was allowed to Edith after her marriage; and then she gladly, but tearfully, left her parents, to share the fortunes of him who would be more to her than father, or mother, or brother, or sister, could be. The pinnace that belonged to the colony was appointed by the Governor to convey Roger and his bride to Massachusetts Bay, and land them as near as possible to their new home in Salem; and thus Edith was spared the fatigue and difficulty of a long and toilsome journey through the woods and the wilderness by land. She was kindly and joyfully welcomed by her husband's friends and admirers, who were already disposed to regard her with favor, and who soon learnt both to love and respect her for her own many amiable and estimable qualities. CHAPTER XX. 'She was a woman of a steadfast mind, Tender and deep in her excess of love.' The life of peace and tranquillity which Roger and his young bride enjoyed in their new home, was not long permitted to be their happy lot. The apprehensions that had been felt by Edith's anxious parents, were but too soon realized; and, notwithstanding all the good advice that he received at Plymouth, and all his own sincere resolutions to avoid, if possible, all future disputes with the elders or the Boston Church, Roger Williams again became the object of their persecuting intolerance. The fact of his being again invited to Salem to assist the pastor, was regarded as extremely offensive to the government of Boston: but when Shelton died very shortly after Roger's arrival, and he was elected to be the regular minister of the congregation, it was looked upon as a sinful defiance of lawful authority, and one which demanded exemplary punishment. An opportunity for this exercise of power soon occurred. The township of Salem lain claim to a certain disputed piece of land, and addressed a petition to the government of Massachusetts, in which they demanded to be put in possession of it. But in consequence of the recent act of the community with regard to Roger Williams's election, the claim was unjustly rejected. The Salemers then, by the advice of their pastor, wrote to all the other churches in the Bay, and requested them to unite in a remonstrance to the government. This act was in perfect accordance with the spirit of the puritanical principles, which distinctly separated the church from the state; and it ought not, therefore, to have given offence to any one. But their practice differed greatly from their theory; and the feeling against Williams was so strong that all the churches--the elders of which were opposed to his opinions--now took part with the government of Boston against him. This treatment so irritated the warm feelings of Williams, and so keenly wounded his sense of justice and love of liberty, that he required the Church of Salem to renounce all connection with the other congregations; and even went so far as to refuse all intercourse with his own church until this separation was agreed to. But strongly as the Salemers were attached to their pastor, they could not consent to so decisive a measure as he demanded; and, being vexed and dispirited by the general disapprobation which their conduct had excited in the rest of the colony, the greatest part of the congregation fell away from him. This desertion grieved the heart of the zealous minister but it did not discourage him, or subdue his determined spirit. He began to hold spiritual meetings at his own house, which were attended by those members of the church who fully concurred in his views, and who considered that he had been treated with injustice. This proceeding naturally aroused a strong party spirit in the town, and even threatened to produce a permanent division in the church, as the followers of Williams held themselves entirely aloof from the rest of the congregation. Deeply did Edith lament this unhappy state of affairs. Her devotion to her noble-minded husband, and the natural tendency of her own mind, led her to sympathize entirely in his opinions and feelings; and her strong sense of right and wrong caused her to condemn the injustice of the government, and the weak, truckling spirit of the sister-churches. But her judgement was more calm and dispassionate than that of Roger, and her temper far less excitable. She therefore saw the impropriety, as well as the danger, of, causing a schism in the church; and she used all her powerful influence to induce her husband to give up these irregular assemblies; and, without compromising his own opinions, to endeavor to ward off the enmity of the men of Boston. She earnestly besought him again to leave the Congregation of Salem-- the greater portion of which had already deserted him and his cause-- and to return to Plymouth, where a safe and a happy home might yet be afforded to them, and where no persecution for conscience' sake, need be feared. But all her arguments and her persuasions were alike ineffectual. On this one point she found her Roger firm and inflexible--for on this point he felt that his honor and his conscience were both concerned; and, even for Edith's sake; he could not act contrary to their dictates. He knew that danger hung over his head; and, though he would not shrink from it himself, he besought her to seek a temporary refuge with her parents, and remain at Plymouth until the threatened storm had blown over. But it was now Edith�s turn to show herself firm and decided; and so clearly did Roger perceive that separation would be to her a far greater trial than any other that could befall her in his company, that he forbore to urge a measure that it wrung his own heart to propose. At length the boding storm began to break over his head. For all his supposed offences he was again summoned before the General Assembly at Boston; and, in fear and anxiety, Edith saw him depart. She knew full well that he would never renounce, or even soften down, his opinions, through any fear of man; and she did not, for a moment, desire that he should thus lower himself in her estimation and his own. But she also knew the bitterness of the enmity felt towards him by the authorities at Boston, and she could not repress her apprehensions of its consequences. As she anticipated, Roger refused to acknowledge himself guilty of an offence against the church or state; nor would he even yield one point of his religious or political opinions, during a long disputation with the celebrated pastor Hooker. He was, therefore, declared contumacious by the government: and, with the assent of all the assembled clergy, except his friend Elliot, he was banished from the territory of Massachusetts. Six weeks were allowed him by the General Assembly to make his preparations, and remove beyond the boundary of their dominions: but as this term would have brought the time of his banishment to the winter season, when such a journey would have been impracticable, he was afterwards permitted to remain at Salem until the spring. With great apparent unconcern he returned to his home, where his fond and admiring wife welcomed him with joy, and strengthened his spirit by the cheerful manner in which she received the news of their sentence of banishment. She had felt an undefined dread of something much more hard to bear--of something which might possibly separate her husband from her: but banishment _with him_ was only a change of home, and, let their lot be cast where it might, she could be happy. Indeed, she entertained a hope that. Roger would consent to remove to Plymouth, and take up his abode there, which would have, given her extreme satisfaction. But she soon found that this hope could not be accomplished; for her enthusiastic husband had formed a design of founding a church of his own, and of being entirely independent of all government in spiritual matters. In order to carry out this purpose, he daringly continued to hold the obnoxious assemblies in his own house, and to instill his opinions into the minds of the many young and zealous friends who gathered around him. These meetings were even more numerously attended after his return from Boston than they were before he was summoned to the bar of the General Assembly; for persecution and injustice naturally recoil on the perpetrators of it, and the victim of such harsh measures is sure to gain friends and supporters among the warm-hearted and the generous. A report of these proceedings was carried to Boston, and also a rumor of Williams's supposed plan for founding an independent church and settlement in Narragansett Bay. It was even declared that some of his friends had already gone off to the south, and were seeking, a fitting spot on which to commence building. This information roused the fears, as well as the wrath, of the government. The eloquence and abilities of Williams were well known to the rulers, and they dreaded the influence that he would inevitably exercise over the neighboring churches, if he established himself and his followers in a district so contiguous to their own. They, therefore, resolved to employ still more harsh and stringent measures than had yet been attempted, in order to put a stop to his disorderly proceedings, and prevent the further dissemination of his opinions. He was, accordingly, once more summoned to the chief town; and, had he obeyed the summons, he was to have been forcibly conveyed on board a vessel then in the harbor, and sent off to England as a rebel and schismatic, unworthy to dwell in the new settlement. When the summons arrived at Salem, Roger was ill, having caught a fever from some members of his flock on whom he had been attending; and he therefore replied, with truth, that it would endanger his life to attempt the journey to Boston. His serious indisposition had occasioned to Edith much anxiety and alarm; but now she was made to feel how often those events which we regard as misfortunes are really 'blessings in disguise'; and how frequently our merciful and all-seeing Father renders them the means of our preservation from far greater evils. It would be well if the conviction of this blessed truth were constantly present to our minds. How many anxious cares would it disperse or soothe, and how many thanksgivings would it call forth. Edith felt its truth, and its consolation, as she sat by the side of her husband's couch, and wrote, from his dictation, the reply that saved him from immediate compliance with the dreaded summons. Nothing would have induced Roger to plead illness as an excuse for disobedience unless it had actually existed: and his fearless spirit would probably have led him into the snare that was laid for him. Edith knew this secret danger; for Governor Winthrop, who had seen and admired her on one of his visits to Plymouth, and who now kindly sympathized in her feelings, had sent her a private note by the messenger, in which he warned her of the danger that waited Williams at Boston, and desired her, by some means, to prevent his appearing before the General Assembly. Winthrop highly disapproved of the young minister's bold and independent conduct; but he shrunk from so cruel an act as was resolved on by his council. He did not, however, choose to declare his more lenient judgement; and he adopted the plan of informing Roger's wife of the fate that was designed for him, and leaving it to her judgement and affection to take the proper measures to avert it. It was not until after the departure of the messenger, that Edith told her husband of Winthrop's kind interference, and showed him his note. The indignation of Williams at such a flagrant disregard of all common justice was so great, that Edith feared it would bring on an accession of the fever. It, however, acted in a perfectly contrary manner. He slept well that night, and the following morning declared his intention of setting off immediately to Boston, and there accusing the General Assembly of their unlawful intention, and daring them to put it into execution. 'I will upbraid them with their injustice, and charge them with their purposed crime!' he exclaimed; and his fine eyes flashed with excitement, that almost made Edith fear that the fever had affected his mind. 'I will appeal to God and man against their lawless cruelty,' he continued; 'and rouse the whole colony to defend my right to liberty of thought and action.' Oh, Roger!' cried his wife--and she caught his burning hand, and pressed it to her throbbing heart--'cease such wild and desperate words! Would you drive me to distraction, by thus throwing yourself into the power of your bitter and relentless enemies? Who in Boston would stand up to defend your cause? Who could deliver you from the evil intentions of these cruel men? It is true that the Governor has shown himself your friend--I should rather say, my friend--by giving me this secret information; but he would not openly espouse your cause, or resist the will of the Assembly. Why, then, should you spurn from you the means of safety that have been so mercifully afforded, and tempt Providence to leave you to your fate'? 'Edith,' he replied--and the bright flush faded from his cheek, and the fire in his eye died away, and he sank again upon his couch--'Edith, you have subdued my spirit; or perhaps,' he added, smiling up in her face, 'weakness has subdued it. I feel that I have no strength to accomplish what I desire, and to show my persecutors that liberty of thought and feeling is my birthright, and that I will never relinquish the privilege. I must, therefore, submit to the will of One who is wiser and mightier than I am; and believe me, my Edith,' he continued-- as he saw the tears falling from her gentle eyes--'believe me, I do to with perfect contentment now. The passion--the sinful passion--that stirred me so mightily just now, is gone; and I feel the goodness of my God in holding me back from the rash act I contemplated, and from rushing upon dangers that I might indeed defy, but could not hope to conquer. I will be calm, my love; and you shall devise some means for my escape. I feel assured that still more violent measures will be adopted by the Assembly to get me into their power; and now that I can quietly reflect on the consequences of such an event, I am aware that they would, probably, be our violent and indefinite separation. I could not bear that, Edith; though I believe that I could bear much to vindicate my honor.' How changed was Roger's countenance now! All passion--all excitement-- was gone; and the natural sweetness of his disposition, and tenderness of his heart, resumed their interrupted influence over his whole manner and expression. Edith thought she had never either admired or loved him so much as at this moment, when he had conquered his impetuous feelings, and yielded his fiery impulse to show a bold resentment of injury, to her influence and persuasions. �Heaven bless you, my own Roger!' she exclaimed, 'and reward your better resolution, by granting us many future years of united happiness. But now we must think of the present, and provide for its emergencies. I see clearly that there is now no safety for you in Salem, and that a speedy flight can alone ensure your liberty. You have made a great sacrifice for my sake; and I will also make one for yours. I will not even ask to fly with you, for I could only be an encumbrance to you at this inclement season of the year, and my presence here may be of use to you. My heart rebels while I say it, Roger; but you must go alone, and use every exertion to reach Plymouth as speedily as possible. When you are safe beneath my father's roof, then will be time enough to think of me. I feel no doubt that Governor Bradford will afford you every assistance in his power; and, probably, will again allow the vessel that brought us here in brighter days, to convey me once more to you and to happiness.' Edith had tried to speak with steadiness and composure; and, so far, she had succeeded tolerably well. But when she realized to herself the time that must elapse before she could rejoin her husband, and all the dangers and privations that might await him in the interval, her calmness quite gave way, and she burst into tears of uncontrollable agony. Roger strove to cheer her, and to point to the happy future that he trusted was in store for them--if not on earth, yet assuredly in a better world, where faithful hearts will never know the misery of parting. But it was not until he had knelt with her in prayer, and had humbly asked to meet the coming trial, and to be sanctified by it, that her tears ceased to flow, and a smile of hope and resignation illumined her interesting countenance. 'I must act now, Roger,' she said, in a cheerful voice, as she rose from her knees. 'Our time is short; and I must make such arrangements for your comfort during your journey as are in my power. All other things that are needful to you I will endeavor to send by sea to Plymouth; or, if no opportunity occurs during the winter, you must have patience until I can convey them myself.� Her voice again trembled; and unbidden tears again rose to her eyes. But she sought relief in occupation; and on the day after the morrow, when Roger was to commence his toilsome journey at break of day, his knapsack was ready, and stored with everything that would be most requisite to his comfort. The moment of parting came; but we will not describe it. It was borne by Edith as a devoted Christian wife can bear anything that is necessary for the safety and welfare of her husband. But when he was gone, and her swimming eyes could no longer see his beloved form, or catch his last signal of farewell, the whole desolation of her own position burst upon her: and Edith was, for a time, bowed down with grief. She felt herself alone in the world, and she shrank from seeking comfort or sympathy from any human being who was then near her. But friends whom she could not then expect to see were near, and the wounded heart found a balm and a consolation beyond its hopes. The very evening after Roger's departure, Edith's spirit was cheered by the arrival of Elliot and his wife at her now dreary home. O, how she welcomed them! and how deeply they sympathized in her distress and anxiety! They had heard of the last summons that had been sent from the General Assembly; and had hastened to Salem, in spite of the severity of the weather to offer any assistance or counsel that might be needed by either Roger or Edith. They rejoiced, with much thankfulness, when they heard of his having escaped the cruel vengeance of his adversaries; but their minds were filled with fear and anxiety, when they reflected on the many perils that he might encounter on his long journey, and the sufferings from cold, and hunger, and fatigue, that he must endure in his present debilitated state of health. They did not, however, add to Edith's anxiety by telling of their own, but exerted themselves to cheer and rouse her, and lead her to place a perfect trust in the over-ruling care of Him, without whose permission not even a sparrow can fall to the ground. The wisdom of the plan that Edith had persuaded her husband to adopt was soon but too apparent; for, in a few days, a pinnace arrived at Salem, bringing an officer and attendants, who were commissioned by the General Assembly to seize on the offending pastor, and convey him on board a vessel that was lying at Nantasket, ready for sea. But this cruel and arbitrary intention was happily frustrated. The officer came to the dwelling of Williams, and had the mortification of finding that he had been gone three days; nor could all his threats or persuasions obtain from any of the inmates the least information concerning his flight. He also sought out, and strictly interrogated, several of the inhabitants of Salem, who were known to be the partisans of this persecuted friend of liberty. But, although they were well acquainted with his sudden departure and his destination, and some of the younger men were even preparing to follow him, not one of them betrayed their respected leader. The officer therefore returned to Boston, to report the ill-success of his errand, which excited much wrath and vexation in the members of the Assembly, but afforded secret satisfaction to the amiable Governor Winthrop, who had unwillingly submitted to the decision of a large majority of the government, and who had kindly exerted himself to rescue from a cruel and unjust fate the man whose only fault consisted in a determination to think for himself. Meanwhile, the fugitive was pursuing his slow and difficult way through the woods and wilds to the south of Salem. But whither should he direct his steps? Every road out of the district must lead him through the territory of his foes and persecutors; and he dared not show in any of the hamlets or villages, where his person and reputation were well known, lest he should be seized and given up to the magistrates of Boston. He, therefore, traveled chiefly by night, guided by the moon and stars, and lay concealed in some damp covert, or rocky ravine, during the day. The small stock of provisions that Edith had placed in his knapsack was soon expended, and for some days he subsisted on the nuts and berries that still remained on the trees. At length he felt himself safe from immediate pursuit, and changed his course suddenly to the east. He emerged from the shelter of the woods, and, hurrying across the open plain that skirted the bay, he found himself at the spot which he desired to reach. This was a little cove on the shore, surrounded on the land side by rocks, and only capable of receiving a small boat into its tranquil harbor. As Roger approached the water's edge, and stepped round the last point of rock that concealed the inlet, he made a signal, which, to his great joy, was instantly replied to from within. Day was just dawning over the far horizon, and a dim twilight shone on the smooth and boundless ocean that spread to the east. A few light strokes of an oar fell on Roger's ear, and then he saw the white spray, and the dark form of a boat emerging from the gloomy cavern that was formed by the overhanging rocks. In a moment his hand was grasped in that of a friend, and all his sense of loneliness vanished away. Seaton entreated him to lose no time in entering the boat, and leaving the inhospitable shores of Massachusetts; and Williams gladly obeyed him. The little shallop, which his friends at Salem had secretly purchased, and sent by one of the most devoted of their number to meet him at the appointed place, was well supplied with provisions and warm clothing, which proved a most seasonable relief to Roger; but the most acceptable part of its contents was a letter from Edith, informing him of the welcome arrival of their friends, the Elliots, at Salem, and of the futile efforts of the men of Boston to make him a prisoner. Edith wrote more cheerfully than she felt; and she spoke of the happy time when they would be reunited, and of her hopes that it was not far distant, assuring him that she was willing--and trusted, ere long, to be able--to follow him to any spot where he might fix his home. This letter, and the refreshment with which Seaton furnished him, raised his drooping and exhausted spirits; and, at his friend's request, he wrapped himself in the large boat-cloak that his provident wife had sent for him and lay down to enjoy the first calm and undisturbed repose that had been permitted to him since he left his beloved home. Silently and rapidly the little boat glided over the calm surface of the bay; and, ere long, it was opposite to the harbor of Boston, and might be espied by some of the vessels lying there, Roger still slept the deep sleep of exhaustion and security; but Seaton now required his aid, and reluctantly aroused him to take a second oar, and speed the shallop past the region of danger. Roger sprang to his feet, and seized the oar, and the boat darted forward from the impulse of his now fresh and powerful arm. It passed near several boats belonging to the Bostoners; but the fugitive drew his large Spanish hat over his brows, and hid his well-known form and dress beneath the folds of the ample cloak, and thus escaped detection or observation. It was his intention to row down the bay as far as New Plymouth, where he designed to visit Edith's parents and apprise them of all that had befallen him; and also endeavor to prevail on Bradford to send a vessel, as soon as the inclemency of the weather had subsided, to bring his wife to her paternal home. He then proposed to go on with Seaton, and any of the Plymouthers who would accompany him, and seek a settlement further to the south, in some part of Narragansett Bay. But this scheme was not permitted to be carried out. Towards evening, a fresh breeze sprang up from the east; and before sun-set it blew so violently, that Roger and his companion had the greatest difficulty in keeping their little vessel out at sea, and preventing its being dashed on the coral reefs that girt that 'stern and rock-bound coast.' Manfully they wrought at the oars; but their strength was almost exhausted, and no creek or inlet offered them a secure refuge. Still they persevered--for it was a struggle for life! The least remission of their toil would have placed them at the mercy of the wind, and they must have been driven violently against the sunken rocks. At length, when the light of day was failing them, and they began to give themselves up as lost, the keen eye of Roger espied an opening through the foam-covered reef; and though it was narrow, and evidently dangerous, he and Seaton resolved to make a desperate effort to pass through it, and gain the smooth still waters that they knew must lie between the rock and the shore. They breathed a fervent and heart-felt prayer for help from above, and then commenced the fearful contest. The moment they turned the prow of their shallop towards the shore, the light and buoyant little vessel darted forward, impelled by both wind and tide, and mounted like a seabird on the rolling waves. The dashing spray fell ever it, almost blinding its crew, and the helm no longer had power to divert its headlong course. 'Now may He who rules the storm have pity on my Edith!' exclaimed Roger, as he saw the fail extent of their peril, and not a fear for himself crossed his steadfast soul. 'May the Lord of the winds and the waves be our guide and protector, or the next minute will be our last!' He clasped his hands in prayer, and raised his kindling eye to the frowning heavens above him. But his eye of faith could look through those dark clouds, and see a Father's hand of love and mercy governing and controlling the elements: and his spirit was at peace. 'Now God be praised!' cried Seaton, as he drew a long shivering breath; and snatching up both the oars, projected them on each side of the boat to protect it from the rocks that bounded the narrow channel. 'We have entered the passage; and, with Heaven's help, we shall yet be saved.' They had, indeed, dashed straight into the opening that divided the reef, and through which the waves were rushing at a terrific rate; and their only apparent chance of safety lay in the possibility of guiding the little bark through the channel, without its being impelled against the rugged sides. Williams caught one of the oars from his friend, and both directed their whole strength to this object. There was a brief interval of breathless suspense; and then the boat struck on a hidden coral rock. It was but for a moment--another swelling wave lifted it again, and rolled forward, bearing the little vessel on its summit into the smooth water that lay, like a narrow lake, between the dangerous reef and the flat sandy shore. But the peril was not yet over. The blow-on the rock, though momentary, had been so violent as to spring a leak in the bottom of the boat; and through this the water gushed up with fearful rapidity, threatening to sink it before the shore could be reached. Again the oars were pulled with the strength of desperation; and again the danger was averted. But Roger Williams and his friend found themselves on a desert and uninhabited coast, with a useless vessel, and no means of proceeding to Plymouth. Still their lives had been providentially preserved, and they were deeply grateful to the Divine power which had been exerted for their rescue. And faith and courage, and bodily strength were their portion likewise: and they did not despair. They slept long and soundly; and the following morning, having ascertained that the boat was too seriously injured to be repaired by any means at their command, they resolved on abandoning it, and recommenced their journey on foot. The extreme difficulty of reaching Plymouth by land, and the wide circuit from the course that he wished ultimately to pursue that must be traveled in order to reach the settlement of the Pilgrim Fathers, caused Williams to relinquish that part of his plan, and decide on striking at once into the forest, and pursuing a south-westerly course until he should arrive at Narragansett Bay. This would lead him through the trackless woods, and the dreary wilds, inhabited only by the barbarous and untutored red men. But from them he hoped to meet with that hospitality and succor which was denied him by his fellow- countrymen and fellow-Christians. CHAPTER XXI. � Alas! to see the strength that clings Round woman in such hours! A mournful sight, Though lovely! an o'erflowing of the springs, The full springs of affection, deep and bright! And she, because her life is ever twined With other lives, and by no stormy wind May thence be shaken; and because the light Of tenderness is round her, and her eye Doth weep such passionate tears--therefore, She thus endures.' HEMANS. Without any guide, Roger and his faithful friend Seaton wandered through the wilderness. They took from the stranded boat as much of food and other useful articles as they could carry; but the provision did not last long, and before they reached any Indian encampment they were seduced to extreme want and suffering. Their clothes were drenched by the frequent heavy rain, which so completely saturated the ground and the dead branches that lay strewed upon it, as often to preclude all possibility of lighting a fire. Their nights were passed on the damp ground, or beneath any sheltering rock that they could find and once a hollow tree afforded them a refuge from the storm that raged around them, when no other was at hand. At length, after fourteen weeks of trial and hardship, they reached the village of Packanokick, where dwelt Masasoyt, the aged Sagamore of the Wampanoges. During the time that Williams had resided at Plymouth, he had learnt the language of the natives; and on some of his visits to the village of Mooanam, he had become acquainted with his father, Masasoyt, the chief Sachem of the divided tribe. The regard and respect with which his eloquence and his attractive manners had inspired the younger Chieftain were fully shared by the Sagamore; and both prince and people learnt to love and reverence the man who honored their rights, respected their prejudices, and prayed to his God for their welfare. His appearance in the village of Masasoyt was hailed with joy, and regarded as a privilege by all the inhabitants. The Sachem received both him and is way-worn companion with kindness and hospitality, and gave them a chamber in his own lodge; which, if not remarkable either for cleanliness or comfort, yet seemed a luxurious abode to men who had passed so many days and nights in the unsheltered depths of the forest. On the following morning, when food and rest had somewhat restored the exhausted strength of the travelers, Masasoyt invited Williams to a private conference, in which he informed him that a serious quarrel had again arisen between his tribe and that of Cundineus, the Chief of the Narragansetts; and he entreated him to use all his powerful influence with the latter to heal the present dissension, and prevent the dispute from ending in open hostilities. Williams undertook this negotiation with much satisfaction; for peace-making was not only in accordance with his feelings, and with the duty of his profession, but he also desired to secure the favor and protection of the Narragansett Chief, on the borders of whose dominions he designed to fix his future home. He, therefore, made no delay in setting out, with a few Indian attendants, on the proposed expedition and in a few days, returned to Packanokick with the welcome intelligence that the wrath of Cundincus was appeased, and that he had listened favorably to the explanation of his rival Chieftain. The old Narragansett Chief also was so captivated by the English stranger, and so won by his peculiar eloquence, that we are told that 'the barbarous heart of the old prince loved him like a son to his latest breath'; and his nephew and co-ruler, the young Miantonomo, also regarded him as a friend, and placed in him a perfect confidence. 'Let no one,' thankfully exclaimed Williams in his diary, 'mistrust Providence--these ravens fed me in the wilderness!' But inactive repose was neither the wish nor the lot of Roger Williams; and he earnestly desired to reach the spot where he proposed to found his new settlement, and prepare a home for his beloved Edith; and from whence, also, he hoped to be able to send a letter to Salem or to Plymouth, which might allay the anxious fears that he well knew she had so long been enduring. Since he had received the letter that Seaton brought him from his high-minded wife, he had not had any opportunity of conveying to her the intelligence of his own safety; or of hearing from her whether her strength and spirits were supported under the protracted trial of absence and anxiety. He knew, also, that ere this time he had reason to believe himself a father; and his heart yearned to be assured of the welfare of his wife and child, and to see them safely lodged beneath the shelter of his own roof. It was a source of extreme consolation to him, under all his feelings of anxiety, to believe that his Edith had been cheered and supported by the presence of Dame Elliot and her excellent husband, who, he felt assured, would not leave her until she could be removed either to Plymouth or to her husband's new abode: and to their kind care, and the protection of his heavenly Father, he was contented to leave her, while he used every effort to procure for her a safe and happy home, in which he could hope, ere long, to welcome her. He, therefore, lost no time in concluding a bargain with Masasoyt for a piece of land in the district called Seacomb[*], not far from the east arm of Narragansett Bay; and thither he proceeded with Seaton, and commenced building and planting. From this place, he found means to convey intelligence, both to Salem and Plymouth, of the safe termination of his perilous journey, and his intention to fix his settlement on the piece of ground that he had purchased. His messengers returned, after a considerable interval, and brought him a letter from his now joyful wife, which gladdened his heart with the welcome news of her health and safety; and that also of his little daughter Edith. This name, she told him, had been given to the infant in accordance with what she knew to be his wish; and his friend John Elliot--who, with his wife, had resided chiefly at Salem since his departure--had performed the rite of baptism. She further informed him that Governor Bradford, on hearing of her lonely position, had kindly promised to send a vessel for her; and, as the severity of winter had already partially subsided, she was in daily expectation of the arrival of the pinnace, which would carry her back to the happy home of her youth; and then she hoped the time would not be long until she could rejoin her husband, and once more be at peace. [Footnote: Now Reheboth] This letter called forth the lively joy and gratitude of Roger, and animated him to fresh zeal and activity in all his proceedings at Seacomb. He was also encouraged greatly by the arrival, at the same time, of five of his most devoted adherents from Salem, who had no sooner learnt from his Indian messenger, of his arrival at the place of his destination, than they determined to accompany the friendly savage on his return to Seacomb, and assist their friend and teacher in all his labors for the formation of an independent settlement. All this visa cheering and satisfactory; but the trials of this undaunted man were not over yet. His trusty messenger had brought him another dispatch, which he had not yet attended to. He now opened it, and found that it came from the Governor of Plymouth; and contained an earnest injunction to him to abandon Seacomb, which, he informed him; was included in their patent, and to remove to the other side of the river that formed their boundary, where he could be free and independent, like themselves. 'I accepted his wise counsel as a voice from God,' wrote Williams: and he' immediately resolved to be guided by it, and again commence his wanderings. In a frail Indian canoe, he and his companions rowed up the arm of the sea, now called the river Seacock. They knew not where to land, or where again to pitch their tent in the wilderness; but they were soon guided by the friendly voices of a party of Narragansetts on the opposite shore. These natives had recognized their friend Williams, and now shouted out, in broken English, the welcome words, �What cheer?' The sound fell like music on the ears of the desolate exiles; and, in remembrance of the event, the spot of ground where they first landed on the Narragansett territory received the name of _�What Cheer?�_ which it still retains. A spring, called _'Williams's Spring,'_ is also shown by the present inhabitants of this district, in proud and grateful memory of the spot where the founder of a future free state first set foot on shore. The place where the wanderer landed was called by the Indians Maushasuck; and it was made over to him by the generous Cundincus, as a free and absolute possession, and also all the land included between the rivers Pawtucket and Maushasuck.[*] This property he shared equally with his present comrades, and also with some others who shortly after joined him from Salem, and made their whole number amount to thirteen. He did not reserve any advantage to himself, although the land actually belonged to him alone; but divided it into thirteen equal portions, on each of which a rude hut was immediately erected. These were soon improved, and became a rising village, to which Williams gave the name of Providence, in grateful remembrance of the Divine guidance and protection which had brought him at length to 'the haven where he would be.' [Footnote: Now called the Providence River.] He and his associates united themselves into a sort of 'town- fellowship,' and independent church; and one of the first rules which they laid down, for their future guidance and government, was that no one should ever suffer, in that settlement, for conscience' sake. It was summer when the little village began to be built; and, before the land could be cleared and prepared for cultivation, the season was too far advanced to allow any hope of a corn-harvest. The new settlers had, therefore, to endure the same poverty and privation that had been the lot of the earlier planters in New England. They had no means of obtaining any of the comforts of civilized life, except from Boston or Plymouth: and as they possessed no vessel besides an Indian canoe, this was a service of toil and much hazard. Still they did not repine, for liberty was here their precious portion; and hope for the future sustained them through the trials of the present time. But where was Edith? Where was that true-hearted woman while her husband was thus struggling with difficulties and privations? She was where both inclination and duty had led her--by his side; and smiling at trials that she was permitted to share with him, and to lighten by her presence. We must here revert to the time before Edith had been blessed by receiving intelligence of her husband from Seacomb, and had so cheerfully replied to the note which he wrote to her on a scrap of paper torn from his pocket book. In order not to interrupt the history of Roger's difficulties and their successful issue, we have not yet narrated the trials that his exemplary wife had endured--and endured with a resolution and fortitude equal to his own. When the joyful news of Roger's safety reached Edith at Salem, she was slowly recovering from a long and dangerous illness, which anxiety and sorrow had brought on her a few weeks after the birth of her child. Through all her sufferings of mind end body, Dame Elliot had been her nurse and her comforter; and she and her husband had sacrificed their own domestic comfort, and their own humble but cherished home, to lessen the sorrows of their afflicted friend. All the consolation that human sympathy and affection could afford to Edith, was given by these true Christian friends; and all the spiritual strength that the prayers end exhortations of such a minister as Elliot could impart to a sorrowing spirit, were received, and gratefully appreciated, by the object of his solicitude and care. But when weeks and months had elapsed, and still no tidings came of the beloved wanderer, what hope could be given to the desolate heart of Edith Her friends had themselves given up all hope of Roger's having survived the toils end privations of the journey; and how could they bid his wife cheer up, and look for brighter days, which they believed would never come? A letter which Edith received from her parents, by the captain of a fishing-boat from Plymouth, too clearly proved that Williams had never reached that settlement; and from that day the health and spirits of his wife visibly declined. She did not give way to violent grief; but a settled melancholy dwelt on her pale and lovely countenance, and all the thoughtful abstraction of her early year, which happiness had chased from her features, returned again. No object but her infant seemed to rouse her; and then it was only to tears: but tears were better than that look of deep and speechless sorrow that generally met the anxious gaze of her friends, and made them, at times, apprehensive for her reason. At length her physical powers gave way, and a violent attack of fever brought Edith to the brink of the grave. During this period both Elliot and his wife devoted themselves, day and night, to the poor sufferer, whose mind wandered continually, and whose deeply-touching lamentations for the beloved one, whom she mourned as dead, brought tears to the eyes of her faithful friends. They had no hope of her recovery, nor could they heartily desire it; for they believed her earthly happiness was wrecked for ever, and they could ask no better fate for her than a speedy reunion with her Roger in a home beyond the grave. Her child they looked on as their own, and cherished her with almost a parent's love and care; while they resolved to bring her up in those high and holy principles that had been so nobly contended for by her unfortunate father, and so beautifully exemplified in the amiable character of her mother. The fever ran high, and bore down all the strength--both moral and physical--of its victim. At length, after days and nights of restlessness and delirium, a deep and heavy sleep came on; and Edith lay still and motionless for hours, while her untiring friends sat watching her in silence, and offering up fervent prayers for the soul that seemed to be departing. During this anxious period, a gentle knock was made at the door; and Elliot, on opening it, was presented by Edith's single attendant with the small packet that Roger's Indian messenger had brought for her mistress. In trembling agitation, the pastor showed the direction--which he knew to be in his friend's handwriting--to his wife: and now, indeed, they lifted up their hearts to the God who heareth prayer, that He would be pleased to recall the precious life that seemed to be fast ebbing away; and to permit His tried and faithful servants again to be united, and enjoy the happiness that yet might be their portion on earth. Noiselessly Elliot glided from the room--for he feared to awaken the sleeper--and sought the friendly Indian, from whom he learnt the good news of Roger's safety, and all the particulars that the red man could relate concerning him. He then returned to Edith's chamber, and, in a low whisper, communicated all that he had heard to his wife, and consulted with her as to the best method of communicating the startling tidings to Edith, should she ever awake from her present death-like slumber. They were still engaged in earnest, but scarcely audible, conversation, when Dame Elliot, who did not cease from watching her patient, observed her open her large eyes, and fix them with a look of intelligent inquiry on herself and her husband. She made a sign to him; and he likewise was struck with the evident change in Edith's countenance, and filled with hope that her reason had perfectly returned. This hope was quickly confirmed by the invalid saying in a very low voice, but in a collected manner-- 'I have slept very long, and my dreams have been very painful. I dreamt that I was alone in the world, and that an angel came to take my soul where he had gone to dwell. And then--just as I bade farewell to earth--a little form came between me and the angel, and held me back. Where is that little being? Dame Elliot, let me look on her, that my trembling spirit may be stayed. No, Roger; no--I must not ask to follow you yet.' Edith seemed too weak for tears, or for any strong emotion; but she closed her eyes, and slowly clasped her almost transparent hands upon her breast, and looked so still and colorless, that she might have been taken for a marble monument, but for the dark waving hair that fell upon her pillow, and shaded her snowy neck. Dame Elliot took up the infant from its little wicker cradle, and held it towards Edith, saying gently-- �Look up, my Edith, and bless the little being that God has given to call you back to life and happiness.' _'Happiness!'_ murmured Edith. 'That word has no meaning for me! Duty is my only tie to life.' But she did look up; and as her eyes were long end fondly fixed on the unconscious features of the child, her own sweet look of gentleness rose into them again, and she raised her feeble arms, as if to take the infant. 'And he will never see her,' she whispered. 'He will never look on his child in this world.' Elliot thought that hope might now be given without danger; and he took her wasted hand in his, and said-- 'Edith, you have had much sorrow, and it has nearly brought you down to the grave. But can you bear to feel the agitation of hope? Can you listen calmly while I tell you that some tidings of your husband have reached us, and that he was certainly alive after the time when you believed him dead?' He paused, and looked anxiously to see the effect of this sentence; and he was almost awed by the expression of Edith's countenance. It was not agitation--it was not joy--it was not trembling uncertainty. But it was a look of concentrated mental power and endurance, and of speechless inquiry, that seemed to say, 'Now utter my sentence of life or death, and do it quickly!' Dame Elliot could not bear it. Bursting into tears of deep emotion, she beat down and imprinted a kiss on Edith's cold brow, while she exclaimed, in broken accents-- 'Yes! it is true, dearest Edith. You may live--and live, we hope, for happiness as great as has ever been your portion.' 'O, my God!' cried Edith-'this is too much!--too much of joy for one so weak and faithless. But tell me, my friends--tell me all. I can bear it now.' Gently and gradually Elliot prepared her for the blissful certainty of her husband's safety; and when he found that illness had not greatly weakened her natural strength of mind, and that she could bear the joy that awaited her, he gave her Roger's own letter, and felt assured that the tears she, at length, shed at the sight of his hand-writing, would relieve and calm her over-burdened heart. In this he judged truly; for, though Edith was greatly exhausted after this strong excitement, yet she passed a tranquil night, and was so much recovered on the following morning as to be able to converse composedly with her kind friends. The fever had passed away; and the sense of restored happiness, joined to youth and a naturally good constitution, had a rapid effect in renovating her strength and spirits, and recalling a faint bloom to her cheek. Before the Indian set out on his return to Seacomb, she insisted on seeing him, and herself delivering to him a letter to Roger, in which she had carefully avoided all mention of her illness. She made numerous inquiries of him relative to her husband's health and present situation; and charged him to convey her packet safely, and tell his employer that he had seen her and his child well and happy. She could say this with truth; for so rapidly had she recovered, that the inexperienced eye of the Indian could detect no remaining indisposition in the slight and graceful form of the interesting pale-face, or any trace of disease in the bright eye that smiled so kindly upon him. He departed with the friends of Williams, and earnestly did his wife wish that it had been possible for her to accompany them, and join her husband at once. But this could not be; and she could only endeavor to regain her strength, so as to be able to proceed to Plymouth, as soon as the promised vessel arrived. In due time it came: and bidding her kind and devoted friends an affectionate farewell, Edith and her child embarked, with all the little property that remained to her, and soon found herself once more beneath the peaceful roof of her parents. Until she arrived at Plymouth, she was not aware of the fresh trial that had befallen her husband, in being compelled to abandon his settlement at Seacomb, and remove into the Narragansett district. This change was distressing to her, as it net only placed the lines of her future habitation at a greater distance from her parents and friends at New Plymouth, but also removed it further from all civilized life, and into a district inhabited by a tribe whom she had learnt to dread from her childhood, as the rivals and foes of the friendly Wampanoges. Still these considerations did not, in any measure, abate her eagerness to fellow Roger, and take her part in all his toils and anxieties. The winter had passed away, and, though far from genial, the weather was more tolerable for travelling; and Edith resolved to set out. All the arguments and entreaties of Helen and Rodolph to induce her to delay her journey for some months, were ineffectual. Her husband lived; and he was suffering hardship--and could she remain separated from him, now that her own strength had been restored? The only concession she could be persuaded to make, was to wait until some friend from Plymouth was found to accompany her. Gladly would her father have done so; but he was suffering so severely from the ague that so often attacked the settlement in the spring months, as to be perfectly incompetent to attempt the toilsome journey. No vessel could now be procured, and it was on foot that Edith proposed to traverse the wide extent of wilderness that stretched between Plymouth and Roger's place of refuge. Two faithful and active Indians were appointed by Mooanam to be her guides, and to carry the infant which she would not consent to leave behind her; and, in order that this might be accomplished with greater facility, Apannow provided her with one of the Indian cradles--or, rather, pouches--in which the red squaws so commonly carry their young children on their backs. This was thickly lined with soft and elastic bog-moss, and well adapted to the purpose for which it was designed. All was prepared, and the impatient Edith only waited for a companion from among her own countrymen, who were all so much occupied at that busy season as to feel little disposed to undertake so long a journey. But she found one at length who was sufficiently interested in her happiness, and that of her husband, to leave his home and his occupations, and offer to be her protector. This was the excellent Edward Winslow, who had been her father's constant friend ever since their first emigration, and who bad also learnt to know and value Roger Williams, during his residence at Plymouth. With such a companion, Edith felt she had nothing to fear; and her anxious parents committed her to his care with greater confidence than they would have done to that of any other protector. His natural sagacity, his courage, and his knowledge of the Indians and their language, rendered him peculiarly suitable for the enterprise; and his warm friendship for Rodolph and all his family, and the lively powers of his pious and intelligent mind, ensured to Edith both a kind and an agreeable fellow-traveler. Nevertheless, it was not without many prayers and tears that Helen saw her daughter once more leave her childhood's home, and commence her journey. But Edith's spirits were joyous, and her hopes were high; and her child lay smiling contentedly in its strange nest, which was slung on the shoulders of one of the Indian guides. The other carried a small stock of provisions, and other necessaries, and thus the little party set forth. We will rot follow them, day by day, in their fatiguing journey; but merely state that its length and difficulty exceeded even the expectations of Edith and her companion; but never damped the persevering courage of the former, or drew from her a complaint, or a wish to return. She only felt that every step, however rough and toilsome, carried her nearer to the object that was dearest to her on earth; and this conviction supported her when otherwise her strength must have failed. Sometimes an Indian wigwam afforded her rest and shelter; but, frequently, a bed of dry leaves, and a roof of boughs, were the best lodging that Winslow and the Indians could provide for her and her little infant. Happily the weather was calm and mild, and the season sufficiently advanced to enable the Indians to find a quantity of nutritious roots, which, with the meal, or nokake, that they carried with them--or procured from the natives by the way--formed the chief subsistence of the party. Occasionally, their fare was improved by a wild turkey, or wood duck; or, perhaps, a squirrel or hare, that Winslow brought down with his gun; but often the day's journey was performed with no other refreshment than a few spoonsful of dry meal, and a draught of cold water, until something more nourishing could be procured at their place of repose for the right. Roger Williams was standing one evening on the bank of the river, or rather, arm of the sea, called Seacock, near the spot where he had first landed, and to which he had given the name of 'What Cheer?' He was examining the landing-place, and contriving some means of turning it into a sort of harbor for canoes that belonged to the settlers in his new village, when his attention was attracted to the other side of the river, by hearing his own name loudly called by native voices. He looked to the spot, and saw two Indians plunge into the water, and swim rapidly towards him: and, as they did so, he also observed two other figures emerge from a grove of trees that reached nearly to the eastern brink of the inlet. The distance was considerable, but Roger's keen eye could discern that one of them was a female form; and, as they approached nearer to the water's edge, and the rays of the evening sun fell brightly upon them, he also saw that the arms of that graceful and familiar form carried an infant. �Surely it is an illusion!' he exclaimed. I have so long pictured to my mind that blessed sight, that at length my fancy seems realized. It cannot be!' But again his name was called--not now with an Indian accent, but in the manly English tones of Edward Winslow 'Bring down a canoe, Roger!' he shouted across the Water. 'Edith and your child cannot swim this, arm of the sea.' It was then true! Edith--his beloved wife--was there and only that narrow inlet divided them! The Indians had sprung to the shore, and were waiting his directions, to go in search of a canoe; but for a few moments he did not regard them, so riveted were his eyes, and all his senses, on the opposite shore. But now he remembered that only by means of a boat could he attain that shore; and making a signal of wild joy and welcome to Edith, he hurried up the creek with the Indians, and rapidly unloosed the moorings of his canoe, which lay securely behind a projecting rock. He leaped into it, leaving the natives on the shore, and paddled the canoe swiftly down the creek, to the spot where Edith stood waiting to receive him, trembling with agitation and joy. When the first burst of emotion, at this, long-desired meeting with his wife and hitherto unknown child, had subsided, Roger warmly welcomed the friend who had so kindly protected them during their long journey, and brought them to the wild spot that was now his only home. He then led them to the canoe, and, with Winslow's assistance, soon rowed them to the other side, and conducted them to his, infant settlement. The huts were indeed erected, and covered in with shingle roofs; but their appearance promised little of outward comfort to Edith. Yet an inward joy and satisfaction were now permitted to her, which, at one time, she had never hoped to enjoy again on earth; and all externals were as nothing when compared with this. Nevertheless, she exerted herself with all a woman's taste and skill to arrange the simple furniture of the hut, and even to add a something of decoration; and both her husband and Winslow wondered at the improvement which she soon effected in the appearance of the dwelling, and the ingenuity with which she converted the rudest materials into articles of use or ornament. Her joyous spirits, and active moments, gave a life and animation to the hitherto dreary scene; and Roger felt that he had, indeed, in her a helpmate, who would cheer the loneliest situation, and shed a grace and charm ever poverty itself. Winslow appreciated all her excellent and amiable qualities very highly also; and yet he lamented the lot of both his friends, who had to endure, in this comparative solitude, all the struggles, and all the hardships, that the Pilgrim Fathers had once encountered, and had now conquered. But the visit of this, 'great and pious soul,' as Roger described Edward Winslow, very greatly cheered the heart of the exiles. He remained for many weeks in the new settlement; and only left it when the advance of the season warned him that the short Indian summer was drawing to an end. A vessel which arrived at that time from Plymouth, and which brought the wives and families of several of the settlers, afforded him the means of returning by sea, and avoiding the tedious land journey. He departed, with the thanks and blessings of his friends, to convey to Edith's, parents the happy intelligence that she was both well and happy, and that it was evident her cheerful spirit had power to sustain her through every difficulty by which she might be surrounded. CHAPTER XXII. 'Epictetus says: "Every thing hath two handles." The art of taking things by the right handle, or the better side--which charity always doth--would save much of those janglings and heart-burnings that so abound in the world.' ARCHBISHOP LEIGHTON. For a long period an unbroken peace had subsisted between the English settlers and the native tribes. But this could no longer be maintained, and a succession of petty injuries and mutual misunderstandings brought about a state of hostility that the Pilgrim Fathers had labored--and, generally, with success--to avert. Their kind and equitable treatment of the Indians had not been, as we have had occasion to show, adopted by the later emigrants, and doubt and suspicion had taken the place of that confidence and respect with which the red men had soon learnt to regard the settlers of New Plymouth. The recent colony of Connecticut, which was composed of bands of settlers from Plymouth and Massachusetts, and also a few Dutch planters, first came into hostile collision with the natives. The settlers of New Plymouth had entered upon an almost deserted land; those of Massachusetts had ensured to themselves safety by their superior strength; and those among the Narragansetts were protected from injury by the friendly feelings of the neighboring Indians. But the settlement of Connecticut was surrounded by hardy and hostile races, and could only enjoy security so long as the mutual hatred of the native tribes prevented them from uniting against the intruders. In the extreme west of the Narragansett district, and near the entrance of Long Island Sound, dwelt a powerful division of the Pequodees; of that race of red warriors whose pride and ambition caused them to be both feared and hated by the other tribes in the vicinity. They could bring upwards of seven hundred warriors into the field, and their Chief, Sassacus, had, in common with almost all the great Indian Sagamores, a number of subordinate chiefs, who yielded to him a certain degree of obedience. The Narragansetts were the only tribe that could at all compete in strength with the fierce and haughty Pequodees; and their young Chieftain, Miantonomo, was already regarded by Sassacus as a dangerous rival. Such was the feeling that existed among the tribes near the settlements of Connecticut, when an event occurred that disturbed the peace of the whole community. Two merchants of Virginia, who had long dwelt in Massachusetts, and who were engaged in trafficking with the Connecticut settlers, were suddenly and treacherously attacked by a party of Pequodees, and, with their attendants, barbarously murdered. And shortly afterwards another trader, named Oldham, met the same fate, being assassinated while he was quietly sleeping in his boat, by some Indians who had, but an hour before, been conversing with him in a friendly manner. This latter murder did not take place actually among the Pequodees, but on a small island belonging to the Narragansetts, called Block Island. But the inhabitants denied all knowledge of its perpetration, and the murderers fled to the Pequodees, by whom they were received and sheltered. A strong suspicion, therefore, lay on them as being guilty of the latter crime, as well as the former. The government of Massachusetts immediately resolved on punishing the offenders, and a troop of eighty or ninety men were sent off to Block Island, to seek for the murderers. The natives endeavored to oppose their landing; but, after a short contest, they fled, and hid themselves in the woods. For two days the Boston soldiers remained on the island, burning and devastating the villages and fields, end firing at random into the thickets, but without seeing a single being. They then broke up the canoes that lay on the beach, and sailed away to the country of the Pequodees to insist on the guilty individuals being delivered to them and, on this condition, to offer peace. But neither the murderers nor their protectors were to be found. All had fled to the forests and the marshes, whither the English could not follow them, and they merely succeeded in killing and wounding a few stragglers, and burning the huts that came in their way. This fruitless expedition rendered the Pequodees bolder than ever, and the neighboring towns were harassed by their nightly attacks, and, notwithstanding all their precautions, and the patrols that were set on every side, the savages fell on the whites whenever they were at work in the distant fields. They slew the men with their tomahawks end dragged their wretched wives and daughters away to captivity; and thus, in a short time, thirty of the English settlers had become the victims of their fury. Meanwhile, messengers were sent to Plymouth and Massachusetts, to implore their aid, and the latter state promised two hundred soldiers, and the former forty, which were as many as its small population could afford. The Pequodees, dreading the power of the English, endeavored to move the Narragansetts--who had from the most distant times been their rivals and enemies--to join them in an offensive and defensive alliance against the white men, whom they represented as a common foe to the Indians, and the future destroyers of their race. This intended confederation was discovered by Roger Williams, who spent much of his time in visiting the Indian villages and instructing the natives, with all of whom he obtained a remarkable degree of influence. This noble-minded and truly Christian-spirited man immediately seized the opportunity of repaying with benefits the heavy injuries that he had received from the Massachusetts; and, with an admirable magnanimity and self devotion, he set himself to prevent the dangerous alliance. The government of Massachusetts were well aware that Williams was the only man who could effect this desirable object; and, on hearing from him of the schemes of Sassacus, they immediately requested the former victim of their unjust persecution to employ his influence with the natives for the benefit of his countrymen: and well and zealously be complied with this request. He left his now comfortable home, and all the various employments that occupied his time, and travelled restlessly from place to place, defying the storms and the waves, in a miserable canoe; and meeting, with an undaunted courage, the assembled parties of hostile tribes whom he sought, at his own extreme peril, to bring into alliance with the English. He succeeded in his patriotic object, and, after along doubtful negotiation, he persuaded the Narragansetts to refuse the proffered coalition with the Pequodees. Their young chief, Miantonomo, even went a journey to Boston, where he was received with distinguished marks of honor and respect, and signed a treaty which allied him to the settlers against his own countrymen. The troops from the river-towns assembled together, and went down the Connecticut to attack the Pequodees in their own land. Their numbers were but small--not exceeding eighty men--as each town furnished a much weaker force than had been promised. But they were joined by a band of the Mohicans, a hardy race inhabiting the valleys of the Connecticut, and who had been alienated from the Pequodees by the oppression and arrogance that had excited the enmity of so many other tribes. The combined forces of the English and Indians were placed under the command of Captain Mason, a brave and intelligent officer who had served in the Netherlands under General Fairfax. The detachment that was expected from New Plymouth was not ready to march at the time of the troops taking the field. Captain Standish, therefore, did not set out himself; but he allowed such of his brother- soldiers as were ready, to precede him, and take part in the commencement of the campaign. Among these, Rodolph Maitland, who still retained all the fire and energy of his youth, was the foremost; and he led a little band of brave companions to the place of rendezvous. The learned minister Stone--the friend and colleague of Hooker--accompanied the troops from Boston; for a band of Puritanical warriors would have thought themselves but badly provided for without such spiritual aid. The instructions of the government of Connecticut directed Mason to land in the harbor of Pequod,[*] and thus attack the Indian forces on their own ground. But he found the natural strength of the place so much greater than he expected, and also observed that it was so watchfully guarded by his enemies, that he resolved to pass on to the harbor in Narragansett Bay; and, after having strengthened his forces with the warriors promised by Miantonomo, to attack the Pequodees from thence. A circumstance occurred here that is so characteristic of the time, and of the manners of the Puritans, that it must not be omitted. The officers under Mason were dissatisfied with this alteration in the plan of the campaign, and asserted that the instructions given to the commander ought to be literally followed. It was, therefore, resolved to refer the question to the minister, who was directed 'to bring down by prayer the responsive decision of the Lord.' Stone passed nearly the whole night in prayer and supplication for wisdom to decide the matter, and the next morning declared to the officers that the view taken by their leader was the right one; on which they all submitted without a murmur. [Footnote: Now Newhaven] The Indian reinforcements continued to increase. Miantonomo brought two hundred warriors, and other allied tribes joined them on their march, until the number of native auxiliaries amounted to five hundred. In these Mason placed little confidence, and would gladly have awaited the arrival of the forty men from Plymouth, who were already at Providence on their way to join him. But his men were eager to attack the savages, and the Indians taunted him with cowardice for desiring to delay the conflict; and he was forced to advance at once. The great strength of the Pequodees consisted in two large forts, in one of which the redoubted Chief, Sassacus, himself commanded. The other was situated on the banks of the Mystic, an inconsiderable river that runs parallel to the Connecticut. These Indian forts or castles consisted of wooden palisades, thirty or forty feet high, generally erected on an elevated situation, and enclosing a space sufficiently large to contain a considerable number of wigwams for the aged men--or whiteheads--and the women and children. These two fortresses were the pride and the confidence of the Pequodees, who believed them to be invulnerable; as, indeed, they had hitherto found them to the assaults of their own countrymen. And the other Indian tribes appeared to hold them in the same estimation; for when they found that it was Mason's intention to march directly to the fort on the Mystic, their courage failed completely. They were only accustomed to the Indian mode of warfare, which consists in secret attacks and cunning stratagems; and the idea of braving the terrible Pequodees in their strongholds, overpowered their resolution. The very warriors who, only the day before, had boasted of their deeds, now were crest-fallen, and cried out, 'Sassacus is a God; he is invincible!' and they deserted in troops, and returned to their own dwellings. Thus the English found themselves deprived of at least a hundred of their Narragansett allies. The rest remained with them, as did also the Mohicans; but their fear of the Pequodees was so great, that Mason could only employ them as a sort of rear-guard. Meanwhile, these haughty Indians were exulting in their supposed security, and indulging in songs and feasting. They believed that the English were terrified at their strength and reputed numbers, and had fled from the intended place of landing in Pequod harbor in fear, and had abandoned their enterprise altogether. They, therefore, amused themselves with fishing in the bay; and then inviting their allies to join their revels, they passed the night in vaunting of their own great actions, and defying the cowardly whites. We have seen that their assuming arrogance had aroused the jealousy and hatred of most of the neighboring tribes; but there were still a few who adhered to their cause, and were willing to unite with them against the British intruders. Among those, none were more powerful or more zealous than the Nausetts--that tribe which had so greatly harassed and annoyed the first settlers at Plymouth, and which still retained the same feelings of enmity that had then influenced them. The presence of Henrich among that portion of the tribe that was governed by Tisquantum had, indeed, secured to himself the respect and regard of almost the whole community; but it had not weakened the strong prejudice that they, as well as the main body of their tribe, entertained against his race, or lessened their ardent desire to rid the land of the powerful invaders. Sassacus was well acquainted with the sentiments of his Nausett allies, and he had lost no time in securing the co-operation of the Sagamore of the tribe, as soon as he knew that the British troops were preparing to attack him, and he had, also, dispatched a swift messenger to meet Tisquantum and his warriors, and entreat them to use all possible expedition to join him in his own fortress, and assist in defending it against his enemies. With the present position and intended movements of Tisquantum's party, the Pequodee Chief was perfectly conversant; for there was one in his castle who was acquainted with the plans of the Nausetts, and had only left their councils when their camp was pitched on the banks of the great Missouri. This individual had reasons of his own, besides his wish to strengthen his countrymen against the English, for desiring the presence of Tisquantum's warriors in the approaching contest. He hoped to place Henrich in such a position, that he would have no alternative but either to lead the Nausetts against his own people or to excite their distrust, and even hatred, by refusing to do so. He expected, and wished, that he should adopt the latter course; for he knew that he had himself still many secret adherents in the tribe, who would gladly make this an excuse for withdrawing their allegiance from the white Sachem, and bestowing it on him; and thus, at length, the long-sought object of his restless ambition might he attained. And then--then revenge!--that burning passion of his soul--might quickly be also satiated! It was now many months since Coubitant had escaped the punishment that was due to his many crimes, and had fled from the wrath of Tisquantum. But he had contrived to keep up an exact knowledge of the movements of the tribe, and even an intercourse with his own treacherous partisans. Often, indeed, as the Nausetts traveled slowly across the wide plain between the Missouri and the Mississippi, that well-known and terrible eye of fire was fixed upon them from the elevated bough of some thick tree, or from the overhanging summit of a neighboring rock; and often at night, when the camp was sunk in the silence of repose, his guilty confederates crept forth to meet him in some retired spot, and form plans for the future. In this way Coubitant dodged the path of the Nausetts while they traversed the forests and savannas, the lulls and the valleys, that led them at length to the great lake, now so well known as Lake Superior. Here they encamped for a considerable time, in order to construct a sufficient number of canoes to carry the whole party across it and also, by following the chain of lakes and rivers that intersects that part of the great continent, and ends in Lake Ontario, to enable them to land at no very great distance from their own native district. When the little fleet set out on its long and circuitous voyage, Coubitant actually contrived to be one of the passengers. His partisans secured a canoe to themselves; and, pretending that some of their arrangements were incomplete, they lingered on the shore until the rest of the boats were nearly out of sight. They then summoned their leader from his place of concealment, and, giving him a seat in the canoe, followed at their leisure. Thus he performed the whole of the voyage; and when the tribe landed on the eastern shore of Ontario, and recommenced their wanderings on land, he left their route, and hastened forward to try and contrive some schemes that could further his own views. The news of the war between the English and his old friends, the Pequodees, soon reached him; and, in an incredibly short time, he arrived in their country, and joined Sassacus in his fortified village. It was he who travelled from thence to the head-quarters of the Nausetts, near Cape Cod, and secured their assistance in the coming conflict; and then returned in time to send a trusty emissary to meet Tisquantum, and deliver to him a courteous message from Sassacus. This message had the desired effect; for Tisquantum called a council of his braves, and submitted to them the request of their powerful ally, that they would fight with him against the Narragansetts. The emissary was instructed to say nothing of the quarrel with the English; for Coubitant wished to get Henrich into the power of the Pequodees, before he became aware of the service that was to be required of him; and he trusted that no intelligence would reach him in the desolate country through which he and his warriors would have to march. All the assembled council were unanimous in their decision, that the request of Sassacus should be complied with; and Tisquantum then turned to Henrich, who sat beside him, and said-- 'My son! the days are past when I could lead forth my warriors to the battle, and wield my tomahawk with the best and the bravest. I must sit in my tent with the children and the squaws, and tell of the deeds that I once could perform, while my young braves are in the field of fight. You must now be their leader, Henrich; and let them see that, though your skin is fair, you have in your breast an Indian heart.' 'I will, my father,' replied the Young Sachem. 'Your warriors shall be led into the thickest of the battle, even as if your long-lost Tekoa went before them with his glancing spear. Tisquantum shall never have cause to feel shame for the son of his adoption.' 'I know it, my brave Henrich,' said the old Chief, 'I know that the honor of Tisquantum's race is safe in your hands; and that you will fight in defence of my ancient friends and allies, even as I would have fought in the days of my young strength. Come away, now; my warriors must prepare to go with the messenger of the great Sassacus. No time must be lost in giving him the aid he asks; and you, my son, will be ready by to-morrow's dawn to lead them on their way. I cannot go with you, for these feeble limbs are unfit to travel at the speed with which you must cross the forests and the plains; neither could the women and children bear it. We will follow the course that we designed to take, and go to the land of my fathers in the far east; and there we will wait for our victorious warriors.� As Tisquantum said this, he left the hall of council, which consisted of a shadowing maple tree, and led his companion to the hut of boughs, in which Oriana and Mailah sat anxiously awaiting the result of the conference. They did not regret when they heard that their husbands were to hasten to the scene of war, for they were Indian women, and could glory in the deeds of their warriors. But when they were informed that the main body of the tribe was to pursue the intended route towards Paomet,[*] their grief and disappointment were very great. [Footnote: Cape Cod] 'Must I leave you, Henrich?' exclaimed Oriana. 'Must I know that you are in the battle-field; and wounded perhaps, and wanting my aid, and I far away? Let me go with you! You know that Oriana can bear danger, and fatigue, and hardship; and with you there would be no danger.' 'It cannot be,' replied Henrich, gently but decidedly. 'Your father cannot travel, as we must do, with no respite or repose; and you, my Oriana, could not leave him and our boy. You must go with them to Paomet, my love; and prepare a home for me after the fight is done. The camp of the fierce Pequodees is no place for you.' Oriana felt that her husband was right; and she said no more. But she did not the less sorrowfully assist him in his preparations for the journey and the battle, or feel less keenly the grief of separation when, at daybreak on the following morning, he and his warriors were ready to set out. 'My son,' said Tisquantum, as he grasped the hand of Henrich, 'I have one request--I would rather say command--to impress upon you before we part. Let it not be known in the camp that you are a pale-face. I know that your good arm will bring glory on yourself and those who follow you; and I would have that glory belong to my own people, among whom you have learned to fight. I ask it also for your own sake; for in the camp of Sassacus there may be some who regard your race with jealousy and hatred, and would not bear to see a pale-face excelling the red men. You may trust my warriors. They look on you as they would have done on my Tekoa. But you may not trust either our Indian friends, or our Indian foes.' Henrich regarded this precaution as needless; yet, when Oriana joined her entreaties to those of her father, he readily gave the promise required. His costume and accoutrements were strictly native; and constant exposure to the air and sun had burnt his skin almost to a copper color. But his eyes were a deep blue; and his hair, though now dark, had a rich auburn glow upon it, that differed greatly from the jet black locks so universal among the Indians. To hide this, Oriana gathered it up into a knot on the top of his head in native fashion, and covered it with a close black cap. Over this his Sachem's coronet of feathers was placed; and it would have required a very scrutinising and suspicious eye to have detected the disguise. The blue eyes alone gave intimation of an European extraction; and they were so shaded by long black lashes, and had an expression so deep and penetrating, that few could discover of what color they were. The tongue of Hannah, too, had learnt to speak the Indian language with a pure, native accent, that no one could acquire who had not been brought up among the red men; so that there was little fear of his being known for a pale-face, amid the excitement and confusion of the war. The warriors departed; and Tisquantum's party resumed their journey, though not so joyously as before their separation from those who were going to meet danger, and, perhaps, death. With unremitting speed, the Nausett braves pursued their way, and reached the land of the Pequodees before the campaign had begun. Sassacus had, as we have seen, taken up his position in one of his boasted forts, and he wanted no reinforcements there; for his presence was regarded by his people as a panoply of strength. He, therefore, sent to desire the Nausett detachment to march to Fort Mystic, and assist the garrison there in defending it against any attack that might he made. CHAPTER XXIII. 'Merciful God! how horrible is night! There the shout Of battle, the barbarian yell, the bray Of dissonant instruments, the clang of arms, The shriek of agony, the groan of death, In one wild uproar and continuous din, Shake the still air; while overhead, the moon, Regardless of the stir of this low world, Holds on her heavenly way.� MADOC. Henrich was now called on to perform the part of an Indian leader in an Indian camp. It was no new position to him; for, during his years of wandering with the Nansetts, he had taken an active part in many of the wars that were being waged by the tribes among whom they had sojourned, against their hostile neighbors. He, therefore, was fully conversant with Indian modes of warfare; but he was as unaccustomed as his followers were to the defence of a fortress, or to a pitched battle between assembled forces in an open field. He had not been long at Fort Mystic ere he found that he was about to be opposed to some of his own countrymen, and the information filled him with grief and dismay. It is true, he had dwelt so long among the Nausett Indians, and all his personal interests were so bound up with theirs, that he felt as if they were indeed his kindred. But still his heart yearned towards his own people and the friends of his childhood, and the idea of being instrumental in shedding the blood of a Briton was utterly repugnant to him. It was now, however, too late to retract. He had pledged his word to Tisquantum that he would lead his warriors bravely against the foes of his allies, and honor forbad him to decline the post of their Sachem and commander. He therefore concealed his scruples and anxieties in his own breast, and resolved to do what he now felt to be his duty. It was with much satisfaction that he learnt, from one of the Indian spies, that the detachment of troops from New Plymouth had been unable to join the forces of their countrymen; for thus he should be spared the trial of being placed in opposition to those with whom, perhaps, he had been brought up in childhood. Towards the other settlers be entertained a far less friendly feeling; as reports of their cruel and unjust conduct towards the natives had, from time to time, reached him during his residence in different parts of the continent. The Pequodees and their allies treated him with respect and honor, as the representative of their ancient friend Tisquantum; and if his English blood was known to any of them, they made no remarks on the subject. They did not dare to notice what such a man as the Nausett Sachem appeared to be, chose to conceal. But it is certain that there was one in the fortress of Mystic whose keen eye had penetrated the disguise, and to whom the features of Henrich were so familiar, that he could even read his thoughts in his open and ingenuous countenance. Coubitant was already in the castle before the Nausett detachment arrived; and, while he dexterously contrived to conceal himself from Henrich, he watched him narrowly, and his eye was on him when he first became aware that English soldiers were with the foes with whom he must contend. Then did the savage exult in the painful struggle that he could perceive the news excited in his rival's breast, and he hoped that the white Sachem would find some pretext for leaving the fort, and deserting to his own countrymen. He kept spies continually watching his every movement, with orders to allow him full liberty to escape, but to follow and secure him before his purpose could be effected, and bring him in bonds to receive from Coubitant's own hand the punishment of a coward and a deserter. But he waited in vain for any such attempt on the part of the young Sachem. Henrich never left the fortress, and employed himself in endeavoring to keep his men from sharing in the revelry and wild security of their countrymen. In this endeavor he had but little success, and Jyanough alone remained with his friend, and took no part in the noisy songs and dances that followed the feast, and con-tinned almost until midnight. Then a deep and profound stillness gradually succeeded to the barbarous noises of the wild festival; and long before day-break the exhausted revellers were all buried in a heavy sleep. Even the watch, whose business it was to patrol round the fort, had that night carelessly left their respective stations, and come inside the palisades to light their pipes. Here they found none awake but the Nausett Sachem and his friend, who were slowly walking among the weary and sleeping warriors, attended only by a large and powerful dog. There was another wakeful eye in the fortress, and that was even now fixed on Henrich. Bat he whose dark soul looked forth from that singular eye, was himself concealed from view, and was intently watching the object of his hatred, and hoping that he would now attempt some act of cowardice or treachery. Henrich and Jyanough approached the guard, who had thus thoughtlessly left their post, and desired them immediately to return to their duty. But while the men remonstrated on the uselessness of so strictly keeping a watch, now that no present attack could be expected, they were startled by the loud and furious barking of Rodolph, who had wandered to the open gate, and thus gave ominous warning of approaching danger. The terrified guard now reached to the gate, accompanied by Henrich and Jyanough, when, to their dismay, they beheld in the faint moonlight a large body of men approaching close to the fort. They easily discerned that the foremost of the troop were Europeans; and they raised a loud cry of �Owannux! Owannux!�--Englishmen! Englishmen!--which quickly aroused the sleepers, and brought them towards the gate. In the next minute the fort was thickly hemmed in by the British force, and a second dense ring was formed beyond them by their Indian allies. The main entrance was soon forced by the swords and muskets of the vigorous assailants; and, though the Pequodees fought with all the fury of despair, they were driven back, and compelled to retreat towards the wigwams. They were closely pursued by their foes; and, at length, threw themselves into the huts, which contained the terrified women and children, and resolved to defend them to the last gasp. While the murderous strife continued, the light of day began to dawn; and soon the full glow of the rising sun revealed the work that had been done in darkness. The ground was strewed with dead and dying Indians; but the band of English warriors was yet unbroken, and was fiercely bearing onward towards the wigwams. Their numbers were small, indeed, when compared with those of their opponents; but the latter had no firearms, and a panic seemed to have struck them from the force and suddenness of the attack. Still they defended the lines of wigwams with desperation, until Mason, with amazing boldness, entered one of them, and, seizing a brand from the hearth, set fire to the roof of reeds. An Indian warrior was in the act of levelling his arrow at him, when an English officer sprang forward, and cut the string of the bent bow with his sword. This officer caught the eye of Henrich; and, though he knew not why, riveted it by a strange and unaccountable attraction. He was a noble- looking man; and, though his dark hair was slightly tinged with grey, his muscular limbs had apparently lost none of their force, and his spirit none of its courage and energy. So fixedly was the attention of Henrich fastened on the gallant soldier, that, for a time, he was regardless of the battle that raged around him, and of the fearful conflagration that was spreading along the Indian huts. These were only composed of weed and dry moss and reeds; and the flames quickly caught hold of them, and promised soon to bring the conflict to a dreadful close. The eye of Henrich was still fixed on that noble English officer; and the instinctive feeling of admiration and respect with which his aspect inspired him, was increased by seeing him, regardless of his own safety, actively engaged in rescuing an Indian woman and her child from a mass of burning ruins. He had been observed by other eyes also--by eyes that recognised him, and glared with irrepressible fury as they fell on him'. An Indian warrior approached him from behind, while he was unguardedly pursuing his work of mercy; and Henrich saw the savage preparing to strike a deadly blow, that would have cleft the head of the stranger in twain. Could he stand and see the noble Briton thus fall by a secret and unresisted attack? No! every feeling and every instinct of his heart forbad it! One instant his tomahawk flew in a gleaming circle round his head; and the next it fell with crushing force on the right shoulder of the savage, and sank deeply into his chest. It was a timely blow, and saved the white man's life. But it could not save him from a severe wound in the back, where the axe of the Indian fell heavily, as his arm dropped powerlessly by his side--never to be raised again. Coubitant sank on the ground; and, as he turned to look on his unexpected assailant, his blood-shot eyes met those of Henrich, and glared fiercely, first at him, and then at his intended victim, whose life had been so strangely preserved. They stood side by side, unconscious of the tie that bound them so closely together. Coubitant knew it well; and he felt in this awful moment that Mahneto had, in righteous retribution, sent the son to preserve the father's life from the hand of him who had hated both alike. He hated them still: and, even with his dying breath, he would not reveal the secret that would have united those seemingly hostile warriors in the embrace of deep affection. Rodolph had not seen the friend whose timely aid had partially averted the deadly blow that had been aimed at him by the savage. But, on turning round, he was astonished to perceive that his foe and his avenger were apparently of the same party. The latter--whose countenance expressed the deepest indignation, and who was raising his bloody hatchet from the prostrate form of the wounded Indian--was evidently not one of the allies of the English; and his dress and ornaments, and air of dignified command, indicated him to be a Chief among his own people. Why, then, had he come to the aid of an enemy? Rodolph gazed inquiringly at the fine countenance of the young Sachem, which was now bent upon the dying Indian at his feet. 'Coubitant!' he exclaimed in the Nausett tongue, �is it, indeed, you whom I have thus slain unknowingly? You have been a bitter and an untiring enemy to me; but it was not for this that I smote thee to the earth. I knew you not. But I saw you aim a cowardly blow at the white chief; and I saved him. I forgive you now for all your hatred, and all your evil designs, which Mahneto has thus recompensed upon your own head.' 'I ask not your forgiveness,' replied the savage in a deep, struggling voice--for the hand of death was on him, and the dark fire of his eye was waning out. 'In death, I hate and defy you! And in death I enjoy a revenge that you know not of.' He strove to raise his hand in menace, but it fell to the ground; and, with a groan of suppressed agony, he expired. The fight was raging with unabated violence, and the conflagration had already spread to the farthest end of the fortress. Henrich looked around for his comrades, who were bravely contending with their powerful foes at some distance, and he hastily prepared to join them. But, as he turned away, he courteously waved his hand to Rodolph, and said in the English language, but with an Indian accent, 'Farewell, brave Englishman!' Rodolph started. That voice had thrilled through his heart when it had spoken a strange language: but now it struck upon him with a sense of familiarity that be could not account for, as the Indian Chief was evidently an utter stranger to him. He returned his parting salutation and 'farewell'; but still he watched his retreating form, and thought he distinctly heard him utter the name 'Rodolph!' as a large dog, which had stood near him during their brief encounter, bounded after him over foe heaps of slain and dying. 'Surely it was my own fancy that conjured up that name,' thought Rodolph. The next moment he found himself compelled again to join the conflict, and, at the head of his little band, to fight his way out of the fortress, which was rapidly becoming a prey to the devouring flames. All the English withdrew outside the palisades, and thickly surrounded the fort; while their Indian allies, who had hitherto kept aloof, now took courage to approach, and form a second circle outside. The most furious despair now took possession of the souls of the devoted Pequodees: and their terrible war-cry was heard resounding high, and mingled with the agonising yells of the women and children, and helpless aged men, who were expiring amid the flames. Many of the warriors climbed the palisades, and leaped down among their foes, hoping to escape; but they were quickly despatched by the muskets and bayonets of the English; or if any had power to break through the first hostile line, they fell beneath the battle-axes of the Mohicans. Rodolph had received a considerable wound, but it had not entirely disabled him. At the head of his men he passed through the open gate of the fortress, and attempted still to lead and command them. He found, however that his strength was failing, and that he could no longer wield his good broad sword. He therefore stood leaning on it, and watching, with mingled feelings of pity and horror, the progress of the work of destruction. Presently he saw a side entrance to the fort thrown suddenly open, and the form of the Indian Chief--whose tomahawk had saved his life, and whose voice had awakened such strange feelings--appeared rushing forth. He was attended by another striking looking warrior, and followed by a band of determined natives, who were resolved to escape, or sell their lives dearly. Rodolph's men, who occupied the position opposite to that gate, raised their muskets to fire on these brave men; but their commander loudly and authoritatively bade them desist. 'Hold! I command you!' he exclaimed. 'Let that noble Chieftain escape, and all his attendants for his sake. He saved my life in the fort; and death to the man who injures him! He attempted to rush forward to enforce his orders, but pain and loss of blond prevented him from moving; and he would have fallen but for the support of one of his comrades. Meanwhile, Henrich and Jyanough, and their band of Nausetts, had rushed through the unopposing ranks of the English, and were now contending desperately with the Indian line beyond. The British troops paused, and looked after them; and the sympathy that brave men feel for each other prevented any of them from attempting to pursue or molest them. On the contrary, all now wished them success. With breathless anxiety Rodolph gazed after them, and watched the towering plumes that adorned the noble head of the Sachem, as he bore onward through the opposing crowd of Indians. He passed, and gained the plain beyond, attended by his followers; and, from the elevated position at which the fort was erected, Rodolph could still watch the little band retiring, until the Indian heroes were hidden from view by a thicket. So fiercely had the fire seconded the efforts of the English that the whole conflict only lasted one hour. In that brief space of time, between five and six hundred Indians--young and old, men and women-- were destroyed by fire and sword; and the small remainder were made prisoners of war by the English, or carried off as prizes by the hostile natives. Only two of the British soldiers were slain, but many were wounded; and the arrows remaining some time in the wounds, and the want of necessary medicine and refreshment, added greatly to their sufferings The medical attendants attached to the expedition, and the provisions, had all been left in the boats, and a march of more than six miles through their enemies' land was necessary, in order to reach them. Litters were therefore constructed and, in these, the wounded were sent off under the charge of the Mohicans, while the able-bodied men, whose number was reduced to little more than forty, prepared to follow as a rear-guard. The whole party were still near the smoking ruins of the fort, when they were startled by perceiving a large body of armed natives approaching. These were a band of more than three hundred Pequodees, sent by Sassacus to aid the garrison of Fort Mystic. Happily, they did not discover the small number of the English who were in a condition to oppose them, and they turned aside, and avoided a re-encounter. The white men took advantage of this mistake on the part of their enemies, and hastened forward with all the speed that circumstances would allow. But they had not proceeded far when their ears were assailed by the most discordant yells from the Pequodees. They had reached the scene of devastation; and, when they beheld the ruined fort, and the ground strewn with hundreds of mangled corpses and expiring friends, their fury knew no bounds. They stamped and howled with rage and grief, and madly tore their hair; while they gave vent to their excited feelings in that fearful and peculiar yell, at the sound of which the stoutest hearts might quail. Then, with a wild and desperate effort at revenge, they rushed down the bill in pursuit of their cruel enemies. The rear- guard turned, and met the onset bravely. The savages were received with a shower of bullets, which checked their furious assault; but they hung on the rear of the English, and harassed them during the whole of their retreat. They, however, reached their vessels in safety, and arrived in triumph at Hartford, from which port they had sailed three weeks before. This discomfiture proved a death-blow to the pride and power of the redoubted Sassacus. Disgusted alike by his arrogance, and by his recent defeat, many of his own warriors deserted him and attached themselves to other tribes; and the Sachem then destroyed his second fortress, end carried off his treasure to the land of the Mohawks, near the river Hudson, and, with his principal Chiefs, joined that warlike race. Meanwhile, the remainder of the troops from Massachusetts, whom the Government had not thought it necessary to send with Captain Mason, had landed at Saybroke, led by Captain Houghton, and attended by Wilson as their spiritual guide. They arrived just in time to hear of the successful issue of the campaign; and had, therefore, nothing left for them to do, except to join a small band from Connecticut, and keep down or destroy the few Pequodees, or other hostile Indians who still lurked about the district, and kept the settlers in fear and anxiety. These wretched natives were chased into their most secret haunts, where they were barbarously slain; their wigwams were burnt, and their fields desolated. Nor were the English the only foes of the once terrible Pequodees. Their Indian rivals took advantage of their present weak and scattered condition, to wreak upon them the suppressed vengeance of bygone years; and pursued, with ruthless cruelty, those whose very name had once inspired them with awe and dread. And yet--with shame be it said!--the _Christian_ leader of the troops of Massachusetts, himself a member of the strict and exclusive Church of Boston, surpassed these savages in cruelty. On one occasion, he made prisoners of nearly a hundred Pequodees. Of these miserable creatures he sent the wives and children into servitude at Boston, while he caused the men--thirty-seven in number--to be bound hand and foot, and carried in a shallop outside the harbor, where they wore thrown overboard. If this barbarous deed was not committed by the directions of the _Christian_ Fathers of Massachusetts, yet they certainly neither disclaimed nor censured it. Indeed, so little were cruelty and oppression, when exercised against the red men, regarded as crimes by many of the settlers, that one of their learned divines, even of the age succeeding the perpetrations of the above appalling event, expressed it as his opinion that �Heaven had smiled on the English _hunt�;_ and added, with horrible and disgusting levity, 'that it was found to be the quickest way _feed the fishes_ with the multitude of Indian captives!' The other tribes who had joined the Pequodees in opposing the conquering white men, were pardoned on their submission; but that devoted race, who fought like heroes to the very last, were extirpated as a nation from the face of the earth. The very name in which they had so long gloried, and which had been a terror to all the neighboring tribes, was not permitted to remain, and to tell where once they had dwelt and reigned unrivalled. The river, which had been called the Pequod, received the appellation of the Thames; and the native township, on the ruins of which an English settlement was founded, was afterwards called New London. Numbers of the women and boys, who were taken captive from tune to time by the British troops, were sold and carried as slaves to Bermuda, and others were divided among the settlers, and condemned--not _nominally to slavery,_ for that was forbidden by the laws of New England, but--to _perpetual servitude,_ which must, indeed, have been much the same thing to free-born Indian spirits, accustomed to the wild liberty of the forests and the prairies. Sassacus--the once mighty Chief of this mighty and heroic people--was basely slain by the Mohawks, among whom he had sought fellowship and protection, for the sake of the treasures that be had brought with him from his own lost dominions; and his heart was sent by his murderers as a peace-offering to the government of Connecticut. Thus ended the war which had been commenced as a necessary measure of self-defence, and in which the pious and high-minded Roger Williams had, at first, taken so active and influential a part. The manner in which it was carried out, and the cruelty that marked so many of its details, were repulsive in the highest degree to his just and benevolent spirit; but where mercy was concerned, his opinion and advice had no influence with the stern men of Boston. The only act which met with his approbation in the conclusion of the campaign, was the assignment of the depopulated lands of the Pequodees to Uncas, the Chief of the Mohicans. As being a conquered territory, the usual laws of war would have annexed it to the territory of the victors. But, in this case, the settlers adhered to their original principle of only obtaining, by purchase from the natives, those tracts of land on which they desired to settle; and a great part of that which was now bestowed on Uncas, was afterwards bought back from him and his inferior Sachems, or obtained by friendly contract, until the English became possessors of the whole district. At a subsequent period, the Pequodees who had escaped from their desolated land, and joined other tribes, assembled themselves together, and made one final effort at establishing their independence in a distant part of the country. But their power and prosperity were broken for ever. Captain Mason was again sent to subdue this remnant of the tribe; and the destruction that was accomplished on these unhappy exiles spread a fear of the white men through all the Indian race in that part of the continent. From that time the settlers of Connecticut--who had been the original cause of this cruel war--enjoyed an unbroken peace and security for forty years. CHAPTER XXIV. 'The voices of my home! I hear them still! They have been with me through the stormy night-- The blessed household voices wont to fill My heart�s clear depths with unalloyed delight! I hear them still unchanged; though some from earth Are music parted, and the tones of mirth-- Wild silvery tones, that rang through days more bright, Have died in others--yet to me they come Singing of boyhood back!--the voices of my home!' HEMANS. One Sabbath evening, a few months after the events related in the last chapter, and when the short second Indian summer, that so often returns late in the month of September, was at its height, the inhabitants of New Plymouth were assembled at their meeting-house on 'the Burying Hill,' and engaged at their usual devotions. None were left in their dwellings except those whom age or sickness prevented from joining the rest of the congregation, or those who were necessarily detained by the care of young children. The habitation of Rodolph Maitland was, therefore, deserted by all but Janet, who would gladly have gone that evening to listen to the husband of her young mistress; for Roger Williams was to lead the prayers of the congregation, and to deliver to them the customary address. But Edith�s little girl demanded her care; and old Janet took too much pride and pleasure in the interesting child to repine at having the charge of her, even though it prevented her from attending at the meeting-house on the first occasion of Roger's officiating there since his marriage. Little Edith was just beginning to walk alone, and it was her delight to play in the bright sunny garden, and pluck the gay flowers that still bloomed there in profusion. She was thus engaged, and murmuring a sweet but inarticulate song that her mother had attempted to teach her, when Janet, apprehending no danger, returned for a moment to the house, to perform some domestic duty. Just then a stranger, followed by a large dog, entered the garden by the wicket gate that led towards the forest, and stood silently gazing around him, without at first observing the happy and occupied child. He was tall and of a commanding appearance; and his costume, which was richly ornamented in the Indian fashion, bespoke him to be a native of high rank. But had any one closely examined his countenance, they would have discovered beneath those long dark lashes, and clearly marked eyebrows, the deep blue eye of the Saxon race, which was also indicated by the rich brown hair, that, now unconcealed, waved across his manly forehead. A keen eye would also have detected on the features of that seeming Indian Sachem an expression of deep thought and strong emotion, that told of old remembrances not yet obliterated, and of feelings that belonged to home and kindred. Yes! Henrich was, indeed, absorbed in those recollections that were revived in his breast by the sight of objects once so familiar, but which many years had elapsed since last he had looked on. Much was changed: but much was still the same. The rude hut commodious log-house that once stood on that site was now replaced by a substantial and picturesque dwelling in the Elizabethan style of architecture, whose deep bay windows were hung with the sweet single roses that were natives of the woods, and other flowering plants; while wreaths of the well-known Virginian creeper, now glowing in its scarlet hue of autumn, climbed to the summit of the carved gables and pinnacles that ornamented the building, and hung from thence in rich festoons. On the front of this dwelling the evening sun fell brightly, and its slanting beams likewise partially illuminated the garden with long streaks of light, while other parts were thrown into strong shadow by the trees and shrubs that grew among the flower-beds. One of these--a noble tulip-tree--rose in the centre of the enclosure and stretched its giant arms wide on every side. On this tree the eyes of the wanderer rested long; and then he approached it, and stood looking wistfully towards a bower that was situated near the old tree, and over which the creepers fell in wild luxuriance. Was it a tear that glittered in that warlike stranger's eye, as a ray from the western sun fell on his face through the thick overhanging foliage? And did those manly limbs tremble as he clasped his hands over his face, and sank on the rustic seat beneath the tulip-tree? 'I cannot enter the house!' he exclaimed, in a low voice. 'I cannot seek those loved ones there where once we dwelt in happiness together; and where, perhaps, none now remain to welcome the wanderer home! O, that some one would appear who might tell me of their fate!' Henrich spoke to himself in his native tongue. He could not speak a strange language in that old familiar spot; and his voice attracted the notice of the little girl, who was now slowly moving towards him, her hands filled with the spoils of the flower-beds. She stopped, and gazed at the stranger, and then uttered a faint cry of fear that at once roused Henrich from his reverie. His eyes fell on the lovely child, and instantly his memory recalled the features and expression of his brother Ludovico, to whom the little Edith bore a strong resemblance. With an irresistible impulse he sprang forward, and caught the little girl in his arms, and sought, by caresses, to soothe her fears, and hush her cries of terror. But those cries had caught the watchful ear of Janet; and, with all the speed that she could use, she came running from the house, merely anticipating that her charge had fallen down, or was alarmed at finding herself alone. What was, then, her terror and amazement at seeing her in the arms of an Indian! One instant she stood rivetted to the spot, not knowing how to act. The next she turned, and again hurried in to the house, from whence she escaped by a back door, and sped breathlessly towards 'the Burying Hill.' She knew that the service was over--for the last strains of the parting hymn had been borne down by the evening breeze as she left the house--and therefore she would find help and succor from the returning congregation. That deep, melodious sound had been heard by Henrich also; and it had struck a chord in his heart that vibrated almost to agony. The stillness and abstraction of his look, as he listened to the dying cadence, silenced the cries of the little child. She gazed into his upturned eyes; and, possibly, she felt that those eyes had an expression that was neither strange nor terrible--for now she suffered the stranger to seat himself again on the bench beneath the tulip tree, and place her gently on his knee. Such was the picture that met the eyes of Edith, and her husband, and parents, as they rushed into the garden, followed by the trembling and exhausted Janet. 'My child! my Edith!� shrieked the young mother and sprang towards the tree. That name told a long history to the wanderer which his heart had already guessed. The Indian warrior rose, but he did not fly. No! he only met the terrified mother; and as he placed her child in her trembling arms, he folded them both in his own. In amazement and indignation at this rude action, Roger now caught his arm, and in the Indian tongue, inquired hastily-- 'Who are you? and what can cause this freedom?' I am Henrich Maitland!' exclaimed the stranger; 'and the Lord has brought me back to my home once more.' Oh, the music--the thrilling, startling music--of those words to the ears and hearts of those who bad so long believed him dead! The surprise and joy were too intense for Helen, and she sank fainting into the arms of her long-lost son: while Rodolph grasped his hand, and exclaimed with deep emotion-- 'Now, God be praised! my brave, my blessed son! Surely His mercies are infinite, and His ways past finding out! Now I know why my heart yearned so strangely towards the Indian Chief who saved my life in the Fort of Mystic; and why his voice had such a thrilling and familiar tone, that spoke of home, and bygone years. Look on me, my Henrich, and say, do you not recognise the English soldier whom your generous interference preserved from a dreadful death?' The change in Rodolph's dress, and his own overpowering emotions, had hitherto prevented Henrich from discovering that, in the noble-looking man whom he was proud to call his father, he also beheld that gallant British officer whose appearance had so powerfully attracted him in the conflict of Fort Mystic. But when he looked into that fine countenance, he well remembered every feature; and he wondered why he, had not known him, even when they met so unexpectedly in the excitement of the battle. That was a happy hour; and, in the joy of meeting so many that he loved, Henrich for awhile forgot that any one was missing. But soon be looked around, as if seeking some familiar object, which did not meet his eye. He feared to ask for Ludovico: but his father saw the inquiring look, and guessed its import. 'He is gone!' he said, gently. 'Your brother did not remain with us long after you had left us; and his young spirit is now where we believed that yours had long been dwelling in peace. He would have rejoiced to see this day, dear Henrich; for he, as well as Edith, mourned your loss sincerely. But he is happy now, and we will not regret him. The Lord has restored to us one of our sons in a manner so strange, and under such extraordinary circumstances, that we can hardly realise the blessing. Tell us, Henrich, how this has been brought about.' The violent agitation occasioned by such a meeting had now somewhat subsided; and the wanderer could calmly relate the story of his adventures, while his mother and sister sat on each side of him, gazing fondly at his much-changed, but still familiar countenance; and the scarcely less interested Janet seated herself on the turf, with little Edith on her knees. Rodolph and Roger Williams also reclined on the ground, and all were impatient for the narrative. 'Our group is not complete,' said Henrich. 'Come hither, Rodolph!' And then, addressing his dog in the Indian language, he made him lie down at his feet. 'Then my ears did not deceive me?' exclaimed Maitland. 'When you left me, Henrich, in the midst of that fearful fray, I thought I heard you pronounce my name; and the sound startled me strangely. Have you, then, called your unconscious companion by your father's name; and in all your wanderings, and your trials, and temptations, has that name been dear to you?' �Heaven only knows _how_ dear!� replied the Sachem. �The remembrance of my parents, and all they taught me in my childhood, has been not only my joy and consolation, but my safeguard also. You will find me very unlearned and ignorant in all worldly knowledge, for I have had no means of keeping up the little I had acquired. But, God be praised! I have been kept from forgetting Him, and the Saviour in whom you taught me to put my trust. Nor have I been quite alone in my faith. One there is of whom I shall have much to tell you in the course of my history, who has been, and is, my spiritual companion and support. I have had many blessings!' 'How truly is it declared, "Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord"!' exclaimed Helen, as she raised her eyes in grateful gratitude to Heaven. Now she and Rodolph felt that they had, _indeed,_ recovered their lost son--not for time alone, but for eternity. Henrich's long and adventurous story was told: and so many were the questions and the comments that it called forth, that long are it was finished the light of day had all departed, and been replaced by the softer rays of the unclouded moon. It was with mingled feelings of disappointment and of gratitude, that Henrich's friends heard of his marriage with an Indian female. But as he described her character, and spoke of her sincere and humble faith, and of all that she had been to him since the first day of his captivity, they became more than reconciled to the alliance, and thanked God who had so mercifully provided their son with such a friend and companion, to cheer his otherwise lonely life. They, and Edith also, felt impatient to become acquainted with this new relative, whom they were already prepared to love; and, as she was now dwelling near Cape Cod with her father and the rest of her tribe, they hoped to do so before the winter set in. Henrich promised that this hope should be compiled with; but it was a source of sorrow and disappointment to his family, when they heard that he was pledged to the aged Tisquantum never to take his only and beloved child from him as long as he lived. He could not, therefore, at present change his mode of life, or take up his abode at New Plymouth but must return to dwell with his Indian friends, and fill the place of Tisquantum's son and representative, until the old man should be gathered to his fathers. The days that Henrich passed in the home of his childhood flew rapidly away. All his old friends gathered around him to welcome him on his unexpected return, and to offer their congratulations to his happy parents and sister. The joy of the venerable Brewster at again beholding his young friend and pupil, and at finding him still a sincere and intelligent Christian, was very great; and even among those who had never known him, his adventurous story, and his frank and engaging manners, excited the deepest interest. Between himself and his brother-in-law, Roger Williams, a strong and lasting friendship was established; and when the time arrived for Henrich to return to Paomet, Roger proposed to accompany him, and assist in escorting his wife and child to pay their promised visit to New Plymouth. This offer was gladly accepted; and the English minister and the Indian Chief set out on foot. The journey was comparatively easy to men who had long been accustomed to such toils and difficulties as both Henrich and Roger had, for years, been inured to, and they reached Paomet very quickly. But sorrow met them there. The first sound that fell on their ears as they approached the village was the Indian dirge for a departing soul. Henrich listened for a moment to catch the exact direction from whence the ominous sound proceeded, and then darted forward with such velocity, that Roger, active as he was, could with difficulty follow him. Henrich hastened towards a large dwelling at the upper end of the village; and entering the low door, he beheld a sight which, though it filled his heart with unaffected grief, was yet, in some sense, a relief to his fears. It was not for his wife or child that the wail was being made. It was Tisquantum who lay on the bed of death, and who turned his dim and sunken eyes towards him as he passed the threshold. The old man smiled a joyful welcome, and held out his trembling hand to greet him. And Oriana--who was seated on the ground by her father's bedside, in an attitude of deep and silent sorrow--sprang to her feet with a cry of joy, and throwing herself into her husband's arms, burst into a flood of long-suppressed tears. 'You are come at lest,' she exclaimed. 'You are come in time to see my father die, and to receive his blessing. O, Henrich! how I have hoped end preyed for your return. I feared you would be too late; and my beloved father has something to confide to you--I know he has--which will fill your soul with joy. Father,' she continued, in a calmer voice, as she led Henrich to his side, and joined their hands in her own--' Father, say those blessed words again. Tell your son that you believe and love the Christian's God, and that you desire to die in this faith.' Henrich was surprised. He had not hoped that Tisquantum had been thus far influenced by what he had seen and heard of the Christian religion, and his joy was equal to his astonishment. He looked inquiringly at the old Chief's countenance, and pressed his withered hand. At length, in a feeble, but calm and decided voice, Tisquantum spoke. 'My son, it is true. I have observed and listened, but I have held my peace. When you were a boy, you talked to me of the Christian's God, and I smiled in my soul at your ignorance. Then I found that you believed in the Great Mahneto, and I was satisfied. But for years I have studied your character, to find out why, young as you were, I felt for you a respect that I never felt for any human being except my own heroic father. At last, I understood that it was because your religion made you true, and brave, and good, and kept you from committing any of the crimes that I saw others guilty of. If all your nation acted as you have done, Henrich, their coming to this land would have proved a blessing indeed to the red men, and our people would not hate them, and seek to destroy them, as I once sought to do. But enough of this. My strength is failing. Henrich, your example has taught me that your God is holy, and just, and good; it has made me feel the truth of the Christian's religion.' Tears of humble joy and gratitude glistened in Henrich's eyes at this confession. He knelt beside the dying convert, and bowed his head upon the bed; but his heart was too full to allow him to express his thanksgivings audibly. Oriana was equally affected; but another form knelt beside them, and another deep rich voice arose in prayer, which was uttered fluently in the Indian language, and in which the hearts of all present joined fervently, although the speaker was a stranger to all but Henrich. It was Roger Williams, who had been an unobserved witness of the foregoing deeply interesting scene, and had listened, with deep and grateful emotion, to the words of the expiring Chief. He now spoke the feelings of all his auditors, and, with his wonted power and eloquence, poured forth a fervent prayer for the aged 'babe in Christ,' and blessed the God of all spirits that it had pleased Him, even 'in the eleventh hour,' to call the heathen Chief into the fold of Christ. When his prayer was finished, Henrich presented his friend and brother to his father-in-law, and told him that, from his lips, he might bear all that one of the Lord's most zealous and devoted ministers could tell him of holy and eternal things. Gladly the old man availed himself of this opportunity of obtaining instruction, end being prepared for what he now earnestly desired--an admittance by baptism into the once despised religion of the white men. For this task no man was more fitted than Roger Williams. He well knew how to deal with Indian prejudices, and bow to call forth the affections, by the relation of the simple and touching truths of the gospel. Tisquantum heard with a willing and teachable spirit, and he believed, and was at peace. His life was rapidly ebbing away, and no time was to be lost; for though he rallied a little after the arrival of Henrich and Roger, it was evident that his time on earth could only be counted by hours. The following morning, therefore, at his own earnest desire, he was baptised by Williams, in the presence of his rejoicing children, and of Jyanough and Mailah, who formed a little congregation of sincere Christians in the midst of an heathen population. The venerable Chieftain did not long survive his admission into the pale of the visible church of Christ. His strength faded hour by hour; but he was calm and collected to the last. He gave to Henrich all his parting directions for the government of his people, if he still continued to live among them, and to be their Sachem. 'But,' he added, 'I know that your heart is with your own people, and that you desire to return to your former home. I cannot blame you; for I well know the yearning of spirit that draws a man to his kindred, and to his father�s house. And Oriana will go with you, and make your home and your people her own. If this is to be, then let Jyanough be Sachem in your stead. He also is just and upright, and will guide my warriors with courage and wisdom. There is none besides yourself to whom I could so confidently leave them. And now, farewell, my children! May the good God in whom you trust receive my sinful soul for His Son's sake; and may his blessing rest on those who have led me into the truth.' Tisquantum had been supported in his bed, while he thus took leave of his sorrowing relatives and friends. He now lay down, and never rose again. Neither did he utter many more words; but lay as if engaged in thought and prayer, and occasionally fixed his failing eyes with fond affection on his child and Henrich. At length they gently closed, and the venerable old Chief slept the sleep of death. Oriana's grief was deep and sincere, for she had loved her father almost passionately; but she did not now 'sorrow as those without hope'; and, ere long, she was calm. The funeral was conducted in the simple manner of the Puritans; and all Tisquantum's warriors stood respectfully and silently round his grave, while Williams addressed them in their own language, and exhorted them to follow the example of their departed Chief, and examine the faith of the Christians, and embrace it to the salvation of their souls. Not long after the death of Tisquantum, and before the severity of winter prevented the journey being practicable, Henrich and his wife took leave of the Nausetts, and of their Christian friends, Jyanough and Mailah; and, accompanied by Roger Williams, and two or three Indian attendants who desired to follow their fortunes, took their way towards New Plymouth. Their departure from Paomet was much regretted, for they were greatly beloved by the red men. But the promotion of Jyanough to the Chieftainship gave general satisfaction; and there were even some who thought it was more consistent with their dignity and independence, to be governed by one of their own race, rather than by a pale-face, let his personal qualities he ever so estimable. Henrich's heart beat high when he again arrived at his father's dwelling, and presented his wife and child to his parents and his sister. He cast searching glances at their countenances, to read their feelings at thus greeting an _Indian_ as their near relative; but he saw no expression that could give him pain. On the contrary, the native grace and beauty of Oriana, and the gentle refinement of her manner, evidently struck them with surprise and pleasure, and made upon them all a most favorable impression. Nor did a further acquaintance lessen this kindly feeling. It was impossible to know Oriana, and not to love her; and she was soon regarded as a daughter and a sister by all her husband's relatives; while the young Ludovico was cherished and caressed by all the household, and by none more than by his little cousin Edith. The Maitlands were now a happy family; and when, in the ensuing spring, their daughter and her husband again left them to return to their distant home at Providence, they felt they had still a daughter left to them in the Indian wife of their beloved Henrich. This long-lost son did not again leave them, except to pay occasional visits with Oriana to their Nausett friends. But he fixed his permanent home at Plymouth, where his knowledge of the Indian language and manners, and the influence he continued to possess among the Nausetts and other neighboring tribes, enabled him frequently to render important services both to his own countrymen, and the red natives. His own merits, likewise, won for him the love and respect of the settlers of New Plymouth, who appreciated the unaffected devotion, and the simple truthfulness, of his character; and felt that such men as Rodolph Maitland and his son added glory to the history of 'the Pilgrim Fathers.' 
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44616	----	Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. MARY OF PLYMOUTH A STORY OF THE PILGRIM SETTLEMENT BY JAMES OTIS NEW YORK -:- CINCINNATI -:- CHICAGO AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY JAMES OTIS KALER ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL, LONDON FOREWORD The purpose of this series of stories is to show the children, and even those who have already taken up the study of history, the _home life_ of the colonists with whom they meet in their books. To this end every effort has been made to avoid anything savoring of romance, and to deal only with facts, so far as that is possible, while describing the daily life of those people who conquered the wilderness whether for conscience sake or for gain. That the stories may appeal more directly to the children, they are told from the viewpoint of a child, and purport to have been related by a child. Should any criticism be made regarding the seeming neglect to mention important historical facts, the answer would be that these books are not sent out as histories,--although it is believed that they will awaken a desire to learn more of the building of the nation,--and only such incidents as would be particularly noted by a child are used. Surely it is entertaining as well as instructive for young people to read of the toil and privations in the homes of those who came into a new world to build up a country for themselves, and such homely facts are not to be found in the real histories of our land. JAMES OTIS. CONTENTS PAGE Why This Story Was Written 9 The Leaking "Speedwell" 10 Searching for a Home 13 After the Storm 15 Wash Day 16 Finding the Corn 17 Attacked by the Savages 20 Building Houses 22 Miles Standish 24 The Sick People 26 The New Home 27 Master White and the Wolf 29 The Inside of the House 30 A Chimney Without Bricks 32 Building the Fire 33 Master Bradford's Chimney 34 Scarcity of Food 36 A Timely Gift 38 The First Savage Visitor 39 Squanto's Story 41 Living in the Wilderness 42 The Friendly Indians 44 Grinding the Corn 46 A Visit From Massasoit 47 Massasoit's Promise 50 Massasoit's Visit Returned 52 The Big House Burned 53 The "Mayflower" Leaves Port 54 Setting the Table 56 What and How We Eat 58 Table Rules 60 When the Pilgrim Goes Abroad 62 Making a Dugout 63 Governor Carver's Death 65 William Bradford Chosen Governor 67 Farming in Plymouth 68 Ways of Cooking Indian Corn 70 The Wedding 72 Making Maple Sugar 73 Decorating the Inside of the House 74 Trapping Wolves and Bagging Pigeons 76 Elder Brewster 77 The Visit to Massasoit 79 Keeping the Sabbath Holy 80 Making Clapboards 81 Cooking Pumpkins 82 A New Oven 83 Making Spoons and Dishes 84 The Fort and Meeting-House 86 The Harvest Festival 89 How to Play Stoolball 91 On Christmas Day 93 When the "Fortune" Arrived 94 Possibility of Another Famine 96 On Short Allowance 98 A Threatening Message 99 Pine Knots and Candles 101 Tallow from Bushes 102 Wicks for the Candles 103 Dipping the Candles 105 When James Runs Away 106 Evil-Minded Indians 109 Long Hours of Preaching 110 John Alden's Tubs 112 English Visitors 113 Visiting the Neighbors 115 Why More Fish Are Not Taken 116 How Wampum is Made 118 Ministering to Massasoit 119 The Plot Thwarted 121 The Captain's Indian 122 Ballots of Corn 123 Arrival of the "Ann" 123 The "Little James" Comes to Port 125 The New Meeting-House 125 The Church Service 127 The Tithingmen 129 Master Winslow Brings Home Cows 130 A Real Oven 131 Butter and Cheese 132 The Settlement at Wessagussett 133 The Village of Merrymount 135 The First School 136 Too Much Smoke 138 School Comforts 139 How the Children Were Punished 140 New Villages 142 Clothing for the Salem Company 146 Preparing Food For the Journey 147 Before Sailing for Salem 148 Beginning the Journey 150 The Arrival at Salem 153 Sight-Seeing in Salem 154 Back to Plymouth 155 MARY OF PLYMOUTH WHY THIS STORY WAS WRITTEN My name is Mary, and I am setting down all these things about our people here in this new world, hoping some day to send to my dear friend, Hannah, who lives in Scrooby, England, what may really come to be a story, even though the writer of it is only sixteen years old, having lived in Plymouth since the day our company landed from the _Mayflower_ in 1620, more than eleven years ago. [Illustration] If Hannah ever really sees this as I have written it, she will, I know, be amused; for it is set down on pieces of birch bark and some leaves cut from the book of accounts which Edward Winslow brought with him from the old home. Hannah will ask why I did not use fair, white paper, and, if I am standing by when she does so, I shall tell her that fair, white paper is far too precious in this new world of ours to be used for the pleasure of children. In the last ship which came from England were large packages of white paper for the settlers at Salem, who came over to this wild land eight years after we landed, and when I asked my father to buy for me three sheets that I might make a little book, he told me the price would be more for the three sheets than he paid for the two deer skins with which to make me a winter coat. [Illustration] Of course I put from my mind all hope of having paper to write on; but these sheets of bark take very well the ink made from elderberries which mother and I brewed the second winter after our new home was built. The pen is a quill taken from the wing of a wild goose shot by Captain Standish. THE LEAKING "SPEEDWELL" Hannah's father must have told her how much of trouble we had in getting here, for when the first vessel in which we set sail, named the _Speedwell_, put back to Plymouth in England because of leaking so badly, her master could not have failed to tell the people of Scrooby how all the hundred and two of us, men, women and children, were crowded into the _Mayflower_. [Illustration] From the sixth day of September until the eleventh day of November, which is over sixty long dreary days, we were on the ocean, and then our vessel was come into what Captain John Smith had named Cape Cod Bay. Mother believed, as did the other women, and even we children, that we would go on shore as soon as the _Mayflower_ had come near to the land; but before many hours were passed, after the anchor had been dropped into the sea, even the youngest of us knew that it could not be. We were weary with having been on board the vessel so long, and had made ourselves believe that as soon as we were arrived in the new world, food in plenty, with good, comfortable homes, would be ours. [Illustration] Master Brewster, as well as the other men, said that houses must be built before we could leave the ship, and it was only needed we should go on deck and look about us, to know why this was so. Everywhere, except on the water, were snow and trees. It was a real forest as far as I could see in either direction, and everywhere the cold, white snow was piled in drifts, or blowing like feathers when the wind was high. So deeply was the land covered that we, who watched the men when they went ashore for the first time to seek out some place whereon to make a village, thought that they had fallen into a hole while stepping off the rocks, because we lost sight of them so soon. Instead of its being an accident, however, we could see that they were floundering in the snow, Master Bradford, whose legs are the shortest, being nearly lost to view. We waited as patiently as possible for them to come back, though I must confess that Sarah, a girl of about my own age who came aboard the _Mayflower_ at Plymouth when we put back because of the _Speedwell's_ leaking so badly, and I could not keep in check our eagerness to hear from those people in Virginia, who it was said were living in comfort. Not for many days did we come to realize that the settlers in Virginia were far, very far away from where we were to land, and to see them we should be forced to take another long voyage in a ship. We had come amidst the snow and the savage Indians, instead of among people from England, as had been planned when we set out on the journey. SEARCHING FOR A HOME Father was wet, cold, weary, and almost discouraged when he came on board the vessel after that first day on shore. The men had found no place which looked as if it might be a good spot for our village. Father said that he was not the only member of the company who had begun to believe it would have been better had we stayed in Leyden, or in any other place where we would have been allowed to worship God in our own way, rather than thus have ventured into a wild forest where were fierce animals, and, perhaps, yet more cruel savages. On that very night, soon after our fathers were on board again, a great storm came up. The vessel tumbled about as if she had been on the broad ocean, and when we heard the men throwing out more anchors, we children were afraid and cried, for Sarah's father said he believed the _Mayflower_ would be cast ashore and wrecked on the cruel rocks over which the waves were dashing themselves into foam. [Illustration] Some of the women were frightened, although my mother was not of the number, and it was only when Master Brewster came among us, praying most fervently, and saying that God would watch over us even as He had on the mighty ocean, that the cries and sobs of fear were checked. Truly did I think, while Sarah and I hugged each other very hard so that we might not be heard to cry, that this was a most wretched place in which to make a new home, and how I wished we had never left Leyden, or that we had gone back to Scrooby instead of coming here! AFTER THE STORM It was Saturday when our vessel first came to anchor, and the storm held furious until Monday morning, when the snow was piled up higher than before, and many of the smaller trees were hidden from sight; but yet our fathers went on shore when the sun shone once more, while the sailors made ready to launch the big boat which they call the shallop. It had been tied down on the deck of the _Mayflower_, taking up so much space that, because of her, we children could not move around comfortably on deck even when the weather permitted. Some of the upper timbers had been broken by the waves during the storms which came upon us while we were on the ocean, and it was said that much in the way of mending must be done before she could be made seaworthy. Therefore, owing to the need of room in which to work, the sailors took her ashore where it could be done with somewhat of comfort. You must know that a shallop is a large boat, much larger than the one belonging to our ship, which is called a longboat. To my mind a shallop is like unto a vessel such as the _Speedwell_, except that it is much smaller, capable of holding no more than twenty-five or thirty people. It has one mast, a sail, and oars, and, as father has told me, any one might safely make a long voyage in such a craft. WASH DAY Captain Standish led the company of men, among which was my father, into the forest to search for a place in which to make our new home, and when we lost sight of them among the trees, it seemed as if we were more alone than before. [Illustration] Sarah and I could not stay on deck to watch the men while they worked, because the cold was too severe, therefore we went into the cabin where were other children huddled around the stove, and there tried to imagine what our homes would be like in such a desolate place. While the sailors worked on the shallop, many of the women went on shore to wash clothes near the fire which had been built by the men, and a most dismal time they had, as we children heard when they came back at night. They were forced to melt snow in Master Brewster's big iron pot, and when the hot water had been poured into the tub, it speedily began to freeze. Mother said that the clothes were but little improved by having been washed in such a manner. Next morning the cold was so bitter that the women and children did not venture much out on the deck of the vessel, save when one or another ran up to see if those who had set off to find a place for our new home were returning. The sailors continued work on the shallop during two days, and each time on coming back to the _Mayflower_ for food or shelter, brought a load of wood in their boat so that we might have fuel in plenty for our fires on the ship. FINDING THE CORN Not until Friday evening did our fathers come back; no one of all the party of seventeen was missing, although it seemed to me they had been in great danger. Before they had gone on their journey more than a mile from the _Mayflower_, they saw five savages and a dog coming toward them, and hastened forward to learn what they might about this new world. The Indians ran among the trees as soon as they saw our people, and they ran so swiftly it was impossible to overtake them. [Illustration] After making chase without coming upon the savages, Captain Standish led the way along the shore until next day they came upon what looked as if an Indian village had once been in that place, for the land had been dug over much as though to raise crops, and there were what appeared to be many graves. On opening one of these piles of sand, there were found two baskets full of what one of the sailors said was Indian corn; but another declared it was Turkish wheat, while Captain Standish believed it should be called Guinny wheat. It had been left near the graves, for these savages believe that even after people are dead, they need food. Later, when we had become acquainted with Samoset and Squanto, we came to know that on the spot which had been chosen for our home, there had been a large Indian village. Four years before we of the _Mayflower_ came, a terrible sickness had attacked the settlement of savages, and more than two hundred died. Those who were alive and able to walk, deserted the place to go many miles into the forest away from the sea, and, except for the graves which our people found, every trace of the town was wiped out, the savages believing that only by the destruction of everything connected with the settlement, could the evil spirit of the mysterious sickness be cast out. Our men were very glad to find this wheat, and as soon as they had brought it aboard the vessel, the women set about boiling some, for that seemed to be the only way in which it could be eaten, since it is hard, almost like flint. Neither Sarah nor I, hungry though we were, felt like eating what had been left for dead people; but we did taste of it, and found it very good, even though it had not been cooked quite enough. It was not long, however, before we found out how to prepare it, and many a time since then has it saved us from starving, but of that I will tell you later. ATTACKED BY THE SAVAGES On the sixth of December, the shallop having been made ready for sea, the men started away to search once more for a place in which to build homes, and on the very next day, while they were sleeping in the forest in a hut that had been built of dead tree trunks and bushes, they were set upon by savages, who shot arrows among them. There were thirty or forty of these savages, but as soon as our men fired upon them, they speedily disappeared. Our men then picked up the arrows, some of which were fashioned with heads of brass or eagles' claws. No one was hurt by these weapons, although one of them passed through father's coat, and many were found sticking in the logs. Then our people gave solemn thanks to God because of having been saved from the savage foe, and afterward gathered up many of the arrows to be sent back to England, that our friends there might see what were the dangers to be met with in the woods of this new world. [Illustration] Five long, dreary days went by before the company came back once more, and then we were made happy by being told that a place for our village had been found. It was a long distance from where the _Mayflower_ lay at anchor; and on the next morning another great storm came up, which forced us to stay on board the vessel until the fifteenth of December, when we set sail, and Sarah and I hugged each other fervently, for at last did it appear as if we could begin to make our homes. Even then we were forced to stay in the _Mayflower_ yet longer, for after we were come into the bay where it had been said we should live, the men spent a long while choosing a place in which to build the houses. BUILDING HOUSES It was agreed to build first one large house of logs, where we could all live until each man had chosen a place for himself, and both Sarah and I were on shore, standing almost knee-deep in the snow on that twenty-fifth of December, as we watched the men hew down trees, trim off the branches, and dig in the frozen ground to set up the first dwelling in this strange land. [Illustration] The first thing done was to build a high platform, where the cannon that had been brought from England could be placed, so that the savages might be beaten off if they came to do us harm, and then the big house was begun. Of course we women and children were forced to go back on board the vessel while the work was being done, and very slowly was it carried on, because of the cold's being so great, and the storms so many, that our people could not work out of doors long at a time. Our village was begun in the midst of the forest not very far from the seashore, where had been huts built by the savages; and because of the Indians having chosen that place in which to live, our people believed it would be well for them to make there the town which was to be called Plymouth, since it was from Plymouth in England that we had started on the voyage which ended in this wild place. When mother asked father why the men did not search longer, instead of fixing upon a spot to which the savages might come back at any moment, he told her that much time must be spent in building houses, and not an hour should be wasted. They ought to get on shore as soon as possible in order to begin hunting, for the food we had on the _Mayflower_ was by this time so poor that neither Sarah nor I could swallow the smallest mouthful with any pleasure. Sarah and I were eager to be living on dry land once more, where we could move about as we pleased; for, large though the _Mayflower_ had seemed to us when we first went on board, there was little room for all our company, and very many were grown so sick that they could not get out on deck even when the sun shone warm and bright. There were nineteen plots for houses laid out in all, because of the company's being divided into nineteen families. The plots were on two sides of a way running along by a little brook, where, so I heard my father say, one could get sweet fresh water to drink. It was decided that each man should build his own house. The plot of land where father was to build our house was quite near the bay, but yet so far in among the trees as to be shaded from the sun in the summer, while Master Carver, who was chosen to be our governor, was to build his only a short distance away. MILES STANDISH You must know that Captain Standish is not of the same faith as are we. He calls himself a "soldier of fortune," which means that he is ready to do battle wherever it seems as if he could strike a blow for the right. He, and his wife Rose, became friendly with us while we were at Leyden, for he was, although an Englishman, a captain in one of the Holland regiments, having enlisted in order to help the Dutch in their wars. Because of liking a life of adventure, and also owing to the fact that he and his wife had become warm friends with Elder Brewster and my parents, Captain Standish declared that he would be our soldier, standing ever ready to guard us against the wild beasts, or the savages, if any should come to do us harm. Right gallantly has he kept his promise, and unless he had been with us this village of ours might have been destroyed more than once, and, perhaps, those of our people whose lives God had spared would have gone back to Holland or England, ceasing to strive for a foothold in this new world which is so desolate when covered with snow and ice. A most kindly-hearted man is Captain Standish, and yet there are times when he has but slight control over his temper. Like a flash of powder when a spark falls upon it, he flares up with many a harsh word, and woe betide those against whom he has just cause for anger. [Illustration: Swords of Captain Standish] [Illustration] After coming to know him for one who strove not to control his tongue in moments of wrath, the Indians gave him the name of "Little pot that soon boils over," which means that his anger can be aroused quickly. He is not small, neither is he as tall as my father or Elder Brewster; but the savages spoke of him as "little," measuring him, I suppose, with many others of our people. We had not been long in Plymouth, however, before the Indians understood what a valiant soldier he is, and then they began to call him "Strong Sword." THE SICK PEOPLE It was yet very cold while our fathers were putting up the houses, and the sickness increased, so that at one time before the women and children could go on shore, nearly one half of our company were unable to sit up. All the while the food was very bad, save when more baskets of Indian corn were found. One evening, when father had come on board the vessel after working very hard on our house, I heard him say to mother that we must try to be cheerful, praying to God that the sickness which was upon our people so sorely would pass us by until we could build the home, plant a garden, and raise food from the earth. Sarah and I often asked each other when we were alone, whether the good Lord, whom we strove to serve diligently, would allow us to starve to death in this strange land where we had hoped to be so very near Him; for, indeed, as the days passed and the food we had brought with us from England became more nearly unfit to eat, it was as if death stood close at hand. THE NEW HOME [Illustration] It seemed like a very long while before the houses were ready so that we who were well could go on shore to live. I must tell you what our home is like. In Scrooby, when one builds a house, he has the trees sawed into timbers and boards at a mill; but in this new land we had no mills. When a man in England wants to make a chimney, he buys bricks and mortar; but here, as father said, we had plenty of clay and lime, yet could not put them to proper use until tools were brought across the sea with which to work such material into needed form. There was plenty of granite and other rock out of which to make cellars and walls; but no one could cut it, and even though it was already shaped, we had no horses with which to haul it. Think for a moment what it must mean not to have cows, sheep, oxen, horses or chickens, and we had none of these for three or four years. My father built the house we are now living in, almost alone, having but little help from the other men when he had to raise the heavy timbers. First, after clearing away the snow, he dug a hole in the frozen ground, two or three feet deep, making it of the same shape as he had planned the house. Then, having cut down trees for timbers, he stood them upright all around the inside of this hole, leaving here a place for a door, and there another for a window, until the sides and ends of the building were made. On the inside he filled the hole again with the earth he had taken out at the beginning, pounding it down solid to form a floor, and at the same time to help make the logs more secure in an upright position. Where the floor of earth does not hold the timbers firmly enough, what are called puncheons are fastened to the outside just beneath the roof. Puncheons are logs that have been split and trimmed with axes until they are something like planks, and you will see very many in our village of Plymouth. Hard work it is indeed to make these puncheon planks; but they were needed to fasten crosswise on the sides and ends of our house, in order to hold the logs more firmly in place. Across the top of the house, slanting them so much that the water would run off, father placed a layer of logs to make the roof. [Illustration] Three puncheons were put across the inside of the roof, being fastened with pegs of wood, for the few nails we have among us are of too much value to be used in house building. That the roof might prevent the water from running into the house, father stripped bark from hemlock trees, and placed it over the logs two or three layers deep, fastening the whole down with poles cut from young trees. MASTER WHITE AND THE WOLF Of course, when this home was first built, there were many cracks between the logs on the sides and ends; but these mother and I stuffed full of moss and clay, while father was cutting wood for the fire, until the wind no longer finds free entrance, and we are not like to be in the same plight as was Master White, less than two months after we came ashore to live. [Illustration] He would not spend the time to fill up the cracks, as we had done, and one night while he lay in bed, a hungry wolf thrust his paw through and scratched the poor man's head so severely that the blood ran freely. Sarah thinks he must have awakened very quickly just then. THE INSIDE OF THE HOUSE We have a partition inside our house, thus dividing the lower part into two rooms. It is made of clay, with which has been mixed beach grass. Mother and I made a white liquid of powdered clam shells and water, with which we painted it until one would think it the same kind of wall you have in Scrooby. With pieces of logs we children helped to pound the earth inside until the floor was smooth and firm; but father promised that at some later time we should have a floor of puncheons, as indeed we have now, and very nice and comfortable it is. [Illustration] I wish you might see it after mother and I have covered it well with clean white sand from the seashore, and marked it in pretty patterns of vines and leaves: but this last we do only when making the house ready for meeting, or for some great feast. At the windows are shutters made of puncheons, as is also the door, and both are hung with straps of leather in the stead of real hinges. Perhaps you may think that with only a puncheon shutter at the window, we must perforce sit in darkness when it storms, or in cold weather admit too much frost in order to have light. But let me tell you that our windows are closed quite as well as yours, though not so nicely. We brought from home some stout paper, and this, plentifully oiled, we nailed across the window space. Of course we cannot look out to see anything; but the light finds its way through readily. A CHIMNEY WITHOUT BRICKS I had almost forgotten to tell you how father built a chimney without either bricks or mortar, for of course we had none of those things when we first made our village. [Illustration] Our chimney is of logs plastered plentifully with clay, and fastened to the outside of the building, with a hole cut through the side of the house that the fireplace may be joined to it. The fireplace itself is built of clay, made into walls as one would lay up bricks, and held firmly together by being mixed with dried beach grass. It looks somewhat like a large, square box, open in front, and with sides and ends at least two feet thick. It is so large that Sarah and I might stand inside, if so be the heat from the fire was not too great, and look straight out through it at the sky. Father drags in, as if he were a horse, logs which are much larger around than is my body, and mother, or one of the neighbors, helps him roll them into the big fireplace where, once aflame, they burn from one morning until another. BUILDING THE FIRE The greatest trouble we have, or did have during our first winter here, was in holding the fire, for the wood, having just been cut in the forest, is green, and the fire very like to desert it unless we keep close watch. Neither mother nor I can strike a spark with flint and steel as ably as can many women in the village; therefore, when, as happened four or five times, we lost our fire, one of us took a strip of green bark, or a shovel, and borrowed from whosoever of our neighbors had the brightest blaze, enough of coals to set our own hearth warm again. [Illustration] Some of the housewives who are more skilled in the use of firearms than my mother or myself, kindle a blaze by flashing a little powder in the pan of a gun, allowing the flame to strike upon the tinder, and thus be carried to shavings of dry wood. It is a speedy way of getting fire; but one needs to be well used to the method, else the fingers or the face will get more of heat than does the tinder. Father cautions us against such practice, declaring that he will not allow his weapons to remain unloaded simply for kitchen use, when at any moment the need may arise for a ready bullet. But we have in Plymouth one chimney of which even you in Scrooby might be proud. MASTER BRADFORD'S CHIMNEY Master Bradford built what is a perfect luxury of a chimney, which shows what a man can do who has genius, and my mother says he showed great skill in thus building. If you please, his chimney is of stone, even though we have no means of cutting rock, such as is known at Scrooby. He sought here and there for flat stones, laying them one upon another with a plentiful mixture of clay, until he built a chimney which cannot be injured by fire, and yet is even larger than ours. Its heart is so big that I am told Master Bradford himself can climb up through it without difficulty, and at the bottom, or, rather, where the fireplace ends and the chimney begins, is a shelf on either side, across which is laid a bar of green wood lest it burn too quickly; on this the pot-hooks and pot-claws may be hung by chains. [Illustration] It would seem as if all this had made Master Bradford over vain, for because the wooden bar, which he calls a backbar, has been burned through twice, thereby spoiling the dinner, he has sent to England for an iron one, and when it comes his family may be proud indeed, for only think how easily one can cook when there are so many conveniences! We are forced to put our pots and pans directly on the coals, and it burns one's hands terribly at times, if the fire is too bright. Besides, the cinders fall on the bread of meal, which causes much delay in the eating, because so much time is necessary in scraping them off, and even at the best, I often get more of ashes than is pleasant to the taste. [Illustration: Skillets from the "Mayflower"] Bread of any kind is such a rarity with us that we can ill afford to have it spoiled by ashes. During the first two years we had only the meal from Indian corn with which to make it; but when we were able to raise rye, it was mixed with the other, and we had a most wholesome bread, even though it was exceeding dark in color. SCARCITY OF FOOD In Scrooby one thinks that he must have bread of some kind for breakfast; but we here in Plymouth have instead of wheaten loaves, pudding made of ground Indian corn, sometimes sweetened, but more often only salted, and with it alone we satisfy our hunger during at least two out of the three meals. I can remember of two seasons when all the food we had for more than three months, was this same hasty pudding, as we soon learned to call it. That first winter we spent here was so dreadful and so long that I do not like even to think of it. Nearly all the food we had brought from England was spoiled before we came ashore. There were many times when Sarah and I were so hungry that we cried, with our arms around each other's neck, as if being so close together would still the terrible feeling in our stomachs. [Illustration] All the men who were able to walk went hunting; but at one time, before the warm weather came again, only five men were well enough to tramp through the forest, and these five had, in addition, to chop wood for the whole village. Mother and the other women who were not on beds of sickness, went from house to house, doing what they might for those who were ill, while we children were sent to pick up dead branches for the fires, because at times the men were not able to cut wood enough for the needs of all. Then so many died! Each day we were told that this neighbor or that had been called to Heaven. I have heard father often say since then, that the hardest of the work during those dreadful days, was to dig graves while the earth was frozen so solidly. Think! Fifty out of our little company of one hundred and two, Captain Standish's wife among the others, were called by God, and as each went out into the other world, we who were left on earth felt more and more keenly our helplessness and desolation. A TIMELY GIFT It was fortunate indeed for us that Captain Standish was among those able to labor for others, else had we come much nearer dying by starvation. A famous hunter is the captain, and one day, when I was searching for leaves of the checkerberry plant under the snow, mother having said the chewing of them might save me from feeling so hungry, Captain Standish dropped a huge wild turkey in front of me. It seemed like a gift from God, and although it was very heavy, I dragged it home, forgetting everything except that at last we should have something to eat. Many days afterward I heard that the captain went supperless to bed that day, and when I charged him with having given to me what he needed for himself, he laughed heartily, as if it were a rare joke, saying that old soldiers like himself had long since learned how to buckle their belts more tightly, thus causing it to seem as if their stomachs were full. [Illustration] A firm friend is Captain Standish, and God was good in that he was sent with us on the _Mayflower_. It was when our troubles were heaviest, that Sarah came to my home because her mother was taken sick, and Mistress Bradford, who went there to do what she might as nurse, told Sarah to stay in some other house for a time. THE FIRST SAVAGE VISITOR We two were standing just outside the door of my home, breaking twigs to be used for brightening the fire in the morning, when suddenly a real savage, the first I had ever seen, dressed in skins, with many feathers on his head, came into the village crying: "Welcome English!" Women and children, all who were able to do so, ran out to see him, the first visitor we had had in Plymouth. His skin was very much darker than ours, being almost brown, and, save for the color, one might have believed him to be a native of Scrooby dressed in outlandish fashion to take part in some revel. [Illustration] Father was the more surprised because of hearing him speak in our language, than because of his odd dress; but we afterward learned that he had met, two or three years before, some English fishermen, and they had taught him a few words. Very friendly he was, so much so that when he put his hand on my head I was not afraid, and I myself heard him talking with Master Brewster, during which conversation he spoke a great many Indian words, and some in English that I could understand. His name was Samoset, and after he had looked around the village, seeming to be surprised at the manner in which our houses of logs were built, he went away, much to my disappointment, for I had hoped, without any reason for so doing, that he might give me a feather from the splendid headdress he wore. As I heard afterward, he promised to come back again, and when, six days later, he did so, there was with him another Indian, one who could talk almost the same as do our people. His was a strange story, or so it seemed to me, so strange and cruel that I wondered how he could be friendly with us, as he appeared to be, because of having suffered so much at the hands of people whose skins were white. Squanto had been a member of the same tribe that owned the land where our village of Plymouth was built, and his real name, so Governor Bradford says, is Squantum. SQUANTO'S STORY Seven years before the _Mayflower_ came, he had been stolen by one Captain Hunt, who had visited these shores on a fishing voyage, and by him was sent to Spain and sold as a slave. There a good Englishman saw him and bought him of his master. He was taken to London, where he worked as a servant until an exploring party, sent out by Sir Ferdinando Gorges, was about to set sail for this country, when he was given passage. While he had been in slavery, the dreadful sickness broke out, which killed or drove away all his people; therefore, when the poor fellow came back, he found none to welcome him. How it was I cannot say, but in some way he wandered about until coming among the tribe of Indians called the Wampanoags, where he lived until Samoset happened to come across him. As soon as he knew that we of Plymouth were English people, he had a desire to be friendly, because of what the good Englishman had done for him. I have heard father say many times that but for Squanto, perhaps all of us might have died during that terrible winter when the good Lord took fifty of our company, which numbered, when we left England, but an hundred and two. LIVING IN THE WILDERNESS You must know that in this land everything is different from what you see in England. Of course the trees are the same; but oh, so many of them! We are living now, even after our homes have been made, in the very midst of the wilderness, and in that winter time when Squanto and Samoset came to us, bringing the corn we needed so sorely, we were much like prisoners, for the snow was piled everywhere in great drifts. [Illustration] The trees, growing thickly over the ground, save where they had been cut down to build our homes and to provide us with wood for the fires, prevented all, except such of the men as were well enough to go out with their guns in the hope of shooting animals that could be eaten as food, from going abroad, save from one house to the other. And little heart had we for leaving the shelter of our homes. In nearly every house throughout the village was there sickness or death; the cold was piercing, and, however industriously we had worked filling the cracks between the logs with clay, the wind came through in many places, so that for the greater part of the time we needed to hug closely to the fire lest we freeze to death. There were days when it seemed indeed as if the Lord had forgotten us; when, with the hunger, and the cold, and the sickness on every hand, it was as if we had been abandoned by our Maker. THE FRIENDLY INDIANS With the coming of Samoset and Squanto, however, although the illness was not abated, and one after another of our company died, it seemed, perhaps only to us children, as if things were changed. These Indians were the only two persons in all the great land who were willing to take us by the hand and do whatsoever they might to cheer, and because of this show of kindness did we feel the happier. Squanto, as father has said again and again, did very much to aid. First he showed our people how to fish, and this may seem strange to you, for the English had used hooks and lines many years before the New World was dreamed of; yet, it is true that the savages could succeed, even without proper tackle, better than did our people. Squanto showed father how, by treading on the banks of the brooks, to force out the eels which had buried themselves in the mud during the cold weather, and then taught him how to catch them with his hands, so that many a day, when there was nothing whatsoever in our home to eat, we hunted for eels, boiling rather than frying them, because the little store of pork was no longer fit to cook with. [Illustration] Another thing which Squanto did that was wondrously helpful, was to teach us how to grind this Indian corn, Guinny wheat, or Turkie wheat, which ever it should be called, for none of us seemed to know which was the right name for it. The wheat that we found among the Indian graves could be made ready for the table, as we believed, only by boiling it a full day, and then it was not pleasing to the taste. But when Squanto came, he explained that it should be pounded until it was like unto a coarse flour, when it might be made into a pudding that, eaten with salt, is almost delicious. GRINDING THE CORN When I heard him telling father that it must be ground, I said to myself that we were not like to know how it might taste, for there is not a single mill in this land; but Squanto first cut a large tree down, leaving the stump a full yard in height. Then, by building a fire on the stump, scraping away with a sharp rock the wood as fast as it was charred, he made a hollow like unto a hole, and so deep that one might put in half a bushel of this Turkie wheat. [Illustration] From another portion of the tree he shaped a block of wood to fit exactly the hole in the stump, and this he fastened to the top of a young, slender tree, when even we children knew that he had made a mortar and pestle, although an exceeding rude one. We had only to pull down the heavy block with all our strength upon the corn, thus bruising and crushing it, when the natural spring of the young tree would pull it up again. In this way did we grind our Guinny wheat until it was powdered so fine that it might be cooked in a few moments. A VISIT FROM MASSASOIT One day Samoset, Squanto, and three other savages came into our new village of Plymouth, walking very straight and putting on such appearance of importance that I followed them as they went to the very center of the settlement, for it seemed to me that something strange was about to happen, as indeed proved to be the case. [Illustration] The Indians had come to tell our governor that their king, or chief, was in the forest close by, having in mind to visit the Englishmen, and asked if he should enter the village. I was so busy looking at the feathers and skins which these messengers wore that I did not hear what reply Captain Standish made, for he it was who had been called upon by Governor Carver to make answer; but presently a great throng of savages, near sixty I was told, could be seen through the trees as they marched straight toward us. Then my heart really stood still, as I saw Master Winslow walking out to meet them, with a pot of strong water in his hand; but Captain Standish said I need not be afraid, as he was only going to greet the chief of the Indians, carrying the strong water, three knives, a copper chain, an earring, and somewhat in the way of food. It seemed like woeful waste to give that which was of so much value to a savage, but Captain Standish said it would be well if we could gain the favor of this powerful Indian even at the expense of all the most precious of our belongings. A brave show did the savages make as they came into the village, marching one after the other! The feathers were of every color, and in such quantity it seemed as if all the birds in the world could not yield so many, even though every one was plucked naked. And the furs! The chief, whose name is Massasoit, wore over his shoulders a mantle so long that it dragged on the snow behind him, and he had belts and chains of what looked to be beads; but Captain Standish told me it was what the Indians called wampum, and served them in the place of money. [Illustration] Governor Carver stood at the door of Elder Brewster's house, which as yet had no roof, and beckoned for the chief and those who followed him, to enter. Inside were Mistress Carver's rug and mother's two cushions, which had been laid on the ground for the savage to sit on, and greatly did I fear that all those precious things would be spoiled before the visit was come to an end. I cannot tell you what was said or done, for neither Sarah nor I could get inside Master Brewster's house, so crowded was it with the men of our village and with savages. More than half of those who had come with the chief were forced to remain outside, because of there not being space for all within the walls. Sarah and I had our fill of looking at them; but never one gave the slightest attention to us. It seemed much as if they believed their station was so high that it would be beneath their dignity to speak with children. MASSASOIT'S PROMISE The savages and our people were long in the half-built house, and both Sarah and I wondered what could be going on to take up so much time, more especially since we knew that, of the Indians, only Samoset and Squanto could speak in English. Later we came to understand that this chief, Massasoit, was making a bargain with the men of Plymouth. My father called it a treaty, which, so mother explained to me, is the same as an agreement between two nations. Massasoit, being the ruler over all the Indians nearby our village, promised that neither he nor any of his tribe should do any manner of harm to us of Plymouth; but if any wicked ones did work mischief, they should be sent to our governor to be punished. He promised also that if anything was stolen by his people from us, he would make sure it was sent back, and if, which is by no means likely, any of us living in Plymouth took from the Indians aught of their property, our governor should send it straightway to the savages. [Illustration] Massasoit said that if any Indians came to fight or kill our people, he would send some of his men to help us, and if any tried to hurt his people, our fathers must take sides with him. Both Sarah and I think this is wrong, for why should Englishmen fight for the savages? It seems to me much as if the white men should not agree to go to war with any except those who try to kill us; but father said it was no more than a fair trade. All this was agreed to while Elder Brewster's house was so full of visitors and our people, that they must have been packed together like herring in a box, and when the bargain, or treaty, had been made, all the savages, except Samoset and Squanto, marched away. Soon after Massasoit had gone, his brother, Quadequina, and several more Indians appeared, and we entertained them also. It was much like a feast day, to have so many people in this new village of ours that all the space beneath the trees seemed to be crowded, and we felt quite lonely when our fathers took up once more the work of building houses. MASSASOIT'S VISIT RETURNED Next day Captain Standish and Master Allerton went to call upon Massasoit, and I was so frightened that I trembled when they marched away, for it seemed to me as if some harm would be done them in the savage village. [Illustration] They came back at nightfall, none the worse for having been so venturesome, and what do you think they brought as a present from the chief? A few handfuls of nuts such as grow in the ground, and many leaves of a plant called tobacco, which these savages burn in a queer little stone vessel at the end of a long, hollow reed, by putting the reed in their mouths, and sucking the smoke through to keep the herb alight. This ended our round of pleasure, the first we had had for many a long day, and once more we trembled before the sickness which was destroying so many of our people. THE BIG HOUSE BURNED It was yet winter when we met with a sad loss, for the Common House, as we called it, when speaking of that first building which was put up that all of us might have a shelter on shore while the dwellings were being built, took fire, and much of it was burned. Father believes that the logs in the fireplace had been piled too high, because of the weather's being so very cold, and thus the flames came directly upon the chimney and the backbar, kindling all into a blaze. It was most mournful to see next morning, the blackened, smoldering logs of our first house which had served as a shelter less than one month, and mother says it was a warning to us that even our own homes are in danger of being speedily destroyed, unless the chimneys can be so built as to resist fire. THE "MAYFLOWER" LEAVES PORT All was excitement in this little village when our people began to make ready for sending the _Mayflower_ home. She had been lying at anchor close by the shore, giving shelter to them as were yet without homes, and affording a timely place of refuge when the Common House was partly burned; but our fathers had decided that she could no longer be kept idle. It was much like breaking the last ties which bound us to the old homes in England, when the time had been set for her to go back. [Illustration] Sarah and I could have no part in making the _Mayflower_ ready for sailing, since we were only two girls who were of no service or aid; but we watched the sailors as they came and went from the shore, wishing, oh so fervently! that we and those we loved might remain in the vessel which had brought us so safely across the wide ocean. During such time as we were forced to remain on board of her because of having no other place of shelter, she seemed all too small for our comfort, and we rejoiced at being able to leave her; but when it was known that she was going back to our old homes, where were all our friends, save those who had come to this new world with us, it was much like starting anew. Sarah and I stood with our arms around each other as she sailed out of the harbor, while all the people were gathered on the shore to wish her a safe voyage, and I know that my cheeks were wet with tears as I saw her disappearing in the east, leaving us behind. That night father prayed most fervently for all on board, that they might have a safe and speedy passage, and it was to me as if I had parted at the mouth of the grave with some one who was very dear to me. Then were we indeed alone amid the huge trees, surrounded by wild beasts and savage Indians, and the sickness was yet so great among us, that I wondered if God had really forgotten that we had come to this new world in order to worship him as we had been commanded? SETTING THE TABLE I often ask myself what you of Scrooby would say could you see us at dinner. We have no table, and boards are very scarce and high in price here in this new village of ours, therefore father saved carefully the top of one of our packing boxes, while nearly all in the settlement did much the same, and these we call table boards. [Illustration: A Wooden Trencher Bowl] When it is time to serve the meal, mother and I lay this board across two short logs; but we cover it with the linen brought from the old home, and none in the plantation, not even the governor himself, has better, as you well know. I would we had more dishes; but they are costly, as even you at home know. Yet our table looks very inviting when it is spread for a feast, say at such times as Elder Brewster comes. [Illustration: Vessels of Gourds] We have three trencher bowls, and another larger one in which all the food is placed. Then, in addition to the wooden cups we brought from home, are many vessels of gourds that we have raised in the garden, and father has fashioned a mold for making spoons, so that now our pewter ware, when grown old with service, can be melted down into spoons until we have a goodly abundance of them. [Illustration] It is said, although I have not myself seen it, that a table implement called a fork, is in the possession of Master Brewster, having been brought over from England. It is of iron, having two sharp points made to hold the food. I cannot understand why any should need such a tool while they have their own cleanly fingers, and napkins of linen on which to wipe them. Perhaps Master Brewster was right when he said that we who are come into this new world for the single reason of worshiping God as we please, are too much bound up in the vanities of life, and father says he knows of no more vain thing than an iron tool with which to hold one's food. I have seen at Master Bradford's home two bottles made of glass, and they are exceedingly beautiful; but so frail that I should scarce dare wash them, for it would be a great disaster to break so valuable a vessel. WHAT AND HOW WE EAT And now, perhaps, you ask what we have to eat when the table is spread? Well, first, there is a pudding of Indian corn, or Turkie wheat, and this we have in the morning, at noon, and at night, save when there may be a scarcity of corn. For meats, now that our people are acquainted with the paths through the woods, we have in season plenty of deer meat, or the flesh of bears and of wild fowl, such as turkeys, ducks, and pigeons. Of course there are lobsters in abundance, and only those less thrifty people who do not put by store sufficient for the morrow, live on such food as that. Every Saturday we have a feast of codfish, whether alone or if there be company, and Elder Brewster has already spoken to us in meeting upon the vanity of believing it is necessary that we garnish our table with no less a fish than cod on Saturdays, saying it is a sign that our hearts are not yet sufficiently humble. [Illustration] My father is over careful of me, Mistress White claims, because he allows that I be seated at the table with himself and my mother when they eat, instead of being obliged to stand, as do other children in the village when their elders are at meals. Poor Mistress White fears that I am pampered because of being an only child; but for my own part I cannot see how I do less reverence to my parents by sitting when eating, than by standing throughout a long feast when one's legs grow weary, as did mine the last time we were invited to dine with Elder Brewster. Of course we have no chairs; but the short lengths of tree trunks which father has cut to serve as stools are most comfortable, even though it be impossible to do other than sit upright on them, and very often, if one grows forgetful, as did Captain Standish at Master Brewster's home a short time ago, there is danger of losing the stool. Our mighty soldier being thus careless, tumbled backward, so surprised that he forgot to let go his trencher bowl, thereby plentifully besmearing himself with hot hasty pudding that he had been served with in great abundance. [Illustration] TABLE RULES Mother has written down some rules for me at table, so that I may do credit to my bringing up when at the house of a friend, and these I am copying for you, to the end that it shall be seen I am not so pampered by being allowed to sit while eating, as to forget what belongs to good breeding: "Never sit down at the table till asked, and after the blessing. "Ask for nothing; tarry till it be offered thee. Speak not. "Bite not thy bread, but break it. "Take salt only with a clean knife. Dip not the meat in the same. "Hold not thy knife upright, but sloping, and lay it down at the right hand of the plate with blade on plate. "Look not earnestly at any other that is eating. "When moderately satisfied, leave the table. "Sing not, hum not, wriggle not." You may see that if I follow these rules carefully, I shall not bring shame upon my mother. It is only when the large wooden bowl, which is called the voider, is placed on the table that I am most awkward, and mother insisted on my learning this poem, which contains many wholesome rules for behavior: "When the meat is taken quite away, And voiders in your presence laid, Put you your trencher in the same And all the crumbs which you have made. Take you with your napkin and knife, The crumbs that are before thee; In the voider a napkin leave, For it is a courtesy." WHEN THE PILGRIM GOES ABROAD If there be a desire to travel, we must either walk, or sail in boats, and one may not go far on foot in either direction along the coast, without coming upon streams or brooks over which has been felled a tree to serve as bridge. Now father thinks a bridge of that kind is all that may be necessary, because of his footing being so sure; but you know that women are more timid, and it is difficult to walk above the rushing streams on so slight a support as a round log. [Illustration] Because of having made our plantation near to a deserted Indian village, there were paths through the woods in every direction, and these we used whenever making an excursion in search of bayberry plums, or herbs of any kind. The Indians, after Squanto had made us friendly with the great chief Massasoit, were ready to sell us boats, and queer sorts of ships would they seem in your eyes. One kind is made of the bark taken from the birch tree in great sheets, sewn together with sinews of deer, and besmeared with fat from the pitch pine. [Illustration] I have seen one that would carry with safety four people, so light that I myself could lift it, but no man may use one of these bark vessels without first having been taught how to sail it, for they are so like a feather on the water that the slightest movement oversets them. For my part, I feel more secure in what our people call a dugout, which is made with much labor by the Indians, and is, as Captain Standish says in truth, "a most unwieldy ship." MAKING A DUGOUT The Indians hew down a huge pine tree, and when I say it is done without the use of axes, then you will wonder how the timber can be felled. Well, when one of the savages desires to build him a boat, he selects the tree from which it is to be made, and builds a little fire around the trunk close to the ground. As fast as the flames char the wood, he scrapes it away with a sharp rock, or a thick seashell, and thus keeps scraping the burning wood until the tree falls. [Illustration] Then he cuts off ten or twelve feet in length by burning and scraping exactly as before, and this is the length of the boat he would build; but it is simply a solid log. Now he sets about building a fire along the top, charring the wood and scraping it away until, after what must surely be a wonderful amount of labor, he has hollowed out that huge log into a shell. The bark is then stripped from the outside, and the ends fashioned by burning until they are smooth, and the ship is completed. GOVERNOR CARVER'S DEATH It was in April, when, because the weather had grown so warm it seemed much as if we had been restored to the favor of God, that a great calamity came upon us of Plymouth, and my father says it is impossible for us to understand how sore a stroke it was to our people who count on making a home in this new world. Governor Carver had hoped to make such a garden as should be a model for all in the village, and to that end he worked exceedingly hard, so father says. He was planting and hoeing from early light until it was no longer possible to see what he was about because of the coming of night. Already many of the plants, concerning which Samoset and Squanto had told us, were showing through the ground, until, as Captain Standish said, "all the others should take pattern by him that we might not taste again of the bitterness of famine." The day had been very warm, and the governor was working exceeding hard, when suddenly he complained of a pain in his head. He strove in vain to continue the labor; but Mistress Carver insisted that he come into the house and lie down on a bear skin, which Captain Standish had made into a bed-cover, and this he did. Master Bradford and my father were summoned in the hope that it might be possible to give him some relief; but they could do no more than pray for his recovery, and even while they were pleading most fervently with God, the poor man lost all knowledge of himself, nor did he speak again. During three days every one prayed; no trees were hewn lest the noise disturb him, and all the women in the village gathered in or around the house that they might be ready in case their services were needed. It was as if we were having three Sabbaths at once. Then he died, without having come to know that he was ill, and we were more heartsick and lonely even than when the _Mayflower_ sailed away. It seemed to me as if then was the time, when our hearts were so sore, that our people ought to have poured out their souls in prayer over the lifeless body of him who had been so good a friend to us all; but that was forbidden. Therefore Governor Carver was laid in the grave without a word or sound, other than the sobs of the women and children, who mourned so sorely. Those who had muskets discharged them as a parting salute to him who had been our governor, and we walked sorrowfully and in silence away, little dreaming that within three short weeks Mistress Carver would be buried near her husband's last resting place in this world. WILLIAM BRADFORD CHOSEN GOVERNOR Two days after we had said farewell to Master Carver, Master William Bradford was chosen governor; but because he was yet stricken with the sickness, Master Isaac Allerton was named as his assistant. I have no doubt that Hannah will be surprised at knowing that "little Willie Bradford," as I have heard the old women call him, has become our governor. When a boy, he lived in Scrooby, and came, rather from curiosity than a desire for the truth, among our people, who were called Separatists, or Non-Conformists, because they would not conform, or agree, to King James' orders regarding their religion. William Bradford came to believe, after attending the meetings in Elder Brewster's house, that ours was the true religion, and when our people made up their minds to go into Holland where they might be allowed to worship God as they chose, Master Bradford went with them. There he learned the trade of a weaver of cloth; but later he apprenticed himself to a printer. Now he is become the foremost man of all our company, because of being the governor, and of a truth has he been a very present help to us in our time of trouble. FARMING IN PLYMOUTH I wish you might have seen how different to that which is the custom in Scrooby, was our farming done on the first season after we came ashore from the _Mayflower_. Because of having no working cattle with which to plough, the men were forced to dig up the ground with spades, and weary labor it was. Those of our people who were well enough to remain in the field, planted nearly twenty-six acres, six of which were sown with barley and peas, while the remainder was given over to Indian corn. Squanto showed us how this last should be done, and, strange as it may seem to you in England, he used fish with which to enrich the land, putting three small ones in each hill. You must know that all of us children, and the women, work at the planting of this corn, for it is the only kind of food to be had which can be kept throughout the year without danger of being spoiled, and when one grows weary with the task, it is only needed to bring to mind our hunger when we first came ashore. [Illustration] Perhaps you may wonder where we got so much of the corn for seed. It has all come from the Indians in one way or another. Some of it Squanto brought from Massasoit's people; but a goodly portion has been found on the graves, of which there are very many near our village. As to planting barley and peas, Squanto knew nothing; therefore the work was done somewhat as it would have been done at home, except that the land was encumbered with rocks and trees, and we were much perplexed by lack of tools. The seed was finally put into the ground, but even when the task had been performed to the best of our ability, it was an odd looking farm to those who had seen the fair fields of England. Large rocks stood here and there, while many stumps of trees yet remained, for our fathers had not been able to clear the land entirely. We shall have much work at harvest, in gathering the crops from amid all these unsightly things. WAYS OF COOKING INDIAN CORN I must tell you of a way to cook this Indian corn which Squanto showed to Captain Standish, and now we have it in all the houses, when we are so fortunate as to have a supply of the wheat in our possession. It is poured into the hot ashes of the fireplace, and allowed to remain there until every single wheat kernel has been roasted brown. Then it is sifted out of the ashes, beaten into a powder like meal, and mixed with snow in the winter, or water in the summer. Three spoonfuls a day is enough for a man who is on the march, or at work, so Captain Standish says, and we children are given only two thirds as much. Mother says it is especially of value because little labor is needed to prepare it; but neither Sarah nor I take kindly to the powder. The Indians also steep the corn in hot water twelve hours before pounding it into a kind of coarse meal, when they make it into a pudding much as you would in Scrooby; but mother likes not the taste after it has been thus cooked before being pounded, thinking much of the fine flavor has been taken from it. Sometimes we make a sweet pudding by mixing it with molasses and boiling it in a bag. It will keep thus for many days, and I once heard Captain Standish say that there were as many sweet puddings made in Plymouth every day as there were housewives. Next fall we shall have bread made of barley and Indian corn meal, so father says, and I am hoping most fervently that he may not be mistaken, for both Sarah and I are heartily tired of nookick, and of sweet pudding, which is not very sweet because we have need to guard carefully our small store of molasses. We girls often promise ourselves a great feast when a vessel comes out from England bringing butter, for we have had none that could be eaten since the first two weeks of the voyage in the _Mayflower_. [Illustration] Squanto often tells us of a kind of vegetable, or fruit, I am not certain which, that grows in this country, and is called a pumpkin. It must be very fine, if one may judge by his praise of it, and we are looking forward to the time when it shall be possible to know for ourselves. THE WEDDING And now I am to tell you of a marriage in Plymouth which deeply concerned Sarah and me. You may be certain that we made great account of it, although Master Bradford warned us against setting our hearts on the wicked customs of England. I had hoped Elder Brewster would marry the couple, for Sarah and I were deeply interested in them, having seen much of the love-making while we were on board the _Mayflower_. [Illustration] If the bride and groom had been in England, it would have been a time of feasting; but our people here shun such show, therefore did we lose much of merrymaking. Although the bride and groom went to Elder Brewster's house, which has served us as a place for religious meetings, it was Governor Bradford who listened to their vows and declared them to be man and wife, and in less than half an hour the newly-made husband was working in the field, while the wife was making sugar. MAKING MAPLE SUGAR Yes, we have sugar in plenty now, and, strange as it may seem, it comes from the trees. It was Squanto, that true friend of ours, who showed us how to take it from the maples, of which there are scores and scores growing everywhere around us. [Illustration] To get it one has only to make a hole in a maple tree, and put therein a small wooden spigot shaped like a spout, and straight-way, when the first warm weather comes in the spring, the sap of the tree, mounting from the roots to the branches, will run out of the hole through the spout into whatsoever vessels we place beneath. After that we boil it in kettles until it becomes thick like molasses, or yet more, until it is real sugar, after having been poured in pans of birch-bark to cool. It has a certain flavor such as is not to be found in the sugar of England; but answers our purpose so well that it can be used to sweeten the meal made from the corn, or eaten as a dainty. DECORATING THE INSIDE OF THE HOUSE You must know that our house is not now as rough on the inside as it would appear from what I first wrote. Father has saved the skins of all the animals he has caught, and prepared them in the same way as do the Indians, which makes the fleshy side look like fine leather. These we have hung on the walls, and they not only serve to keep out the wind, but are really beautiful. With the rough logs and the chinking of clay hidden from view, it is easy to fancy that ours is a real house, such as would be found in England. We have many fox skins, for father has shot large numbers of foxes, and in what seems to me a curious fashion. He saves all the fishes' heads that can be come at, and on moonlight nights throws them among the trees, where the foxes, getting the scent, give him a fair opportunity for shooting. Once he killed four in less than two hours, and we have hung them in that corner of the kitchen which we call mother's. Thus it is that she can sit leaning her shoulders against the warm fur, through which the wind cannot come. There is no need for me to tell you that we have more wolf skins than any other kind, for our people find it necessary to kill such animals in order to save their own lives. One night before all the snow had melted from the ground, Degory Priest was coming through the forest after attending to his traps, and was followed by five hungry wolves, who kept close at his heels, and would have eaten the poor man but for his industry in swinging a long pole that he carried to help himself across the streams. [Illustration] Fortunately for Degory Priest, Captain Standish heard his outcries while he was yet a long distance from the village, and went out with three armed men to give him aid. TRAPPING WOLVES AND BAGGING PIGEONS Our fathers dig deep pits, which are covered with light brushwood, in such portions of the forest as the wolves are most plenty, and many a one has fallen therein, being held prisoner until some of the people can kill him by means of axes fastened to long poles. Father has built many traps of logs; but I cannot describe how because of never having seen one. [Illustration: Wolf Head Decoration on the Meeting-House] Thomas Williams killed seven wolves in four days by tying four or five mackerel hooks together, covering them with fat, and leaving them exposed where the ravening creatures could get at them. Twice before the snow was melted, the men of the village had what they called a "wolf-drive," when all made a ring around a certain portion of the forest where the animals lurked, and, by walking toward a given center, drove the creatures together where they could be shot or killed with axes. Sarah and I do not dare venture very far from the village because of the ferocious animals, and if the time ever comes when we are no longer in deadly fear of being carried away and eaten by the dreadful creatures, this new world of ours will seem more like a real home. I wish it might be possible for you to see the flocks and flocks of pigeons which come here when the weather grows warm. It is as if they shut out the light of the sun, so great are the numbers, and father says that again and again do they break down the branches of the trees, when so many try to roost in one place. Any person who so chooses may go out in the night after the pigeons have gone to sleep, and gather as many bags full as he can carry, so stupid are the birds in the dark, and even when they are not the most plentiful, we can buy them at the rate of one penny for twelve. ELDER BREWSTER I must tell you that there is being made a stout fort where we can all go in case any wicked savages should come against us, and when that has been finished, we shall have a real meeting-house, for one is to be put up inside the walls. Mother says she is certain Mistress Brewster will be relieved, for now we meet each Sabbath Day at her home. It must be a real hardship for her when Elder Brewster preaches an unusually long sermon, for many a time have the pine knots been lighted before he had come to an end, and, of course, the evening meal could not be cooked until we who had come to meeting had gone to our homes. Father has told me that Elder Brewster was a postmaster of Scrooby when he first knew him; that his belief in our faith was so strong as to make him one of the Non-Conformists, and so earnestly did he strive to perform whatsoever he believed the Lord had for him to do, that his was the house in Scrooby where our people listened to the expounding of the word of God. When he, with the others of our friends, went to Leyden, Master Brewster was chosen as assistant to our preacher Robinson, and was made an elder. It is not seemly that a child so young as I should speak even in praise of what my elders have done; but surely a girl can realize when a man is watchful for the comfort of others, heeding not his own troubles or pains, so that those around him may be soothed, and, next to Captain Standish, Elder Brewster was the one to whom we children could go for advice or assistance. When the sickness was upon us, he, hardly able to be out of his bed, ministered in turn to those who were dying, and to us who were nigh to starvation, in as kindly, fatherly a manner as when he had sufficient of the goods of this world to make himself comfortable both in body and mind. THE VISIT TO MASSASOIT That which gave mother and me a great fright was Governor Bradford's command that Edward Winslow and Master Hopkins visit the village of the Indian chief, Massasoit, in order to carry as presents from our settlement of Plymouth a suit of English clothing, a horseman's coat of red cotton, and three pewter dishes. [Illustration] It seemed to my mother and me as though it was much like going to certain death; but Squanto, who was to act as guide, claimed that no harm could come to them. I trust not these savages, who look so cruel, and cried heartily when our people set out; but God allowed them to return in safety, although they were not overly well pleased with the visit. Massasoit treated them in the most friendly manner, and seemed to be well pleased with the gifts; but he set before them only the very smallest quantity of parched corn, no more than two spoonfuls to each one, and failed to offer anything else when that had been eaten. Except that they were hungry during all the five days of the stay, the savages treated them kindly, and my father believes that we need have no fear this tribe will do us any harm; but there are other Indians in the land who may be tempted to work mischief. KEEPING THE SABBATH HOLY [Illustration] As soon as the fields had been planted, it was decided that six men of the company should spend all their time at fishing, to the end that we might lay up a store of sea food for the coming winter; therefore they go out in the shallop every day, except the Sabbath, which begins at three o'clock on Saturday afternoon. At that time we children gather in one house or another, but mostly at Elder Brewster's, where we study the Bible, or listen to lectures by Governor Bradford. We are not allowed to walk around the village after the Bible lessons are finished, but must run directly home, and remain there until we go to meeting in Elder Brewster's house next morning. Captain Standish says he does not favor such long Sabbaths, while we have so much work on hand; but he is not listened to on such matters, for his duty in the village is only that of a military leader. MAKING CLAPBOARDS It is true indeed that there is very much work to be done. First comes the planting and tending of the crops. Then there is the fishing and the hunting that we may have meat. Lastly is the making of clapboards, which task was begun soon after the seed had been put in the ground, for Governor Bradford believed we should make enough with which to load the first vessel that came to us from England. It was all we could do, just then, in the way of getting together that which might be sold to the people in the old country, and father said the men of Plymouth must be earning money in some other way than by trying to gather furs, for already were the animals growing more timid and scarce. It is not easy work, this clapboard-making, and I cannot wonder that the men complain at being forced to continue it day after day. First an oak tree is cut by saws into the length necessary for clapboards, which, so father tells me, should be about four feet long. Then a tool called a "frow" is used to split the trunk of the tree into slabs, or clapboards, making them thin at one edge and half an inch or more thick at the other. [Illustration] This "frow" is shaped something like a butcher's cleaver, and a wooden mallet is used to drive it into the log until the splint is forced off. Our people made many clapboards during the time between planting and harvest, so that we had enormous stacks under the trees ready to put on board the first vessel that should sail for England. COOKING PUMPKINS When the first pumpkins were ripe, Squanto showed us how to cook them, and most of us find the fruit an agreeable change from sweet puddings, parched corn, and fish. This is the way that Squanto cooked pumpkins. First he was careful to find one that was wholly ripe. In the top of the yellow globe he cut a small hole through which it was possible for him to take out the seeds, of which there are many. Then the whole pumpkin was put into the iron oven and baked until the pulp on the inside was soft, after which the shell could be broken open, and the meat of the fruit eaten with the sugar which we get from the trees. Mistress Bradford invented the plan of mixing the baked pumpkin pulp with meal of the Indian corn, and made of the whole a queer looking bread, which some like exceeding well, but father says he is forced to shut his eyes while eating it. A NEW OVEN Perhaps I have not told you how we happen to have an oven, when there is only the big fireplace in which to cook our food. Mistress White and Mistress Tilley each brought from Leyden, in Holland, what some people call "roasting kitchens," and you can think of nothing more convenient. The oven or kitchen is made of thin iron like unto a box, the front of which is open, and the back rounded as is a log. It is near to a yard long, and stands so high as to take all the heat from the fire which would otherwise be thrown out into the room. [Illustration] In this oven we put our bread, pumpkins, or meat and set it in front of, and close against, a roaring fire. The back, or rounded part is then heaped high with hot ashes or live embers, and that which is inside must of a necessity be cooked. At the very top of the oven is a small door, which can be opened for the cook to look inside, and one may see just how the food is getting on, without disturbing the embers that have been heaped against the outer portion. We often borrow of Mistress Tilley her oven, and father has promised to send by the first ship that comes to this harbor, for one that shall be our very own. When it arrives, I am certain mother will be very glad, for there is no kitchen article which can save so much labor for the housewife. MAKING SPOONS AND DISHES I wish you might see how greatly I added to our store of spoons during the first summer we were here in Plymouth. Sarah and I gathered from the shore clam shells that had been washed clean and white by the sea, and Squanto cut many smooth sticks, with a cleft in one end so that they might be pushed firmly on the shell, thus making a most beautiful spoon. [Illustration] Sarah says that they are most to her liking, because it is not necessary to spend very much time each week polishing them, as we are forced to do with the pewter spoons. Some day, after we own cows, we can use the large, flat clam shells with which to skim milk, and when we make our own butter and cheese, we shall be rich indeed. [Illustration] After the pumpkins ripened, and when the gourds in the Indian village were hardened, we added to our store of bowls and cups until the kitchen was much the same as littered with them, and all formed of the pumpkin and gourd shells. Out of the gourd shells we made what were really most serviceable dippers, and even bottles, while in the pumpkin shell dishes we kept much of our supply of Indian corn. [Illustration] Captain Standish gave me two of the most beautiful turkey wings, to be used as brushes; but they are so fine that mother has them hung on the wall as ornaments, and we sweep the hearth with smaller and less perfect wings from the birds or turkeys father has brought home. This no doubt seems to you of Scrooby a queer way of keeping house. THE FORT AND MEETING-HOUSE That which Captain Standish calls a fort is very much like our homes, or the Common House, except that it is larger, and has small, square openings high up on the walls to serve both as windows and places through which our people can shoot at an enemy, if any come against us. Surely there are none in this new world who should wish us harm, and yet my father says that we have need to guard ourselves carefully, because Squanto and Samoset have both insisted that a tribe of savages who call themselves Narragansetts, and who live quite a long distance away, may seek to drive us from the land. This fort, the logs of which are sunken so deeply into the earth that they cannot easily be overthrown, has been built on the highest land within the settlement, and extending from it in such a manner as to make it a corner of the enclosure, is a fence of logs, which Captain Standish calls a palisade, built to form a square. The fence is made like the sides of our houses; but the logs rise higher above the surface than the head of the tallest man. There are two gates in the palisade, one on the side nearest the fort, with the other directly opposite, and these can be fastened with heavy logs on the inside. All the people have been told that at the first signal of danger, they must flee without loss of time inside the fence of logs, after which the gates will be barred, and no person may go on the outside without permission from Captain Standish. The six cannon, which I told you had been mounted on a platform when we first began to build the houses, have been taken to the top of the fort, and from there, so Captain Standish says, we can hold in check a regular army of Indians; but God forbid that anything of the kind should be necessary after we have come to this new world desiring peace, and with honest intentions toward all men. [Illustration] Because it is not reasonable to suppose that any human being could wish to work us harm, Sarah and I look upon that which is called a fort, rather as a meeting-house than a place of defence, and such it really looks to be, for the floor is covered with seats made of puncheon planks placed on short lengths of logs, while at one end is a desk for the preacher built in much the same fashion as are the seats. Here, also, so Governor Bradford has promised, we children shall have a school as soon as a teacher can be persuaded to come over from England. As it is now, our parents teach us at home, and father believes I can even now write as well as if I had been all this while at school in Scrooby. With both a meeting-house and a school, it will seem as if we had indeed built a town in this vast wilderness. THE HARVEST FESTIVAL You shall now hear about our harvest festival, which Governor Bradford declared should be called a day of thanksgiving because the Lord had been good to us in permitting of our getting from the earth, the sea, and the forest, such a supply of food as gave us to believe that never more would famine visit Plymouth. True it is the crop of peas had failed, but the barley, so father said, was fairly good, while the Indian corn grew in abundance. Our people had taken a great many fish, and the hunters found in the forest a goodly supply of birds and animals. Already were there seven houses built, without counting the Common House that had been repaired soon after it was injured by fire, and the fort with its palisade. As soon as the harvest was over, the Governor sent four men out after such fowls and animals as might be taken, and in two days they killed as many as would serve to provide all the people of Plymouth with meat for at least a full week. [Illustration] There were wild ducks in greatest number, together with turkeys, and small birds like unto pheasants. No less than twenty deer were killed, and it was well we provided such a bountiful supply for the thanksgiving festival, because on the day before the one appointed, Massasoit, with ninety of his men, came to Plymouth, bringing as gifts five deer, and it seemed as if the Indians did nothing more than eat continuously. Instead of giving thanks on one particular day, as Governor Bradford had ordered, three days were spent in such festivities as we had not seen since leaving our homes in England. The deer and the big turkeys were roasted over fires built in the open air, and we had corn and barley bread, baked pumpkins, clams, lobsters, and fish until one was wearied by the sight of so much food. Nor was eating the only amusement during this thanksgiving time, for we played at games much as we would have done in Scrooby. There was running, jumping, and leaping by the men, stoolball for the boys, and a wolf hunt for those soldiers under Captain Standish who were not content with small sports. HOW TO PLAY STOOLBALL I know not if my friend Hannah has seen the game of stoolball as it is played in our village of Plymouth, because those among us who take part in it use no sticks nor bats, but strike the ball only with their hands. Of course we have no real stools here as yet, because of the labor necessary to make them, when a block of wood serves equally well on which to sit; but the lads who play the game take a short piece of puncheon board, and, boring three holes in it, put therein sticks to serve as legs. These they place upon the ground behind them, and he who throws the ball strives to hit the stool rather than the player, who is allowed only to use his hands in warding it off. Whosesoever stool has been hit must himself take the ball, throwing it, and continuing at such service until he succeeds in striking another's stool. [Illustration] Sarah and I had believed that at this festival time, we would gather in the new meeting-house to praise the Lord for his wondrous goodness; but Master Bradford believed it would not be seemly to mix religious services with worldly sports, therefore it was not until the next Sabbath Day that we heard lessons of the Bible explained from that reading desk built of puncheons and short lengths of tree trunks. Perhaps it was because Governor Bradford allowed the men and boys to play at games during the time of thanksgiving, that they came to believe such sports would be permitted on Christmas, even though the elders of our colony had decided no attention should be paid to the day because of its being a Pagan festivity. ON CHRISTMAS DAY On the morning of the first Christmas after our houses had been built, many of the men and boys, when called upon to go out to work for the common good, as had been the custom every week day during the year, declared that they did not believe it right to labor at the time when it was said Christ had been born. Whereupon Governor Bradford, after telling them plainly that he believed laziness rather than any religious promptings of the spirit inclined them to remain idle on that day, said he would leave them alone until they were come to have a better understanding of the matter. Then he, with those who were ready to obey the rules, went to their work; but on coming back at noon, he found those who did not believe it seemly to labor on Christmas day, at play in the street, some throwing bars, and others at stoolball. Without delay the governor seized the balls and the bars, carrying them into the fort, at the same time declaring that it was against his conscience for some to play while others worked. This, as you may suppose, brought the merrymaking to an end. For my part I enjoyed the Christmas festivities as we held them at Scrooby, and cannot understand why, simply because certain heathen people turned the day into a time for play and rejoicing, we should not make merry after the custom of those in England. WHEN THE "FORTUNE" ARRIVED I hardly know how to set about telling you of that time when the first ship came into our harbor. It was not long after the day of thanksgiving when, early one morning, even before any of our people had begun work, some person cried out that a vessel was in sight. [Illustration] It had been nearly a year since we landed on the shores of the new world, and in all that time we had seen no white people outside of our own company. Therefore you can fancy how excited we all were. Even Governor Bradford himself found it difficult to walk slowly down to the shore, while Sarah and I ran with frantic haste, as if fearing we might not be able to traverse the short distance before the vessel was come to anchor and her crew landed. If I should try to tell you how we felt on seeing this first vessel that had visited Plymouth, believing she had on board some of our friends who had been left behind when the _Mayflower_ sailed, it would hardly be possible for me to write of anything else, so long would be the story. Therefore it is that I shall not try to describe how we stood at the water's edge, every man, woman and child in Plymouth, wrapped in furs until we must have looked like so many wild animals, for the day was exceeding cold and windy, watching every movement made by those on board the vessel until a boat, well laden with men and women, put off from her side. Then we shouted boisterously, for it was well nigh impossible to remain silent, and those who recognized familiar faces among the occupants of the shallop screamed a welcome to the new world, and to our town of Plymouth, until they were hoarse from shouting. The ship which had come was the _Fortune_, and she brought to us thirty-six of those who had been left behind at Leyden. During fully two days we of Plymouth did little more than give our entire attention to these welcome visitors, hearing from them news of those of our friends who were yet in Holland, and telling again and again the story of the sickness and the famine with which we had become acquainted soon after landing from the _Mayflower_. POSSIBILITY OF ANOTHER FAMINE When we were settled down, as one might say, and our visitors were at work building homes for themselves, I heard father and Master Brewster talking one evening about the addition to our number, and was surprised at learning, that while they rejoiced equally with us children at the coming of our friends, what might be in store for us in the future troubled them greatly. The _Fortune_ had brought from England no more in the way of food than would suffice to feed the passengers during the voyage across the ocean, and the crew on her return. Therefore had we thirty-six mouths to feed during the long winter, more than had been reckoned on when we held our festival of thanksgiving. Until overhearing this conversation, I had not given a thought to anything save the pleasure which would be ours in having so many more friends around us; but now, because Master Brewster and my father talked in so serious a strain, did I begin to understand that we might, before another summer had come, suffer for food even as we had during the winter just passed. And it was because of our people being so disturbed regarding the store of provisions, that the ship did not remain in the harbor as long as would have pleased us. Governor Bradford told the captain that he must set sail while there was yet food enough in the ship to feed his crew during the voyage home, since we of Plymouth could not give him any. [Illustration] The _Fortune_, however, did not go back empty. She was loaded full with the clapboards which our people had made during the summer, and, in addition, were two hogsheads filled with beaver and otter skins, the whole of the freight amounting in value, so I heard Captain Standish say, to not less than five hundred pounds sterling. We were saddened when the ship left the harbor; but not so much as on the day the _Mayflower_ sailed away, for, having sent back in the _Fortune_ goods of value, there was fair promise she would speedily return for more. ON SHORT ALLOWANCE When the _Fortune_ had gone, the men of our settlement took an exact account of all the provisions in the common store, as well as of those belonging to the different families, and the whole was divided in just proportion among us every one. Then it was learned that we had no more in Plymouth to eat than would provide for our wants during six months, and since in that time there would not be another harvest, it was decided by the governor and the chief men of the village, that each person should be given a certain amount less than the appetite craved; short allowance, Captain Standish called it. Sarah and I were faint at heart on learning of this decision, for it seemed as if during this winter we were to live again in the misery such as we had known the past season of cold and frost, when we hunted the leaves of the checkerberry plant, and chewed the gum which gathers in little bunches on the spruce trees, to satisfy our hunger. Those who had come over in the _Fortune_ to join us were, as can well be understood, grieved because of their putting us to such straits; it was a matter which could not be helped, and we of the _Mayflower_ strove earnestly not to speak of the possible distress which might be ours, lest our friends so lately come might think we were reproaching them. A THREATENING MESSAGE It was not many days after we had learned that we might be hungry before another harvest should come, when a savage, whom we had never before seen, came to Plymouth, asking for our chief. On being conducted to Governor Bradford, he delivered unto him a bundle of arrows which were tied together with a great snake skin. [Illustration] It so happened that Squanto was in the village, and, on being sent for, he explained to our people that the sending of the arrows tied in the snake skin was a threat, which meant that speedily those from whom it had come would make an attack upon us. He also declared that the messenger was from the nation of the Narragansetts, of whom I have already told you. The governor consulted with the chief men of Plymouth as to what should be done, with the result that Squanto was instructed to tell the Narragansett messenger that if his people had rather have war than peace, they might begin as soon as pleased them, for we of Plymouth had done the Narragansetts no wrong, neither did we fear any tribe of savages. Then the snake skin was filled with bullets, as token that the Indians would not find us unprepared when they made an attack, and given to the messenger that he might carry it back to those who had sent him. That night, when mother mourned because it seemed certain war would soon be made upon us, father spoke lightly of the matter, as if it were something of no great importance. However, both Sarah and I took notice that from the hour the Narragansett messenger left Plymouth carrying the snake skin filled with bullets, there were two men stationed on top of the fort night and day, and a certain store of provisions taken inside, as if the food might be used there rather than in our homes. We knew nothing whatsoever about warfare, girls as we were, but yet had common sense enough to understand from such preparations, that our fathers were holding themselves ready, and expecting that an attack would be made by the savages within a very short time. PINE KNOTS AND CANDLES Perhaps you would like to know how we light our homes in the evening, since we have no tallow, for of course people who own neither hogs, sheep, cows nor oxen, do not have that which is needed for candles. [Illustration] Well, first, we find our candles among the trees, and of a truth the forest is of such extent that it would seem as if all the world might get an ample store of material to make light. We use knots from the pitch pine trees, or wood from the same tree split into thin sheets or slices; but the greatest trouble is that the wood is filled with a substance, which we at first thought was pitch, that boils out by reason of the heat of the flame, and drops on whatever may be beneath. Captain Standish has lately discovered, and truly he is a wonderful man for finding out hidden things, that the substance from the candle wood, as we call the pitch pine, is turpentine or tar, and now, if you please, our people are preparing these things to be sent back to England for sale, with the hope that we shall thereby get sufficient money with which to purchase the animals we need so sorely. I would not have you understand that there are no real candles here in Plymouth, for when the _Fortune_ came, her captain had a certain number of tallow candles which he sold; but they are such luxuries as can be afforded only on great occasions. Mother has even at this day, wrapped carefully in moss, two of them, for which father paid eight pence apiece, and she blamed him greatly for having spent so much money, at the same time declaring that they should not be used except upon some great event, such as when the evening meeting is held at our house. TALLOW FROM BUSHES Squanto has shown us how we may get, at only the price of so much labor, that which looks very like tallow, and of which mother has made many well-shaped candles. You must know that in this country there grows a bush which some call the tallow shrub; others claim it should be named the candleberry tree, while Captain Standish insists it is the bayberry bush. This plant bears berries somewhat red, and speckled with white, as if you had thrown powdered clam shells on them. [Illustration] I gathered near to twelve quarts last week, and mother put them in a large pot filled with water, which she stands over the fire, for as yet we cannot boast of an iron backbar to the fire-place, on which heavy kettles may be hung with safety. After these berries have been cooked a certain time, that which looks like fat is stewed out of them, and floats on the top of the water. Mother skims it off into one of the four earthen vessels we brought with us from Scrooby, and when cold, it looks very much like tallow, save that it is of a greenish color. After being made into candles and burned, it gives off an odor which to some is unpleasant; but I think it very sweet to the nostrils. WICKS FOR THE CANDLES I suppose you are wondering how it is we get the wicks for the candles, save at the expense and trouble of bringing them from England. Well, you must know that there is a plant which grows here plentifully, called milkweed. It has a silken down like unto silver in color, and we children gather it in the late summer. [Illustration] It is spun coarsely into wicks, and some of the more careful housewives dip them into saltpetre to insure better burning. Do you remember that poem of Master Tusser's which we learned at Scrooby? Wife, make thine own candle, Spare penny to handle. Provide for thy tallow ere the frost cometh in, And make thine own candle ere winter begin. When candle-making time comes, I wish there were other children in this household besides me, for the work is hard and disagreeable, to say nothing of being very greasy, and I would gladly share it with sisters or brothers. Mother's candle-rods are small willow shoots, and because of not having kitchen furniture in plenty, she hangs the half-dipped wicks across that famous wooden tub which we brought with us in the _Mayflower_. DIPPING THE CANDLES It is my task to hang six or eight of the milkweed wicks on the rod, taking good care that they shall be straight, which is not easy to accomplish, for silvery and soft though the down is when first gathered, it twists harshly, and of course, as everyone knows, there can be no bends or kinks in a properly made candle. Mother dips perhaps eight of these wicks at a time into a pot of bayberry wax, and after they have been so treated six or eight times, they are of sufficient size, for our vegetable tallow sticks in greater mass than does that which comes from an animal. A famous candle-maker is my mother, and I have known her to make as many as one hundred and fifty in a single day. [Illustration] The candle box which your uncle gave us is of great convenience, for since it has on the inside a hollow for each candle, there is little danger that any will be broken, and, besides, we may put therein the half-burned candles, for we cannot afford to waste even the tiniest scraps of tallow. Captain Standish has in his home candles made from bear's grease, and as wicks, dry marsh grass braided. When the second winter had begun, and the snow lay deep all around, save where our people had dug streets and paths, Sarah and I were forced, as a matter of course, to remain a goodly portion of the time within our homes. Those of the men who were not needed to hew huge trees into lengths convenient for burning, were hunting and setting traps, in the hope of adding to the store of provisions which was so scanty after it had been divided among those who came in the _Fortune_, and Sarah and I had little else to do than recall to mind that which had happened during the summer, when all the country was good to look upon instead of being imprisoned by the frost. WHEN JAMES RUNS AWAY We went back to the time when James Billington, son of John, caused us all such a fright by his wayward behavior. Because James was not a favorite with any of us girls, being prone to tease us at every opportunity, and spending more of his time in mischief than in work, I must be careful how I speak of the lad, lest I fall into that sin which Elder Brewster warns us to guard against: allowing one's feelings to control the tongue, thereby speaking more harshly against another than is warranted by the facts. [Illustration] I must, however, set it down that James was not a favorite with any save his parents; but seemed ever watching for an opportunity to make trouble for others, and just before the harvest time did he succeed in throwing the entire village into a state of confusion and anxiety. On a certain afternoon, I cannot rightly recall the exact time, it was noted by Sarah and myself, that, contrary to his usual custom, James had not prowled around where we children were at work in the fields with the intent to perplex or annoy us, and we spoke of the fact as if it was an unusually pleasant incident, little dreaming of the trouble which was to follow. That night, while father was reading from the Book, and explaining to us the more difficult passages, the mother of James came to our home, asking if we had seen her son. Even then but little heed was given to the fact that the boy had not returned for his share of the scanty supper; but mayhap an hour later every one in the settlement was summoned by the beating of the drum, and then did we learn that James Billington had disappeared. The first thought was that some of the evil-disposed savages had carried him away, and, acting upon the governor's orders, Captain Standish set off with eight men to hunt for the missing lad. I have never heard all the story of the search; but know that they visited more than one of the Indian villages, and perhaps would not have succeeded in their purpose but that Squanto was found at Nauset, and, aided by some of his savage friends, he speedily got on the track of the missing boy. Captain Standish and his men were absent three days before they came back, bringing James Billington, and when his mother took him in her arms, rejoicing over his return as if he had really escaped some dreadful danger, Governor Bradford commanded that she and her husband give to James such a whipping as would prevent anything of the kind from happening again, for, as it appeared, the boy had willfully run away, counting, as he said, to turn Indian because of savages' not being obliged to work in the fields. EVIL-MINDED INDIANS It was during this summer that we had good cause for alarm. Word was brought by Samoset that a large party of Massasoit's people, being angry because of his having showed us white folks favor, were bent on attacking him and us, with the intent to destroy entirely our town of Plymouth. [Illustration] Captain Standish marched forth once more, this time with twelve men at his heels, and I heard John Alden tell my father that the brave soldier went directly to the village of those who would have murdered us, where, without the shedding of blood, they took from all the evil-minded Indians their weapons. It seems more like some wild fancy than the sober truth, to say that twelve men could, without striking a blow in anger, overcome no less than sixty wild savages, and yet such was the case, for John Alden is known to be a truthful man, and Captain Standish one who is not given to boasting. The long dreary winter passed slowly, and during a goodly number of days we of Plymouth were hungry, although having sufficient of food to keep us from actual starvation. Yet never once did I hear any repining because of our having been brought to such straits through the neglect of those who came in the _Fortune_, and who should have provided themselves with food sufficient for their wants until another harvest time had come. LONG HOURS OF PREACHING We went more often to the meeting-house in the fort than would have been the case, perhaps, had our bodily comfort been greater, and Elder Brewster preached to us more fervently than mayhap he might have done but for the gnawing of hunger in his stomach. Every Sabbath Day from nine o'clock in the morning until noon, and after that, from noon to dark, did we sing, or pray, or listen to the elder's words of truth, all the while being hungry, and a goodly portion of the time cold unto the verge of freezing. My mother claimed that there was no reason why we should not have a fireplace in the meeting-house, even though none but the children might be allowed to approach it; but Elder Brewster insisted that to think of bodily suffering while engaged in the worship of God, was much the same as a sin, and it seemed to Sarah and me as if his preaching was prolonged when the cold was most intense. Again and again have I sat on the puncheon benches, my feet numbed with the frost, my teeth chattering until it was necessary to thrust the corner of mother's mantle into my mouth to prevent unseemly noise, almost envying Master Hopkins when he walked from his bench to the pulpit in order to turn the hourglass for the second or third time, because of his thus having a chance for exercising his limbs. You must know that, having no clocks, the time in the meeting-house is marked by an hourglass, and it is the duty of one of the leading men of the settlement to turn it when the sand runs out. Therefore, when Master Hopkins has turned it the second time, thus showing that the third hour of the sermon has begun, I am so worldly-minded and so cold as to rejoice, because of knowing that Elder Brewster, save on especial days, seldom preaches more than the three hours. JOHN ALDEN'S TUBS It was during this winter that John Alden, who is a cooper as well as Captain Standish's clerk, spent three days in our home, making for mother two tubs which are fair to look upon, and of such size that we are no longer troubled on washdays by being forced to throw away the soapy water in order to rinse the clothes which have already been cleansed. You may think it strange to hear me speak thus of the waste of soapy water, because you in Scrooby have of soap an abundance, while here in this new land we are put to great stress through lack of it. [Illustration] It would not be so ill if all the housewives would make a generous quantity, but there are some among us who are not so industrious as others, and dislike the labor of making soap. They fail to provide sufficient for themselves, but depend upon borrowing; thus spending the stores of those who have looked ahead for the needs of the future. Well, as I have said, the winter passed, and we were come to the second summer after making this settlement of Plymouth. Once more was famine staring us in the face, therefore every man, woman and child, save those chosen to go fishing, was sent into the fields for the planting. ENGLISH VISITORS It was while our people were out fishing that they were met by a great surprise, which was nothing less than a shallop steering as if to come into the harbor, and in her were many men. At first our fishermen feared the visitors might be Frenchmen who had come bent on some evil intent; but nevertheless our people approached boldly, and soon learned that the shallop came from a ship nearby, which Master Weston had sent out fishing from a place on the coast called Damarins Cove. This Master Weston, so I learned later, was one of those merchants who had aided in fitting out our company in England; but after our departure had decided to send a colony on his own account, and the people afterward settled at Wessagussett. [Illustration] The reason why the shallop, of which I have just spoken, came toward our village of Plymouth, was that Master Weston's ship had brought over seven men who wished to join us, and, what was yet better, they had with them letters from our friends at home. It was unfortunate that they had no food other than enough to serve until they should have come to our settlement, and thus it was that there were more mouths yet for us to feed from our scanty store. A few weeks later we heard that a company of men from England had begun to build a village within five and twenty miles of our Plymouth town. There is little need for me to say that we rejoiced to learn of neighbors in this wilderness of a country; but were more than surprised because the ship which brought them over the seas had not come into our harbor. VISITING THE NEIGHBORS That another village was to be built, and so near at hand that in case the savages came against us in anger we might call upon the people for aid, was of so much importance in the eyes of Governor Bradford, that he at once sent Captain Standish and six men to visit our neighbors. This he did not only in order to appear friendly, but with the hope that from the new-comers we might be able to add to our store of food. It was a great disappointment to all, and particularly to Sarah and me, when the captain came back with the report that the new settlers were glad to leave London streets. They were of Master Weston's company; among them were those who had come in the shallop from Damarins Cove, bringing to us letters from England, and the people who were eager to cast in their lot with us. "They are a quarrelsome, worthless company, and have already fought with the Indians after having received favors from them," Captain Standish said to my father, when he had made his report to the governor. "One Thomas Weston is the leader, and if he continues as he has begun, there will soon be an end of the entire party." Instead of getting food from them for our needs, it is more than likely, so the captain declares, that we may be called upon to save them from starvation. From the first they stole corn from the Indians, or took it by force, and it seemed certain they could not continue such a lawless course until harvest time. WHY MORE FISH ARE NOT TAKEN I can well fancy you are asking how it is we complain thus about the scarcity of food, when you know that the sea is filled with fish. Captain Standish declares that there are no less than two hundred different kinds to be found off this coast, and lobsters are at some seasons so plentiful that the smallest boy may go out and get as many as he can carry. I myself have seen one so large that I could, hardly lift it, and father says its weight was upwards of twenty pounds. You will say that if we could send out a certain number of our people in boats to get food thus from the sea, what should prevent us from taking as many as would be necessary for our wants during one year? I myself put that same question to father one night last winter while we were hungry, and mother and I sat chewing the dried leaves of the checkerberry plant which ground to powder between our teeth, and he answered me bitterly: "It is owing to our own shortsightedness, my daughter; to our neglect to understand what might be met with in this new world. Those who made ready for the voyage believed we should find here food in abundance; but yet had no reason for such belief. It was known that we were to go into the wilderness, and yet, perhaps, for we will not say aught of harm against another, it was thought that we should find in the forest so much of fowls and of animals as would serve for all our needs." [Illustration] "But why do we not take more fish, father?" I asked, speaking because such conversation served to keep my mind from the hunger which was heavy upon me. "Because of not having the lines, the hooks, or the nets with which to catch a larger store. When the _Fortune_ sailed for home, Governor Bradford sent to the people in London who had made ready the _Mayflower_, urging that they send in the next ship which may come to this land such fishing gear as is needed. When that reaches us, then shall we be able not only to guard against another time of famine; but have of cured fish enough to bring us in money sufficient to buy other things we now need." And thus speaking of money reminds me to set down what the savages use in the stead of gold and silver coins. HOW WAMPUM IS MADE You must know that the Indians hereabout have no tools of iron or of steel, as do you in Scrooby; but perform all their work by means of fire and sharp pieces of flint stone. In order to have something that can be called money, although they of course do not use that word in speaking of it, they get from the dark spots which are found in clam shells, beads about one-eighth of an inch in thickness and an inch long. [Illustration] These they call wampum, and string them on threads cut from the skin of a deer. Because of a great deal of labor's being necessary in the making of them, these bits of wampum, or beads, are valued as highly by the Indians as we value gold or silver, and the savage who would hoard up his wealth that it may be seen of others, makes of these strings of wampum a belt many inches broad. [Illustration] It is convenient to wear these belts, for when the owner wishes to buy something from another Indian or even from us white people, he has merely to take off one or two strings from the belt, thereby decreasing the width ever so slightly. When Massasoit came to Plymouth, he wore three of these wampum belts, and among those who followed him, I saw five or six who had an equal number. MINISTERING TO MASSASOIT It was early in this second springtime that had come to us in Plymouth, when Samoset brought word into the village that Massasoit, the savage chief that had been so kind to us, was ill unto death, and that those jealous Indians whom Captain Standish had disarmed so valiantly, were only waiting until their king should die before they made an attack upon our town. This news was believed to be of such importance that straightway Governor Bradford commanded Captain Standish to gather as many of his men as could be spared from Plymouth, and go at once to Massasoit's village. This of itself would have received but scant attention from my parents or me, for it seemed as if the captain was ever going out in search of some adventure or another; but on this occasion, it was urged by the governor that Master Winslow, who had shown himself during our first winter on these shores to have some considerable knowledge regarding sickness, go and try if he might not lend the savage king some aid. [Illustration] It was a fearsome time for everyone. We knew, because of what Samoset had said, that many of Massasoit's people were awaiting an opportunity to murder us, and, when Master Winslow should go into the village among so many enemies, it was to be feared the savages might fall upon him, knowing the chief was so ill he could not give the white man any help. During eight long, weary days we waited for the return of Master Winslow, fearing each hour lest we should hear that he was no longer in this world, and then, to our great relief, he came into the village late one evening, while my mother and I were praying for his safe-keeping. Master Winslow had been most fortunate in the visit, for the good Lord allowed that the savage chief should be restored to health, and by way of showing his gratitude for what had been done, Massasoit told Master Winslow that the white people of Wessagussett had so ill-treated the Indians along the coast, that a plot was on foot to kill not only them, but us at Plymouth. THE PLOT THWARTED It was the same news which Samoset had brought us, and there could no longer be any doubt as to its truth. Captain Standish had come back only to set out again, for when Master Winslow told Governor Bradford that which Massasoit had said, several of our men were sent in hot haste to this place where Master Weston's men were making so much mischief. Again we of Plymouth waited in anxious suspense until that day when Captain Standish, and all whom he had taken with him, returned once more to the village. They had met one Indian who, they believed, was planning to murder Captain Standish himself. This Indian and six of his savage companions they had killed, driving the others away into the forest. It was believed by father that the Indians, knowing we had ever treated them fairly and justly, and also that our men had punished those who did wrong, would no longer hold enmity against us of Plymouth simply because of our skins' being white. THE CAPTAIN'S INDIAN I must tell you that our captain has adopted a follower who hugs him as closely as ever shadow could. It is a savage by the name of Hobomok, whom Samoset brought to Plymouth. He must suddenly have fallen in love with our valiant warrior, for he keeps close at his heels during all the waking hours, and, as John Alden says, sleeps as near, during the night, as Captain Standish will permit. He is called by our people "the captain's Indian," and surely he appears to be as faithful and unselfish as any dog. BALLOTS OF CORN We have come to put this Indian corn, or Turkey wheat, to another use than that of eating, for it has been agreed to let the kernels serve as ballots in public voting. [Illustration] Each man may put into Standish's iron cap, which is what our people use when they cast their ballots, a single kernel of the corn to show that it is his intent to elect whomsoever had been spoken of for this or that office; but if a bean be cast, it is used as counting against him who desires to be elected, and a law has already been made which says that "if any man shall put more than one Indian corn or bean into Captain Standish's helmet in time of public election, he shall forfeit no less than ten pounds in lawful money." ARRIVAL OF THE "ANN" And now, because there is so much of excitement, owing to the frequent coming and going of strangers, which neither Sarah nor I can well understand, I will set down, in as few words as may be possible, only such news as seems of importance, beginning with the time before our second harvesting. Then the ship _Ann_ came, bringing yet more people, although, fortunately, a considerable store of food, and in her were the wives and children of some of our company who had come over in the _Mayflower_. How joyous was the meeting between those who had long been separated. Sarah and I could see, however, that more than one of these women were disappointed, having most likely allowed themselves to believe their husbands were gathering riches in the new world. I heard one, who found her husband much the same as clad in rags, wish that she and her children were in England again. When the ship _Ann_ went back to England, my mother and I were left alone, for it had been decided by the head men of the town that Master Edward Winslow should take passage in her to look after certain business affairs of the colony, and, what seemed to me the more important, to buy some cows. The sorrow of it was that my father was chosen to journey with Master Winslow. We were exceedingly lonely, and should have felt yet more desolate but for Captain Standish and John Alden both of whom did whatsoever they might to cheer. THE "LITTLE JAMES" COMES TO PORT It was while we were alone that the ship _Little James_ came, laden with fifty men, women and children to be joined to our colony, and when they were settled, did it seem as if Plymouth was much the same as a city, with so many people coming and going. What with the food which had been brought in the _Ann_ and the _Little James_, and with the bountiful harvest we reaped in the fall, there seemed no longer to be any fear of famine; and with so many hands to make light work, as Elder Brewster said, there was no good reason why we should not have a meeting-house to be used for no other purpose than as a place in which to worship God. THE NEW MEETING-HOUSE It was after the harvest time that the people set about building it, and that it might be seen by those who looked at it from the outside, to be a building other than for living purposes, the logs, instead of being set upright in the earth, were laid lengthwise, and notched at the ends in a most secure fashion, with a roof that rises to a peak like unto those on the houses in Scrooby. The very best of oiled paper is set in the windows. There is a real floor of puncheon boards, which we keep well covered with the white sand from the shore, and Priscilla Mullens spends much time drawing with a stick fanciful figures in the glistening covering, causing it to look like a real carpet. There are benches sufficient for all, and at that end opposite the door is the preacher's desk, over which hangs a sounding board, not delicately fashioned like the one at Scrooby, but made of puncheons, yet serving well the purpose of allowing the preacher's voice to seem louder. Elder Brewster still believes that it would be wrong for us to have a fireplace in the meeting-house, because one who truly worships his Maker should be willing to sacrifice his comfort. One Sabbath Day, when the elder's sermon was so long that the hourglass had been turned three times by the tithingman, and the sand was already running well for the fourth time, I believed of a truth that my feet were really frozen. But I did not even shuffle them on the floor, because once when I did so, a most serious lesson did my mother read me when we were at home again, and that very evening Elder Brewster spoke in meeting of the wickedness of children who had no more fear of God before their eyes than to disturb by unseemly noise those who had gathered for his worship. John Alden, who is ever ready to do what he can for the comfort of others, has now nailed bags made of wolf skins on the benches, into which we may thrust our feet and thus keep them warm. THE CHURCH SERVICE Captain Standish has taught Master Bean's eldest son, Nathan, how to drum, and he it is who summons our people before nine of the clock in the morning, and one of the clock in the afternoon. [Illustration] Then we go from our homes in seemly fashion; but all the men carry their firearms and wear swords, for there are wicked Indians about, and many wild beasts which come even into the village, when there is much snow on the ground. Therefore do the fathers and the brothers of Plymouth guard the mothers and sisters. It is that part of the meeting-house on the right side as you go in, that has been set apart for the women and girls. The men have their benches on the opposite side, while the boys, except the very, very little ones, sit directly under the preacher's desk, where all may know if they behave themselves in seemly fashion. Sarah says it would be much to the comfort of us girls if even the baby boys could be thus set apart by themselves. Deacon Chadwick leads the congregation in the songs of praise, by reading a line, for we have but four psalm books here, and then we sing such words as he has spoken; so it goes on throughout all the psalm, causing the music to sound halting and unequal. Besides which, it is seldom that the verses can be sung in such a manner within less than half an hour, and meanwhile we must all be kept standing. When the meeting is over, and the morning service is nearly always finished within four hours, we remain in our seats until the preacher and his wife have gone out, after which the men march around to the deacon's bench, and there leave furs or corn, money or wampum, if perchance they have any, as gifts toward the support of the preaching. Sometimes, when I have a feeling of faintness from the cold and long hours of sitting, I cannot help envying the preacher and his wife being able to leave thus early. THE TITHINGMEN The tithingmen are elected as town officers, and each has ten families to visit during the week, when they hear the children recite their lessons for the next Sabbath Day. It is their duty to see that every person goes to the meeting-house on Sabbath Day, with no loitering on the way, and even after the preaching is over, and we have returned to our homes, do they march up and down the street to prevent us from straying out of doors until the Sabbath is at a close. [Illustration] My mother believes, and so do I, that it would be better if the tithingmen refrained from walking to and fro in the church while the elder is preaching; but so they do, each carrying a stick which has a knob on one end and a fox or wolf tail on the other, striking the unruly children on the head with the knob end of the stick, and tickling with the fox tail the faces of those who are so ungodly as to sleep during the preaching. MASTER WINSLOW BRINGS HOME COWS I despair of trying to make you understand how thankful we were to God, when the ship in which Master Winslow and father returned, sailed into the harbor. It seemed to me as if I should never have enough of looking at him, or feeling the pressure of his hand upon my head, after he had thus been gone for eight weary months; but, strange to say, the others in the town thought it more pleasing to look at the cattle which Master Winslow brought, than at our people who had come back to us. Yes, in the ship _Charity_, on which Master Winslow and father came, were three cows and a bull, and you who have never known the lack of butter, cheese, and milk, cannot understand how grateful our people were for such things. [Illustration] The animals were no sooner on shore and eating greedily, than straightway we pictured to ourselves a large herd of cows, such as are seen in England, and when for the first time we saw the milk, a spoonful was given to each person in order that he or she might once more know the taste of it. In the same vessel came a preacher, by name of John Lyford, a ship carpenter, and a man who is skilled in making salt; therefore does it seem now as if our town of Plymouth could boast of nearly as many comforts and conveniences as you enjoy at Scrooby. Nor were the return of father and Master Winslow, the coming of the animals, the arrival of the salt man, or the joining to our company of the preacher, the only things for which we had to give thanks. A REAL OVEN Father brought in the vessel as many bricks as would serve to make an oven by the side of our fireplace, and thus it was that we were the first family in Plymouth who could bake bread or roast meats, as do people in England. This oven is built on one side of the fireplace, with a hole near the top, for the smoke to go through. It has a door of real iron, with an ash pit below, so that we may save the ashes for soap-making without storing them in another place. At first the oven was kept busily at work for the benefit of our neighbors, being heated each day, but for our own needs it is used once a week. Inside, a great fire of dried wood is kindled and kept burning from morning until noon, when it has thoroughly heated the bricks. Then the coals and ashes are swept out; the chimney draught is closed, and the oven filled with whatsoever we have to cook. A portion of our bread is baked in the two pans which mother owns; but the rest of it we lay on green leaves, and it is cooked quite as well, although one is forced to scrape a few cinders from the bottom of the loaf. [Illustration] BUTTER AND CHEESE Can you imagine how Sarah and I feasted when, for the first time in four years, we had milk to drink, and butter and cheese to eat? You must not believe that we drank milk freely, as do you at Scrooby, for there are many people in Plymouth, all of whom had been hungering for it even as had Sarah and I. Father claimed that each must have a certain share, therefore it is a great feast day with us when we have a large spoonful on our pudding, or to drink. John Alden made a most beautiful churn for mother; but many a long month passed before we could get cream enough to make butter, so eager were our people for the milk. Now, however, when there are seventeen cows in this town of ours, we not only have butter on extra occasions; but twice each year mother makes a cheese. [Illustration] THE SETTLEMENT AT WESSAGUSSETT Because of having spent so much time, and set down so many words in trying to describe how we lived when we first came to this new world, I must hasten over that which occurred from day to day, in order to tell you what seems to me of the most importance, without giving heed to the time when the events took place. I have already told you of the village at Wessagussett, which was built by men who had been sent to this land by Master Weston, and also that they were driven away by Captain Standish because of working so much mischief among the Indians that our own lives were in danger. Well, it was not long after Captain Standish had punished them, before one and then another came back to the huts, which had been left unharmed, and we at Plymouth learned of their doings through Samoset or Squanto. Had they been God-fearing people, willing to obey our laws, Governor Bradford would have welcomed them right gladly; but because of their refusing to do that which was right, and their giving themselves up to riotous living, our fathers could do no less than hold them at a distance. Then it was that one Master Thomas Morton, calling himself a gentlemen, who came over in the _Charity_ and had lived among us in Plymouth a short time, much to the shame and discomfort of those who strove to profit by the teachings of the Bible, claimed that the evil-doers at Wessagussett were being wronged by us. He even went so far as to tell Governor Bradford to his face that he was stiff-necked and straight-laced, preaching what decent men could not practice. THE VILLAGE OF MERRY MOUNT After such a shameful outburst, it did not surprise any one that he joined those at Wessagussett, and perhaps it was as well that he did so, for he would not have been permitted to remain longer in Plymouth. [Illustration: Flint-Lock Gun] Master Morton changed the name of the village to Merry Mount, and it has been said that everyone there gave himself over to riotous living. They do not even have a meeting house, and John Alden declares that they never pray, except by reading prayers out of a book, which is an evil practice, so Elder Brewster insists. [Illustration: Match-Lock Gun] Captain Standish sorely offended mother by saying he cared not whether they read or sang their prayers, so that they stopped selling firearms and strong drink to the Indians. But this last they did, until the captain could no longer hold his temper in check, and he laid the matter before Governor Bradford and the chief men of the town. Then did the governor send to Master Morton by Squanto a letter, telling him that for the safety of all the white people he ought to stop his evil work of teaching the savages how to use firearms, which might one day be turned against us. To this Master Morton made reply that he had sold firearms to the savages, and would do so as long as he liked. He said his doings did not concern us of Plymouth, and that no man could make him do other than as he pleased. After reading the letter from Master Morton, the governor sent Captain Standish with fourteen men to Merry Mount, and Sarah's father told her that there was a disagreeable battle before the captain could bring Master Morton away. He was kept in Plymouth until a vessel sailed for England, and then sent back in her, much against his will, but those who were so venturesome as to talk with him before he left, claim that he threatened to come back at some later day, when he would have revenge upon the governor and the captain. THE FIRST SCHOOL I must not forget to tell you that last year there was opened a school, in that part of the old fort which was first used as a meeting-house. Our friends in England sent to us a preacher by name of John Lyford, as I have already said, and he it was who began the school, teaching all children whose parents could pay him a certain amount either in wampum, beaver skins, corn, wheat, peas, or money. Sarah and I went during seven weeks, and would have remained while school was open, but that Master Lyford had hot words with Governor Bradford because of letters which he wrote to his friends in England, wherein were many false things set down concerning us of Plymouth. Then it was father declared that I should go on with my studies at home, rather than be taught by a man who was doing whatsoever he might to bring reproach upon our village. It caused me much sorrow thus to give over learning, for Master Lyford taught us many new things, and neither Sarah nor I could understand how it would work harm to us, even though we did study under the direction of one who was not a friend to Plymouth. I felt sorry because of Master Lyford's having done that which gave rise to ill feelings among our people, since it resulted in his being sent away from Plymouth. It would not have given me sorrow to see him go, for to my mind he was not a friendly man; but it seemed much like a great loss to the village, when the school was closed. It would surprise you to know how comfortable everything was in the school; it seemed almost as if we children were being allowed to give undue heed to the pleasures of this world, though I must confess that during the first hour of the morning session we were distressed by the smoke. TOO MUCH SMOKE When the room had been used as a Sabbath Day meeting-house, there was neither chimney nor fireplace, because Elder Brewster believed that too much bodily comfort would distract our thoughts from the duty we owed the Lord. But when the place had been turned into a schoolroom, it was necessary to have warmth, if for no other reason than that the smaller children might not be frost-bitten. John Billington was hired to build a fireplace and chimney, and, as all in Plymouth know, he dislikes to work even as does his son James. Therefore it was that he failed to make the chimney of such height above the top of the fort as would admit of a fair draught, so Master Lyford declared, and we were sorely troubled with smoke until the fire had gained good headway. It was the duty of the boys to provide wood and keep the fire burning; while we girls kept the room swept and cleanly, all of which tended to give us a greater interest in the school. SCHOOL COMFORTS For our convenience when learning to write, puncheon planks were fastened to the four sides of the room, with stakes on the front edges to serve as legs in order to hold them in a sloping position, and at such desk-like contrivances we stood while using a pen, or working at arithmetic with strips of birch-bark in the stead of paper. The same benches which had been built when the room was our meeting-house, served as seats when we had need to rest our legs. [Illustration] Master Lyford built for himself a desk in the center of the room, where he could overlook us all, and so great was his desire for comfort, which was one of the complaints made against him by Governor Bradford, that he had fastened a short piece of puncheon plank to one side of the log which served as chair, so that he might lean his back against it when he was weary. HOW THE CHILDREN WERE PUNISHED It must be set down that he was not indolent when it seemed to him that one of us should be punished. As Captain Standish said, after he had looked into the room to see James Billington whipped for having been idle, the teacher "had a rare brain for inventing instruments for discipline." [Illustration] It was the flapper which the captain had seen in use upon James, and surely it must have caused great pain when laid on with all Master Lyford's strength. A piece of tanned buckskin, six inches square, with a round hole in the middle large enough for me to thrust my thumb through, fastened to a wooden handle,--this was the flapper, and when it was brought down heavily upon one's bare flesh, a blister was raised the full size of the hole in the leather. He had also a tattling stick, which was made of half a dozen thick strips of deer hide fastened to a short handle, and when he flogged the children with it, they were forced to lie down over a log hewn with a sharp edge at the top. This sharp edge of wood, together with the blows from the stout thongs, caused great pain. Master Lyford was not always so severe in his punishment. He had whispering-sticks, which were thick pieces of wood to be placed in a child's mouth until it was forced wide open, and then each end of the stick was tied securely at the back of the scholar's neck in such a way that he could make no manner of noise. Sarah wore one of these nearly two hours because of whispering to me, and when it was taken out, the poor child could not close her jaws until I had rubbed them gently during a long while. [Illustration] Then there was the single-legged stool, upon which it was most tiring to sit, and this was given to the child who would not keep still upon his bench. I was forced to use it during one whole hour, because of drumming my feet upon the floor when the cold was most bitter, and the fire would not burn owing to the wood being so wet. It truly seemed to me, before the punishment was come to an end, as if my back had been broken. Master Lyford was also provided with five or six dunce's caps, made of birch bark, on which were painted in fair letters such names as "Tell-Tale," "Bite-Finger-Baby," "Lying Ananias," "Idle Boy," and other ugly words. [Illustration] However, I dare say this was for good, and went far toward aiding us in our studies. Master Allerton declares that there are no truer words in the Book, than those which teach us that to spare the rod is to spoil the child, and surely we of Plymouth were not spoiled in such manner by Master Lyford, nor by the other teachers who came to us later. NEW VILLAGES While I have been setting down all these things that you might know how we lived here in the wilderness, other villages have been built around us until we can no longer say we are alone, or that our only neighbors are those Englishmen in Virginia, which place is so far away that we should need make a voyage in a ship in order to come at it. First I will speak of that village of Merry Mount, wherein dwell those people who, led by Thomas Morton, are a reproach to those who walk in the straight path. Then, so we have heard, there are white men living on the river called Saco; at the mouth of the river Piscataqua and higher up the stream is, so Squanto declares, a village called Cochecho. At Pemaquid, and on the nearby island of Monhegan, are settlements whose dwellers are nearly all fishermen, and who send their catch to England. One Captain Wollaston, with between thirty and forty men, began to make a village on the seashore not above fifty miles from here; but he soon tired of battling with the wilderness, and set sail with all his people for Virginia. Master John Oldham, who came to Plymouth with Master Lyford, having had hot words with Governor Bradford, set off for a place called Nantasket, where, in company with four other discontented ones of our village, he aims to make a town. Near by Plymouth, if one makes the journey by boat, is a town called Salem, lately set up with Master Endicott as the governor, wherein live more than two hundred people, and within a few weeks it has been said that another company are making homes on Massachusetts Bay, calling the place Charlestown. Therefore you can see how fast this new world is being covered with villages and towns, and we who were the first to gain a foothold in the wilderness, are surrounded by neighbors until it seems as if the land were really thronged with people. MAKING READY FOR A JOURNEY [Illustration] Not two months ago my father got word that among those who had come to build homes at the place already named Salem, were many of our old friends whom we left behind at Leyden, and I was nearly wild with delight when he said to my mother: "Verily we two have earned a time of rest, and if it be to your mind we will go even so far as Salem, to greet those friends of ours who have so lately come from Leyden." "And Mary?" my mother asked. "She shall go with us. If you and I are to give ourselves over to pleasure, it is well she should have a share." Since the day on which we landed from the _Mayflower_, I had not been allowed to stray above half a mile from the village, and now I was to journey like a princess, with nothing to do save seek that which might serve for my pleasure or amusement. Then, remembering how sad at heart Sarah would be if we were parted after having been so much together these ten years, I made bold to ask my mother if she might journey with us, and after having speech with my father, she gave her consent. There is no need for me to tell you that we two girls were wondrously happy and woefully excited at the idea of visiting strange people, concerning whom we had heard not a little, for, as Captain Standish has said, never were homeseekers outfitted in such plenty. When he heard of what father counted on doing, Captain Standish offered to make one of the party, saying that it would gladden him to see a friendly face from Leyden, and it was his idea that we go in the shallop, taking with us John Alden to aid in working the vessel. You can well fancy that Sarah and I were pleased to have the captain with our party, for he has ever been a good friend of ours, and as for John Alden, if Mistress Priscilla was willing to spare him from home, we were content, knowing he was at all times ready, as well as eager, to do his full share of whatsoever labor might be at hand. CLOTHING FOR THE SALEM COMPANY Just fancy! The Massachusetts Bay Company gave to each man and boy who came over from England to Salem four pairs of shoes, and four pairs of stockings to wear with them, a stout pair of Norwich garters, together with four shirts, and two suits of doublet and hose of leather lined with oiled skin. As if that were not enough, to the list were added a woolen suit lined with leather, two handkerchiefs, and a green cotton waistcoat. Then came a leather belt, a woolen cap, a black hat, two red knit caps, two pairs of gloves, a cloak lined with cotton, and an extra pair of breeches. Is it any wonder that Sarah and I were eager to see these gentlemen who must have needed a baggage ship in order to bring over their finery. Think of people coming into the wilderness outfitted in such extravagant fashion as that! Surely they should be able to live comfortably, and without anxiety for the future, because the company that sent them to build the town of Salem, took good care that they were provided with provisions in plenty until they had sown and reaped. If we of Plymouth had come so burdened with clothes and food, we should have been spared many a sad day, when an empty stomach, scantily covered with thin clothing, knew at the same time the biting of the frost and the gnawing of hunger. It is little wonder that Sarah and I were eager to see these fortunate people, if for no other reason than to learn how they carried themselves before us of Plymouth, who failed of being fine birds through absence of fine feathers. PREPARING FOOD FOR THE JOURNEY During one full week before the time set for us to leave home, mother and I worked from daylight until dark making ready the food, for it was no slight task to prepare enough to fill the stomachs of all our company. It is true we would be housed and fed in Salem; but no one could say how the voyage might be prolonged, if the wind proved contrary, therefore did it behoove us to prepare for a long passage lest we suffer from hunger by the way. [Illustration] We made nookick enough, as father said, for the Plymouth army, and of Indian corn meal and pumpkin bread, no less than twenty large loaves. We had a sweet pudding in a bag for each person, counting Sarah and me; Captain Standish had shot two wild ducks as his portion of the stores, and these had been roasted until they were of a most delicious brown shade, causing one's mouth to water when looking at them. Father had cut up the salt and pickled fish until it could be stored in gourds, and John Alden caught lobsters enough to prevent our suffering from hunger during at least two days. We had two pumpkins freshly roasted, which would remain sweet a long while; the full half of a small cheese, a pat of butter as a luxury, and much else which I cannot well call to mind. BEFORE SAILING FOR SALEM The hinder part of the shallop was partly filled with dried beach grass, that we might have a soft bed if so be we were, as it seemed likely, still on the voyage when night came. In the forward portion of the vessel was a keg of John Alden's making, filled with sweet spring water, and thus, as you may see, everything had been done to minister to our comfort. I was half afraid Elder Brewster might force us to wait beyond the day appointed for leaving, in order to read us more than one lesson on the sin of over-indulgence; but, fortunately, he could not spend the time to overlook the preparations, because of building a new chimney to his house, the old one having burned on Saturday night. On the evening before we sailed, many of our neighbors came in to pray with us that God would have us in His holy keeping while we wandered so far from home, and my eyes were filled to overflowing when Elder Brewster made special mention of Sarah and me, asking that we might not be led from straight paths by the sight of so much worldly vanity as was likely waiting for us in that town of Salem, which had grown so suddenly and so rapidly. Sarah slept with me on that night, and after we were gone to bed in the kitchen, we could hardly close our eyes, so great was our excitement, as we thought of all the strange sights we were likely to see. I am of the belief that we had not been asleep above an hour, when mother came to make ready the morning meal. It was yet dark; but father had it in mind to make the start as soon as day broke, and there was much to be done before that time. We ate hurriedly of the Indian corn meal pudding, and then Captain Standish and John Alden came to join us in the service of praise, when I am afraid my sin was great, for I could hardly keep my mind on the words of his prayer, so eager did I feel to begin the journey. Elder Brewster has told us children again and again that we are offending God when we allow our thoughts to stray while He is being worshiped, and even with his warning in mind, I could not but wonder why father's prayer was so much longer on that morning than I ever had known before. Twice I heard Captain Standish cough while we were on our knees, and I was so wicked as to feel pleased because he, like me, had grown impatient. THE JOURNEY The day had not fully dawned when we marched down to the shore where the shallop lay at anchor; but early though the hour was, we found there assembled nearly all the townspeople, come to bid us Godspeed on the dangerous journey. One would have thought we were counting to travel as far as England, to judge from the looks of sorrow on the faces of our friends, and we did not go aboard the small vessel until Elder Brewster had prayed once more for our safe return from the place where temptation in so many forms awaited us. However much time I might spend over the task, it would be impossible for me to describe, in such a manner that you could understand it, the pleasure which Sarah and I had during the journey. It was our first voyaging in so small a vessel, but we could not well have been alarmed, for the sea was as smooth as velvet, save where it was ruffled here and there by the gentle breeze which filled the sail of the shallop. [Illustration] Both my father and Captain Standish fretted because there was not wind enough to send us along at a smarter pace; but we girls were well content with the slow progress, since it would be but prolonging our pleasure. As the day grew older, we partook of food, and each one, save him who was at the helm, chose such position as was best suited to comfort. Father pointed out to us certain landmarks on the coast, which he said had been set down by Captain John Smith of Virginia when he journeyed in this region, and John Alden told of settlers who had begun to make plantations on the shores of Massachusetts Bay. At noon father read from the Book, while John Alden steered, and after a season of prayer mother spoke with Captain Standish concerning friends in Holland. It was as if this carried the captain's mind back to the time when he had been an officer in the Dutch army, for straightway he began telling stories of adventure and of thrilling escapes from death, until Sarah and I were at the same time entranced and alarmed. Even though I burned to have him continue, it was a relief when he changed the subject to speculate upon what the future might hold for us of Plymouth. When night came, we were yet at sea, and mother, Sarah, and I lay down on the dry beach grass in the bottom of the boat, after father had once more prayed that the Lord would hold us, as He does the sea, in the hollow of His hand. We slept as sweetly as if in our own beds at Plymouth, never once awakening until Captain Standish cried out that we should open our eyes to the glory of the sunrise. THE ARRIVAL AT SALEM We were then near unto the village of Salem, and there was no more than time in which to break our fast, and join with father in thanks to God because of His having saved us through the night, when the shallop was run in as close to land as the depth of water would permit. Captain Standish carried each of us ashore, wading in the sea knee-deep to do so, and after we were standing dry-shod on the sand, the vessel was pushed off at anchor, lest she should take ground when the tide went down. [Illustration] Then we went into the village, where already more than thirty houses had been built, father and Captain Standish walking in the lead, while John Alden remained by the side of mother, and we girls followed on behind, soberly and slowly, even though our hearts were beating fast with excitement. Not for long were we left to our own devices. As soon as we were seen by one of the women, all our party were made welcome to Salem, and when it was learned that we had come from Plymouth, in the hope of meeting those whom we had known at Leyden, it was as if every person in the village made effort to entertain us. SIGHT-SEEING IN SALEM It is not for me to say ought against those who treated us so kindly; but yet I must set it down that Sarah and I were somewhat disappointed. There was no such show of luxury and vanity as we had been led to expect, after learning how wondrously these people had been supplied with clothes. The houses were no better than could be found in our own village of Plymouth, and, save that there was pickled beef and pork in great abundance, the food was no more tempting. The elders of our little company speedily found old friends whom they had parted with in Leyden; but Sarah and I, having been so young when we left Holland, could not be expected to remember any of the children. We wandered here and there however, being greeted by strangers as if we were old friends, comparing all we saw with that which could be found in Plymouth, and coming to believe that ours was the most goodly home. [Illustration] BACK TO PLYMOUTH I believe we looked forward to going back quite as eagerly as we had to coming. Right glad were all of us, including even Captain Standish, when we said good-by to the people of Salem, and our shallop, with a strong wind astern, sailed with her bow toward Plymouth. "It is well that we go abroad at times, if for no other reason than to learn how dear is our own hearthstone," the captain said in a tone of content, as he sat in the bottom of the boat with his back against the mast, burning the Indian weed in a little stone vessel which Hobomok had brought to him from Massasoit's village. Then he fell to telling Sarah and me stories, tiring not until we were once more at home, for the return voyage was exceeding speedy. And now, because I am just returned to the place where we landed ten years ago, concerning which I have been trying to tell you, it is well I should come to the end, trusting that the Lord may be as good to you, as he has been to us children of Plymouth during all these years of hardships and sorrows. 
62684	----	Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 62684-h.htm or 62684-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/62684/62684-h/62684-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/62684/62684-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/beltofseventotem00munr THE BELT OF SEVEN TOTEMS Ninth Impression * * * * * * _BOOKS BOYS LIKE_ _PIRATES OF THE DELAWARE_ By RUPERT SARGENT HOLLAND A stirring tale of Philadelphia a hundred years ago when highwaymen rode out of the shadows on the way to the Green Anchor Inn and mysterious craft lay in hiding off the Delaware Capes. Attractively illustrated. _HERO TALES OF OUR NAVY_ By GEORGE GIBBS Famous sea victories from the time the first little American-built frigate sailed out against a British man-o'-war to the days when the Allied fleet patrolled the North Sea. 14 Illustrations by the author. _DO IT YOURSELF_ By DAN BEARD A book of the big outdoors. How to pitch a tent, how to fish, build a canoe, take a collection hike, catch wild animals and many other things a scout must know. Latest volume in Dan Beard's Woodcraft Series. 306 Inimitable sketches by the author. _AMERICAN TRAIL BLAZERS_ A splendid collection of stories, based on historical facts, which has done much to revive the early and adventurous phases of American history for boys. The story grips and the history sticks. Each volume finely illustrated in color and black and white. * * * * * * [Illustration: HE WAS SEIZED BY TWO PAIR OF BRAWNY HANDS AND DRAGGED INBOARD Page 193] THE BELT OF SEVEN TOTEMS A Story of Massasoit by KIRK MUNROE Author of "Under the Great Bear," "Brethren of the Coast," "Rick Dale," "Forward March," "The 'Mates'' Series," etc. Illustrated by Emlen Mcconnell [Illustration: Logo] Philadelphia & London J. B. Lippincott Company Copyright, 1901, by Kirk Munroe Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company at the Washington Square Press Philadelphia, U. S. A. _TO MY READERS_ The following story is not intended as a history; it is merely an effort to reconcile certain apparently conflicting facts and to explain an otherwise inexplicable situation. At the time of the Pilgrim Fathers all American Indians--not excepting those of New England--had suffered repeated outrage at the hands of white men, and in no case had they been given cause to love the invaders of their country or to welcome their presence. Why, then, did the powerful Massasoit permit a white invasion of his territory that he could so easily have crushed? A friendship existed from the very first between him and Edward Winslow, and the latter seems to have exercised a great influence over the New England sachem. What was the origin of this friendship? The Narragansetts, while submitting to Massasoit's authority, were always in sullen opposition to it. Why? It is to answer these questions to my own satisfaction that I have constructed the theory herewith advanced. Many New England natives were kidnapped and taken to various parts of Europe. Why might not Massasoit have been among them? The wampum belt, on which was pictured the distinguishing totems of seven leading New England clans, was worn by both Massasoit and Metacomet (King Philip), his son, and is still in existence. Tasquanto (Squanto) was kidnapped from Cape Cod and taken to England, where he remained for several years. Captain Dermer carried a number of native Americans to London, where he sold them to be exhibited as curiosities. He finally died of wounds received at the hands of New England Indians. Champlain did aid a war-party of Hurons to defeat the Iroquois in one instance, and in another was defeated by the same foe. Thus, while my story is admittedly fictional, it has a substantial historical basis. KIRK MUNROE. _CONTENTS_ CHAPTER PAGE I. THE VILLAGE OF PEACE 9 II. CANONICUS MAKES TROUBLE 18 III. AT THE CROSSING OF THE SHA 28 IV. THE BELT CHANGES HANDS 38 V. WHAT THE DAUGHTERS OF KAWERAS FOUND 50 VI. IN THE LODGE OF THE ARROW-MAKER 60 VII. NAHMA JOINS A WAR-PARTY 70 VIII. TWO YOUNG SCOUTS 81 IX. ON THE LAKE 91 X. AN OKI OF THE WATERS 101 XI. THE COMING OF SACANDAGA 111 XII. A MEETING OF DEADLY FOES 121 XIII. TO THE LODGES OF THE WHITE MAN 131 XIV. TWO INMATES OF A GUARD-HOUSE 141 XV. THE BITTER WINTER OF CANADA 151 XVI. A DASH FOR LIBERTY 162 XVII. A DEATH-DEALING THUNDER-STICK 172 XVIII. KIDNAPPED 183 XIX. SOLD AS A SLAVE 194 XX. ONE FRIENDLY FACE 206 XXI. A CHANGE OF MASTERS 217 XXII. NAHMA AND THE BEAR RUN AW 228 XXIII. AN HONORED GUEST 238 XXIV. NAHMA REMEMBERS 248 XXV. BACK TO AMERICA 259 XXVI. SASSACUS THE PEQUOT 270 XXVII. A ROYAL HOME-COMING 281 XXVIII. IN THE COUNCIL-LODGE 292 XXIX. WINNING A BATTLE, A WIFE, AND A FRIEND 303 XXX. THE PILGRIMS OF PLYMOUTH 314 _LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS_ PAGE HE WAS SEIZED BY TWO PAIR OF BRAWNY HANDS AND DRAGGED INBOARD _Frontispiece._ AS SHE CAUGHT A GLIMPSE OF THE WOUNDED YOUTH THE PROGRESS OF THE CANOE WAS INSTANTLY ARRESTED 56 NAHMA SPRANG UPON THE WHITE MAN WITH UPLIFTED KNIFE 129 "LOOK, THEN, AND TREMBLE, THOU DOG OF A MURDERER" 290 _THE BELT OF SEVEN TOTEMS_ CHAPTER I THE VILLAGE OF PEACE In the olden days when the whole land belonged to the red man the village of Longfeather the Peacemaker was located on the river of Sweet Waters, nearly one hundred miles, as the crow flies, from the place where it flows into the sea. Its ruler was Longfeather, the only son of Nassaup, sachem of the Wampanoags, and a man wise enough to realize that peace was better for his people than war. So he had sent his only son, when still a mere youth, to one after another of the surrounding tribes that he might learn their language and establish friendships among them. Thus Longfeather had lived for months at a time among all the tribes dwelling east of the Shatemuc and the country of the terrible Iroquois. He had travelled as far north as the land of the Abenakis, from whom he learned to make snow-shoes and to construct canoes of birchen bark. He had visited the Nipmucks and Nausets of the eastern coast, who taught him many secrets of the salt waters from which they gained their living. He had journeyed to the southward, spending a year with the Narragansetts and another with the Pequots, the wampum-making tribes. Then for a long time he had remained with the warlike Mohicans, whose great chieftain Tamenand loved him as a son, and taught him from his own wisdom until Longfeather became wisest of all Indians dwelling in the region afterwards known as New England. So many seasons of corn-planting and harvest did the youth spend in travel and study among the tribes, that when he finally turned his face towards his own people he was become a man in years as well as in stature and strength. So it happened that he tarried again among the Pequots until he had won for a bride Miantomet, a daughter of their sachem. The principal industry of this tribe being the production of wampum, which was made in the form of cylindrical beads, white, black, purple, and sometimes red, cut from sea-shells, Longfeather's bride was presented with a vast store of this precious material in the form of strings and belts, so that in winning her the young man also acquired much wealth. To fittingly celebrate the home-coming of his son, Nassaup commanded a great feast that should last for seven days, and to it were invited the headmen of all the tribes in which Longfeather had made friends. The place chosen for this notable gathering was the mouth of a beautiful valley, centrally located for the convenience of the several tribes, and gently sloping to the river of Sweet Waters. Here, then, in early autumn, at the full of the harvest moon, were gathered hundreds of the leading sannups of the wide-spread territory bounded by the great white river (St. Lawrence) on the north, the salt waters that bathe the rising sun on the east and south, and the Shatemuc (Hudson) on the west. These, together with their families, formed an assemblage larger and more important than any that could be recalled even by tradition, and while much of their time was devoted to feasting and dancing, they also discussed questions of great significance. One of these was the meaning of a vast ball of fire, that, brighter than the sun and glowing with many colors, had shot athwart an evening sky on the night of Longfeather's marriage to Miantomet. To some this phenomenon portended evil, while to others it was an omen of good promise; but all were convinced that it was connected in some way with the fortunes of Longfeather. Another matter discussed early and late with unflagging interest was the rumored appearance in remote regions of a race of beings having human form, but unlike any heretofore known. They were said to have white skins and hairy faces, and were believed to control thunder and lightning, which they used for the destruction of all who came in their way. Some of them were also described as bestriding fire-breathing monsters of such ferocity that they carried death and destruction wherever they went. Most of these rumors came from the south and from lands so remote that they had been many months travelling from tribe to tribe and from mouth to mouth. Whether the beings thus imperfectly described were gods or devils none could tell. At the same time those who heard of them agreed that in spite of their form they could not be human, for were not all men made in one likeness, with red skins, black hair, and smooth faces? It was disquieting that, while most of these rumors came from the far-distant south, some of them also came from the north, and located the white-skinned strangers not more than a month's journey away. At the same time it was comforting to have all stories agree that, while they appeared from the ocean borne on the backs of vast winged monsters of the deep, they always, after a while, disappeared again as they had come. Longfeather further reassured those who discussed these matters by relating a tradition that he had received from Tamenand. It concerned other supernatural visitants who had once come even to the land of the Wampanoags; but so long ago that not even the great-grandfather of the oldest man living had seen them. They also were described as of white skin and having hair on their faces. It was not told that they rode fire-breathing dragons, or that they were armed with thunderbolts, but they had come from the sea and returned into it again when they were ready for departure. To be sure, they had slain many of the native dwellers and caused great fear throughout the land, but after going away they had never again been seen. To this day, however, traces of their visitation remained in the form of certain pictured rocks that they had inscribed, and which no man might remove or even touch, under penalty of death. The simple-minded forest-dwellers listened to these tales with the same dread that would inspire us of to-day upon hearing that inhabitants of some distant planet, bringing death-dealing weapons that were unknown to us, had invaded the world. They shuddered, gazing furtively about them as they listened, and drew closer together as though for mutual protection. Although the fears thus aroused sobered the red-skinned assemblage and left it in small humor for further festivities, this was not regretted by Nassaup, since it rendered them the more willing to listen to a plan that he wished to propose. It was one so long considered that it had become the chief desire of his life, and was nothing more nor less than a federation of all the tribes there represented, in the interests of peace, mutual aid, and protection. For two days was this proposition discussed, and then it was accepted. A belt of wampum, on which was worked his own totem, was given to each of the seven head chiefs present, and a great belt of the same material, in which the seven totems were combined, was presented to Longfeather. On account of his wisdom he had been unanimously chosen to rule the allied tribes, and this Belt of Seven Totems was the badge of his authority. So Longfeather became Peacemaker and Lawgiver to all that region, and on account of its central location he established his official head-quarters upon the very spot where the great assemblage had been held. Thus was founded the village of Peace, in which all questions affecting relations between the tribes were discussed and treaties were made. It was a place of refuge to which all persons accused of wrong-doing and in danger of their lives might flee, with a certainty of protection until their cases could be considered by the Peacemaker. It also became a trading-point to which were attracted the skilled makers of such articles as were most in demand among the tribes. Large areas of nearby lands were brought under cultivation, and these, fertilized with fish taken in quantities from the teeming river, produced wonderful crops of beans, maize, and pumpkins. No war-parties ever visited the village of Peace, but there was a constant coming and going of strangers. To it travelled the Abenakis, bringing furs, maple-sugar, and highly prized ornaments of copper that had come to them from the far west. Here they exchanged these things for bales of dried fish from the eastern coast, seal-skins, or belts of wampum. Here, also, they found expert makers of flint arrow-heads, knives, and hatchets, weavers of mats, and workers in clay, from whom they might procure rude vessels of earthen-ware. Above all, here dwelt Longfeather, to whom could be submitted all disputed questions, with a certainty that he would settle them wisely and justly. Thus it happened that the village of Peace became the political capital and chief trading-point of all New England long before ever a white man had set foot in that region. Here, too, some twenty years after its founding, was born Nahma, the son of Longfeather, a lad whose strange adventures in after-life are now for the first time about to be related. CHAPTER II CANONICUS MAKES TROUBLE The boy thus introduced was carefully trained for the high position that he must some time fill. Although from his father he never heard an impatient or an unkind word, he was taught to respect his elders and to yield the most implicit obedience to those in authority over him. As soon as he was old enough to comprehend what he heard and saw he was permitted to sit beside the Peacemaker and listen to the discussion of matters affecting the well-being of the tribes. From Longfeather himself, from the old men of the village, and from the visitors who journeyed to it Nahma learned the traditions of his people. His father also taught him to distinguish the totems of tribes or clans, together with their significance, and illustrated his lessons by means of the pictured belts that hung in the council-house. From these same teachers Nahma also learned to believe in witchcraft and magic, by which alone were they able to account for many natural phenomena. Thus even in the years of his youth there came to Nahma a wisdom beyond that of all other lads, and his name became known from one end of the land to the other. Nor during this time of mental training was that of his body neglected. Every day, even in the depth of winter, when ice must be broken before water could be reached, he was made to plunge into the river or the sea to toughen him and harden his flesh. He was taught to swim and to paddle a canoe before he could walk; and often in later years when trained runners were sent by Longfeather with messages to distant tribes, the lad was allowed to accompany them, that he might learn the trails, familiarize himself with remote localities and people, and acquire the art of traversing great spaces in the shortest possible time. So fleet of foot and so strong of wind did he thus become that he at one time covered the distance between the village of Peace and the sand-dunes of the Nausets on the edge of the great salt water between two suns, a feat never before accomplished, and at which all men marvelled. After this Nahma was frequently chosen to be his father's messenger on occasions of importance, and very proud was the young warrior of the trust thus reposed in him. Thus it happened that one day in the lad's eighteenth year, when a matter of grave import demanded prompt communication with a distant point in a region of danger, Longfeather naturally turned to Nahma, his son. Troublous times had come, and the safety of the region so long ruled by the Peacemaker was seriously threatened. To consider the situation Longfeather had assembled a council of the tribes at Montaup, on the edge of the salt water. This was the great gathering-place of the Wampanoags, and to it their chieftain with his family was accustomed to resort during the heated months of each summer. So here the council was met, and after the calumet had passed entirely around its seated circle Longfeather addressed the chiefs as follows: "It is well that we are come together, for the shadow of trouble is upon us like that of a black cloud hiding the sun. While we be of many tribes we have until now been of one heart, and even from the days of Nassaup, my father, have we dwelt at peace one with another. Now, however, is that peace threatened, and I have summoned you to see what may be done." Here the speaker took one from a bundle of small sticks and handed it to the oldest chief, saying, "Take this peace-stick, my brother, and remember its meaning." Then to the others he continued,-- "For a long time, from our fathers, and from their fathers before them, have we heard tales of strange, white-skinned beings armed with thunderbolts, who have come from the sea. We have listened with trembling, but have comforted ourselves that these strangers, whom we took to be gods, appeared not on our shores, but at places far removed. Also we heard that they tarried not; but always, after a short stay, departed as they had come. Take this stick, my brother, and regard it with respect, for it indicates the belief of our fathers." Thus saying, Longfeather handed a second stick from his bundle to the aged chief. Then resuming his address, he said,-- "But all our comfort has vanished with the gaining of wisdom. Nearer and more frequent have come tales of the whiteskins, until now we know them to be men like unto ourselves, only of a different color and having hairy faces. They are armed with thunder-sticks that can kill at three times the flight of our strongest arrows. Also have we learned that these men are borne to our coast in mighty canoes built by themselves and driven by the wind. We know that many of these canoes come for fish to the salt waters of the Tarratines. Not only do they thus come and go in ever-increasing numbers, but they even visit the land to care for the fish they have taken. Accept this stick, my brother, to remind thee of the white-skinned men who fish." With this Longfeather handed a third stick to the old man. "Still," he continued, "the white fish-catchers do not attempt to remain with us, nor have they thus far given us cause to fear them. Some of their lesser canoes, small when compared with those in which they come and go, but large by the side of ours, even as the eagle is larger than the hawk, have drifted empty to our shores, and our young men have made use of them. Also at times the great winged canoes of the white men have been seen to pass our coast, but never until the season of last corn-planting have they tarried. Then came one to the country of the Narragansetts, where it remained for the space of three moons. This stick, my brother, will refresh thy memory concerning the coming and tarrying of the great white canoe." With this the speaker passed a fourth stick to the old chief. Then deliberately and with emphasis he resumed his speech, saying,-- "On an island that they occupied the strangers who came in this canoe erected a lodge. Many of you have seen it and them. They roamed through the forest making thunder and killing beasts with their fire-sticks. Above all, they traded with the Narragansetts, giving them knives and hatchets made of an unknown metal, strong and sharp, kettles that fire may not harm, and many other things in exchange for skins of the beaver. Only with their thunder-sticks they would not part. By many it was feared that they would remain and attempt to possess the land that is our land. But after a time they departed, and the heart of Longfeather was glad when he knew they were gone. At the same moment his heart was again made heavy, for they gave out that they would come again, bringing great wealth to exchange for beaver. Take this stick, my brother, to remind thee that the white men will come again. "Now, my friends, what has happened? It is this. The Narragansetts are puffed up with pride because they are possessed of knives and hatchets better and more deadly than any ever before seen in all the world. Also, they desire to obtain more of such things and to learn the secret of the thunder-sticks that kill as far as one may see. Therefore did Canonicus, head sachem of the Narragansetts, propose secretly to me that when the great canoe came again I should order the white men to be killed, that he and I might possess ourselves of their wealth, and so become as gods, all-powerful in the land. This stick, my brother, marks the proposition of Canonicus. "To the evil words of the Narragansett I refused to listen, saying to him that to do what he had in his mind would surely bring upon our heads the wrath of the Great Spirit. Furthermore, I bade Canonicus put such evil thoughts far behind him and consider them no more. This stick, my brother, is Longfeather's answer to Canonicus. "Again, my friends, what has happened? The Narragansett promised to open wide his ears that the words of Longfeather might sink into his heart. Did he do this? No. He closed tight his ears that they might not hear, and began to look for others who would aid him in his wickedness. So far did his eyes travel that they came even to the land of the Maquas [Mohawks], who from the days of the first men have been our enemies. To them is he preparing to send messengers with presents and a promise of great wealth, together with power over all the tribes, if they will join him in destroying the next white men who may come. Canonicus was bidden to this council, but I cannot see him. This stick, my brother, will tell thee of his black heart. I have finished." So long did the council discuss this situation and so many were the speeches to be delivered on the subject, that a decision was not reached until late on the second day of meeting. Then it was ordered that Canonicus should be summoned to report in person to the assembled chiefs, who for two days longer would await his coming. If at the end of that time he had not appeared, a war-party of the allied tribes should be sent to fetch him. In the mean time Longfeather would send a delegation to the Maquas bearing presents, and offering, on behalf of the combined New England tribes, a treaty that should secure to all equal benefits from whatever trade might be had with the white-skinned strangers. It was furthermore agreed that so long as the white men proved themselves friendly they should be treated as friends. "For," said the Peacemaker, "they are few and we are many, they are weak while we are strong, therefore let us live at peace with them, if indeed they come to us again, a thing that I trust may not happen. So shall we please the Great Spirit who made them, doubtless for some good reason, even as he made the red man and gave him control over the earth." So it was done even as the council had ordered, and a runner was despatched to Canonicus with a summons for him to appear at Montaup, and forbidding him to treat with the Maquas. Also active preparations were made for sending an embassy to that powerful people on behalf of the allied New England tribes, and to his joy Nahma was chosen to accompany it as his father's representative. CHAPTER III AT THE CROSSING OF THE SHATEMUC The whole land to the very edge of the great salt water, and including the islands of the sea, was covered with a forest that sheltered it alike from summer heats and the deadly cold of winter. Stately pines growing on hill-sides lifted their evergreen heads far above all other trees, and stood as ever-watchful sentinels. Mighty oaks shaded wide-spread areas, while graceful elms were mirrored in lake and river. Everywhere the painted maples flaunted their brilliant colors, while chestnut, beech, hickory, and walnut showered down bountiful stores of food to those trusting in them for a winter's supply. Man, beast, and bird, all children of the forest, dwelt within its safe protection and were fed from its exhaustless abundance. Its rivers and smaller streams, filled from brimming reservoirs and unobstructed by dams, afforded highways of travel ever ready for use and always in the best of repair. Besides these, the forest was threaded with trails worn by countless generations of Indian runners, traders, hunters, and fighters, and these were as familiar to the dwellers in the shade as are the streets of a city to one born within its walls. Along one of these devious trails, narrow and so dim that an unpractised eye would quickly have lost it, sped a solitary runner. He was young and goodly to look upon, while his movements were as graceful as those of the deer, whose soft-tanned skins constituted his attire. He was bareheaded, and in his hair was fastened a single feather from the wing of an osprey or fishing eagle. A noticeable feature of his costume was a broad belt of wampum, worn diagonally across his breast so that it might readily be seen and recognized. On it at short intervals were worked seven figures representing birds, beasts, and fishes, for it was the Belt of Seven Totems, indicating the authority of Longfeather the Peacemaker, and the young runner now wearing it so conspicuously was none other than Nahma, his only son. While Longfeather awaited the return of his messenger to Canonicus and made ready the presents intended for Sacandaga, chief sachem of the Maquas, news came that the Narragansett embassy to that same powerful chieftain had already set forth on its mission. Thus there was no time to be lost if his own message was to reach Sacandaga first, an event that he deemed to be of the utmost importance. The chiefs whom he desired to send as ambassadors could not travel at greater speed than could the Narragansetts, who had a two days' start, but it was possible that a fleet-footed runner might even yet overtake and pass them. As this thought flashed through Longfeather's mind he knew that if the thing might be done it could only be accomplished by the swiftest of all his runners, and he promptly caused Nahma to be summoned. At that moment the young warrior was listening with eager interest to the stories of white men and their great winged canoes, told by Samoset, an Abenaki youth of his own age, who had accompanied his chieftain to the council at Montaup. "What do they call their tribe?" inquired Nahma, "and of what nature is their speech? Doth it resemble ours so that one may comprehend their words?" "They appear to be of many tribes," replied Samoset, "though we call them all 'Yengeese.' Also they speak with many tongues, strange and unpleasant to the ear." "What are they like, these tongues? Hast thou not caught some word that we may hear?" "Often they say 'Hillo' and 'Sacré,'" replied Samoset, "but what these mean I know not. Also, once, where from hiding I watched them cooking fish on a beach, a pebble rolled from me to them. As they sprang up in alarm I slipped away, fearing lest they might take offence. As I did so one of them cried out very loud, 'Mass i-sawit!'" (By the mass I saw it.) "Massasoit," repeated Nahma, thoughtfully. "It hath a familiar sound, and might be a word of the Wampanoags, except that it is without meaning. I long greatly to see these white-skinned fish-catchers and their big canoes that resemble floating hill-tops with trees growing in them. So if it may be arranged I will return with thee, Samoset, to look upon these wonders. But you have said naught of the thunder-sticks about which we hear so much. What of them? Are they indeed as terrible as represented?" Ere Samoset could answer, Nahma received word that Longfeather desired his presence, and, promising shortly to rejoin his companions, he left them. Ten minutes later, without their knowledge or that of any person in all Montaup, save only his parents, the young runner had left his father's lodge bound on a solitary mission, longer, more important, and more dangerous than any he had heretofore undertaken. He was to make his way with all speed and in utmost secrecy to Sacandaga, head sachem of the Maquas, and urge him, in the name of Longfeather, not to treat with the Narragansetts or any other single tribe before the arrival of the Peacemaker's own embassy. Longfeather had given his instructions hastily and in a few words. He had invested the lad with his own superb belt as a badge of authority, and had dismissed him with the peremptory orders of a sachem, delivered in the loving tone of a father who sends his only son into danger. Besides the Belt of Seven Totems, Nahma carried only a bow and arrows slung to his back, a wallet of parched corn bruised in a mortar until it formed a coarse meal, a small fire-bag of flints and tinder, and a copper knife, the precious gift of his father. Having taken but five minutes for preparation, he tenderly embraced his mother and bade her farewell. Filled with a presentiment of coming evil, Miantomet clung to him as though she could not let him go; but, comforting her with loving words, the lad gently disengaged her arms from about his neck and sprang away. In another minute he had plunged into the forest and was lost to sight amid its blackness. For some hours the way was partially revealed by the light of a young moon, and by the time of its setting Nahma had placed a score of miles between him and Montaup. Then, as he could no longer make speed through the darkness, he flung himself down at the foot of a great oak and was almost instantly fast asleep. By earliest dawn he was again on the trail, and all that day he sped forward with hardly a pause. Occasionally he passed a group of bark huts nestled beside some smooth-flowing stream and surrounded by rudely tilled fields; but at none of these did he halt, save only now and then for a few mouthfuls of food. The belt that he wore insured him everywhere a glad welcome and instant service. He forded or swam the smaller streams; while at points where his trail crossed rivers he always found canoes that he did not hesitate to appropriate to his own use if their owners were not at hand. He was on the king's business and nothing might delay it. Thus Nahma sped so swiftly on his errand that an hour before sunset of the second day found him, very weary but exultant, on the eastern bank of the Shatemuc and at the border of the country claimed by the Iroquois, of whom the Maquas were the easternmost tribe. He was farther from home than he had ever been before and in a region of which he had no knowledge. At the same time he knew that the Maquas, being now at peace with the New England tribes, were accustomed to send hunting-parties east of their great river, and so he had hoped to find one or more canoes at the crossing. In this, however, he was disappointed, for, search as he might, he could discover none of the desired craft, though he found a place where several had but recently been concealed. As there were no other traces of human presence in that vicinity, Nahma concluded that the canoes had been taken by persons coming from across the river. He did not suspect that it might have been done by the Narragansetts whom he was striving to outstrip; for thus far he had discovered no sign of them, and had reached a conclusion that they must have taken some other trail. At any rate, there was no canoe to be had, and, as he was determined to cross the river before dark, he must swim it. This he did, keeping dry his scanty clothing and few belongings by floating them on a small raft of bark that he pushed before him. Arrived on the farther side our young runner made a startling discovery. Not only were a number of canoes drawn out on the bank and concealed beneath overhanging bushes, but on the soft ground beside them he found the unmistakable imprint of Narragansett moccasins. Also, a short distance back from the river, he came upon the still smouldering remains of a small fire. At length, then, he was close upon the heels of his rivals, and he must at all hazards pass them that night in order to gain a first hearing from Sacandaga. At the same time he was in immediate need of food and rest, for he was faint with hunger and exhausted by his recent exertions. There was no sign of danger, his rivals had gone on, and the fire they had so kindly provided invited him to cook food that was to be had for the taking. So abounding with fish were all the streams of that land that no one possessed of even ordinary skill at catching them need go hungry. Nahma was well aware of this, and, taking a pinch of his parched corn, he stepped back to the river's bank and cast it upon the water. In another moment he had transfixed with an unerring arrow one of the half-dozen large fish that rushed greedily to the surface, and his supper was provided. Having cooked it and satisfied his ravenous hunger, the lad withdrew to a thicket well beyond the circle of firelight and flung himself down for an hour of sleep before continuing his journey. The young runner was lost to consciousness within a minute after closing his eyes; but not until his heavy breathing gave notice of the fact did a painted savage, who for more than an hour had watched his every movement, drop to the ground from among the branches of a thick-leaved oak. There he had crouched as motionless as a panther awaiting its prey; and now, after stretching his cramped limbs, he stole with catlike tread towards the sleeping youth. CHAPTER IV THE BELT CHANGES HANDS In all the history of the world it has happened that dwellers by the sea have been more advanced and prosperous than their inland neighbors. Thus, in the present instance, the Wampanoags and the Narragansetts were the most numerous and powerful of the New England tribes. There had always been jealousies and often open warfare between them, nor had these wholly ceased to exist upon the election of Longfeather to the high office of Peacemaker. Canonicus, head sachem of the Narragansetts, felt that he was equally entitled to be thus honored, and consequently was bitterly jealous of his successful rival. This feeling was shared by his nephew and adopted son, Miantinomo, only that the envy and hatred of the latter were directed against Nahma, whose place as future ruler of the allied tribes he was determined to occupy, if by any means such a thing might be accomplished. Thus, when Canonicus planned to secure a power greater than that of Longfeather by forming an alliance with the eastern Iroquois, he found in Miantinomo an eager assistant. So, even as the Peacemaker had chosen his own son to represent him in the mission to Sacandaga, Canonicus selected Miantinomo for a similar position in the Narragansett embassy. In this way, without either being aware of the fact, the two young rivals became actively pitted against each other in the most important undertaking of their lives. While urged to make all possible haste, the Narragansett party was obliged to adapt its pace to that of the oldest chief among them; and while they expected that Longfeather would also send messengers to the Maquas, they fancied these would be equally restricted as to speed. They knew that they had a start of at least two days, and believed they could reach Sacandaga's village, transact their business, and depart for home before the coming of their rivals. At the same time they neglected no precaution to insure the success of their undertaking. They struck the Shatemuc at a point much lower than that reached by Nahma, and from it ascended the river in canoes. As they advanced they kept sharp watch of the eastern shore, and removed all craft found on it to the opposite side of the river. Their last exploit of this kind was at a place where they must again take to the land and follow a trail to the Maqua villages. Having thus provided for a further delay of the other party, they felt no apprehension of being overtaken, and proceeded leisurely on their journey. They did, however, take the added precaution of leaving a scout behind them to watch the crossing until sunset. For this purpose they selected Miantinomo, as being the keenest-eyed and swiftest-footed of their party. So Nahma's most active rival and secret enemy was left to cover the rear, while his elders disappeared in single file up the narrow trail. According to Indian custom Miantinomo had brought pigments with him, and now he relieved the tedium of his watch, which he did not believe would amount to anything, by painting his body in anticipation of a speedy arrival at the Maqua villages. So interested was he in this occupation that for a time he forgot everything else; then, startled by a splash in the river, he glanced up. A swimmer, just emerged from deep water, was wading ashore pushing before him a small raft, and Miantinomo instantly recognized him. Being hidden behind a screen of bushes, and satisfied that Nahma was still ignorant of his presence, the young Narragansett, crouching low, made his way to a thick-leaved oak that overhung the trail a short distance back from the river, and was snugly hidden among its branches by the time Nahma gained the land. Miantinomo was not wholly surprised to discover the son of Longfeather at this place; but he could not understand why he should be alone. It must be that he had come to obtain canoes in which to bring over the others of his party. Thus thinking, he expected to see Nahma at once recross the river. In that case he would hasten after his own companions and urge them to travel all night, that they might still reach the Maqua villages in advance of their rivals. But the new-comer failed to do as expected, and Miantinomo was more puzzled than ever at witnessing his preparations to secure a meal and spend some time where he was. He evidently was alone, and after the spy became convinced of this, he wondered if by some means he might not prevent Longfeather's messenger from continuing his journey. He was also filled with a great longing to possess himself of the Belt of Seven Totems, which he recognized as Nahma again assumed it. Well did the young Narragansett realize the power conferred upon the wearer of that belt. If it should be opposed to him in the presence of Sacandaga, then would his mission prove a failure and his uncle's cherished plan would come to naught. On the other hand, if the all-powerful belt could be made to appear in his behalf, if he only might possess it even for a short time, how easy would become his task! From the moment these thoughts entered his mind Miantinomo was determined to acquire the coveted object by any means that should offer. He knew that Nahma would never relinquish the belt of his own free will, and that it must be taken from him by either stealth or force. He knew also that should he succeed in his wicked design he would incur the vengeance of Longfeather, and doubtless bring on a war in which all the New England tribes would be involved. But what of that? Would not the powerful Iroquois fight on the side of the Narragansetts; and, armed with the white man's weapons, might they not successfully defy the world? Filled with these ambitious thoughts, Miantinomo flattened himself closer against the great oak limb and, regardless of the discomfort of his position, watched with glittering eyes every movement of his rival. More than anything else he resembled a venomous serpent awaiting an opportunity to spring upon an unsuspecting victim. At his back was a bow and a quiver of flint-headed arrows, with one of which he might easily have stricken Nahma to the earth at any moment, but he was not yet prepared to shed innocent blood for the accomplishment of his purpose. Besides, he dared not make a movement that might attract the other's attention. So he waited with all the patience of his race and an ever-strengthening resolve to obtain possession of the Peacemaker's belt. In the mean time Nahma, utterly unconscious of the dangerous presence so close at hand, procured, cooked, and ate his supper, selected what he believed to be a safe resting-place, and laid himself down for a nap. The moment for which Miantinomo had waited was at hand, and with noiseless movement he slipped to the ground. For a few seconds he stood motionless behind the tree, to assure himself that his rival had not been aroused; then with catlike tread he stole towards the unsuspecting sleeper. At length he stood beside Nahma and bent over him with the coveted belt easily within his reach. Bits of moonlight sifting through leafy branches fell upon it and upon the upturned face of the sleeper. So profound was his slumber that Miantinomo believed he might remove the belt without disturbing him, and laying his stone-headed war-club within easy reach, he began with the utmost caution to make the attempt. It had very nearly succeeded, and the belt, partially loosened, was within his grasp, when, without warning, Nahma opened his eyes. Miantinomo leaped back at the first sign of waking, and as his victim attempted to gain his feet a crushing blow stretched him again on the ground motionless and to all appearance dead. For a moment the young Narragansett stood ready to repeat his cowardly assault; but, seeing that a second blow was unnecessary, he again bent over the body of his rival and snatched from it the belt for which he had been willing to risk so much. With his prize thus secured, he was about to hasten from the spot when another thought caused him to pause. It would never do to leave the evidence of his crime where it was so certain to be discovered. He had not meant to kill Nahma, and now that the awful deed was committed, he trembled at thought of its possible consequences. Even his own people would regard him with abhorrence if they knew of it, while the vengeance of Longfeather would be swift and terrible. Therefore what he had done must never be known even by his nearest friends, and before leaving that spot he must remove all traces of his murderous deed. Stripping off his scanty raiment that it might not become bloodstained, he lifted the limp form of the stricken youth, and carrying it some distance down the stream, flung it into the river. He heard the heavy splash of the body as it struck the water, but was too nervous to make further inquiry as to its condition. Thus whether it sank or floated he did not know, nor did he seek to discover, but fled from the spot as though pursued. Reaching the place where he had left his garments and the belt, he hastily resumed the former, and concealed the latter beneath them. Then he set forth at top speed to rejoin his companions and report that he had seen nothing alarming during his watch by the river-side. On the following day the Narragansett embassy reached the Maqua villages, where, in spite of their alluring proposition and valuable presents, they were at first received with coldness and suspicion. At the council assembled to hear their talk Sacandaga flatly refused to make an alliance with any one of the New England tribes, and the Narragansetts retired from it believing that the cherished plan of Canonicus must come to naught. That night, however, Miantinomo sought a private interview with the Maqua sachem, and displayed to him the Belt of Seven Totems, which Sacandaga at once recognized, since its fame had spread far and wide. "It is the belt of Longfeather," he said, after a close inspection. "Yes," replied Miantinomo, "it is the belt of the great Peacemaker, who is also my father." "How can that be?" asked the other. "May a man have two fathers?" "By adoption, yes," answered the young Narragansett. "Having no son of his own, Longfeather has adopted the nephew of his friend Canonicus, that in time their tribes may be united under one chief. To the Narragansetts I am known as Miantinomo, but by all others am I called Nahma, son of Longfeather." "I have heard the name and it is described as being that of a most promising warrior," said Sacandaga, regarding the young man with renewed interest. "One blessed with two such fathers should indeed prove himself worthy," was the modest reply. "In proof that I am regarded as a son by Longfeather," he continued, "the Peacemaker has intrusted me with this token of authority. Never before has he parted with it, and to none, save only the mighty chief of the Maquas, whose friendship he greatly desires, would he send it. Also he has done this thing in secret, so that even those who come with me know not that I am intrusted with so great authority." So impressed was Sacandaga by this flattering statement and by sight of the belt offered in evidence of its sincerity, that he not only listened attentively to the young man's proposals, but finally agreed to accept them. "With Canonicus alone I could not have treated," he said, "for he is but one of many; but with Longfeather, who represents the many, I may enter into a compact." "The words of Sacandaga are good," replied Miantinomo, gravely, "and will be as the singing of birds in the ears of Longfeather. At the same time I trust it will not be forgotten that they may not be sent directly to him. For the present he would not have it known that he desires the wealth of the white-skinned strangers. If they think him a friend they will the more readily fall into the snare he will set for them. Therefore, my father, let the public treaty be made only between Sacandaga and Canonicus, for Longfeather will be well pleased to have it so proclaimed." "I understand and will not forget," replied the Maqua chief. Thus through treachery and deceit did the wily young Narragansett gain his point and accomplish the mission with which he had been intrusted by Canonicus. CHAPTER V WHAT THE DAUGHTERS OF KAWERAS FOUND Sacandaga secretly gave to Miantinomo a belt of wampum bearing the emblem of a tortoise, his own totem, to be transmitted to Longfeather, while publicly he gave another to the Narragansett chiefs for Canonicus. After the formalities of the treaty as well as the private negotiations were concluded, Miantinomo urged the immediate departure of his companions lest they might discover his evil doings. Then, having got them well started on their homeward journey, he hastened on in advance. For this he gave an excuse that the whites who were to be plundered might appear at any time, and that every hour was now of importance. His real reason was the belief that Longfeather must also have sent a delegation of chiefs to confer with the Maquas, and a determination to meet them and, if possible, turn them back. So, while his companions took a trail different from the one by which they had come, Miantinomo hastened back to the place where he had encountered Nahma, and found those who had followed the son of Longfeather camped on the opposite bank of the river awaiting the coming of canoes in which to cross over. For some time after his appearance among them they asked no questions, but waited in dignified silence to learn of his errand to them. Finally, the young man said,-- "My fathers, you are following Nahma, the son of Longfeather, on a mission to Sacandaga, the Iroquois. Is it not so?" "It is as my young brother has said," replied one of the chiefs. "Then you may be spared a farther journey," continued Miantinomo, "for Nahma, by virtue of the belt he wore, the great Belt of Seven Totems, readily gained the ear of Sacandaga, even while I and those with me were vainly striving to do so. Thus did he make a treaty with the Iroquois on behalf of Longfeather, his father, and for fear that you might claim a share in the honor he has returned to Montaup by another trail. Even now he travels with those of my people who kept me company. I have come by this trail that I may visit the village of Peace before returning to my father. For this I was heavy-hearted; but now am I glad, because I have met with you, and may so save you a useless journey." For some time the chiefs discussed this report of Miantinomo; and then, because they did not wholly trust him, they decided to retain him as a hostage while one of their number visited the Maqua villages for confirmation of his words. During the absence of this messenger Miantinomo was filled with apprehension, though he carefully hid his feelings and affected the utmost unconcern. He even went so far as to advise Longfeather's commissioners to appropriate to their own use the presents they were bearing to Sacandaga, and seek their respective homes without reporting to the Peacemaker. "The treaty has been made," he said. "The sachem of the Maquas is satisfied and expects nothing further. You have been put to much trouble and will have no share in the honor. Longfeather has no thought that the presents will be returned to him. Therefore is it best that you who have earned them should keep them." To such arguments the chiefs listened not unwillingly; and when their messenger returned with a report that Miantinomo had spoken truly concerning what had taken place in the Maqua village, they decided to accept his advice. "Why should Longfeather have intrusted the Belt of Seven Totems to one so young and inexperienced as Nahma instead of to us?" they asked. "Also why did he not tell us that he had done so? Truly he has shamed us, and if we take his presents to wipe out our shame, then shall we do that which is right and good." Having reached this conclusion, each took a share and went his way; while Miantinomo, rejoicing at the complete success of his evil designs and still wearing next his skin the Belt of Seven Totems that was the badge of highest authority in all that land, returned to his own people. There he busied himself with the secret spreading of various reports concerning the young rival with whom he had dealt so foully. One was that Nahma had taken a Maqua girl to wife and would thereafter dwell among the Iroquois. Another was to the effect that he had been murdered by his companions of Longfeather's embassy for the sake of the belt that he wore, as well as for the presents intrusted to them, which they had taken for their own benefit. From Sacandaga himself Longfeather learned that a young man named Nahma and wearing the Belt of Seven Totems had indeed visited the Maqua villages, from which he had departed again in company with the Narragansett chiefs. Although the latter denied this and declared that they had not seen Nahma, Miantinomo maintained that he had met him in Sacandaga's village and spoken with him. By these and other conflicting stories was the fate of Nahma so shrouded in mystery that it became impossible to discover what had really befallen him, and finally his friends mourned for him as for one who is dead. Even while they thus mourned it became rumored that either Canonicus or Miantinomo, his adopted son, would succeed Longfeather in the high office of Peacemaker and ruler of the allied New England tribes. In the mean time, while all these events were happening, Nahma knew nothing of them nor indeed of anything else, for he lay tossing with fever in the lodge of Kaweras, principal arrow-maker of the Maquas. When, apparently dead, he had been flung into the river to disappear forever from human eyes, he had fallen among a bed of reeds in a place where the water was too shallow to drown him. There he lay motionless through the long night hours, half in the water and half out of it, while the tall reeds whispered and rustled above his head. Soft-flitting night-birds gazed at him with wondering eyes, while timid animals coming to the river to drink sniffed the air tainted by his presence and fled in terror. Towards morning a glimmer of returning life entered the numbed brain, and in striving to obey its commands the poor bruised body began to make feeble movements. By sunrise Nahma was sitting up and gazing stupidly at the green wall by which he was surrounded. Also he muttered over and over, with tedious repetition, three meaningless words: "Hillo, Sacré," and "Massasoit." Other than this he gave no sign of restored consciousness. He did not take heed even when a sound of merry voices came to the place where he sat, nor was his attention attracted by a loud swish and rustle of the reeds that came ever nearer until it was close at hand. Then there was a momentary silence, broken only by the monotonous repetition of "Hillo, Sacré, Massasoit." A stifled exclamation and excited whispers announced that these words had at length reached human ears, but there was an evident hesitation while fear struggled with curiosity. After a minute the reeds in front of Nahma were noiselessly parted, and the bow of a canoe stole into sight inch by inch with almost imperceptible motion. From it peered the face of a young girl, bright and fascinating, but big-eyed with apprehension as that of a startled fawn. As she caught a glimpse of the wounded youth the progress of the canoe was instantly arrested, while the girl became rigidly motionless. Her eyes, however, took in every detail of his appearance and of his melancholy situation. He still appeared to see nothing and still repeated the words that had attracted attention, "Hillo, Sacré, Massasoit." [Illustration: AS SHE CAUGHT A GLIMPSE OF THE WOUNDED YOUTH THE PROGRESS OF THE CANOE WAS INSTANTLY ARRESTED] "What is it, sister? What do you see?" came in a frightened whisper from an unseen speaker who occupied the farther end of the canoe; but the other, still gazing motionless, made no reply. "Aeana," insisted the invisible one in a louder tone, "tell me quickly what you see. I am frightened." "I see nothing to be afraid of, Otshata," replied the girl in the bow of the canoe. "It is a young man, but he is evidently sorely wounded and regards not our presence. There, you may see for yourself." With this the girl called Aeana pulled the canoe into such a position that the other could catch a glimpse of Nahma. "It is certain that he is handsome," whispered Otshata; "but is not his condition dreadful? Let us hasten and report it to our father." "No," answered Aeana, decisively. "That is," she added, "we will return to our father, and that quickly, but we must either take this young man with us or leave him to perish. See you not that the river is flowing backward and that its waters are rising? If we leave him he must die, since he is in no condition to care for himself. How we may get him into the canoe I know not, but if that can be done we will carry him to Kaweras, our father." The elder though more timid sister attempted a further expostulation, but without heeding her Aeana brought the canoe close to where the wounded youth still sat, indifferent alike to his fate and his surroundings, idly repeating the strange words that had fixed themselves in his bewildered brain. Aeana spoke to him, but he failed to comprehend what she said. She laid a gentle hand on his arm and endeavored to persuade him into the canoe, but he sat passively motionless. Finally in despair the girl uttered one of the strange words that he so constantly repeated. "Massasoit," she said, and the youth looked at her, seeming for the first time to recognize her presence. A faint smile flickered across his blood-smeared features, and he made a movement towards her. In another moment, aided by her supple strength, he had gained the interior of the canoe, and lay weakly with closed eyes while the two girls pulled it out from among the reeds. Then seizing their paddles, they urged the light craft swiftly down the river towards their father's lodge. Thus did the daughters of Kaweras, who had been sent to fetch a bundle of stout reeds that might serve as shafts for bird arrows, return without them, but bringing a wounded and unconscious youth in their place. Although the old arrow-maker saw at a glance that the young warrior was not of the Maqua, nor even of the Iroquois people, his ideas of hospitality did not permit him to ask questions nor hesitate a moment before attending to the stranger's needs. It required the united strength of father and daughters to transfer Nahma from canoe to lodge, and when he was finally laid in the latter on a hastily improvised couch of boughs and skins, he was once more to all appearance dead. CHAPTER VI IN THE LODGE OF THE ARROW-MAKER The lodge of Kaweras, occupied only by him and his two daughters, stood by itself in a grassy glade shaded by elms on the western bank of the lordly Shatemuc. Close at hand flowed a spring of crystal water, while at no great distances were abundant materials for the prosecution of the old arrow-maker's trade. Nearby hills furnished him with flints and slate, agate and milk-white quartz; stout reeds and tough, straight-grained woods were to be had for the taking. Deer of the forest yielded him their strong back-sinews for binding arrow-head to shaft, and myriads of sea-fowl flying up or down the broad river gave him of their feathers. In his younger days Kaweras had been a noted warrior. Now he was the most expert arrow-maker of the region in which he dwelt. He was also a mystic, a prophet, and one well versed in the science of healing by means of herbs, roots, bark, and leaves. In his double capacity of arrow-maker and medicine-man Kaweras was much sought after, and though his lodge stood remote from any village of his people, it was rarely without visitors. Young warriors came for arrows and to catch glimpses of his pretty daughters; their elders came to consult with him concerning grave affairs; while many of all ages and both sexes came for healing or to profit by his advice. As all brought gifts, Kaweras was well-to-do, and his larder was always stocked with choicest products of forest and field without effort on his own part or that of his daughters. These last kept tidy the spacious lodge with its three divisions, of which only the outer one was for the general public, prepared the family meals, and did much sewing with needles of fishbone threaded with fibre or sinew. At the same time they found abundant leisure for paddling on the river in their canoe of white birch brought from the far north and for attending to the needs of their pets, two tame fawns and a large flock of wild ducks bred in captivity. Also they helped their father in the making of arrows, and especially in the gathering of material. With this busy but uneventful life the elder sister was quite content, but Aeana always longed for excitement and adventure. Now she had found both in the coming to their quiet lodge of a stranger, young, mysterious, wounded to the point of death, and speaking a language to which even the wisdom of her father could find no clue. Furthermore, she regarded him with a proprietary interest, for had she not discovered him and rescued him from almost certain destruction? During the long illness that followed his coming, and while he lay oblivious to his surroundings, she often gazed curiously upon his face, listened to the three strange words that he repeated to the exclusion of all others, and speculated concerning him. She became impatient for him to get well that he might tell her who he was, where he came from, and how he happened to be in the sad plight that had so nearly proved fatal. She would have talked of him to their many visitors but for her father's expressed wish that Nahma's presence in their lodge should be kept a secret from all men. Kaweras hoped thus to learn something concerning him from unguarded conversations, but in this he was disappointed. It is true that he heard of the mysterious disappearance of Nahma, the son of Longfeather, but whenever that youth was mentioned Miantinomo was described, and as this description did not coincide in any particular with the appearance of his patient, he had no reason to connect the two. Otshata was quite as much interested in the young stranger as was her sister, but in another way. She thought him very handsome, which Aeana would not admit, and secretly rejoiced in the helplessness that depended so largely upon her gentle ministrations. She had the motherly instinct that found pleasure in self-sacrifice, and from the first constituted herself chief nurse of the stricken youth. For a long time it was doubtful if Nahma would ever recover from the illness by which he was prostrated; but after it finally took a turn for the better he began rapidly to mend. On the day that he first ventured outside the lodge into the freedom of open air there was much rejoicing in the little family, but it was tinged with sadness. Although weak and emaciated from his long sickness, he was still a goodly youth to look upon, and gave promise of speedily regaining his physical powers; but his mind was that of a child. He could neither tell nor remember anything of his former life, even its language was lost to him, and he could converse only in such words of the Iroquois tongue as he had acquired from his present associates. As he could not tell them his name, they called him "Massasoit," from the word he had most frequently uttered during his delirium, and this he accepted as readily as he did all else that they offered him. While thus compelled to relearn everything that required mental effort, it was soon discovered that he had lost none of his cunning in matters calling for physical strength or skill. He could still shoot an arrow or hurl a spear with unerring aim, was rarely at fault on the dimmest trail, and proved himself an adept in such branches of Indian handiwork as usually fell to the share of warriors, such as the fashioning of weapons or the building of canoes. He soon regained a muscular strength even greater than that with which he had been endowed before his illness, while his fleetness of foot excited the wonder of his friends. With all this Nahma was gentle and submissive to authority, a trait that aroused the utmost scorn in the mind of Aeana. From the time his mental weakness was discovered this high-spirited girl treated him as she would a child, bidding him come or go, fetch or carry, according as she felt inclined, and apparently she despised him for his ready obedience to her orders. He, on the other hand, regarded her with an intense admiration and sought in every way to win her favor. All his trophies of the chase were laid at her feet only to be contemptuously rejected or flung to Otshata. In the latter, however, the young man found a friend to whom his misfortune appealed so keenly that she treated him with unwearied kindness and tenderest consideration. He called her "sister," a term that he dared not apply to Aeana, and poured all his troubles into her sympathetic ear. One day Nahma returned hot and weary from a chase that had lasted many hours and presented a noble stag to Aeana. Without taking notice of the gift, and careless of his evident weariness, she bade him fetch her water from the spring. As he willingly departed on this mission she regarded him with curling lip, and when he returned bearing a large earthen jar of water that he set before her, she promptly overturned it so that its contents were spilled. At the same time she uttered the single word "squaw" with an accent of utter contempt and entered the lodge, leaving him bewildered and mortified. Walking slowly towards the river, he discovered Otshata seated in a shaded nook on its bank embroidering a moccasin with painted quills. "My sister, why does Aeana hate me?" he asked, as he flung himself despondently on the turf beside her. "She hates thee not, my brother," replied the other, interrupting her work to look at him. "Truly she does. In every word and by every act she shows her dislike," declared Nahma, bitterly. "She would be glad never to see me more, and I will go away rather than remain longer to displease her by my presence." "Speak not of such a thing!" exclaimed Otshata. "Whither would you go, and what should we do without our hunter? If Aeana seems to treat thee unkindly, it is only to inspire thee with a braver spirit. She likes it not that one come to the estate of a warrior should tamely serve her. She would have thee do brave deeds, and also she would have thee remember thy past. Canst thou not do this, and by hard thinking recall some one thing? Who was thy father? Who struck the cruel blow that so nearly ended thy life? Who are thy people? Are they the Saganaga of the south, the Oneidas of the west, or wast thou born among the fish-eaters who dwell in the country of sunrising? I will not ask if thou hast Huron blood in thy veins; for in spite of thy moccasins I feel assured that thou art not of that wicked people." By this reference Otshata recalled the fact that, when found wounded in the river sedge, Nahma had on his feet a pair of Huron-made moccasins procured in the village of Peace to replace others worn out by his journey; but of these he could give no account. "I strive to remember," declared the youth, vehemently. "Night and day, sleeping and waking, I think till my head seems like to burst, but 'tis of no use. The only life that I know is here, and if I have had another, it is gone from me like a dream of the black hours. So it is well that I should go away, and if these Hurons be thy enemies and the enemies of Aeana, then will I go and fight against them that she may no longer despise and hate me." "No, no!" cried Otshata. "Think not of the war-path, my brother. The Hurons are very fierce and terrible and cruel. Also they are so filled with evil designs that only the wisest and most experienced warriors may hope for success against them. Thee they would easily kill; or, what is worse, they would take advantage of thy simplicity to adopt thee and make thee sharer of their wickedness." At this point the conversation was interrupted by a summons from Kaweras bidding Massasoit come to him quickly. While it had been comparatively easy to keep secret the presence of a stranger in the lodge of Kaweras during his illness, it became impossible to do so after he was out and about. So a knowledge of the mysterious youth who could remember nothing of his past speedily became noised abroad, and many persons, attracted by curiosity, came to see him. The victim of these interviews dreaded them so intensely that he spent much time in remote forest depths to avoid them. Now, however, he was fairly caught, and going reluctantly to the lodge, followed at a distance by Otshata, he found himself in the presence of a distinguished-looking chieftain who was seated on a robe beside Kaweras. Behind them stood a group of warriors. As Nahma drew near the eyes of all these were fixed intently upon him, though no word was spoken until he paused within a few paces of his host. CHAPTER VII NAHMA JOINS A WAR-PARTY "Massasoit," said Kaweras, as the young man regarded him inquiringly, "I would have plumes from Ke-neu, the great eagle, to make a war-bonnet. He waits yonder for an invitation to come to us. Can you persuade him?" With this the speaker pointed upward to where a golden eagle, attracted by a bait of raw flesh placed temptingly at some distance from the lodge, circled on motionless pinions. Glancing in the direction indicated, Nahma stepped within the lodge, from which he quickly reappeared bearing a bow and three arrows. Again taking his station in front of Kaweras, he stood for a moment motionless, watching intently the movements of the eagle, that still circled slowly downward. One arrow was fitted to the bowstring, while the other two were stuck in the ground before him. Suddenly the youth lifted his weapon and let fly its feathered dart. Then he shot twice more with such marvellous rapidity of motion that the third arrow was leaving the bow ere the first had reached its mark. As the spectators uttered an involuntary exclamation of amazement, the great bird, evidently stricken to its death, plunged dizzily downward with feebly beating wings. "Bring it," said the sachem, addressing those who stood behind him, and each taking the command to himself, all sprang away in a breathless race for the trophy. "Do thou bring it," said Kaweras to Nahma. Instantly the young bowman darted forward with such amazing swiftness that, despite the distance already gained by the others, he overtook and passed them ere they could reach the coveted goal. As he picked up the dead bird and bore it back the others made way for him, nor did one offer to take from him the prize that he had thus twice won. As he laid it at the feet of Kaweras the bird was seen to be transfixed by three arrows. "The young man should be named Sharp-eye, Quick-hand, and Swift-foot," exclaimed the visiting sachem, who was none other than Sacandaga, "for he has proved himself to excel the best of my warriors in all these things. Not until this day have I believed the tales told me touching his skill; but now I know them to have been less than the truth. If he be as fearless as he is quick he should take high rank as a warrior. How say you, Massasoit? Will you go with me and my young men to do battle with the Hurons, who are reported to have taken the war-path against us?" For a moment the youth hesitated. He glanced at the old arrow-maker, whose features were unmoved and who made no sign. Then he looked towards Otshata, whose face showed her distress and who made an imploring gesture for him to decline the offer. Finally he turned to Aeana, who stood motionless and with averted gaze, but her attitude and expression were unmistakable. They said as plainly as words, "He is a squaw and dares not face the war-path." In an instant Nahma's resolution was taken, and he answered Sacandaga, saying,-- "I am without experience of the war-path, nor have I knowledge of any people save only of these, my father and my sisters. If, however, these Hurons be the enemies of Kaweras and of his daughters, then will I gladly go with thee to fight against them." "It is well," replied Sacandaga, greatly pleased to have gained so promising a recruit. "Spend thou the night with my young men, who will instruct thee concerning many things, and in the morning will we set forth." Some hours later, when the camp-fires had burned low and the recumbent forms gathered about them were buried in slumber, two men issued silently from the lodge of Kaweras and made their way to a secluded spot on the river-bank, where they believed they might discuss weighty matters without danger of being overheard. They were Sacandaga and the old arrow-maker, and when they had gained the place they sought the latter broke the silence by saying,-- "It is now many days since I became aware that Sacandaga proposed to honor my poor lodge by a visit. Also am I informed of his object in coming, though he has told it to no man." "How may such a thing be?" asked the other. "To all men come dreams, but to a few only is given the power of understanding them," replied Kaweras. "The many dream dreams and forget them on waking. Some indeed recall them and make vain efforts to comprehend their meaning; but to Kaweras a dream speaks a language as easy of understanding as the signs of the forest or the voices of birds that dwell among its branches." "So I have heard, and for that reason have I come to thee," said Sacandaga. "Tell me, then, what is my desire and if it may be accomplished." "The Hurons are reported to be gathering on the war-path leading to the country of the Iroquois, and thy desire is to proceed with such promptness against them that they may be surprised and destroyed while still in their own territory. Then would you descend on their villages and wipe them out, that the power of our enemies may be broken forever." "That is indeed a hope that I have cherished, but always in secret, and for my brother to know of it is proof that I have not done wrong in coming to him for advice," said Sacandaga. "How, then, Kaweras, will this plan of mine succeed, and shall we thus rid ourselves of the wolves whose howling has so long troubled our ears?" The prophet hesitated before making reply. Then he said slowly, "Sometimes the dream-pictures are so plenty and come so quickly that it is hard to make out one from another, as it is hard to understand the words of one man when many are talking. I see a fight. In it are Maquas and Hurons. The Maquas chase their enemies and kill them. It is morning and the sun is shining. Also with this picture I see another battle in which the Hurons are overcoming the Maquas and taking many prisoners. In this one is thunder and lightning, by which many are killed. Which is the true picture I know not, nor how to advise my brother concerning them." "Then will I interpret and tell thee their meaning," exclaimed Sacandaga. "Both are true, and their meaning is this. I and my young men are to go on the war-path against the Huron dogs and will surely encounter them. If we do so on a fair morning when there is no sign of storm in the air, then shall we overcome them and wipe them from the face of the earth. If we should meet them in the morning and delay an attack until later in the day, then would the Great Spirit grow angry and send his lightnings to destroy us. It is well, my brother. I will remember to seek the enemy on a fair morning and avoid him on a day of storm. Now I would ask thee one more question. What do thy dreams tell of the young man who is called Massasoit?" "This only," answered Kaweras, "that he is the son of a chieftain, and will himself become a leader of men, wiser even and more powerful than his father." "But who is his father?" "I know not, though of late I have come to a suspicion that this young man may be Nahma, the missing son of Longfeather." "That cannot be, for I have had dealings with the son of Longfeather and know that he and this youth are not one person." "Did not that one also claim to be a son of Canonicus?" "He did so claim." "Then he may have spoken falsely; for Uncas, the Mohican, hath lately sent me word that Nahma and Miantinomo are two separate persons, holding no love for each other and having nothing in common." "If the words of Uncas should prove true and it shall appear that I have been led falsely into a treaty with Canonicus, then shall the wrath of Sacandaga fall upon the Narragansetts even as one destroys a serpent that has stung him. I will look closely into the matter when I have returned from dealing with the Hurons. Until then it is well that I keep this young man where I may watch over him." In the mean time the youth under discussion had just passed the pleasantest evening his short memory could recall. He was like a boy brought up in a nursery with only girls for companions, at length set free and for the first time admitted to the company of men. He had no recollection of companions of his own age and sex, so that the young warriors who now welcomed him to their ranks were revelations as surprising as they were interesting. How much they knew, and what wonderful things they told him! At the same time how delightful was it to listen to their praise of his own accomplishments! Until now he had not known that he possessed accomplishments, but supposed that every one could shoot and run equally well with himself. He could not remember having learned to do these things, nor had he found occasion since entering the lodge of Kaweras to test his skill in them against that of others. Now, therefore, he was surprised as well as pleased to find himself in the position of a hero on account of abilities that he had heretofore regarded as commonplace. So pleasant was the evening thus spent with his new companions that when Sacandaga gave the signal for conversation to cease that his young men might sleep and so prepare for an early start on the morrow, Nahma was filled with eager anticipations of the new life opening before him, and already wondered how he could have been content with that passed in the lodge of Kaweras. With the earliest promise of dawn he was first of all the sleeping warriors to spring to his feet and begin preparations for departure. Such as he had to make were few and simple, but to him they were of vast importance. New moccasins and leggings of buckskin, a light robe of soft furs in which to wrap himself at night, and a wing feather from the great eagle for his head completed his list of personal belongings. Besides these he would take a bow and the quiver of fine flint-headed arrows that Kaweras presented to him that morning, his stone hatchet or tomahawk, and the copper scalping-knife that was his sole relic of a former but unremembered life. Also he must furnish to the general stock of provisions a large, close-woven basket of parched corn. By sunrise a meal had been hastily eaten and everything was in readiness for the setting forth of the war-party. Kaweras embraced Nahma and bade him make for himself a name. Tears streamed down the cheeks of Otshata as she bade him farewell and pressed into his hands a pair of daintily embroidered moccasins as a token of remembrance. The youth looked on all sides for Aeana, but she was nowhere to be seen. Only after his canoe was well out on the river and he glanced back for a farewell view of the place that had been to him a home did he see, standing on a slight elevation and gazing in his direction, a solitary figure that he knew to be that of the girl who scorned him. Some days later he found tucked down in the toe of one of Otshata's moccasins an exquisite little tinder-bag of softest fawn-skin that he had last seen hanging from the shapely neck of Aeana. CHAPTER VIII TWO YOUNG SCOUTS For two days did Sacandaga's little expedition proceed up the Shatemuc, now making tedious carries around roaring waterfalls, and again laboriously hauling their laden canoes up some stretch of tumultuous rapids. At one of these places Sacandaga, bidding Nahma accompany him, left the river and made his way swiftly along a broad trail that led to the westward. After following it for a while they came to a place of many springs delightfully shaded by giant trees. Although no human being was to be seen, there were on all sides remnants of former encampments. Also the ground about certain of the springs was worn bare by innumerable hoof-prints, showing that deer and other animals were accustomed to gather here in great numbers. Deeply marked trails leading from every direction centred here, as though the springs formed a meeting-place for all people. As Nahma noted these things Sacandaga smiled at his expression of astonishment. "It is Sara Tioga, the place of healing," he said. "To it come all who are sick or suffer pain that they may drink of the medicine waters and be cured. Many would be here now but for the report that an enemy is coming this way. When we have wiped him out then will we return hither, that we may rejoice with feasting and dancing. At that time will be seen a great gathering of the Iroquois, for this is the place of all their places that they most love. Now, however, we may tarry only long enough to drink of the life-giving waters and then must we hasten forward. In drinking take careful note of the spring most offensive to thy taste, for thus may be discovered which one is most needful to thy well-being." So Nahma drank of all the springs, finding some of them salt, some sparkling with effervescence, and others so nauseous that he turned from them in disgust. "I like none of them and will drink no more," he finally declared. "Then must all of them be for thy good and thou must stand in need of all the elements they contain," answered his companion, who cared to hear naught but praise of his beloved springs. "But let us go, for we have no time to lose." As they turned to depart from the beautiful place, Nahma suddenly sprang upon his companion with such violence that Sacandaga was hurled to the ground and the young man fell with him. At the same moment an arrow was buried to its shaft in the trunk of a beech a few paces in front of them, where it stood quivering with the force that had sped it. Even as he fell Nahma bounded up, and an instant later, when the startled sachem also gained his feet, he saw the young warrior darting back in the direction from which they had just come. At the same time a third figure hideously daubed with war-paint appeared in plain view. He stood directly in front of the rash youth with bended bow and a second arrow drawn to its head. Quick as thought Nahma dropped, and the feathered missile flew harmlessly above him. As he again leaped to his feet his assailant turned to fly, but ere he had taken half a dozen steps he sprang convulsively into the air and plunged headlong with outstretched arms. An arrow sped from Sacandaga's bow had passed through his body. "Why did you kill him?" asked Nahma, regretfully, as the two stood together looking down on the still twitching body of their late foe. "Is it not what my young brother would have done?" inquired Sacandaga, in surprise. "No; I would have caught him and made him tell me things." "What things?" "Why he hid from us and tried to kill us, who he was, and what he was doing here. I do not remember seeing him among thy young men." Sacandaga smiled grimly. "He seems to have escaped being seen until he came within range of Quick-eye's vision; but all thy questions may be answered in a word. He is a Huron." "A Huron!" cried Nahma. "How may that be, when he looks like other men? I thought a Huron was a wolf. Surely my father has said so." "A Huron is a wolf in spirit," replied Sacandaga, as he stooped and deftly removed the dead man's scalp, "but the wolfish spirit is concealed beneath the semblance of a man." "Then how may one know a Huron?" asked the puzzled youth. "By his paint, his moccasins, the cut of his scalp-lock, the fashion of his weapons, his cast of feature, and by a thousand other signs as plain as the difference between light and darkness." All these things had once been well known to Nahma; but now they were as though he had never before heard of them, and he listened eagerly to the words of Sacandaga's lesson. "This time," concluded the sachem, "my young brother has done well, and to his quickness of sight combined with promptness of action do I owe my life. But never again, my son, run openly upon an enemy without first knowing his strength. It is seldom that a Huron spy comes alone into the Iroquois country, and had there been others, or even one other, with this one, thy death had been certain. Always when surprised seek first a place of hiding from which to discover the strength of thy enemy and plan for meeting him." The Huron scout who had just paid the penalty of his daring was one of two sent to discover if the Iroquois had knowledge concerning the projected invasion of their country. His companion had remained with their canoe at the upper end of Andia-ta-roc-te (Lake George) while he had penetrated the country as far as the springs of healing, where, if the Iroquois felt themselves secure from invasion, he was certain to discover a number of their lodges. He was greatly disappointed at finding the place unoccupied, and was about to retrace his steps with the information that an alarm had been given, when Sacandaga and his young companion appeared on the scene. Hiding like a snake in the grass, the Huron watched these two with longing eyes while waiting to see if they would be followed by others. He recognized Sacandaga, and was determined if possible to carry back with him the scalp of that redoubtable chieftain. An opportunity came as his enemies turned to depart, and he cautiously brought his bow into position. At that instant Nahma, glancing back, caught sight of a tip of the weapon projecting above the tall grasses and did the only thing possible to save his companion's life. As the fortunate survivors of this episode left the scene of its occurrence they took a path leading northward, and after a time came again to the Shatemuc, having cut off a great bend of the river that the canoes must necessarily follow. As they went they discovered the slight trail left by the Huron scout, but at the river it was lost. Wading to the opposite bank, Nahma soon recovered it, and asked permission to follow it farther; but Sacandaga would not grant this until the arrival of the canoes. Then, after briefly relating what had happened, he selected a young warrior already famous as a trailer and ordered him to accompany Nahma over the path the Huron had come. This warrior was named Ah-mik-pan-pin, or the Grinning Beaver, on account of two prominent front teeth over which his lips were never wholly closed. "Have a care," said Sacandaga on parting with the young men, "and run no risks for the sake of scalps. What I desire is a knowledge of the party to which that Huron belonged. I would know how large it is, where it is camped, and whether it is coming or going. Find out these things as quickly as may be and come again with thy news. The Maquas will sleep to-night at the foot of the great rock by the shore of the wide waters. They will have no fire and will make no sound, but he who utters the cry of wah-o-nai-sa (the whippoorwill) twice and then once will be answered by the same cry once and then twice. Go thou and come again quickly." With this Nahma and Grinning Beaver set forth, and were instantly lost to view in the thickness of the forest. For two hours they sped forward without a pause, then they began to see spaces of light through the trees, and the Beaver intimated that they must now exercise the greatest caution. "This trail will not lead us to them," he whispered, "for they will have moved to one side or the other after their runner left. Let us, then, go separately to the water's edge, thou on the one side and I on the other. Whoever reaches the beach first shall utter the cry of wah-o-nai-sa, and if it be not quickly answered he shall return to see what is wrong. Is it well?" "It is well," replied Nahma, and the two went their respective ways as agreed. With the utmost caution and without a sound louder than his own breathing did Nahma circle towards the lighted space marking the limit of the forest. All at once he stopped and listened. From behind him, faint and distant, he had heard an unmistakable exclamation of surprise. It was not repeated nor did he hear further sounds, but it was enough, and after a moment of listening he started back over the way he had come. He found the place where he had parted from his companion, and then followed the slight trail made by the latter. Suddenly and without warning he came upon a sight so startling that he stood in his tracks like one petrified, gazing at it with dilated eyes. Two warriors locked in a deadly embrace lay motionless on the ground. Their surroundings were drenched with blood, and to all appearance both were dead. Nahma stooped over them, and saw to his horror that one of the faces, so swollen and distorted that he had not sooner recognized it, was that of his recent comrade. The other was a Huron, and a knife still clutched by the Beaver's hand was buried to the hilt in his heart. At the same time his own fingers held the throat of the young Iroquois with a grip like that of a vise. It required all of Nahma's strength to unlock that death-clutch, but at length he succeeded, and the two mortal foes so recently thrilled with vigorous life lay side by side stark and rigid. CHAPTER IX ON THE LAKE Nahma gazed about him in dismay. Night was coming on, he was alone in a place of which he had no knowledge, and he believed himself surrounded by enemies. He even fancied he could see dark faces peering at him from behind the shadowy tree-trunks. Above all, the companion upon whom he had relied for guidance and counsel lay dead at his feet. Although a savage himself, accustomed only to savage sights and ways, our lad had seen so little of death that this last fact seemed incredible. He kneeled beside the Beaver and gazed into his face, calling him by name in a low voice and bidding him open his eyes. As he did this the dreadful aspect of the face on which he was looking suggested another that he had seen but a week earlier. It had been that of a man drowned in the Shatemuc and brought to the lodge of Kaweras. To all appearance he was dead, and yet the old arrow-maker had restored him to life. Nahma remembered perfectly what was done at that time, for he had closely watched every operation, and had even assisted Kaweras in his efforts. Now, in his despair over the present situation, but feeling that he could not yield to it without making some attempt at its betterment, he set to work upon the Beaver exactly as Kaweras had done with the drowned man. He turned the body on its face, drew forward the tongue, and cleared the mouth of froth. Then by rolling the body on its side and back again, at the same time applying a gentle pressure to back and breast, he forced air into and expelled it again from the lungs, thus producing an artificial breathing. After that he sought to restore circulation by rubbing upward along the legs. In all his efforts he was without hope of success and only worked for the sake of doing something. He was therefore utterly amazed as well as overjoyed to detect in his patient a slight gasping for breath. He could scarcely believe he had heard aright until it was repeated, and then he knew that the Beaver was still to be counted among those who lived. Without thought of the danger from probable enemies, Nahma sprang to his feet, started towards the lake for water, and had gone half-way before he recalled that he had nothing in which to fetch it. Upon this he ran back, and picking up the still unconscious form of his companion, staggered to the beach with it in his arms. On his way he ran across a canoe concealed in a clump of bushes, but paid no attention to it for the moment. As he laid his burden on the sand and glanced up to see if they were still safe from the presence of enemies, he detected a vague form some distance up the beach that disappeared within the forest even as he looked. It must of course be a Huron warrior, and doubtless others were with him. In that case to remain where they were meant certain destruction, and there was but one way to save his helpless companion as well as himself. The canoe that he had just discovered would at least bear them away from the treacherous forest and give them a fighting chance for their lives in the open. In another minute Nahma had launched the light craft, placed his comrade inside, and was paddling furiously out over the lake. He had not gone more than one hundred yards when a series of yells from behind, and a flight of arrows sent with deadly intent, showed that his escape was discovered. Most of the arrows fell short, and none of them inflicted any damage. At the same time Nahma, glancing back, thought he saw other canoes coming down the coast. It was now so nearly dark that all objects were indistinct, and if he could only maintain his lead for a short time longer he might still evade his pursuers. So the tired youth infused new energy into his paddling and urged his craft forward with redoubled speed. As he knew nothing of the lake, he had no idea where to look for the great rock beside which Sacandaga was to spend the night, nor was the Beaver in any condition to afford him information. So he held a course as far as possible from both shores and continued his paddling until nearly midnight, when he was forced by sheer exhaustion to give it over. Dark as was the night, our lad could still distinguish the darker forms of occasional islands as he passed them, and at length drawing cautiously in towards one of these, he made a landing. In all this time the Beaver had been slowly struggling back to life, but he was still devoid of strength or a knowledge of his surroundings. So Nahma prepared as well as he could a bed of branches and grass, to which he bore his comrade. He also dragged up the canoe and turned it on its side to provide shelter from a drizzle of chill rain that was beginning to fall. Having completed these simple preparations, the youth ate a handful of parched corn drawn from his wallet, and lying down beside the Beaver was almost instantly fast asleep. In regard to the necessaries of life the American of that day was in no degree removed from the beasts of the field. Like them he could thrive upon the natural products of the forest, and he also found its shelters sufficient for his needs even in the most inclement weather. With materials for a feast at hand he feasted; but when they were lacking he went without food uncomplainingly and for incredible lengths of time. If in the present instance our lad had dared allow himself the luxury of a fire he would quickly have acquired all the comforts of a home, including an abundance of cooked food, a good bed, warmth, and light. As it was he accepted cold, wet, hunger, and a most uncomfortable resting-place as things liable to be encountered at any time in the ordinary course of events. The remainder of the night passed without incident, and by dawn Nahma was once more alert. His first move was to climb a tall tree that stood close at hand and take a comprehensive survey of the lake. Seeing it thus for the first time by daylight, he was impressed by its marvellous beauty. Its blue waters were dotted with islands all wooded and blending every shade of green. On both sides forest-covered hills rose abruptly from the shore, and back of them towered mountains higher than any he had ever seen. The lake was nowhere more than a mile or two in width, and to the northward it narrowed rapidly. Having gazed as long as he dared on the outspread beauties of the scene, and satisfied himself that nothing was in motion on the face of the waters, the youth descended from his observatory and proceeded to make ready a breakfast. He was tired of parched corn, and his ravenous appetite demanded something more substantial. He even decided to run the risk of a fire. So he gathered a small quantity of dry, hard wood that would burn with the least amount of smoke, and, after an exasperating struggle with flints and tinder, caught a spark that was finally fanned into a brisk blaze. With the making of a fire the hardest part of his breakfast-getting was ended, although he had as yet nothing to cook. Five minutes later, however, he was in possession of a large pickerel and two good-sized bass, all of which had been enticed within striking distance of his arrows by a bait of worms. These fish wrapped in green leaves were buried under a bed of coals, and while they were cooking Nahma gathered berries. When all was in readiness, he was vastly disappointed to find that his companion was unable to share in the meal. The Beaver had so far recovered that he was able to sit up and take an intelligent interest in what was going on. The expression of longing with which he regarded those baked fish left no doubt that he, too, was hungry; but, alas! he could not swallow food. His throat was so swollen that he could not even speak, and he still breathed with difficulty. He was so parched with thirst that he managed after a painful struggle to swallow a few drops of water, but that was all. So Nahma was reluctantly obliged to eat alone while his companion watched him enviously. As he ate, the former told what he knew concerning the events of the preceding evening, and the Beaver learned for the first time that they were on an island far down the lake in hiding from a war-party of Hurons. He had wondered at finding himself alone with Nahma instead of in Sacandaga's company, but had supposed that they were within a short distance of the great rock, as he knew had been the case when they first gained the lake-shore. His distress at being unable to ask questions and express his views on the situation was so evident as to suggest a possible remedy, upon which Nahma immediately set to work. First he stripped some sheets of bark from a white birch, and with them fashioned a rude but water-tight bowl that would hold about a gallon. This he partially filled with water. In the mean time he had thrown into the fire some large beach pebbles, and these were now thoroughly heated. Lifting them with forked sticks and dropping them into the bowl, he almost instantly had hot water, with which he bade the Beaver bathe his throat. While the latter was doing this Nahma bethought himself to climb once more into his observatory for another look at the lake. As he gained the highest available branch and glanced back over the way they had come he uttered an exclamation of dismay. Not more than two miles distant was a fleet of canoes advancing directly towards him. He could plainly see the flash of their paddles and note their movements as they separated or closed together. There was no doubt but that the enemy from whom he had fled was again close upon him, and to remain on that island meant certain discovery, since no Indian would pass a fire without finding out by whom it had been kindled. To leave the island and make for the mainland on either side was out of the question, for their moving canoe would surely be discovered. Thus the only thing remaining to be done was to proceed straight down the lake, with the hope of gaining another place of concealment while still hidden by the island from those who came behind. With this plan formed our young warrior hastily descended the tree, told his companion that the Hurons were again in hot pursuit, and bundled him into the canoe ere he had time to gain further information. Then Nahma gave him a paddle and told him that if he valued his life he must put forth whatever of strength he had remaining. CHAPTER X AN OKI OF THE WATERS As Nahma had intended remaining on the island until his companion fully recovered from his injuries, he had not hurried with anything that he had done that morning. Consequently it was mid-day when the flight was resumed and the fugitives again headed their canoe down the lake, keeping the island directly behind them as a screen from their pursuers. Although working furiously at his paddle, Nahma glanced behind him every few moments, and as time passed was amazed that the enemy did not come into sight. At length, after a couple of hours of incessant labor, the canoe rounded a bold headland that nearly cut the lake in twain, and was hidden behind it from any who might be following. Here the lake was very narrow, and Nahma proposed that they should run the canoe ashore, hide it, and seek to rejoin their friends by land. "No," said the Beaver, who had recovered his power of speech. "If the Hurons are following us, they will surely have scouts in the forest on both sides. We should be certain to fall in with these, and I am not yet ready for fighting. Now that we have come thus far by water, let us keep on. At a short distance from here this lake ends, but it is joined to another much larger. On that other a canoe may go north even to the country of the Hurons. It may also go south to the land of the Iroquois. Let us, then, find the big water and turn to the south, for if those following us be Hurons they will certainly hold a course to the northward." "We will do as my brother says," replied Nahma, delighted to have again the counsel of his more experienced companion. So the course of the canoe was continued, but only Nahma now wielded a paddle. The Beaver had been so much benefited by hot-water applications and by the subsequent exercise of paddling that his throat was again serviceable. Not only could he talk but he believed he could eat, and as Nahma had brought along one of the three fish caught for breakfast, he made the attempt with such gratifying success that it quickly disappeared. Being thus refreshed and strengthened, he began to question his companion concerning the events of the preceding night. When Nahma related the finding of the two mortal enemies clutched in a death-grapple the Beaver said,-- "It is so. As I saw the Huron he saw me, and we sprang at each other with our knives, for we were too close to use bows or even the tomahawk. His knife broke, and as I drove mine into his body his fingers closed about my throat. Ugh! It was the grip of a bear, and I could not loose it. Again and again did I bury my knife in his heart, but he would not let go. Then all became black and I died. How my brother brought me back from the place of Okis [departed spirits] I know not, but when next I awoke he lay beside me under a canoe and a band as of fire was about my head. Now, therefore, the life of Grinning Beaver belongs to his brother. But tell me quickly how knew you we were pursued by Hurons? There were traces of but two of them, while many of our own people were to meet Sacandaga at the great rock." "I know that our pursuers are Hurons, or at least enemies, because they crept on us by stealth. Also when they saw we had escaped they yelled with rage and shot arrows to kill us. Besides that, they followed after us in canoes, and but for the coming of darkness would surely have overtaken us." "Is it certain that they shot after us with arrows?" "It is certain, for one of them struck the canoe and lies even yet where it fell. So my brother may see for himself and know that I have spoken truly." The Beaver plucked the arrow thus indicated from the sheathing of the canoe in which its point was embedded and examined it closely. As he did so a puzzled expression came over his face, and he exclaimed,-- "But this is not a Huron arrow! It is of the Iroquois, and might have been made by Kaweras himself. Look. As a bowman thou shouldst know this fashion of feathering." "I do know it," replied Nahma, taking the proffered arrow as he spoke and studying its make. "Also I should have recognized it sooner had I looked, but it fell in darkness, and since then I have been too busy to recall it until now." "If this was the only style of arrow aimed at us," continued the Beaver, "those who pursue us must be friends, who have in turn mistaken us for enemies." "It would seem so," agreed Nahma, in a mortified tone, "and it is to my shame that I should have shown so great stupidity." "Take it not to heart, my brother. No warrior may learn his trade save by experience. What you have done has been well done, and no harm has come of it. Only now that we know those behind us to be friends, we must look sharply for enemies in front and see that our friends come not upon them unaware." "Shall we not turn back at once," asked Nahma, "and give to Sacandaga a warning of the true state of affairs?" "Not at once, but presently," replied the Beaver, "for we are even now close to the great waters of which I spoke. It will be well, therefore, if we take a look at them before turning back. We may thus have news to report that will cause him to rejoice at sight of us." During this conversation Nahma had continued to paddle easily, and the canoe had glided gently forward with the current of a forest-shaded stream forming an outlet to the lake they had just traversed. As the Beaver concluded his remarks the roar of falling waters ahead of them gave warning that their farther progress in this direction was barred. So the canoe was left cunningly as though it had drifted to that place, and the two young scouts made their way through a mile-wide strip of forest to the shore of a second lake that lay behind. Here they gazed eagerly out over the wide water-way, but for a moment saw nothing unusual. As they were about to venture into the open, Nahma checked the movement with a guarded exclamation of amazement. A human figure had suddenly appeared on the crest of a headland that jutted into the lake a short distance from them, and for several seconds it stood motionless in the full light of the westering sun, as though spell-bound by the beauty of the outspread landscape. Although it presented the form of man, it was unlike anything either of the astonished observers had ever seen. It appeared twice the size of an ordinary man, and at certain points it glinted in the sunlight with a sheen like that of rippling waters. Its head, upon which the sunlight also flashed, was of huge proportions and apparently devoid of hair. "It is an Oki," whispered the Beaver, apprehensively. "A god of the waters. See you not how he shines with wetness?" Even as the Beaver spoke, a second figure appeared for an instant beside the one at which the awe-stricken youths were gazing. It was that of a man like themselves, half-naked, painted, and bedecked with feathers. This last apparition plucked the other by the arm and they disappeared together. Our young scouts looked at each other in wonderment. "We must know more of this affair," said the Beaver. "Let us move in that direction and see what may be found." A few minutes later, moving with the utmost caution, they had reached a point from which they could look beyond the headland. There they beheld a scene that held their gaze with breathless interest, and, crouching beneath the overhanging branches of a thick-growing spruce, they watched it in silence. The sun was setting and its light was growing dim, but they could see a fleet of canoes drawn up on the lake-shore, and beyond them many men moving busily about a large cleared space. They could not discover among these the strange figure that had first attracted their attention, nor was there any glow of fire-light. The Beaver drew in his breath as though about to speak, but Nahma checked him with warning hand, and at the same instant a twig snapped directly behind them. The young scouts dared not so much as move their heads, but from the corners of their eyes they caught glimpses of four shadowy forms that flitted noiselessly by and vanished in the direction from which they themselves had come. They were Hurons seeking to make certain before the complete shutting in of night that no enemy lurked in the vicinity of their camp. For several minutes after these had passed our lads remained motionless and silent. Then the Beaver rose and moved without a sound in the direction taken by the Huron scouts, while Nahma, his nerves tense with excitement, followed the lead thus given. Neither spoke until finally they came again to the place where they had left their canoe. To their dismay, it was gone, but the Beaver said in a whisper,-- "It is well for us that it is of Huron make, so that they may think it was left by those of their own people who were sent ahead. Now let us find Sacandaga, for we have much to tell him." The task of making their unlit way back along the shore of the stream they had so recently descended without effort was beset with many difficulties. They must keep close to the river, for not only was it their guide but by it sooner or later their friends were almost certain to pass. They must thread the forest mazes in silence, and they must pause with every minute to listen for the dip of paddles. Even then Sacandaga's canoes might drift by them unseen and unheard. But a warning must be given, if such a thing were possible, and in spite of all obstacles they pushed steadily forward. At length they came to a place where the stream began to broaden. They had gained the lower end of Andia-ta-roc-te and dared go no farther. So they waited while Nahma uttered full and clear the plaintive call of the whippoorwill. Twice did he repeat it, and then once more after a brief interval. CHAPTER XI THE COMING OF SACANDAGA As the concluding notes of Nahma's cry echoed over the still waters and were lost among the distant hills, the two youths listened anxiously for an answer. Nor had they long to wait, for within a minute the call of a whippoorwill came back to them almost exactly as the young warrior had uttered it; but it came from the wrong direction. "Sacandaga has passed us after all," muttered Nahma in a tone of vexation. "Not so," replied the Beaver, "for that was not the answer agreed upon. Do you not remember? The call was to be two and then one, while the answer was to be one and then two. This answer came back even as the call was given, and so could not have been made by Sacandaga or any of his warriors." "Who, then----?" began Nahma, but he was interrupted by a quavering note of ko-ko-anse (the little screech-owl) that came from no great distance. "It is a Huron call," whispered the Beaver; "answer it quickly." This Nahma did, and the Beaver continued, "They are on the water and will come to this point for further information. Do you remain here and take care that they discover not thy presence. I will retire a little and entice them or some of them to me, for I can speak the Huron tongue. After that we must be guided by what will follow. Is it well?" "It is well," whispered Nahma, as he crouched low beside a log, one end of which extended into the water. He did not hear the Beaver take his departure, but knew that he was gone. Then from off the river, but close at hand, came again the tremulous cry of ko-ko-anse. It was answered by the Beaver from a short distance inland, who in a voice disguised as though by weakness cried,-- "Help me, brothers. Help me before I die." "Who calls?" inquired a voice from the water. "A Huron scout sorely wounded and helpless," answered the Beaver. "Is he alone?" "He is alone. There was another with him, but he was killed two days since. Help or I perish." "Art thou Chebacno or Wabensickewa?" "I am Wabensickewa. Chebacno was slain by the Iroquois, who are even now making ready a war-party. I hastened back to bring news of it, and landed here to rest until darkness. While I slept a panther leaped on my back. Before I could kill him he had so injured me that I cannot walk. Also are my eyes blinded so that I cannot see. I have a canoe that you will find at the water's edge, if indeed the wind has not drifted it away. I have called many times, and was about to give over calling when your answer came to lend me new strength. Now, then, my brothers, come quickly, for I have much to tell before I die." A moment later Nahma felt a slight jar pass through the log against which he lay and heard a few whispered words of consultation. Then two figures stepped ashore and, passing so close to him that he could have touched them, noiselessly entered the forest. He waited for a moment and then cautiously lifted his head. Against the faint gleam of water he could distinguish the black bulk of a canoe and see that it still held two other figures who sat motionless. Slowly he raised his bow with a stone-headed arrow fitted to its string until one of the sitting figures was fairly covered. Then he waited with tense muscles and a heart that seemed like to burst with its furious beating. From behind him came a low moaning that he knew was made by the Beaver to deceive his enemies. Suddenly the oppressive silence was broken by the twang of a bowstring that was instantly followed by fierce yells. High above these rose the defiant war-cry of the Iroquois, but its last note was cut short and ended in a choking gurgle. Somehow Nahma managed to hear these things, though he was at the same time intensely busy with affairs of his own. At the first intimation of a struggle behind him he had let fly his ready arrow, and one of the two figures in the canoe dropped heavily forward. The other, seeing what he had supposed was a log suddenly endowed with life and leaping towards him, uttered a cry of terror, sprang overboard, and disappeared beneath the black waters. While Nahma tossed the limp form of the other Huron from the canoe preparatory to going in pursuit of this swimmer, a rustling among the bushes warned him to make good his own escape while yet he might, and giving the canoe a great shove, he leaped aboard. As the craft shot out into the open a voice hailed it from the shore; but as the words were spoken in the Huron tongue, Nahma made no answer. He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether it might not be the Beaver who called; but with a repetition of the demand he knew that that was not the case. He was confirmed in this belief by hearing a slight splash from close at hand, a stifled exclamation, and a few whispered words. Evidently the swimmer who had made so hasty an exit from the canoe had been encouraged by the voice of a friend to gain the land, and now the two were once more in communication. What had become of the Beaver? Recalling the Iroquois war-cry and its sadly suggestive ending, Nahma had little doubt that he had been overcome and killed. He hated to think of deserting his comrade without knowing for a certainty whether he were alive or dead, and yet to attempt a landing in face of two enemies, and perhaps three, would be an act of folly. His canoe had drifted out so far that they could not see him in his present position, but it would be almost impossible to gain the shore anywhere in that vicinity without detection. While in this state of indecision, which in reality lasted but a few seconds, he heard faint and far away the cry of a whippoorwill. Twice was it uttered, and then again after a short interval. It must be the signal of Sacandaga, since it came from up the lake. Doubtless it had been made in answer to the Beaver's far-reaching war-cry. In another moment Nahma's canoe, impelled by a noiseless paddle, was speeding in that direction. He dared not at once reply to the signal for fear of drawing a flight of Huron arrows; but as soon as he believed himself beyond range of these he rested on his paddle and sent far across the lake the vibrant cry of wah-o-nai-sa once and then twice. A full minute elapsed before the answer came, and then he was startled by its nearness. Had he not known better, he would have sworn that it was uttered by a bird in flight while passing directly above him. Allowing his craft to drift, he listened and heard the quick dip of many paddles. A fleet of canoes was rushing towards him, and, as he began to distinguish their vague outlines, he uttered a low call to attract attention. "Who is it?" demanded the voice of Sacandaga, sharply, as the speed of the oncoming canoes was checked. "It is Massasoit," answered the lad. "Where is Grinning Beaver, thy companion? Did he utter the war-cry of the Iroquois that came to us as we were entering our canoes for a night of travel?" "I fear the Beaver is dead," replied Nahma. "And if so, he was killed even with the sounding of his war-cry." "Who killed him?" demanded Sacandaga, fiercely. "The Hurons." "How many are there?" "Only four did we encounter. Of these I saw one fall, and believe that the Beaver, who was separated from me, killed another. One leaped into the water and one I know escaped from the Beaver." "Were you on land or on the water?" "We were on land, and this is the canoe in which the Hurons came." "Where did it happen?" "At the beginning of a river that leads to the wide waters lying towards the rising sun." "What know you of these wide waters? Have you been to them?" "Shortly before the coming of darkness were we there, and we turned back to bring news of the war-party that we saw." "Hurons?" "Hurons, my father, and like the leaves of a tree for numbers. Also they have with them an Oki to make timid the hearts of their enemies." "What mean you by an Oki?" With this Nahma described as well as he could the strange being seen by himself and the Beaver, and all who could get within hearing listened to his words with breathless attention. When Nahma declared that the apparition, though seen on a headland, still gleamed with wetness as though just emerged from the lake, his auditors were deeply impressed. Only Sacandaga was incredulous, and appeared to treat the incident as of small account. "It is but a Huron trick!" he exclaimed, that all might hear. "They are too cowardly to fight like men, but have prepared an image with the hope that sight of it will turn our blood to water. It is well, though, that we have learned of this thing and know what to expect. Now let us find whether the Beaver is alive or dead, and if the Huron dogs have indeed slain him, bitterly shall he be avenged before we are done with them." So Nahma guided the Iroquois canoes to the place where he had uttered that first fateful call of the whippoorwill, and Sacandaga, with half a dozen warriors, made a landing on the very log beside which he had lain. It took them but a few minutes to discover the body of their late comrade cold in death and scalped; but there was no trace of those who had perpetrated the deed. If he had indeed killed one of them, the others had either hidden the body or taken it away. Having learned these things and thirsting for vengeance, the Iroquois re-entered their canoes and glided silently down-stream towards the place where their enemies were encamped. CHAPTER XII A MEETING OF DEADLY FOES After carrying their canoes around the two waterfalls that obstruct the outlet of Lake George, the Iroquois finally glided like so many night-shadows out onto the surface of Lake Champlain. Then, guided by the son of Longfeather, they approached the place where he had seen the Hurons. Sacandaga had entered the canoe of the young scout that he might learn more fully what had happened during the past two days; also his place was in the leading canoe, that from it he might direct the movements of his followers, who were now nearly two hundred in number. He had thought of attempting a night surprise of the northern invaders by attacking their camp under cover of darkness; but this plan was dismissed almost as soon as formed, for he remembered the prophecy of Kaweras. The fight in which the Iroquois were to be successful must take place in broad daylight and on a fair morning. The battle might not, therefore, be waged at night, nor even on the morrow, unless it were a day of cloudless sunshine. At the same time the Hurons must be given no chance for escape, and to compel them to remain where they were he stationed his force at the mouth of the cove in which lay their fleet. This position was taken in silence and, it was thought, without attracting attention. That the men from the north had, however, received notice of their enemies' coming and were keenly on the alert to meet them was soon proved by a jeering hail from the land. "Are the bark-eaters fish that they remain in the water? If they call themselves men, why do they not come on shore and accept the welcome awaiting them?" To this taunt the Iroquois replied with a chorus of fierce yells and savage intimations of what would happen when they got ready to enter the camp of the Huron dogs. So the night was spent in a brisk exchange of taunts, jeers, threats, and insulting remarks well calculated to increase the bitterness of the hate already existing between the two tribes. The Iroquois even betrayed their knowledge of the mysterious being whom the Hurons had called to their aid, and expressed the utmost contempt for him. To this those on shore made no reply except to advise the Iroquois to call upon their own gods for the aid they would surely need on the morrow. "Something has given them courage," remarked Sacandaga, "for never have I known Hurons to talk so bravely in the presence of Iroquois. But we will see whether their boldness can stand the test of daylight." At length the wished-for dawn arrived, and by its earliest gleams Sacandaga landed his force at a point beyond arrow-shot of the Huron camp and bade them light fires for the preparation of breakfast. He was well aware of the fighting value of a full stomach, and was too wise a leader not to seek every possible advantage even against a foe whom he despised. Nor were the Hurons less ready to make the most of this opportunity for preparing cooked food, the first time they had dared do so in several days. Thus both parties remained hidden from each other, except through the eyes of their watchful scouts, until the sun was an hour high. Not only did Sacandaga wish to refresh his men by this rest, but he was determined not to begin fighting until assured of conditions propitious to his undertaking. With the weather, however, he had every reason to be pleased, for never was a fairer morn. The sky was cloudless, the air clear and crisp, the lake of a heavenly blue, and all nature was at its best. As he looked about him he became elated over the certainty of his forthcoming victory. "The Hurons have never yet been able to stand before an equal number of Iroquois," he said, "and to-day with all things in our favor it will be strange indeed if we do not wipe them out. But we may not delay, lest the spirits become angry and send their lightnings to punish our indifference to the favors they have shown. Let us, then, get to work and finish this business quickly, that we may the more speedily return to our own people." Although Sacandaga was one of the most skilful warriors of his time, and well versed in all the tricks of his trade as practised by forest fighters, he saw fit in the present instance to lead his painted savages to the attack in a compact body. As the Hurons occupied the centre of a large cleared space so wide as to place them beyond the reach of arrows from forest covers, this plan was in a measure forced upon him. At the same time he hoped to overawe the enemy and terrify him by the number and ferocious appearance of his followers. So the Iroquois, half naked, painted, befeathered, decked with bears' claws and wolf-tails, dashed from the forest yelling and brandishing their weapons, and advanced with a rush to where the Hurons awaited them. The latter appeared terrified, and seemed to shrink from the impending onslaught. Then their solid formation broke, leaving a wide gap, from which stepped a single figure. The Iroquois were not more than fifty paces distant; but at sight of this apparition they came to a sudden halt and stood as though petrified with amazement. The figure confronting them was indeed that described by Massasoit, only it loomed up larger than they had expected, and gleamed with a dazzling lustre in the bright sunlight. It had the form of a man, but its face was covered with a growth of hair that hung down on its breast. The person who appeared so remarkable to the denizens of the forest that they deemed him a god was none other than the intrepid French explorer Samuel de Champlain, founder of the city of Quebec. With but two followers he had been induced to accompany a war-party of Canadian Indians on their foray into Iroquois territory, and was thus the first of his race to look upon the waters of the noble lake that has ever since borne his name. For a few moments the Iroquois gazed awe-stricken upon this first white man they had ever seen. Then, relying upon the prophecy of Kaweras, that only thunder and lightning could prevent them from winning a victory, they bent their bows and let fly a cloud of arrows. Many of these were aimed at the white man standing so boldly before them, but, to their dismay, he remained unharmed. Nahma in particular, who had shot at the very centre of the shining breastplate, was amazed and terrified to see his arrow, after striking, bound back as though it had encountered a wall of rock. But scant time was given for the consideration of this marvel; for, even as they shot at him, the mysterious being brought into position a strange-looking stick that he carried until it was pointed directly at them. Then came a flash of lightning, a roar of thunder, a cloud of smoke, and a dozen of the Iroquois fell to the ground as though smitten by the wrath of God. As was afterwards proved, but two of them were killed and one--Sacandaga--was grievously wounded, while the others had fallen from sheer fright. At the same time the Hurons rushed forward with triumphant yells and a flight of arrows. For a moment the Iroquois wavered and seemed about to fly. Then Nahma, son of Longfeather, sprang to the front with a loud cry, and, swinging a stone war-club above his head, made straight for the thunder-god who had wrought such havoc. Champlain was in the act of drawing his sword when he was staggered by a terrific blow that would surely have killed him but for the steel cap that he wore. Before he could recover, and ere a second blow could be delivered, there came another flash of lightning accompanied by its thunderous roar from a clump of bushes at one side, and two more Iroquois were stricken with sudden death. At this fresh proof that the all-powerful spirits were indeed fighting against them the hearts of the Iroquois melted, and they fled from the field a panic-stricken mob. Even Nahma joined in the mad flight; but he paused long enough to pick up his wounded chieftain, whom he hoped to be able to carry as far as the canoes. At their heels streamed the exultant Hurons, striking down the fugitives by the score. One of these drove a spear through the body of Sacandaga; and Nahma, staggering under his burden, was knocked down by the force of the blow. As he disengaged himself from the dead sachem and regained his feet he found himself once more face to face with the awful being who held in his hands the thunders and lightning of a Manitou. At this moment Champlain, who had found time to reload his musket, fired a second shot into the ranks of the flying Iroquois. Ere its smoke could lift, Nahma, frenzied with rage and reckless of consequences, sprang upon the white man with uplifted knife. The blow was urged with all the splendid strength of the young warrior's arm, but it only bent the copper blade in his grasp and left him defenceless. Ere he could renew his flight he was flung to the earth and bound immovably with thongs of tough bark. [Illustration: NAHMA SPRANG UPON THE WHITE MAN WITH UPLIFTED KNIFE] Nahma's first battle was ended in utter defeat, but he did not feel humiliated, for he believed that he had fought against immortal spirits who could come to no harm from the hands of man. He only wondered vaguely, as he lay awaiting the pleasure of his captors, why the Okis should have ranged themselves on the side of the perfidious Hurons instead of aiding the Iroquois, whom he then believed to be the most nearly perfect of human beings. About one-half the force that Sacandaga had led so confidently to battle that morning reached the canoes and continued their flight up the lake. The Hurons did not pursue them, for they were too busy killing or taking captive those who were left behind. By noon the whole affair was ended, and the triumphant Hurons, taking with them twoscore of dejected prisoners, as many bloody Iroquois scalps, and a number of canoes laden with spoils, set forth on their return to the St. Lawrence. With them went Champlain, still thrilled with the excitement of fighting and killing, but already disgusted with the barbarities of his savage allies. Could he have foreseen that his act of that day had created a powerful enemy who for two hundred years to come would let pass no opportunity for the killing of a Frenchman, his thoughts would have been still more sombre. In camp that night, while still occupied with his melancholy reflections, he was accosted by one of his white companions, who said,-- "Look yonder, monsieur. They are about to punish in pretty fashion the young devil who twice this day attempted to take thy life." CHAPTER XIII TO THE LODGES OF THE WHITE MAN Realizing that for some reason the all-powerful white man who had that day given them a victory over their enemies was displeased, the Hurons agreed after a long consultation that it must be because the only one among the Iroquois who had dared attack him was still allowed to live. So, although such pleasures were generally reserved for their home-returning, they determined to sacrifice the audacious young warrior on the spot with the hope of thus regaining the favor of their allies. In order that he might thoroughly comprehend what was in store for him, they decided that he should first witness the torture of one of his companions. For this purpose a victim was selected at random from among the captives, and the two young men, facing each other, were securely bound to saplings standing but a few yards apart. About the feet of each was piled a quantity of dry wood, and they were ordered to chant their death-songs if they dared. The Maqua immediately began in defiant tones to recount his own deeds of prowess on the war-path, and tell how many Hurons he had slain. He hurled defiance at his enemies, taunted them with their cowardice, and sought to so enrage them that they would kill him at once; but Nahma remained dumb. He had no deeds to tell of, nor was he in a humor to invent any. Suddenly the Hurons made a rush at the one who thus defied them, and for a few minutes a fierce struggle raged about the helpless form. When next it appeared in view its scalp had been torn off, while the still living body was gashed and mutilated almost beyond recognition; but defiant words still issued chokingly from its trembling lips. The poor mortal frame was nearly spent, but its brave spirit was undaunted. The next act of torture was by fire. Blazing splinters of fat pine were thrust into the mangled body and hot ashes were poured on its bleeding head. Then a light was applied to the dry wood, and in another minute the eager flames were leaping high about their victim. The awful tragedy was accompanied by shrieks of laughter, mocking yells, and a frantic dancing about the two young warriors, one of whom was thus made to serve as a hideous object lesson to the other. When the first was so nearly dead that his defiant utterances were reduced to mere gaspings for breath, the dancing demons turned their attention to the second victim, and prepared to inflict upon him a series of still more devilish torments. Nahma had witnessed everything with fascinated gaze; but though sickened to the point of fainting, had made no movement nor uttered a sound to betray the agony of his thoughts. He now knew what to expect, and was nerving himself to endure to the end, as became a warrior. Aeana would never know, of course; but if by any chance the story of his last hour should reach her ear, she must have no excuse to call him "squaw." One of his tormentors approached with a bar of iron heated until it glowed; for, through trading with the French, this metal was now known to the Indians of the St. Lawrence valley. "Put out his eyes," shouted a spectator. "He has seen enough." As the glowing iron approached his face Nahma instinctively closed his eyes; but a yell of derision from those near enough to note the movement caused him to open them again quickly. But even in that brief space something had happened, for the first thing on which they rested was a gigantic figure bounding towards him. It uttered inarticulate cries of rage and brandished a weapon. With a single blow from this it dashed to earth the man bearing the red-hot iron. Falling on his own instrument of torture, the wretch uttered a yell of pain as it seared his flesh. At the same moment the terrible new-comer levelled his weapon at the mutilated form bound to the opposite stake, and with a flash of lightning accompanied by a stunning burst of thunder, instantly freed the tortured spirit from its misery. Before the smoke of the discharge cleared away the new-comer was beside Nahma, cutting savagely at his bonds. As the last one dropped he grasped the young warrior by an arm and led him a few paces from the cruel stake. Then turning to the sullen Hurons, who shrank from the indignant blaze of his eyes, he denounced them in bitter terms. "You are worse than wolves," he cried. "You are scum and _canaille_. You are devils, and should be made to dwell forever in a pit of fire. Because you go forth to fight against a man and he meets you bravely, is that a reason for torturing him when the fortune of war has placed him helpless in your hands? This youth was the only one of all his people who dared attack me face to face and hand to hand. Better still, he was the only Iroquois brave enough to attempt the succor of their wounded chieftain. He is fleet of foot and might easily have escaped, but he would not go alone. So he fell into your inhuman hands, and as a reward for his bravery you propose to torture him to death. Bah! You make me so sick that I have a mind to sever all connection with you from this hour, and order my men to beat you from my sight with sticks. Now remember that this youth is _my_ captive, and whoever touches so much as a hair of his head shall die, for I will not have him harmed. "Come, lad, with me," added Champlain, turning to Nahma; "you shall eat and rest, and after that if you desire to return to your own people you shall be free to do so. Only it would please me to have you remain a little for instruction in the ways of white men and the making of a better acquaintance between us, for I have taken a fancy to you beyond any that I have yet entertained for a native of this wilderness." Although Nahma understood no word of what the marvellous stranger said, he recognized the friendly tone and gesture, and was quite willing to follow wherever the other might lead. As they were about to move away a chief of the Hurons stood in the path and begged for a hearing. "It is true," he said, "that we would have killed this young man; but it is because we thought our white father angry that he still lived. Also is it true that in any case we should have put him to death on reaching the place of our own people. We must have done this, for if we should let him live he would sooner or later make an escape, and in escaping would surely kill some of our people. It is because he is a brave warrior that we could not let him live to do us mischief. If he were a coward, then could we make of him a slave to hoe corn with the squaws; but with a brave man this might not be done. Also because of his bravery would we have tested him by fire, that he might give proof of his courage to the very end of his life. Any brave man, Huron or Iroquois, would rather perish at the stake than live the life of a slave. It is our way, and if it be not also the way of our white father, let him not cover us with shame on account of it, for we have not yet learned one that is better." "You have spoken well," answered Champlain, "and already am I penitent for my hasty words, since, as you say, you were only acting according to your conception of what is right. Therefore I forgive you and will continue to extend the hand of friendship. At the same time, see you to it that no more atrocities are enacted in my presence. Also see to it that this youth is accorded the respect due him over whom my protection is extended." So it came to pass that Nahma, son of Longfeather, now known as Massasoit the Iroquois, was saved from a dreadful death to become the companion of the first white man he had ever met, who was also one of the foremost adventurers of his age. Although Champlain had laid aside his steel armor, he was still so utterly different in appearance from any person Nahma had ever seen that the latter continued to regard him as a supernatural being, and accompanied him with much trepidation. Also the youth was dazed by the peril he had just escaped and the strangeness of his deliverance. As they went towards Champlain's own camp-fire, Nahma noticed for the first time that two more of the strange beings walked close beside them; and, listening to their conversation, though of course without understanding it, he all at once became convinced that they were indeed human like himself. Moreover, it flashed into his mind that they must be of that white race concerning which he had heard much talk in the lodge of Kaweras. By that shrewd Indian the apparently meaningless words repeated by Nahma during his illness had been conjectured to belong to the vocabulary of white men, and he had said as much to his young guest. Thinking of these things and acting upon a sudden impulse, just as they reached Champlain's separate camp Nahma exclaimed,-- "Hillo!" The three white men stared at him in amazement. "Sacré!" added the young warrior. "What have we here?" cried Champlain. "A savage from the interior wilderness speaking both English and French. It is incredible.--My young friend, who taught you the tongues of the Old World? Where have you met white men?" "Mass, I saw it," remarked Nahma. He was well pleased at the effect of the words already used, but looked for a still greater exhibition of amazement on the part of his hearers at this final utterance. To his disappointment, they only gazed blankly and evidently without understanding. "That is evidently a native word, and must be his own name," said Champlain. "Massasoit. It hath a pleasing sound and fits well his aspect. Not only has he proved himself to be braver than any of his fellows, but he hath a look of superior intelligence. For these things I had thought to afford him opportunity of escaping during the night, and so of making his way back to his own people. Now, however, he has so aroused my interest and curiosity with his fluency in foreign tongues that I cannot afford to loose him until we are better acquainted. See to it, therefore, that he does not escape." Thus Nahma, who if he had held his tongue would have been set free, was still retained as a captive and borne northward by the victorious Hurons. The journey down the lake, through the rapid Richelieu, and over the broad flood of the mighty St. Lawrence was full of interest and novel sensations to our lad. None of them was, however, to be compared with the wonder and amazement that filled his soul on the evening of the tenth day of travel, when they came to Quebec, and he gazed for the first time on the lodges of white men. CHAPTER XIV TWO INMATES OF A GUARD-HOUSE Samuel de Champlain was one of the most daring and persistent of explorers in the New World. Before coming of age he visited the West Indies and Mexico, going down the Pacific coast of the latter country as far as Panama. Then as he crossed the isthmus he conceived the idea, which he afterwards made public, of a ship canal that should connect the two oceans. His next voyage, inspired by the published narrative of Jacques Cartier, carried him into the St. Lawrence and up that mighty river as far as Hochelaga (Montreal), which point Cartier had also reached nearly seventy years earlier. Champlain subsequently explored the coasts of Canada and New England, helped to found the unfortunate settlements of St. Croix and Port Royal, and sailed to the southward as far as Cape Cod. On his way he stopped in Boston harbor, which he describes as being filled with heavily wooded islands. He also discovered the Charles River, and named it Rivière du Guast. On the following day he took refuge from a gale in Plymouth harbor, which he named Port St. Louis, and which he thus visited long before the Pilgrims landed on its shores. After spending some years on the coast and crossing the Atlantic several times, the energetic Frenchman again entered the St. Lawrence and sailed as far as Stadaconie, where Cartier first and after him Roberval had planted ill-starred and short-lived settlements. At this point Champlain determined to establish a base from which to explore the vast regions that, hidden in savage mystery, stretched away indefinitely on all sides. It should also be head-quarters for the greatest fur trade the world had ever known, and for the religious institutions from which he hoped to spread Christianity among the heathen. Here, then, on a narrow strand at the foot of towering cliffs, he set his men to work, and before the summer was ended they had erected three spacious buildings, enclosed them within a stout palisade, planted defensive batteries, dug a moat around the whole, cleared land for a garden, and opened up a trade with the neighboring Indians. Thus was begun a city destined to become one of the most important of the New World, and to it Champlain gave the name of Quebec, which was his pronunciation of a native word signifying a narrowing of the river. In Quebec, twenty-seven years later, the great Frenchman died, leaving behind him a record of adventure and achievement such as but few others could show. He had succeeded where many had failed, and had established an empire in the New World. He had crossed the ocean more than a score of times to make himself equally welcome in the court circles of France and beside the council-fires of Huron warriors. He had explored the Ottawa to its head-waters, crossed the divide to Lake Nipissing, descended to Georgian Bay, and was the first white man to gaze upon the inland sea that he named Lake Huron. He next discovered Lake Ontario, crossed it in a bark canoe, and penetrated the Iroquois country as far as the site of Syracuse. In the beautiful lake that bears his name he has an enduring monument. He started on the journey that ended on Lake Champlain with the hope, then common to all explorers, of discovering a western passage to China, and only failed because he could not find what did not exist. Instead of it, he discovered, saved from an awful death, and carried to Quebec the youth who was to become known to the world as Massasoit, chief of the Wampanoags. Champlain had long been looking for some young Indian of intelligence and proved courage whom he might teach to speak his own language, attach to his person, and employ to advantage in his proposed explorations. In Nahma he believed he had found all the desired qualities, and, what was still better, the youth, being an Iroquois, would never join any Huron conspiracy against the French. The shrewd adventurer was therefore greatly pleased with his prize and impatient to begin his training. At the same time he found his Huron allies so jealous of his liking for an Iroquois, that while he remained in their company he dared not treat his captive with any marked attention. He saw that Nahma was provided with food, and would not permit him to be beaten or abused, as were some of the prisoners, but that was all. He dared not even have the youth in his own canoe, much as he wished to gain his confidence. Thus, Nahma saw but little of his white companions on the weary journey that finally ended at Quebec. At the mouth of the Richelieu the victorious war-party disbanded, the larger number, together with most of the prisoners, going up the St. Lawrence towards their homes on the Ottawa, and only half a dozen canoes of Montagnais, who dwelt on the Saguenay, followed Champlain down the great river. As these came within sight of Quebec they raised a triumphant war-song and plied their paddles with redoubled energy, while Champlain and the other white men discharged their muskets in token of victory. This was the first news of their absent leader received by the anxious garrison since his departure, and in their joy over his safe return they gave him a thunderous welcome from their cannon. Not only did this dreadful sound nearly paralyze poor Nahma, but it so terrified a small party of Indians who were trading within the fort that they rushed from it in dismay, took to their canoes, and paddled off with all speed. So precipitate was their flight that they left behind one of their number, who in his terror had leaped from a second-story window of the trading house and broken a leg. Champlain had left his infant colony in charge of Pierre Chauvin, a smart young officer, who now met him outside the palisades with tidings that caused an instant change of plan. The only ship that would return to France that year had dropped down to Tadousac for a lading of furs but two days earlier. For a moment Champlain hesitated, and then his mind was made up. He must board that ship before she sailed, for he had despatches of the utmost importance to send home by her. Thus he must immediately hasten to Tadousac. This decision he imparted to Chauvin, adding,-- "I will shortly return, and until then take thou good care of this youth." Here the speaker indicated Nahma. "See that he escape not, for his security is of importance to our cause. Keep him, then, safely until I come again, when I will inform thee further concerning him. _Au revoir, mon ami._ May the saints protect thee." Thus saying, Champlain rejoined his Indian allies, who were impatient to be off, and in another minute was again sweeping down the great river. By his order Nahma had been hastily bundled ashore, and now stood gazing first at the wonderful structures rising close at hand and then at the disappearing canoes. Chauvin stood near by, biting his moustache and growling at his chief's sudden departure. "I wish I were in his place," he muttered; "and if once I could set foot on shipboard I would sail away never again to revisit this detestable country. How now, you spawn! What are you staring at?" he cried, suddenly turning upon Nahma, who was looking curiously at him. Chauvin hated Indians as he did everything else in the country that had so bitterly disappointed his dreams of easily acquired wealth, and he was disgusted that one of them should now be left in his care. "Away with him to the guard-house!" he shouted to a couple of soldiers in attendance, "and keep him in close confinement until the governor's return, since that is his Excellency's order." So Nahma was roughly hustled away, led inside the palisade, across the enclosed court, and thrust into the guard-house. It was a small structure solidly built of logs, having a rude stone chimney and a single unglazed window some eighteen inches square that was fitted with iron bars and could be closed from the outside by a heavy shutter. There were also bars across the throat of the chimney. The floor was of earth and the room was unfurnished. As the massive door of this dungeon swung to with a crash behind him the young Indian stood for a moment motionless. Then, in a frenzy of rage, he dashed himself against the immovable barrier, clutched at the window-bars in a vain effort to wrench them from their fastenings, and rushed about the narrow space, seeking some outlet, like a wild animal when first caged. While our lad was thus engaged the door of his prison was again flung open and two soldiers entered. Still possessed by his frenzy, Nahma sprang forward, determined to kill them and make good his escape or die in the attempt; but the sight of a burden that they bore caused him to pause. It was the form of another Indian youth apparently helpless. Behind them came others bringing straw, two blankets, food, and a jug of water. With the straw and blankets they made a bed in one corner, on which they laid the wounded youth. Then without a word to the prisoner they departed, barring the door behind them. Now our lad had at least something to occupy his mind and divert his thoughts from his own unhappiness. He saw that the new-comer was neither a Huron nor an Iroquois; but as he bent over him and began to ask questions he discovered that they had many words of the wide-spread Algonquin tongue in common. Thus he quickly learned that the other was named Tasquanto, that he was of a band of the Abenakis who had come to Quebec to trade, and that, terrified by the awful noise of cannon, he had leaped from a window and broken a leg. His comrades having deserted him, he had been brought to the guard-house that the only other Indian remaining in the fort might wait upon him. So Nahma was provided with an occupation that probably prevented him from either killing himself in his despair or losing his mind. Thanks to the teaching of Kaweras, he was able to set and properly bandage Tasquanto's broken limb, and for weeks thereafter he was his fellow-prisoner's devoted attendant. In the mean time the green of summer was succeeded by the gorgeous tints of autumn, and its short-lived glory gave way to the white desolation of a northern winter; but Champlain did not return to Quebec, nor did any word come from him. At the end of two months Chauvin sent messengers to Tadousac; but they returned without having seen a living soul, white or red; and not until the weary winter was half spent did the garrison of that lonely fort learn what had become of the leader whom they were mourning as dead. CHAPTER XV THE BITTER WINTER OF CANADA The Canadian winter, that is now a time of so much animation and gayety in the city of Quebec, proved a season of terror, starvation, sickness, and death to the handful of Frenchmen left by Champlain to guard his infant settlement. At its beginning they recklessly squandered their stores, eating and drinking with no thought of the morrow. If Champlain had been with them he would have taught them differently, for he had already passed several winters in the country and knew their bitter meaning. But, lacking his wise guidance, they indulged in riotous living until suddenly they came face to face with famine. The winter was not more than half spent when this happened, and they began to suffer from hunger. Now that it was too late for any real good, Chauvin seized every particle of food that remained, locked it up, and doled it out to his men in such meagre allowance as barely served to keep life in their shivering bodies. He also sent them into the woods to hunt, or to dig roots and groundnuts, with which to help out their scanty fare. He had expected to be able to purchase all the provisions he needed from Indians, who, during the summer, had brought game to the fort in abundance, but now not a native was to be seen except a few poor wretches who came empty-handed and as beggars. Unlike their brethren of the south, who cultivated fields and stored harvests for the winter, the improvident dwellers of that region lived wholly by hunting, feasting while game was plentiful and starving when it was gone. In all this time no one within the limits of that wretched fort suffered as did the son of Longfeather. From the day that he was thrust into his prison he was not allowed to leave it for a breath of outside air, or a glimpse of the freedom for which his soul longed, until it seemed as though he would rather die than remain within those hated walls another minute. And with it all he had no idea why he was thus confined or what fate was in store for him. Only, as days, weeks, and months passed, he became more and more certain that he was to have no release save only by death itself. But one thing kept him from seeking this instead of waiting for it, and that was the friendship of the young Indian who, wounded and helpless, had been brought to him during the first hour of his imprisonment. Tasquanto's recovery was slow, and for many weeks he depended upon Nahma for everything. It did not take long for these two, drawn to each other by the bonds of race and a common misfortune, to cement a friendship, and swear that they would either gain freedom or perish together. Although they could not plan an escape from their closely guarded prison and must wait for chance to aid them, they spent hours in discussing the course to be pursued if ever they got beyond those hated walls. "We must make all haste to cross the river," said Tasquanto, "for the Hurons would quickly kill us if we remained on this side. If it is frozen that will be easy. If not, we must steal one of the clumsy boats of these awkward white men, who make everything bigger and heavier than is needful. On the other side we will conceal ourselves until we can build a canoe, and then we will go southward. Beyond that I cannot see, for if we go to the country of thy people, they will kill me; while it would be dangerous for thee, an Iroquois, to be found in my country." "But I am not of the Iroquois," protested Nahma. "Not of the Iroquois! Who, then, are thy people?" "That I know not. I was found among the Maquas, who are a tribe of the Iroquois, sorely wounded and without memory of aught that had ever happened before that time. Since then I have been an Iroquois by adoption, but it is certain that I am not one by birth." This statement so changed the aspect of affairs that it was agreed they should travel towards the country of the Abenakis in case an escape could be effected. It also afforded a fruitful topic of speculation, and thus helped pass the weary hours. Finally, the time came when Tasquanto was so fully recovered that he was sent out to hunt food for the hungry garrison, and during the day Nahma was left alone, since only at night was his companion allowed to rejoin him. Chauvin realized that if both were sent into the woods they would at once make good their escape; while, from the friendship he had noted between them, he felt assured that Tasquanto would return to his comrade so long as the latter was held. Nor did he dare allow Nahma to escape while there was a chance of Champlain's return. So our poor lad shivered and starved in his hated prison-house, finding his only occupation in making snow-shoes from materials furnished by Tasquanto. He designed them for his own use, but they were taken from him by his guards as fast as completed, so that in the end he had nothing to show for his labors. One night a great grief befell him; Tasquanto failed to appear at the usual hour, nor did he come during the night, though Nahma watched and waited for him until morning. He asked eager questions of the guard who brought his miserable breakfast, but the man refused to answer, and all that day our lad sat in a lethargy of despair, careless whether he lived or died. The following night was one of furious storm and bitter cold. The north wind roaring through the bending forest shrieked and howled in savage glee as it struck the forlorn little outpost of white men. It leaped down the wide-throated chimneys and scattered their fires. It slammed shutters and doors, while if any ventured abroad, it blinded and choked them with stinging volleys of snowdrift. So fierce and deadly was it that even military discipline came to an end, and all sentries were permitted to abandon their posts. Nahma sat alone in the dark, numbed and nearly perished with the cold, for he had burned up the last bit of fuel brought him two days earlier by Tasquanto, and none had been supplied since. In the many voices of the storm, now shrill and clamorous, then deep and menacing, and again filled with weird moanings that died in long-drawn sighs, he heard the spirits of the dead, the Okis of another world, calling to him, and bidding him share their wild freedom. He knew that he had but to yield to the drowsiness already overpowering him, and the deadly cold would speedily release him from all earthly prisons. Perhaps Tasquanto's spirit was among those now calling; yes, he was sure of it, for he recognized his friend's voice. "Massasoit," it called, "Massasoit, wake up! It is I, Tasquanto, thy brother. Wake up and come to me." The cry was agonized in its intensity, and after a little even Nahma's dulling senses recognized that it was uttered by human lips. At the same time he felt that the storm was beating on his face, and struggling weakly to his feet, he gained the window through which it came. Its shutter was wide open, and beyond its bars stood Tasquanto speaking to him. "I thought thee dead, my brother, for I have called many times without answer," said Tasquanto, as he became aware that his friend was at hand. "And I believed thy voice to be that of thy spirit, for I also thought thee gone to the place of the dead," replied Nahma. "Why have you remained away from me these many hours?" "It is because they drove me from the gate, saying that my hunting was of no avail, and that I should not longer eat of their stores. But I could not go, my brother, without word with thee, and now has the storm-god given me a chance for speaking. If it were not for these bars we could do more than speak, for those who kept guard have been driven to shelter, and there is none to hinder us from going away together. But they may not be broken, and so we must wait until other means are found for thy release. But fear not that I will desert thee. I have found a way for passing the wall, and will come to this place whenever it may be done without notice. In the mean time I will prepare for our flight. Already have I built a lodge in a safe place beyond the river, and----" Here Tasquanto's words were suddenly interrupted, and the heavy shutter was slammed to as though by a fierce gust of wind. Then the door was flung open and the faint gleam of a horn lantern illumined the interior. A little earlier on that same evening Chauvin, while talking with one of his officers concerning Champlain and his unexplained absence, had been reminded of the young Indian whom the governor had consigned to his care, but to whom he had not given a thought in many days. Now he inquired carelessly whether he were alive or dead. "I know not," replied the officer, who, following his chief's example, had not concerned himself about the fate of so insignificant a being as a captive Indian. "And why do you not know?" cried Chauvin, with a sudden burst of petulant rage. "It is your duty to know, and to be ready with instant report concerning everything taking place within the walls of Quebec. Do you think because the governor chooses to absent himself for a while that no one is left here to maintain his authority? By the saints, monsieur, I will give you cause to remember that Pierre Chauvin is not to be trifled with, and that when he asks a question he expects it to be promptly answered. Go, then, at once, sir, and inform yourself by personal observation of the condition of this prisoner, or haply you may find yourself in his place." Without daring to reply, the bewildered officer bowed and left the room. Thus it happened that, accompanied by a soldier whom he had summoned to attend him, he came to Nahma's prison-house in time to interrupt the conversation between him and Tasquanto and frighten the latter into a precipitate retreat. Finding, to his satisfaction, that the prisoner was still alive, the officer demanded of the soldier why, in such weather, he was kept without fire. The soldier replied that it had been left to the other Indian to provide the guard-house with fuel; whereupon his superior passed out to him the rating he himself had received from Chauvin. "And so, _canaille_, you leave your duties to be performed by a miserable skulking savage. A pretty state of affairs in a king's fortress. Bring wood at once, sir, and fire, also fetch something in the way of food, for this wretch looks like to die of starvation, a thing that may not be allowed of the governor's own prisoner, even though he be a heathen." So on that night of bitter tempest not only were Nahma's spirits raised by a new hope, but the horrors of freezing and starvation that had threatened his life were sensibly mitigated. Two days later came the first word received from Champlain since his hurried departure for Tadousac four months earlier. CHAPTER XVI A DASH FOR LIBERTY The mystery of Champlain's disappearance weighed heavily on the spirits of the forlorn little garrison left to hold Quebec. He had been the life and mainstay of the colony, the firm rock upon which it was founded. Without him there seemed no hope of its continuance or of relief from their distress. They were convinced that he was dead, for they knew he would never have left them without at least sending a message to tell where he had gone. So they mourned him sincerely if also selfishly, and planned to abandon his settlement at the first opportunity, if indeed any should offer. The great storm cast an added gloom over the garrison, and they were so unhappy that every man was ready to fly at his neighbor's throat upon the slightest provocation, when a small band of Indians was reported to be making a camp near at hand. Instantly every face brightened, for it was thought that they must have brought provisions to trade for goods. Thus, when, a little later, one of them approached the fort, he was given prompt admittance. Being conducted to the presence of the commandant, he announced that his people were so very hungry that they had come to the white men to beg a little food from their abundant stores. At the same time he had brought a message from the great white chief, for which he was entitled to a reward. With this the Indian produced a folded paper, greasy and grimed with dirt, which he handed to Chauvin. As the latter unfolded it he uttered an exclamation, for it contained a note written in French and signed "Champlain." Its condition rendered it difficult to decipher, but as the reader gradually mastered its contents his face darkened, until suddenly he sprang up, seized a stick, and began furiously to belabor the astonished savage, who had been waiting in smiling expectancy for his reward. With a howl of pained surprise, he leaped back and rushed from the building with the enraged commandant in hot pursuit. Not until the terrified native had escaped from the fort and disappeared in the forest did Chauvin give over his chase. Then, to the amazement of his men, he ordered a cannon to be loaded and fired in the direction taken by the object of his wrath. Although the crashing ball did no damage, it, and the roar of the gun bursting upon the winter stillness, so frightened the recently arrived Indians that they instantly abandoned their partially constructed camp and fled in hot haste from that hostile neighborhood. Refusing to answer questions, and so leaving the curiosity of his men unsatisfied, Chauvin returned to his quarters, and lifting Champlain's note from the floor where he had flung it, read it for the second time with gritting teeth and bitter maledictions. It was dated four months earlier, and read as follows: "MY GOOD FRIEND PIERRE: "I am just arrived at Tadousac and find the ship about to sail. I also find it to be of the last importance that one of us should return in her to France. Had I known this two days earlier, or could I get word to you in season, the mission would devolve upon you, since I am loath to leave at this time. As it happens, I myself must go; but will return in earliest spring. So, my friend, until then everything is left to you. Husband carefully your provisions, keep up the spirits of your men, and maintain friendly relations with the natives. I forward this by a messenger, whom you will suitably reward for its prompt delivery. Regretting that we may not exchange duties, for I would gladly remain, I sign myself, as ever, "Thy friend, "CHAMPLAIN." "Death and furies!" cried Chauvin, again flinging the note to the floor and grinding it beneath his heel. "To think that while we have mourned him as dead he has been all the time comfortably in France. Also that I might have gone in his stead if only he could have got word to me in time. Ten thousand thunders! It would enrage a saint! Maintain friendly relations with the natives, forsooth! I would I could blow them all to eternity. Suitably reward that rascal messenger! Burning at the stake would be too good for him. And, heavens! all this time we have been keeping one of the scoundrels in luxurious idleness, gorging him with food robbed from our own bellies, providing him with fire and lodging to gratify a whim of the governor's, doubtless long since forgotten. But not another minute shall he thus impose upon us. He shall go, and that with such speed as will amaze him." With this the angry commandant again descended to the court, summoned all the able-bodied men of the garrison, and bade them form a double line outside the guard-house door, after first providing themselves with cudgels. "The red whelp inside," he said, "has without recompense devoured our substance long enough. Now, therefore, I propose to send him forth bearing tokens of our regard that may not be forgotten in haste. Watch sharply, then, and remember that any man failing to deal him at least one blow shall go without his supper this night. Are you ready? It is well!" Thus saying, Chauvin unlocked the guard-house door and flung it open preparatory to stepping inside and driving out with blows its solitary occupant. The next moment he was hurled sprawling to the ground, and a slight, half-naked figure, animated by desperation, was darting with such speed between the lines of unprepared soldiers that some failed even to go through the motions of striking at him, while others wasted their blows on the empty air. Uttering yells of delight at the novel nature of this entertainment, they ran after him; but they might as well have pursued a fleeting shadow. Before they could head him off he had sped through the open gate and was gone. After Tasquanto's visit Nahma's shutter had been nailed up, so that he no longer had even the poor consolation of gazing out on the blank wall of palisades. Nor could he employ his hands, for he was now in darkness, save for such faint gleams as filtered down his chimney. Under these conditions he believed that he might speedily die, and planned for one last effort at escape before his waning strength should turn to utter weakness. On that very day he had determined that when next his prison door was opened it should never again close on his living body. So he sat watching it with feverish impatience. The roar of Chauvin's vengeful cannon startled him and at the same time gave him a vague hope of some unusual happening that might result in his favor. So he became keenly alert, and was not taken by surprise when, without previous warning, the door of the guard-house was flung open. Dropping from his shoulders the blanket which alone had saved him from freezing, the youth sprang forward, reckless of consequences, and a minute later, without an idea of how the miracle had been accomplished, found himself outside the fort and speeding towards the icebound river. So blinded were his eyes by the unaccustomed light and glare of snow that until now he had seen nothing save the figure that had opened his door, and his movements had been guided by instinct rather than knowledge. The single fact indelibly impressed upon his brain was that Tasquanto waited somewhere beyond the river. Consequently that was the one direction for him to take, and he would doubtless have plunged into its waters, had they been free, as readily as he now leaped upon its snow-covered surface. So long as he was within sight of the fort and within range of its guns his strength lasted, and he sped forward with the same fleetness that had formerly aroused the wonder of his Iroquois friends. Thus he gained the middle of the river, and climbed a rugged ridge of hummocks and huge ice-blocks upheaved during the final struggle of rebellious waters against the mighty forces of the frost-king. On the farther side of this our poor lad faltered, staggered, and then sank with a groan. The nervous strength that had borne him thus far was exhausted, and in this place of temporary safety it yielded to the weakness of his long imprisonment. He had made a splendid dash for liberty, but now he had reached the limit of his powers, and must either be recaptured within a short space or die of the bitter cold. Even as he lay with closed eyes gasping for breath he felt its numbing clutch, and knew that very shortly he would be powerless against it. But it did not matter. He would at least die in possession of the freedom for which he had longed, and, after all, what had he to live for? He was friendless, homeless, and without even a people whom he might call his own. No tribe claimed him, there was no lodge within which he had the right of shelter. It would be much better in the land of spirits, for there his own would know him as he would know them. The trail to it was easy and short, also it was a very pleasant path, bright with sunshine and gay with flowers. There was music of singing birds, and already were the voices of his own people calling to him. "Massasoit!" they cried, "Massasoit!" Then they named him brother and bade him open his eyes that he might see them. So he opened his eyes and gazed into the anxious face of Tasquanto, who knelt beside him rubbing vigorously at his limbs and slapping him smartly to restore circulation in the numbing body. He smiled happily at sight of Nahma's unclosed eyes, but did not for an instant desist from his rubbings and slappings until the other at length sat up, and then unsteadily regained his feet. "Now, my brother," said Tasquanto, taking a robe of skins from his own shoulders as he spoke and throwing it about Nahma, "together must we reach the lodge I have prepared, for I will never return to it alone. The trail is long and hard, but it must be overcome or we shall perish together." So the journey was begun, Nahma at first leaning heavily on his comrade's supporting arm, but gaining new strength with each step. As he had taken neither nourishment nor stimulant, this was wholly owing to the effect upon his spirits of renewed hope and a cheery companionship. As they walked Tasquanto told him how, ever since the storm, his attempts at communication had been frustrated, how in the mean time he had increased the comforts of his hidden lodge, how at sound of Chauvin's cannon he had hastened towards the fort to learn the cause of the firing, and of the overwhelming joy with which he had discovered Nahma as the latter topped the ice-ridge in the middle of the river. Then Nahma related as well as he could the details of his wonderful escape from the fort, and by the time his narrative was ended they were come to the rude lodge that Tasquanto had built in anticipation of just such a need as had now arisen. CHAPTER XVII A DEATH-DEALING THUNDER-STICK Tasquanto's lodge was snugly hidden in a dense growth of heavy timber near the place where the Chaudière flows into the St. Lawrence. It was merely a frame of poles covered so thickly with branches of fragrant spruce and balsam that it presented the appearance of a green mound rising above the surrounding snow. Its walls were so thick as to be almost wind-proof, and in the middle of its earthen floor was a small circle of stones that formed a rude fireplace. In this only the dryest of wood was burned, and the little smoke that resulted escaped through an aperture left in the roof. On two sides were elastic beds of spruce boughs covered deep with flat hemlock branches and balsam tips. The very air of the place was a tonic, and the escaped captive, fresh from the foulness of his prison, drew in eager breaths of its life-giving sweetness as he sank wearily, but happily, down on the nearest pile of boughs. As he lay there gazing about the rude shelter with an air of perfect content he uttered frequent exclamations of amazement, for Tasquanto was drawing from various hiding-places an array of treasures such as no Indian of Nahma's acquaintance had ever before possessed: a copper kettle, a steel hatchet, two knives, a blanket, several glass bottles, and a fragment of mirror. Then, with conscious pride, but also with evident trepidation, he produced the most wonderful trophy of all, a rusty musket, one of the awful thunder-sticks that rendered the white man all-powerful. During the night of the great storm the entire garrison of Quebec had gathered for warmth in the hall of the commandant's house, and Tasquanto had taken advantage of this to make a foray into the deserted barracks with the above result. He had brought away the musket with fear and trembling, dreading lest it might explode and kill him at any moment. Even now he handled it cautiously, while Nahma could not for some time be persuaded to touch it. So it was laid carefully down, and he was permitted to feast his eyes on the marvel while Tasquanto busied himself in preparing a feast of more substantial character. He had been so fortunate as to discover the winter den of a bear, which he had also succeeded in killing, so that now he could offer his guest not only the warmth of a shaggy robe but an abundance of meat. Instead of half-burning and half-cooking a chunk of this on the coals, as was the custom of his people, he displayed a rudiment of civilization by cutting it up into small bits and stewing them in his copper kettle. After the youths had eaten heartily of this meal, which, simple as it was, proved more satisfactory to Nahma than the very best of those given him in Quebec, they spent several hours in discussing their plans for the future and in examining Tasquanto's treasures. Having overcome his awe of the thunder-stick sufficiently to take it in his hands, Nahma became anxious to test its powers. He had seen Champlain discharge his musket, and knew that it was done through the agency of a lighted slow-match applied to the priming-pan. His knowledge of the firing of a gun was thus far in advance of Tasquanto's, who, having never witnessed the operation at close range, had no idea of how it was accomplished. But he was quite willing to learn, and so it was agreed that on the following morning Nahma should give the owner of the musket his first lesson in its use. Both of them were so excited over the prospect of experimenting for their own benefit with the deadly thunder of the white man that they lay awake most of the night discussing their proposed adventure; and, as a consequence, slept much later than they had intended on the following morning. The day was well advanced, therefore, when the two lads, after preparing and eating another hearty meal, stepped outside to test their newly acquired weapon. It was carried by Nahma, who, nervous with excitement, still presented a bold front, while, under his direction, Tasquanto fetched a blazing brand from the fire. Resting the barrel of his piece across the trunk of a prostrate tree and holding its stock at arm's length, Nahma bade his companion apply fire to the pan. With much trepidation and a strong desire to clap both hands to his ears, Tasquanto valiantly did as he was bidden, but without result. Again and again did he apply the glowing coal, but still the gun refused to obey the wishes of its inexperienced owners. "It will only speak and deal out its death-medicine at the command of white men," said Tasquanto, disconsolately. "Not so," replied Nahma, "for once I saw it obey the will of a Huron warrior. But I think I know what is needed. It must be turned over so that the flame may rise to it. Also in this weather the thunder-stick is so cold that it will take much fire to warm it into action. Make, therefore, a hot blaze, and I am assured that something will happen." So Nahma turned the gun, and, forgetting to remain at arm's length, bent anxiously over the refractory piece, while Tasquanto built a regular fire beneath it. Of a sudden the musket went off with a tremendous report that roused the woodland echoes for miles. Also it sprang savagely backward, bowling over both Nahma and Tasquanto as though they had been ninepins. But the most astounding result of the discharge was a series of shrieks and yells that resounded through the forest as though it were peopled by a pack of demons. At the same time a number of leaping figures dashed from an extensive thicket at which the gun had been inadvertently pointed and fled as though for their lives. Something had assuredly happened. As our bewildered lads cautiously lifted their heads to learn the extent of the damage done by the fearful force they had so recklessly let loose, each was thankful to see that the other was still alive. Next they glanced at the musket. It lay half buried in the snow, looking as innocent and harmless as a stick of wood; but they knew of what terrible things it was capable, and would hereafter be very careful how they allowed it to come into contact with fire. They were convinced that in some unexplained manner it could absorb flame until it had accumulated a certain quantity and could then eject this with deadly effect. Being reassured concerning their own condition and the present harmlessness of the musket, they next bethought themselves of the dreadful cries that had seemed to mingle with the report, and they agreed that these must have been uttered by the Okis, or spirits of the forest, in protest against such a rude disturbance of its winter quiet. As they stiffly picked themselves up, Nahma declared his intention of visiting the thicket towards which the thunder-stick had been pointed, to see whether he could discover where its lightnings had struck. Tasquanto tried to dissuade him, declaring that the place must be the abode of Okis; but to this Nahma answered that if so they were certainly frightened away for the present, which would therefore be the best time to visit their haunts. So the two cautiously made their way in that direction, and had not gone more than fifty paces when they came upon a sight almost as startling as had been the discharge of the musket. It was the dead body of a Huron warrior not yet cold. His life's blood still trickled from a jagged wound in the breast and crimsoned the snow on which he had fallen. On all sides of him were other signs that told as plainly as spoken words how narrowly our lads had escaped falling into the hands of a merciless foe. There were marks of a cautious approach along the trail they themselves had made the day before, of the halt for observation when the intended victims were discovered, and of the panic-stricken flight that followed the unexpected musket-fire by which one of their number had been so suddenly killed. "The thunder-stick is indeed a god," remarked Nahma. "It can discover and kill the enemies of those to whom it is friendly even before they have knowledge of approaching danger." "Yes," replied Tasquanto, as he coolly scalped the dead Huron; "with it to fight on our side we are become as sagamores, terrible and all-powerful. I will take it to my own people, and when it shall lead them in battle who will be able to stand before them? Even the white men, whom many still think to be gods, are now no stronger than we. Oh, my friend! let us shout for joy, since in all the world there is no man more powerful than are Massasoit and Tasquanto, his brother." When the exultant young warriors returned to camp, bearing with them the trophies of their exploit, they also carried, very reverently, the weapon which they termed a "thunder-god," and which had rendered them such notable service. Then, while Nahma set to work on a pair of snow-shoes, Tasquanto, who had seen the French soldiers oil and burnish their guns, coated his with bear's grease, removed its smoke-stains, and rubbed its barrel until it shone. When he had done for it everything that his limited knowledge prescribed, he placed it in a corner where they could constantly admire it, and began the construction of a rude toboggan of bark. By the time this was completed Nahma's snow-shoes were also ready for service, and the fugitives were prepared to start on their long southward journey. For a beginning of this they made their way slowly up to the head-waters of the Chaudière, crossed a rugged divide to those of the Penobscot, and there established a permanent camp. From this they set lines of traps that yielded a rich reward in the way of pelts, and before spring opened they got out the frame of a canoe. As soon as sap began to run in the birch-trees they secured enough bark to cover it, and by the time the river opened they were prepared to float with its current to the country of Tasquanto's people. Their voyage down the swift-rushing river was filled with adventures and with hair-breadth escapes. Not only were they in almost constant danger from foaming rapids and roaring waterfalls, but only unceasing vigilance and an occasional display of their musket saved them from death or capture by the hostile tribes through whose territory they passed. At length they carried around the last cataract and entered upon the long, broad reaches by which the river flowed in dignified majesty to the sea. This was Tasquanto's country, and now they might watch for the villages in which he would be assured a friendly welcome. Finally one was sighted, and Nahma proposed that, after the custom of white men on returning from victorious expeditions, they should discharge their thunder-stick. Nothing loath to add to his own importance by such an announcement of their coming, Tasquanto promptly assented to this proposition. So they landed a few hundred yards above the village and made preparations for the second discharge of their formidable weapon. CHAPTER XVIII KIDNAPPED Being by this time, as they fondly imagined, thoroughly acquainted with the white man's thunder-stick and with all details of the process necessary to render it effective, our young Indians were determined to leave undone nothing that might contribute to the complete success of their proposed salute. To begin with, the musket must be pointed away from the village, and they themselves must keep at a respectful distance while it was accumulating its fiery energy. Also, to produce an extraordinary volume of sound, the flame by which the thunder-stick was fed must be big and hot. They knew this, because on the occasion of their previous experiment they had, with the aid of a flame, produced a much louder noise than that made by the white man's slow-matches. Consequently they argued that the greater the flame the louder the report. At the same time they were willing to acknowledge that slow-matches were excellent things to have under certain conditions, when, for instance, one was so closely beset that he wished to fire with great rapidity, even as many as two or three shots in the course of an hour. So they were determined to obtain one at the very first opportunity, and imagined that thus provided their shooting equipment would be complete. But a blaze would be much better for their present purpose, and they would take care that it was big enough to produce an astonishing result. So carefully did they make their preparations that while Tasquanto collected dry wood for the fire, Nahma cut a couple of forked sticks on which to rest the musket and drove them solidly into the ground. To these he lashed the gun until it resembled a victim about to be burned at the stake. He did not, of course, forget to place it upside down, so that its firing-pan might receive full benefit of the upleaping flames. Then wood was piled beneath it until it really looked as though they were intent upon burning the gun instead of being merely desirous of discharging it. While they were making these preparations several of the villagers, noticing the presence of strangers, came out to discover their business. To these Tasquanto made the peace sign, and at the same time warned them not to come too close. So they halted and watched with curiosity the mysterious proceedings of the strangers. At length all was in readiness, and Tasquanto, as principal owner of the thunder-stick, claimed the privilege of setting fire to the inflammable structure he had reared beneath it. As the brisk blaze shot upward he ran back and joined Nahma at a safe distance. On the opposite side were the village Indians, filled with uneasy expectancy mingled with awe; for they imagined they were witnessing some impressive religious ceremony. The flames mounted higher and higher until they completely enveloped the devoted musket, and Tasquanto, so excited as to be unconscious of the act, clapped his hands to his ears to deaden the sound of the thunderous report that he momentarily expected. But it did not come. The wooden stock of the gun began to smoke, and then burst into a blaze. Being very dry and also saturated with oil, it was speedily consumed. At the same time the lashings burned through, and the red-hot barrel, already bent out of shape, fell into the glowing coals. As though drawn by an irresistible fascination, Tasquanto, with hands still held to his ears, had moved nearer step by step, gazing with incredulous eyes at this destruction of the thing he had regarded as a god, loud-voiced and invincible. The puzzled spectators on the other side also cautiously approached closer. Suddenly Tasquanto, seeming to awake as from a dream, started down the hill-side towards the canoe, and Nahma followed him. Both knew why they fled. For some unexplained reason their expected triumph had resulted in a dismal failure. This had laid them open to the ridicule that an Indian finds especially hard to bear, and they had no wish to be questioned concerning what had just taken place. The spectators of their recent remarkable performance, curious to see what they would do next, followed them so closely that, in order to escape, our lads were forced to run. Gaining their canoe, they shoved it off and leaped in as the foremost of their pursuers reached the water's edge. Without heeding the many invitations to return that quickly became threatening commands, Nahma and Tasquanto plied their paddles with such diligence that they were quickly beyond arrow range; and, speeding past the village without a pause, they were soon lost to sight of its puzzled inhabitants. Not until they were some miles farther down the river was a word exchanged between the young men. Then, as Nahma drew in his paddle and paused for breath, he remarked,-- "The thunder-stick of the white man is bad medicine for bow-and-arrow people." "Yes," replied Tasquanto, mournfully, "it seems that we have much to learn." While in camp that night discussing the humiliating events of the day they were joined by a solitary hunter who was on his way up the river. After a guarded interchange of questions and answers, during which neither party learned anything definite concerning the other, the stranger told them of certain white men who were trading at the mouth of the Penobscot, and advised them to carry their furs to that market. "Are they Française?" asked Nahma, who was determined never again to fall within the power of those who had so cruelly imprisoned him. "No," was the reply, "they are of a people who call themselves 'Yengeese' and who make war on the white-coats." "Have they thunder-sticks?" asked Tasquanto. "In plenty." "Then let us go to them. If we accomplish nothing else we may learn the white man's secret, and so shall our shame be wiped out." On the following day, therefore, a few hours carried our lads to where the river broadened into a bay dotted with islands. As their little craft was lifted on the first great swells that came rolling in from the open sea, Nahma uttered an exclamation and pointed eagerly. "Look!" he cried. "What is it? Was ever such a thing seen in the world before?" Tasquanto glanced in the direction indicated and laughed. Truly, the sight was remarkable, and one still rare to those waters; but he had already seen one so similar in the St. Lawrence that he could now speak with the authority of superior knowledge. "It is the winged canoe of the white man," he said. "In it he comes up out of the great salt waters and after a little flies back again to his own place. Knew you not that his whiteness is caused by the washing of the waters in which he lives?" "No," replied Nahma, doubtfully. "Nor did I know that any canoe could be so vast. It even has trees growing from it." "Yes," admitted the other, to whom this phenomenon was also a puzzle. "But they be not trees that bear fruit, nor even leaves, though they have branches and vines. On them the canoe spreads its wings, which are white like the pinions of wembezee" (the swan). "Let us go closer that we may see these things," said Nahma, to whom the appearance of that little English trading-ship was as wonderful as had been his first view of Quebec. So they approached slowly and cautiously, feasting their eyes on the marvel as they went, and directing each other's attention to a myriad of details. Finally they were within hailing distance, and a man standing on the ship's towering poop-deck beckoned for them to come on board. Tasquanto, who knew the etiquette of such occasions, held up a beaver-skin, as much as to say "Will you trade?" For reply the white man displayed some trinkets that glittered in the sunlight, thereby intimating his willingness to transact business. At the same time he turned to one who stood close at hand and said,-- "They be two young bucks, without old men, women, or children. Nor is there another native in sight. It is therefore the best chance by far that has offered for filling Sir Ferdinando's order. 'Twenty pounds will I give thee, Dermer, for a native youth of intelligence delivered here at Plymouth in good condition.' Those were his very words, and it will be well to have two; for if one dies on the passage, as the cattle are so apt to do, then will the other make good the loss. If both survive, so much the better, since we can readily dispose of the extra one. We must entice them on board, therefore, and the instant they set foot on deck do thou see to it that they are secured. Be careful, however, that they suffer no injury, for I would get them across in good condition if possible." "Aye, aye, sir," answered the other, who was mate of the ship. "If you can toll 'em on board I'll handle them as they were unweaned lambs. I'll warrant you they won't escape if once I get a grip on them, slippery devils though they be." When the canoe ran alongside the ship a few trinkets were tossed into it as presents and in token of good-will. Then a ladder of rope was lowered, and by signs our lads were invited to come on board. They looked at each other doubtfully. "Is it safe to trust these white men?" asked Nahma. "To discover the secret of the thunder-sticks, and perhaps to obtain one in exchange for our furs, is worth a risk," replied Tasquanto. As he spoke he glanced longingly up to where the ship's captain, with a leer on his face that passed for a reassuring smile, tempted them by a lavish display of trade goods. "Truly, it would be worth much," hesitated Nahma. "At the same time, having once escaped from a prison, I have no desire to see the inside of another." "Then stay thou here while I go," said Tasquanto, whose desire to wipe out his recent humiliation was so great as to overcome his prudence. "The secret of the thunder-stick I must have even though it cost me my life." "Does my brother think so meanly of me as to believe that I would let him face a danger alone while I remained in safety?" inquired Nahma, reproachfully. "Let him go and I will follow close at his heels; for whatever happens to one of us must happen to both." So the canoe was made fast, the bundle of furs was attached to a line let down for it, and Tasquanto began to climb the swaying ladder while Nahma steadied it from below. As the former disappeared over the ship's side the son of Longfeather followed swiftly after him. Topping the high bulwarks, he glanced anxiously down in search of his comrade, but Tasquanto was not to be seen. A suspicion of foul play darted into his mind, but too late for him to act upon it, for at the same instant he was seized by two pair of brawny hands and dragged inboard. Half an hour later the ship under full canvas was speeding merrily down the bay with her jubilant crew bawling out the chorus of a homeward-bound chantey. CHAPTER XIX SOLD AS A SLAVE The distress and terror of our poor lads when they found themselves flung into the horrible darkness of the ship's hold with its hatch closed above them would have been pitiful had there been any witnesses. But there was none, and for many weary hours they seemed to have been imprisoned in mere wantonness only to be forgotten as soon as the treacherous act had been accomplished. Their sole comfort was that they were together; for, on being dropped into the hold, Nahma found Tasquanto, stunned by the magnitude of his misfortune, awaiting him. For a time the two remained speechless, only holding to each other, listening, and fearfully awaiting what next might happen. Although they could see nothing there was much to hear, for the anchor was being hove up, sails loosed and sheeted home, canvas was slatting, yards were creaking, and all to the accompaniment of much hoarse shouting and a continual tramping of heavy feet. But none of these sounds conveyed to our captives the slightest idea of what was taking place. After a while the ship began to heel until they believed her to be capsizing, and that their last hour had come. Also they heard a sound of rushing waters. A little later both were so utterly prostrated by sea-sickness that whatever might happen no longer concerned them. In this wretched plight they lay for what seemed like many days, but in reality only until the middle of the next forenoon, when, of a sudden, the hatch above them was removed and they were blinded by the flood of light that followed. Then men came to them and they were driven on deck, where, dazed and weak with illness, they staggered from side to side with the motion of the ship. Their pitiable appearance was greeted by shouts of coarse mirth from the crew, who found in it a vastly entertaining spectacle. The captives were offered food, but refused it with loathing, though they drank eagerly from a bucket of water placed beside them as they sat on deck at the foremast's foot. After a while Nahma became sufficiently revived by the fresh air to gaze about him with somewhat of interest in his strange surroundings. Everything was marvellous and incomprehensible. Even the bearded sailors in petticoats and pigtails, which latter he took to be scalp-locks, were entirely different from the French, who, until now, were the only white men he had known. Nor could he comprehend a word of the barbarous language in which they conversed. When he was tired of looking at them he began to wonder in which direction lay the land, and to turn over in his mind a plan for making a quick rush to the ship's side, leaping overboard, and swimming to shore. Before broaching this scheme to his comrade Nahma decided to get his bearings. So he gained his feet and mounted a scuttle-butt, by which his eyes were lifted above the level of the high bulwarks. To his consternation there was no land in sight. Not so much as a tree nor a blue hill-top could he discover in any direction. His unaccustomed eyes could not even distinguish the line of the horizon dividing a gray sky from the immensity of gray waters that stretched away on all sides. The bewildering sight filled him with a dread greater than any he had ever known, and he slipped back to his place beside Tasquanto, utterly hopeless. "Whether we be going up or down I know not," he said to the latter; "but certain it is that we now float among the clouds, with no prospect of ever again returning to the earth on which dwell people after our own kind. Already are we become Okis." "Then is it a most unhappy condition," answered Tasquanto, "and the medicine-men are liars." After a few hours on deck our lads were again driven into the darkness and foulness of the hold; but on every pleasant day thereafter for weeks was the process of bringing them on deck for an airing repeated. In times of storm they were kept below, with their sufferings immeasurably increased by sickness, by the violent pitching of the ship, by lack of food and water, and by terrors of the creakings and groanings that filled the surrounding blackness. For more than a month did they thus suffer, hopeless of ever again sighting land or of any relief from their unhappy situation. Then, to Nahma at least, came the worst of all. One day, while they were on deck, he suddenly lifted his head and sniffed the air. "It is a breath of earth," he whispered, as though fearful of uttering the glad news aloud. "I can smell it. Oh, my brother! to once more gain the freedom of a forest would be a happiness exceeding any other. Let us be ready on the morrow when we are again brought into the light. It may be that we shall be near enough to swim to the land. Once within cover of the forest we would never again look upon the face of a white man." About this time they were sent below, but that faint scent of land not yet distinguished by any other on the ship had infused them with a new hope, and for hours they talked of what might be done on the morrow. In the mean time their ship was so near the English coast that twenty-four hours later she lay at anchor in the harbor of Plymouth and her small boat was ready to go ashore. "Fetch me the heathen desired by Sir Ferdinando," ordered Captain Dermer. "Which one, sir?" "Either will do. Call them up and take the first that shows a head. Drive the other back, and keep him below until my return." "Aye, aye, sir." So the hatch was partially removed, and the signal for which our lads had waited so impatiently was given. Tasquanto was first to answer it and gain the deck. Nahma followed closely, but was met by a blow that tumbled him back into the hold. Then the hatch was replaced, and he was once more confronted by the horrors of solitary confinement. For a time he continued to hope that he would be allowed on deck, or that his comrade would be restored to him; but, as the weary hours dragged slowly by without either of these things happening, these hopes grew fainter and fainter until finally they vanished. When food and water were brought to him, he drank of the latter but refused to eat, although the food was fresh meat, the first he had seen since the dreadful day when he had been enticed aboard the ship. It was another proof that they were once more near land. Perhaps even now the forest for which he longed was close at hand, and perhaps people of his own race were come off to trade. Perhaps Tasquanto, who had picked up a number of English words, was acting as interpreter for them. In that case he would doubtless find a chance for escape, though even if he should, Nahma was certain that he would not make use of it. Were they not brothers, sworn to share each other's fortunes, good or ill, to the end? No! Tasquanto would never desert him; but sooner or later, if he were still alive, would come again to him. Of this our lad was certain. After a while the lonely prisoner fell asleep, and when he next awoke the ship was again in motion. He felt about for his companion, but could not find him; he called aloud, but got no answer. Then he knew that he was indeed alone in the world and that something terrible must have happened to Tasquanto. When next he was allowed on deck he looked eagerly for his friend, and, seeing nothing of him, relapsed into a condition of apathy. He no longer cared what happened, and refused to eat the food offered him. "Won't eat, eh?" growled Captain Dermer, on learning of this state of affairs. "We'll see about that." The grizzled old mariner's method of seeing about things was so effective that the refractory young Indian shortly found himself pinned to the deck by two sailors. A third pinched his nose, and when he opened his mouth for breath poured in hot soup that the victim was obliged to swallow to keep from choking. So he was fed by force, and his strength was sustained until the ship once more came to anchor. As usual, Nahma was confined below when this happened, and when he was next brought on deck he was given no time to look about him before being seized, stripped of the foul garments that he had worn during the voyage, and scrubbed from head to foot, roughly but thoroughly. Then he was provided with a new suit of buckskin that had been acquired by trade from the Abenakis. He was also given colors and a mirror and ordered to paint his face. Showing symptoms of disobedience, he was made to understand that one of the crew would do it for him; and, rather than be thus disfigured, he reluctantly complied. After he had satisfactorily decorated himself, greatly to the amusement of the crew, he was left to his own devices and allowed to wander about the deck as he pleased. Gaining a position where he could see beyond the ship's side, he was as amazed and bewildered as though he had been transported to another planet, for the vessel had ascended the Thames, and his outlook was upon London. Not a tree was to be seen, not a green thing, only houses, until it seemed as though the whole world must be covered with them. Even the river disappeared beneath houses built in a double row on a bridge that spanned it a short distance away. The ship was moored beside a great dingy building, from and into which men came and went as thickly as bees swarming about a hollow tree in his native woods. Although no such clouds of smoke hung above London then as infold it to-day, there was enough to impress our young savage with the belief that a forest fire must be raging just beyond the buildings that obstructed his view. This belief was strengthened by the ceaseless roar of the city, that, to him, held the same elements of terror as the awful voice of a wide-spread conflagration. If Tasquanto were only with him that they might discuss these things. But, alas! he was alone, as unfitted for a life-struggle amid those heretofore undreamed-of surroundings as a newborn babe, and, like it, unprovided with a language understandable by those about him. Set down in the heart of a primeval forest he would have been perfectly at home; but face to face with this hideous wilderness of human construction he was appalled at his own insignificance and utter helplessness. As he turned away terror-stricken he noticed that several persons gathered about Captain Dermer were regarding him curiously. One of them, a young man of about Nahma's own age, apparently touched by the hopeless expression on our lad's painted face, stepped towards him with outstretched hand. "Winslow," he said, pointing to himself. "Massasoit," answered the other, promptly, and indicating his own person. Although he could not understand the newcomer's words he appreciated the hearty grip of his hand, and, gazing into his honest eyes, felt that here was one who might become a friend. "What are you going to do with him?" inquired Winslow, stepping back beside Captain Dermer. "Let him go when he can pay his passage-money, or turn him over to the first person who will pay it for him," was the reply. "What is the sum?" "Twenty pounds, no more nor less." "I have not that amount with me, but if you will give me a day or two I think I can get it. Will you keep him until I come again?" "Unless some other turns up in the mean time equally desirous of accommodating him." "Captain, I vill pay the money on the spot," exclaimed a voice, and wheeling about, Winslow saw a man of sporty aspect arrayed in tawdry imitation of a gentleman, and of a decidedly Hebraic cast of countenance. He was extending a handful of gold pieces, which Captain Dermer took and counted. "It is a trade," he said. "Take him and may luck go with you." Thus was sold, in the city of London, a free-born native American; and he was but one of many New World people who shared a similar fate both before and afterwards. CHAPTER XX ONE FRIENDLY FACE The man who on pretence of paying Nahma's passage-money had in reality bought him was a well-known London fur-dealer, who had visited the ship to appraise her cargo. The young fellow who had extended to our forlorn lad the hand of friendship, and who, but for lack of ready means, would have redeemed him from a threatened slavery, was a Mr. Edward Winslow. He was the youngest son of a well-to-do Devon family, who had taken a degree at Oxford and was now reading law in the Temple. He was intensely interested in America and everything pertaining to it. Thus, on hearing that a ship just arrived from the New World was in the Thames, he hastened to board her, that he might converse with those who had so recently trod the shores he longed to visit. Nahma was the first American he had ever seen, and he regarded him with a lively curiosity that was changed to pity at sight of his hopeless face. Now he turned fiercely on the Jew who by payment of a paltry sum of money had become master of the young stranger's fate. "What do you intend to do with him?" he asked. "Vat vould you have done mit him yourself had your purse been as full as your stomach?" asked the other, impudently. "I would have found for him a home in which he might be taught Christianity and civilization, and then I would have taken the first opportunity for sending him back to his own land." "Mayhap those be the very things I also vould do by the young heathen; who knows?" replied the furrier, with a leer. "At any rate, I have charge of him now, and vill take him at once to my happy home. You may set him ashore for me, captain." "Not I," responded Captain Dermer. "I have no longer aught to do with him. Take him ashore yourself." Thus confronted with his new responsibility, the man approached Nahma and, seizing him roughly by an arm, said, "Come mit me, heathen." With a quick motion the young Indian wrenched himself free and faced his new master with so fierce a look that the latter involuntarily quailed beneath it and stepped back. "Ah!" he snarled, "that's your game, is it? Ve'll see who comes out best." With this he called to some men of his employ who were hoisting out bales of furs and bade them come to him, bringing a stout cord. "Hold!" cried Winslow, stepping beside the young Indian. "See you not that he is desperate, and that if you try to bind him there will be bloodshed? He will surely kill you, if he dies for it the next moment. Leave him to me and I will guarantee to take him where you may desire, only I give you warning to treat him decently and without violence." Thus saying the speaker held out his hand to Nahma, and by signs intimated that he was to accompany him. By instinct the young American had recognized this youth as a friend, and now he unhesitatingly left the ship in his company. As a mob would have been attracted by the appearance of an American Indian in the crowded streets, a covered cart belonging to the furrier was procured, and in it our lad was driven to a rear entrance of his master's shop, which fronted on a fashionable thoroughfare, while the others reached the same place on foot. During that bewildering ride Nahma sat with stolid face but with keen eyes, taking in all the marvellous details of his surroundings. Next to the throngs of people hurrying to and fro along the narrow, crooked, and ill-paved streets, the appearance of horses most impressed him, for never had he seen beasts at once so large and so completely under the control of man. No word passed between Winslow and the furrier until their destination was reached. Then the latter asked, sneeringly,-- "Now, me lud, vat vill your 'ighness do next?" "I will go inside and see him disposed," replied the young man, calmly. "Oh, vell, come in and view the royal apartments," said the other, willing to have Winslow continue his responsibility until the new acquisition was safely housed. So the young Indian was taken from the cart and led into the shop, causing a buzz of excitement among the few who saw him climbing a narrow back stairway. He was finally guided to a small chamber directly beneath the roof and lighted by a single window that could not be opened. Had it not been for Winslow's reassuring presence, Nahma would have refused to ascend those stairs, which, being the first he had ever encountered, filled him with dismay. After Winslow had seen the stranger in whom he took so great an interest thus safely placed for the present and the furrier had locked the door on his captive, the two descended again to the shop. "What will you now do with him?" asked the former. "It may be I vill train him to my business and send him out to America as a fur-buyer," answered the other. "Maybe I vill keep him as a curiosity. I have not yet decided; but vatever I do is no concern of yours." "Will you sell him to me?" "Maybe so ven I see your money." With this Winslow was forced to be content, and he departed with the hope of redeeming his newly made friend and of carrying out his vaguely formed intentions concerning him. Although twenty pounds was not a large sum, it would embarrass him to procure it, since his family, though well-to-do, were not people of wealth, and he was living on a monthly allowance so small as barely to support him in gentility. In the mean time Nahma, left to his own melancholy company, gazed from his window over the roofs and chimney-pots of London, feeling that no greater evils could possibly befall him, and yet wondering vaguely what would happen next. Food was brought to him and water, but no change in his situation took place until the following morning. Then his master appeared accompanied by a coarse-featured man of evident strength, whom the furrier had engaged to be keeper of his new treasure. By them the young Indian was taken down to the shop, where a small platform had been prepared for him. It was covered and surrounded with costly furs, and here Nahma was seated with a fur robe draped across his shoulders. Close at hand stood his keeper to see that he neither escaped nor did injury to any about him. With the tableau arranged, a stout 'prentice lad took a stand just outside the street entrance and cried in lusty tones the novel attraction to be seen within. "Step this way, lords and ladies. Come all ye gentlefolk, attend the reception of his Highness, a native American cannibal prince just arrived from the New World. Look within! Look within! Under the sign of the Ermine Royal sits he. Free of charge are all gentlefolk invited to meet him. This way, lords and ladies. Look within!" To this novel reception none but the well-dressed and evidently well-to-do were admitted, since the poor could not be expected to purchase furs then any more than now. And there would have been no room for them in the limited space of the dingy little shop even had they been admitted, for ere long it was crowded with fashionable folk eager to be entertained by a novelty, while their retainers filled the street. The spectators stared at Nahma and listened with credulous ears to the marvellous tales told concerning him by the furrier, who, clad in gorgeous raiment, acted the parts of host and showman. Also many of them purchased furs, which was more to the purpose. Never had the Ermine Royal done such a business, and never had its proprietor greater reason to be satisfied with a venture. Amid all came Edward Winslow with his twenty pounds, which he proffered to the Jew in return for Nahma's release. But the latter laughed him to scorn. "For twenty pund did you think to get him, me lud? Nay, that was the price I paid, as you vell know, and I must at least double my money. Forty pund is my lowest offer, and fifty if he continues to attract trade as at present. Speech mit him? I have no objection, only have a care that you seek not to seduce him from my service, or a thing might happen not to your liking." Keenly disappointed at this result of his undertaking, the young man pushed his way through the crowd until he stood close to the platform, when he called, softly,-- "Massasoit." Instantly a glad light flashed into the eyes of the dejected figure thus set up for a show, and, turning eagerly in that direction, he exclaimed,-- "Winslow." Then the two friends clasped hands, and Winslow managed to convey the information that he would come again on the morrow. He kept his promise; and, though he had not succeeded in securing the money necessary to redeem the young Indian, his visit brought much comfort. For many days thereafter he came regularly, often bringing some little thing that he thought might give pleasure; and these daily glimpses of a friendly face were the only rays of light penetrating the unhappy darkness of Nahma's captivity. He was never allowed to leave the building, and was only marched to and fro up and down those weary stairs between the den in which he lived and the hated platform on which he was exhibited to gaping customers. At the end of three weeks Winslow, having received his month's allowance and so raised the necessary forty pounds, tendered it to the fur-dealer for the release of his slave, only to be told that the price had again been doubled. Upon this the young man flew into a rage and there was an exchange of bitter words, that ended in Winslow being told to mind his own affairs and not attempt an interference with those that did not concern him. As several 'prentice lads had gathered near during this quarrel and stood eagerly awaiting their master's permission to pounce upon the stranger, he realized the weakness of his position, and prudently ended the affair by withdrawing from the scene. At the same time he was as determined as ever to effect Nahma's deliverance, and that speedily. For this purpose he invited a number of the more reckless of his Temple companions to a dinner, at which he told the story of Massasoit and enlisted their sympathies in his behalf. Then he proposed a rescue, to which they enthusiastically agreed. According to this plan they were to meet near the furrier's shop at the busiest hour of the second day from then, each man wearing his sword, and prepared to use it if necessary. There they were to mingle with the sight-seers and resist any attempts at interference with the movements of Winslow. The latter undertook to spirit the young Indian out of the same rear entrance through which he had first been brought, into an unfrequented alley, while one of his friends should for a moment distract the attention of the keeper. To perfect the details of this scheme and provide a safe retreat for him whom they proposed to rescue occupied two days, and then all was in readiness. At this point the would-be rescuers were confronted by an unforeseen and insurmountable obstacle. The young Indian had disappeared. He was no longer an inmate of the furrier's shop, and no one could or would give the slightest information concerning him. CHAPTER XXI A CHANGE OF MASTERS For some days Nahma's master had been uneasy about him. Close confinement, lack of exercise and fresh air, and a hopeless melancholy were so telling upon the captive that his health was seriously affected. He was thin and miserable, had no appetite, and suffered from a hacking cough. These things troubled the fur-dealer, not because of his humanity, for he had none, but because of a prospect of losing the money he had invested in this bit of perishable property. He was also alarmed by Winslow's interest in the young Indian, and feared the very thing that the former had planned. Then, too, one of his gentleman customers had suggested that when the fact of an American prince being in London came to the king's ears he would probably order him to be brought to the palace. In that case, as the furrier well knew, he would never be recompensed for his outlay, since King James was not given to spending unnecessary money, and he might even be called to account for holding a royal personage in captivity. He wished now that he had not described his Indian as a prince; and, all things considered, decided that the sooner he got rid of him the better off he would be. It happened that while he was in this frame of mind he was visited by a travelling mountebank, whose business was to exhibit freaks and curiosities of whatsoever kind he could obtain, at country fairs. Having heard of the fur-dealer's Indian, he went to see him, and was so impressed with his value as an attraction that he promptly offered ten pounds for him. "Already haf I refused forty," replied the furrier. "It was doubtless offered when he was in condition. Now, as any one may see, he is on the verge of a quick decline and is like to die on your hands. It would be a risk to take him at any price, and it will cost a pretty penny to restore him to health, without which he is of no more value than a mangy dog." "But I haf advanced twenty pund for his passage-money, and haf been at the expense of his keep ever since." "A cost that has been repaid a thousand-fold by the advertisement he has given your wares. But to insure you against loss, which I well know a Jew hates worse than death itself, I will give twenty pounds for the varlet, sick and scrawny though he be. What say you? Is it a bargain?" "Hand over the price and he is yours." Of course the subject of this barter was not consulted concerning it. Nor did he know anything of the change about to come over his life until darkness had fallen. Then, as he lay on his bed of musty straw, dreaming of the free forest life that was once his, he was startled by the entrance into his room of two men, one of whom bore a rush-light. In him Nahma recognized his hated keeper, but the other was a stranger. "Come," said the former, gruffly; and, glad of any break in the deadly monotony of his life, Nahma obediently followed him, while the other brought up the rear. Down-stairs they went and out into the darkness of the streets, where each of the men grasped him by an arm as though fearful that he might attempt an escape. The young Indian smiled bitterly as he realized this, for nothing was further from his thought. In all that wilderness of houses he had but one friend, and he knew no more where to look for Winslow than he would if the latter were dead. To him all other white men represented cruelty and injustice, therefore nothing was to be gained by escaping from those who held him. He would only fall into the clutches of others against whom he would be equally powerless. So he went along quietly and with apparent willingness, somewhat to the surprise of his new master. "I fail to note but that he goes readily enough," he remarked. "Methought you said he was vicious and like to prove troublesome." "Oh, he's quiet enough now," replied the other, "but wait and see. They're as treacherous, these Hammerican savages, as cats. Purr till they see a good chance and then scratch. If they draw life's blood they're all the more pleased. I knows 'em, for I've had experience, and my word! but you've got to watch 'em every minute." It was by such representations that the keeper hoped to induce the showman to continue him in his present easy position. Now he wished that his charge would make some aggressive exhibition merely to demonstrate the necessity for his own presence. He slyly pinched the prisoner's arm until it was ready to bleed, with the hope of at least causing him to cry out; but Nahma endured the pain with all the stoicism of his race and gave no sign. Thus they proceeded through a weary labyrinth of foul streets, only lighted at long intervals by flaring torches borne by retainers of well-to-do pedestrians, until finally they turned into the yard of a rambling tavern that stood on the outskirts of the town. It was a famous resort for wagoners who transported goods to and from all parts of the kingdom, and its court was now crowded with ponderous vehicles and their lading. Here Nahma was thrust for safe-keeping into an outhouse, the air of which was close and foul, and its door was barred behind him. To our unhappy lad it seemed as if the whole remainder of his life was to be marked only by a succession of imprisonments, each more dismal than its predecessor. In Quebec he had had Tasquanto's companionship and an open window. On shipboard he had been given the same comrade and a daily outing. In the furrier's establishment he had had a window and an occasional hand-clasp from Winslow; but here he was alone, in absolute darkness, and gasping for a breath of fresh air. The wretched night finally came to an end, and with the first gray of morning his new master appeared, bringing an armful of coarse clothing, soiled and worn. Stripping Nahma of his buckskin suit, he compelled him to don these ill-fitting garments, and then left him a platter of bones for his breakfast. A little later they were on the road, and, to his amazement, Nahma found himself leading a bear. It was a big brown bear, and its whole head was enclosed in a stout muzzle; but, in spite of this, our young Indian, who had never heard of a tame bear, felt anything but comfortable at finding himself in such company unarmed. Besides himself and the bear, the party was made up of the showman, a cadaverous youth answering to the name of "Blink," who afterwards proved to be a contortionist, and a heavily laden pack-horse. To Nahma's relief, the big man who had acted as his keeper was no longer of the company. For a time our lad was so taken up with his bear and the discomforts of his unaccustomed clothing that he paid but slight attention to his surroundings. Then, all of a sudden, he uttered a cry of amazed delight, for they were entering a forest. No longer were houses to be seen, no longer was the horrid din of the city to be heard. Once more was he beneath green trees, with the songs of birds ringing in his ears and the smell of the woods in his nostrils. He drew in long breaths of the scented air, and a new light came into his eyes. Having found a forest, might he not also hope to discover people of his own kind? If there were forests in this strange land and bears, why should there not also be Indians? At any rate, he would keep a sharp watch, and if he should see any, how quickly he would take leave of his present companions and join them! That night they lay at an inn, where an iron shackle was locked about one of Nahma's ankles, and, with the bear, he was chained up in a stable. On the following day they reached a straggling country town in which a fair was to be held and where they were to give an exhibition. Here they pitched a tent. Nahma's suit of buckskin was restored to him, and he was again made to paint his face. In this first exhibition he had nothing to do but stand and be stared at by curious rustics, but after this he was taught and encouraged to perform a number of acts in company with the bear. One of these was to shoot, with bow and arrow, an apple, or some other small object, from the animal's head. Then they would wrestle together, and finally a sort of a dance was arranged for them, in which Blink, made up as a clown for the occasion, also took part. Thus the show became so unique and popular that its proprietor coined more money than any other on the road. But with prosperity came an evil more terrible even than adversity; for, with money to spend, the showman began to squander it in gambling and drinking until it was a rare thing for him to draw a sober breath. He became quarrelsome with his intimates and brutal to those in his power. His poor bear was beaten and tortured to make it learn new tricks until it became a snarling, morose beast, influenced only by fear, and dangerous to all except the young Indian, who was its fellow-sufferer. He, too, was abused, starved, beaten, and in all ways maltreated for not learning faster and pouring more money into his master's bottomless pockets. One day, while Nahma and the bear were wearily performing their antics before a crowd of gaping yokels in the market-place of a small shire town in the west, the youth's attention was drawn to a child who was uttering shrill cries of pleasure. She was a dainty little thing with flaxen hair and blue eyes, exquisitely dressed, and was in charge of a maid. They had come from a coach that was drawn up before a shop near by, and the throng had opened to make way for them until they stood in the very front rank. Suddenly the child, in an ecstasy of delight, pulled away from her nurse and ran forward with the evident intention of caressing the bear as though he had been a big dog. The brute was so tired, hungry, and cross that Nahma had with difficulty kept him to his work. Now, with a snarl and a fierce gleam in his small bloodshot eyes, he raised a threatening paw as though to sweep away the little fluttering thing that came running so confidently towards him. A great cry rose from the crowd. The maid, so terrified as to be incapable of motion, screamed and covered her face with her hands; but Nahma, darting forward, snatched the child from under the descending paw. So narrow was the escape that his left arm was torn from shoulder to elbow by the cruel claws, and he staggered beneath the blow. The showman, who had been passing his cap among the spectators, ran to the bear and, beating him over the head with a stout cudgel, drove him to his quarters in a near-by stable. Part of the populace cheered Nahma, while others demanded the death of the bear, and amid all the confusion came the mother of the little girl, frantic with terror. To her our lad delivered the child, frightened but unharmed. Then, without waiting to be rewarded, or even thanked, he ran to look after his friend the bear. CHAPTER XXII NAHMA AND THE BEAR RUN AWAY Nahma found the showman and Blink engaged in a violent dispute over the bear. The former was insisting that Blink should escape, with the animal, from the rear of the stable and lead it to a place of concealment on the outskirts of the village, where he would join them later. In the mean time he would divert the attention of the mob until the escape could be made. Blink, who was not on friendly terms with the bear, was refusing on the ground that, with the animal in its present temper, his life would not be worth a moment's purchase. "Then let the heathen take him, and do you go along to see that they do not give us the slip," exclaimed the man, as Nahma appeared and a howl from the mob announced their approach. Their interest had been distracted for a minute while they watched the lady with the frightened child in her arms regain her coach, which was immediately driven away. Now they were ready to settle with the bear, and turned towards the stable in which he had taken refuge. As they drew near the showman, who, though a brute, was no coward, appeared in its open doorway and confronted them. "Good my masters," he cried, "what seek you?" "Thy bear!" roared a dozen voices. "Bring forth thy bear that we may bait him. He is not fit to live, and must be slain." Again the showman attempted to speak, but his voice was drowned in the bedlam of cries raised by the mob; and, losing control of his temper, he shook his cudgel defiantly at them. Upon this a shower of stones was hurled at him, and one of them striking him on the head, he staggered and fell. At this the mob halted, and some even sneaked away, fearful of consequences. The village barber, who was also its surgeon, bustled forward to make an examination of the wounded man. He was conscious, but in spite of, or possibly on account of, copious bloodletting, which was the only remedy administered, he died a few hours later. So completely was public attention distracted by this tragic event, that for a time no thought was given to the original cause of the disturbance, and, finally, when search was made for the bear, he was nowhere to be seen. Not until the following day was any trace discovered of those who had been in the showman's company. Then the one known as "Blink" was found on the edge of a wood, helplessly bound and half dead from a night of cold and terror. He could only tell that, having escaped with the bear and the heathen, the latter had suddenly set upon him without warning or provocation and reduced him to the condition in which he was discovered. What had become of them or whither they had gone he knew not, nor did he care. He only hoped he would never again set eyes on the savage monsters who were so unfit for Christian company. In the mean time Nahma and his companions had found no difficulty in leaving the village unnoticed, since all public attention was for the moment drawn in the opposite direction. Thus they successfully gained the woodland that had been appointed by the showman as a place of rendezvous. Here the young American suddenly realized that only Blink stood between him and the freedom for which he longed. Up to this time he had been shackled at night and so closely watched by day that no chance of escape had offered. Now one had come, and so quick was our lad to take advantage of it that within a minute the unsuspecting Blink was lying helplessly bound hand and foot with his own kerchief and a sash that formed part of his professional costume. Thus was he left, while Nahma and the bear, whom the former now regarded as his sole friend in all the world, plunged into the forest depths and disappeared. The England of that long-ago date was a very different country from the England of to-day, and its entire population hardly exceeded two millions of souls. Its few cities were small, and connected by highways so abominable that travellers frequently lost their way while trying to follow them. Not more than one-quarter of the arable lands were under cultivation, while the remainder was covered with dark forests and great fens, marshes, and desolate moors across which one might journey for a day without sight of human habitation. Game of all kinds abounded, and its hunting formed the chief recreation of the gentry and of those nobles who left London during a portion of the year to dwell on their estates. Thus our young Indian, upon gaining his freedom, found himself amid surroundings at once familiar and congenial. He had with him the bow and arrows used in his recent exhibitions, a fire-bag containing flint, steel, and tinder, and a dirk that had been taken from Blink. Thus provided he had no anxiety on the score of maintaining himself comfortably. He realized that the bear was an encumbrance, but in his present loneliness he was loath to part from it. And so the two pushed on together until they had penetrated several miles into the forest, when darkness overtook them. Then Nahma made a fire beside a small stream and cooked a rabbit he had shot an hour earlier, while the bear nosed about for acorns, grubs, and edible roots. They continued to traverse the forest on the following day, keeping to the same general direction until our lad was satisfied that he was beyond danger from pursuit, when he began to look about for a supper and a camping-place. Both of these came at the same time, for on discovering, successfully stalking, and finally killing a deer, he found that the animal had been drinking from a spring of clear water, beside which he determined to establish his camp. Further than this he had no plans. It was enough for the present that he was free, in the forest that he loved, and beyond all knowledge of the white man whom he hated. Here, then, he would abide for a time, or until he should discover people of his own kind, for he was still impressed with the belief that others like himself must inhabit those game-filled forests. That night both he and the bear, to whom he talked as though it were a human being, ate to their satisfaction of deer meat, and Nahma lay down to sleep beside his shaggy friend, happier than he had been at any time since leaving his native land. The next morning he was early astir and ready to begin work on the lodge that he proposed to construct. By mid-day he had the poles of the frame cut, set in the ground, arched over until they met, and fastened in position. Then he went in quest of proper material for a thatch or covering. The bear, having spent the morning in feeding, was left behind, chained to a small tree and fast asleep. While searching for the material he wanted Nahma struck the fresh trail of a deer, which after a long chase he overtook and killed. As he was returning with the hide and haunches on his back he was startled by a baying of hounds, which changed as he listened to a snarling, growling, and yelping that indicated a battle royal. From the nature and direction of these sounds our lad realized that trouble of some kind had come to the bear, and, without a thought of danger to himself, he ran to the assistance of his comrade. Reaching the scene, he found the bear, though sadly hampered by his chain, making a gallant fight against a pack of boar-hounds that had come across him while ranging the forest. They were fierce, gaunt creatures, and although two of their number, already knocked out, were lying to one side feebly licking their wounds, it was evident that the chained bear was overmatched and must speedily be dragged down. Flinging away his burden and drawing his dirk, Nahma rushed forward and sprang into the thick of the fray, uttering the fierce war-cry of the Iroquois as he did so. For a few minutes there was a furious and indiscriminate mingling of bear, dogs, and man, then of a sudden the young Indian was seized from behind, dragged backward, and flung to the ground by one of two men clad in the green dress of foresters, who had just arrived on the scene. While Nahma's assailant hastily but securely fastened the lad's arms so as to render him harmless, the other ranger ended the battle, still raging, by thrusting a keen-bladed boar-spear through the bear's body. It pierced the animal's heart, and he sank with a sobbing groan. "A fair sorrowful bit o' wark this, Jean," remarked the man who had killed the bear, as he examined the several dogs. "Fower dead; two killed by yon brute and two by the dirk of this wastrel. All the rest gouged, cut, and bit up. But he'll answer for it smartly when once Sir Amory claps eyes on him, the thievin', murthren gypsy poacher." "Yes, I reckon he'll sweat fine," replied the other, with a grin; "but did iver thou see bear chained afore?" "Noa, niver. Lucky thing 'twas, though. But come on whoam. Bring Poacher with 'e, and we'll send pack-horse for bear. No use looking furder for pigs this day." So poor Nahma, once more bereft of his freedom and of the dumb brute whom he regarded as his only friend, his garments rent and his body bleeding from a dozen wounds, was marched away between the two stout rangers, while after them trooped the dogs. Sir Amory Effingham, a knight in high favor at court, was lord of that region, and being devoted to the chase, he spent several months of each year at Garnet Hall, the ivy-covered forest castle in which his family had been cradled for generations. It lay a league from the scene of Nahma's capture, and by the time he was brought within sight of its battlemented towers the short day was closing and night was at hand. While one of the rangers kennelled the dogs and looked after their wounds, the other thrust Nahma, with his hurts still unattended, into an empty store-room, locked its door, and went to make report of what had taken place. "A gypsy, eh? A poacher, caught red-handed, and a dog-killer, is he?" quoth Sir Amory, angrily. "Hanging will be too good for him. He should be drawn and quartered as an example to all of his kidney, and I will deal with his case in the morning. Look well to him, then, see that he escapes not, and bring him to me in the great hall after the breaking of fast." "Yes, Sir Amory." "And, Jean, send for that bear and have his pelt taken before the body stiffens." "Yes, Sir Amory." "Also, Jean, give both the dogs and the prisoner a good feed of bear's meat." So all was done as directed; only Nahma, realizing the nature of the food thrown to him some hours later, refused to eat of it. CHAPTER XXIII AN HONORED GUEST On the following morning, after the lord of the manor, his family, and all his retainers had partaken of their rude but abundant breakfast, and washed it down with copious draughts of ale, which at that time took the place of coffee or tea, Sir Amory ordered the prisoner of the preceding evening to be brought before him. The dining-tables, which were merely boards laid on trestles, were cleared away, and the great hall was made ready to serve as a court of justice. Witnesses were summoned, and spectators gathered, until but few of the knight's following were absent. Squires, pages, men-at-arms, grooms, foresters, and under-servants, all filled with an eager curiosity, flocked to the scene of trial; for the case in hand was of so serious a nature that its resulting punishment would be certain to afford vast entertainment. In those days the killing of a deer by any person beneath the rank of a gentleman was a capital offence; while the killing of a hunting dog by one of the peasant class ranked as a crime so abominable as to merit the severest penalty. For either of these things the offender might be hanged, whipped to death, or executed in any other fitting manner, at the discretion of the judge. He might not be beheaded, as that form of punishment was reserved for offences against the state, committed by persons of rank. Neither might he be burned, since the stake was only for witches and victims of religious persecution. If the lord of the manor were inclined to be merciful, the deer-stealer or dog-killer might be given his life, and escape with some such slight punishment as having his ears cropped or a hand chopped off; but in the present case it was universally agreed that the crime was of a nature to demand the severest possible punishment. Thus, when the prisoner appeared, he was regarded with eager curiosity as one who promised to furnish a spectacle of uncommon interest. Friendless, wounded, ragged, half starved, and utterly ignorant of the situation confronting him, the son of Longfeather was led the whole length of the great hall to the dais at its upper end, on which sat the master of his fate. As he was halted, Sir Amory exclaimed,-- "On my soul, as scurvy a knave as ever I set eyes upon. I knew not that even a gypsy could present so foul an aspect. What is thy name and condition, sirrah?" Not understanding what was said, Nahma made no answer. Only, recalling the teaching of his own people, he stared his questioner full in the face with a mien that, in spite of his sorry plight, was quite as haughty as that of the knight himself. "A contumacious varlet and insolent," remarked Sir Amory, "but it is possible that we may find means to lower his pride. Let the ranger named Jem stand forth and relate his tale of the occurrence concerning which this investigation is made." So Jem told his story, and it was corroborated by the other forester. Also were the dead hounds introduced as evidence, together with the dirk that Nahma had used so effectively. "What hast thou to say in thy own behalf, scoundrel?" asked the knight, turning again to the prisoner after all this testimony against him had been submitted. Still there was no answer, but only an unflinching gaze and a proudly uplifted head. "Think you the creature is dumb?" inquired the puzzled magistrate. "No, Sir Amory," replied one of the foresters, "of a surety he is not, for we heard him call loudly to the bear, and at sound of his voice the beast made violent effort to break his chain that he might get to him." "Chain?" quoth the knight. "This is the first mention I have heard of any chain. What mean you? Was the bear indeed chained?" "Chained and muzzled was he," admitted the ranger, "else it had gone more hardly with the dogs than happened." "Chained and muzzled," repeated the knight, reflectively, and casting a searching gaze upon the prisoner. "Still, it may be only a coincidence." With this he gave an order in a low tone to a page who stood at hand, and the boy darted away. "Saw you trace of other gypsies at or near that place?" asked the knight, continuing his examination of the forester. "No, Sir Amory. That is, we saw no humans, but there was a booth partly built close at hand." "What is the material of the prisoner's dress?" "Deer-skin, Sir Amory, nothing less." At this moment a tapestry was drawn aside, and a lady, appearing on the dais, stood beside her husband with a look of inquiry. She was followed by one bearing in her arms a child, at sight of which the prisoner was surprised into a momentary start as of recognition. "My dear," said Sir Amory, "will you favor us by glancing at yonder gypsy and telling if ever you have set eyes on him before?" The lady looked in the direction indicated, but shook her head. Ere she could speak, however, the maid, who had followed her gaze, uttered a cry, and exclaimed,-- "It is the very one, my lady. The youth, I mean, who danced with that dreadful bear and saved the life of my little mistress." "Yes," said the lady, slowly. "I did not recognize him on the moment; but now me-thinks he is the same from whose hands I received my child, safe and unharmed, though blood-bespattered. But, Amory, what is he doing here? A prisoner and under guard! Surely----" "It is all a mistake," cried the knight, rising to his feet in great agitation. "He is not a prisoner, but an honored guest. Nor is he under guard, but under the protection of one who owes to him a life dearer than his own. Gentlemen, the hearing is dismissed; the prisoner is honorably acquitted, and will hereafter be known as my friend, if indeed he can forgive the cruel wrong I meditated against him. Away, ye varlets. Bring food and wine. Fetch warm water and clean napery, salve and liniments. Body o' me! The youth is wounded and hath had no attention. He looks ready to drop with weakness. Draw a settle for him beside the fire. Fetch----" But the servants were already flying in every direction in their efforts to minister to the evident needs of him whose position had undergone so sudden a transformation. At the same time Nahma himself was even more bewildered by the good fortune that was overwhelming him than ever by the hard fate that had for so long been his constant attendant. Somewhat later the lady who, with her companions, had withdrawn, came again to the hall, and stepping to where she could obtain a good view of the youth, looked at him steadily for the space of a minute. He, in the mean time, had been bathed and fed, his wounds had been dressed, and he wore a body-gown from the knight's own wardrobe that gave him an air of grace and dignity. "He is no gypsy, Sir Amory," said the lady, finally, withdrawing her gaze and turning to her husband. "I myself am beginning to doubt if he belongs to those nomads," replied the knight. "But if not a gypsy, to what race can he lay claim, with that tinge of color and with hair of such raven blackness?" "Dost remember the tale told us in London by my cousin Edward concerning an arrival from the New World in whom he had taken an interest?" "Ay, well do I, and it so aroused my curiosity that I made an errand shortly after to the place where he was said to be, but he had disappeared. How was he called? Can you remember the name?" "He was called 'Massasoit,'" replied the lady, uttering the word distinctly and observing the youth as she spoke. Turning quickly he looked at her with eager questioning. "Who are your friends?" she asked, addressing him directly and speaking the words slowly. He understood and answered, "Bear frien'. Tasquanto frien'. White man frien', Winslow." "That proves it!" cried the lady, triumphantly. "He must be the American Indian of whom Cousin Edward told us, and who is said to be a prince in his own country. At any rate, as he certainly saved the life of our child, we have ample reason to befriend him." "Indeed, yes," agreed Sir Amory. "And to fail in a duty so plainly indicated would lay us open to the charge of base ingratitude." Thus it happened that the young American who had been kidnapped from his own country, sold as a slave in London, and finally arrested on a charge that threatened to cost him his life, became the honored guest of a stately English home. His hosts sought in every way to promote his comfort and happiness, and when they discovered that he preferred living in the open to dwelling under a roof, he was promptly given the freedom of their domain. He was also accorded full liberty to dwell on it where he pleased, and to kill such of its abundant game as would supply his needs. Armed with this permission, Nahma immediately repaired to the place where he had already begun the building of a lodge after the fashion of his own people, and completed it to his satisfaction as well as that of his hosts, who took a lively interest in his work. He covered it with bark and lined its interior with the skins of fur-bearing animals. In the centre was his fireplace, and at one side his couch of dry sedge-grass covered with the great shaggy hide of his one-time friend, the bear. Here our Indian dwelt almost as contentedly as though in his own land and under the trees of his native forest. Much of his time was devoted to accompanying Sir Amory on his hunting expeditions, during which the youth's marvellous skill in tracking game and his fearlessness in moments of peril won for him both admiration and respect. On days when there was no hunting he busied himself with making bows, arrows, or snow-shoes, and in receiving visits from the green-coated foresters, whose tastes and pursuits were so similar to his own. He taught them some things, but learned more than he taught; and chiefest of all the things that he learned was to load and fire a musket. Thus was solved the mystery of the white man's thunder-stick, and he could now smile as he recalled the melancholy experience of Tasquanto and himself in attempting to fire a salute. So some months were happily passed, and it seemed as though our young American would spend the remainder of his life as an English forester. Then all of a sudden there occurred an amazing thing, by which he was rendered so unhappy that he no longer cared to live if the balance of his days must be passed under existing conditions. CHAPTER XXIV NAHMA REMEMBERS Most welcome of all the guests at Nahma's lodge was the little lady Betty, who was sometimes taken thither by her father mounted in front of him on his great Flemish horse Baldric. A strong friendship had sprung up between the child and the young Indian, and she was never happier than during the hour occasionally spent with him. She always brought some little gift, and he never failed to have ready a unique bit of his own handiwork to offer in return. Once it was a wee bow and a quiver of small stone-headed arrows. Again he presented her with the beautifully dressed skin of an otter. At length he completed a pair of tiny snow-shoes gayly fringed and ornamented. For some days after they were finished he waited expectantly the coming of his little friend, and as she failed to appear, he finally decided to take his gift to the castle. Now, it happened that Sir Amory, being called by some business to the near-by city of Bristol, had taken his wife and little daughter with him for a brief visit, from which they had just returned. As was usual on such occasions, they had brought back a number of trifling gifts for members of the household, and also one for the young Indian whom they held in such high esteem. The city of Bristol, more than any other in England, was building up a trade with the New World. While this trade was more especially with the Virginia plantations, it was gradually extending northward along the American coast. Thus a ship, recently returned, had voyaged as far north as the French settlements, trading with natives wherever found on her way. This ship had brought back many curious things, among which was an object of native make that Sir Amory, having his Indian guest in his mind, purchased on sight. "It may interest him," he said to his wife, "and, at any rate, it will be something for Betty to take him when next she and I ride to his lodge." So this present was fetched home with the others, and was to have been carried out to Nahma on the very day of his appearance at the castle. On learning that the Indian waited outside with a gift for Betty, Sir Amory ordered him to be brought in. The knight and his lady together with several guests were grouped near the huge fireplace in the great hall as Nahma entered and, advancing gravely, extended a hand to his host. Then, looking about inquiringly, he pronounced the single word "Betty." "I' faith!" laughed the knight, "the young man hath quickly recognized the most important personage of this establishment and will have dealings with none other. Let Mistress Betty be brought." As soon as the little girl appeared, the young Indian, kneeling gracefully, presented her with his gift. After the tiny snow-shoes had been passed from hand to hand for inspection and their use had been explained, Lady Effingham said,-- "Now, Betty, give him the present fetched from Bristol." Thus saying she placed a small packet in the child's hand, and the latter, advancing shyly, handed it to Nahma. With a smiling face the young warrior undid the wrappings of the packet until its contents were exposed. Suddenly his expression changed to one of consternation and bewilderment. For a moment he held the object in his hands gazing at it wildly and in evident perplexity. Then he uttered a great cry and a gush of tears filled his eyes. He gasped and seemed about to speak; but, words failing him, he turned and fled from the hall, leaving its occupants amazed at his strange actions. "It is doubtless a native charm of some kind," quoth the knight, breaking the silence, "and a powerful one at that, for never did I see a man so upset by a trifle. After a little, when he has had time to quiet down, I will question him concerning his agitation, but until then we must amuse ourselves with conjecture." In the mean time Nahma had not paused in his flight until reaching his own lodge. There he sat down and examined his newly acquired prize with minutest care, alternately laughing and crying as he did so. At length, apparently satisfied with his inspection, he said aloud in the long forgotten tongue of the Wampanoags,-- "Truly it is my father's wampum, and I am Nahma, the son of Longfeather." It was indeed the Belt of Seven Totems, thus marvellously restored to him from whose unconscious form it had been taken nearly three years earlier in the far-away land of the Iroquois. Not only had Nahma thus regained his father's badge of authority, but at sight of it the memory of his earlier years, lost to him ever since he had been struck down by Miantinomo, was abruptly and fully restored. He recalled who he was and found himself once more in command of his native tongue. He also remembered every incident of his journey to the country of the Maqua as though it had been undertaken but the day before. He even remembered lying down for a brief rest after eating his supper on the western bank of the Shatemuc; but beyond that came a blank, and his next memory was of Aeana in the lodge of Kaweras. As these things passed through his mind in rapid review, he was also whelmed by a great wave of home-sickness. The voices of his own people rang in his ears, and he heard the plash of waves on the beach at Montaup. The scent of burning cedar from the evening camp-fires was in his nostrils, and he felt the spring of brown pine needles beneath his feet as he threaded the dim forest trails of his native land. In a bark canoe he once more ran the foaming rapids of great rivers, or, lying beside Tasquanto, he was lulled to sleep by the roar of mighty cataracts. So distinct were the pictures thus flashed before him by the magic belt that he had no longer a wish to live unless he could once more gaze upon them in reality. Every other feeling was merged in an intense desire to regain his own country and rejoin his own people. At length the longing for these things became so great that the youth sprang to his feet, determined to set forth at once in quest of them. His reason told him that such an adventure was well-nigh hopeless; but the wampum belt urged him forward and persuaded him that by some means he would succeed. So Nahma departed forever from the lodge that, but an hour earlier, had seemed his home for life, and set forth on the tremendous journey. He took with him only his weapons, a fur cloak, the fire-bag that had once belonged to Aeana, and the Belt of Seven Totems girded about his body next his skin. As he emerged from the lodge he stood for a moment irresolute. Whither should he turn? What path would lead him to Montaup? Then the last word uttered in his hearing by Betty's mother rang again in his ears. It was "Bristol." From there the belt had but recently come, and there he would begin to retrace its mysterious course to the place where he had lost it. He had heard the foresters speak of Bristol, and he knew that it lay in the direction of the setting sun. What Bristol was, or how far away, he did not know, any more than what he should do upon getting there. It was enough that his first step was decided upon, and without a single backward glance he began his long homeward journey. An hour later Sir Amory on his good horse Baldric, and with mistress Betty in his arms, rode up to the deserted lodge and uttered a cheery call for its supposed occupant to come forth. The knight was puzzled at finding the place empty; and for several days thereafter he caused search to be made for its recent owner. But nothing came of this, nor for many years did he hear a word concerning the disappearance and whereabouts of Massasoit. That night Nahma slept in the wood, as lonely and friendless a human being as could be found in all the world, but so happy in his regained memory and in the knowledge that he, like others, could now lay claim to home and people, towards whom he was journeying, that nothing else mattered. On the morrow he struck the broad trail of a highway that led to the westward, and thereafter he followed it. Noting that his appearance attracted attention from the few travellers whom he met, he determined to procure a suit of clothing that would render him less conspicuous. He dreaded to approach a house, and was at a loss how to accomplish his purpose until at dusk of the second day. Then he ran across a camp-fire surrounded by a group of dark-skinned persons, who for a moment he believed to be people of his own race. He did not discover his mistake until he was within the circle of fire-light and it was too late to retreat. So he put on a bold face, accepted an invitation to eat with the gypsies, and strove hard, though without success, to understand what they said. They in turn were as much puzzled by him as he was by them; but this did not prevent them from exchanging a well-worn suit of clothing for Nahma's fur robe when he intimated by signs his willingness to make such a trade. As soon as he procured these things he put them on over his buckskin garments; and, as a dilapidated cap had been thrown in to complete the bargain, he was so thoroughly disguised that even Sir Amory would have failed to recognize him. The gypsies invited their guest to cast his fortunes with them, and proposed among themselves to compel him to do so in any event. He neither declined nor accepted their offer, but after a while lay down to sleep near their fire, as though willing, at any rate, to remain with them for the present. Thus they were much chagrined to find in the morning that he had disappeared without leaving a trace to show which way he had gone. So it happened that our wanderer came at length to the snug little seaport of Bristol, at that time second in importance only to London. And thus was taken the first step of his momentous journey. Dusk was falling as he entered the place, and for some time he wandered aimlessly through its narrow streets. Then, unexpectedly, he came to the water front and discovered ships, some under sail and others anchored in the stream. His heart leaped at sight of them, for he supposed that all ships passed to and from his own country. Therefore if he could only find one about to depart, and contrive to get on board, the second and longest step of his journey would be provided for. He managed to exchange his bow and arrows for a meal in a small public-house near the water, and when he had eaten it he again strolled outside looking for a place in which to pass the night. It was now quite dark, and, without going far, he lay down to sleep under the lee of a boat that was drawn up on one of the wharves. Some hours later he was awakened by sounds of shouting and scuffling close at hand, and sprang to his feet in alarm. As he did so a rough voice called out,-- "Here's another stout fellow! Seize him, lads, and hustle him along." Immediately Nahma was surrounded, and, despite his furious struggles, was quickly overthrown and securely bound. CHAPTER XXV BACK TO AMERICA For a short space our lad was heart-broken by this rude awakening from his dreams of freedom and of a return to his own country. Half dazed as he was, he had fought desperately; and now, hustled along in company with a dozen other unfortunates, all bound and suffering from rough handling, his sole thought was of how he could soonest put an end to the life that he was resolved not to pass in slavery. He recalled with satisfaction the dirk that, hidden in his clothing, still remained to him, and was determined to use it at the earliest opportunity, first on such of his present enemies as he could reach and then on himself. Suddenly his sombre reflections were interrupted and given a decided change of direction by finding himself crowded, together with his wretched companions, into a boat. No sooner had it received them than it was rowed out to the mouth of the harbor where stood a ship under easy sail. From the moment of realizing that he was in a boat Nahma was filled with a wild hope, and when he was transferred from it to the deck of a waiting ship this hope was confirmed. For some reason utterly beyond his comprehension he had once more been kidnapped, but only to be placed in the very position he had longed to attain. The ways of the white man were past understanding. Why had he been brought by force from his own country? and why should an equal amount of anxiety now be shown, and even a greater amount of force be used, to carry him back to it? He could not imagine, nor did he care. It was enough that the second step of his homeward journey had been taken for him and that the object he had so ardently desired was accomplished. Nahma would gladly have remained on deck and attempted to make himself useful without a thought of escaping or of doing harm to those who had unwittingly so aided his plans. But this was not permitted, and he was bundled below with the poor wretches who had been ruthlessly torn from their homes to be taken as bondsmen to the Virginia plantations. So great was the demand for labor in that colony that criminals were sent there to work out their sentences and debtors to labor until their indebtedness was discharged. In fact, all of whom society wished to rid itself were shipped across the ocean. Men anxious to try their fortunes in the New World but too poor to pay their passage went out under contract, to serve any master who would purchase their time until they had made good the money thus advanced. But even these sources of supply were not sufficient to satisfy the demand for laborers, and unscrupulous shipmasters found great profit in gathering up unsuspecting citizens by means of press-gangs sent ashore on the eve of departure, getting them on board, and sailing at once for the distant scene of their enforced servitude. Thus Nahma now found himself in a motley company of mechanics, sailors, small tradesmen, 'prentice lads, and others, all being carried away against their will and without the knowledge of their friends. Some had left dependent families unprovided for, while others were parted from sweethearts or newly married wives. To us of to-day all this sounds incredible; but the age of "good Queen Bess" was an age of cruelty, when even the best thinking persons only shrugged their shoulders on hearing of such things, and thanked their stars that they were not in similar plight. Some of the group now surrounding Nahma in the small space allotted to them, which was dimly lighted by a vilely smoking lamp, were groaning, some weeping, others were bemoaning their hard fate, and all were as wretchedly unhappy as it is possible for mortals to be. That is, all except our young Indian, who was overjoyed at finding himself on a ship that he believed would carry him back to his own country and people. The kidnapped men were kept below for several days, or until land was out of sight and the ship was ploughing her slow way across the Bay of Biscay; but after that they were allowed on deck from sunrise until dark. As Nahma, buoyed by hope and eager anticipation, was the only one among them who was not seasick, he was compelled to act as steward of their mess. At first his duties in this capacity were light and he performed them willingly, but later, when his companions had gained their sea-legs, they forced all sorts of disagreeable tasks upon him, and treated him with such cruelty that his hatred of white men was increased a hundred-fold. They were much puzzled over his nationality, which he never revealed, though often questioned concerning it. Most of them declared that he was a gypsy, while others insisted that he was of negro blood and called him "Guinea." The captain of the ship while strongly suspecting him to be an American would not admit it, but spoke of him as a "Jack Spaniard." So slow was the weary voyage that it was two months to a day before the westerly winds against which they were beating brought to Nahma's sensitive nostrils the first scent of land. That evening he hid himself on deck so that he might sniff the air all night, and at daybreak he was rewarded by the sight of land lying cloud-like on the western horizon. During that day he was so inattentive to his enforced duties as to win many a blow and kick from his brutal masters. Although the young Indian's blood boiled with rage, he did not attempt to resent these things, but submitted to them with an assumed meekness that ill-expressed his feelings. He felt that he could afford to abide his time, for was he not almost within reach of his own people? At the same time deep down in his heart he vowed a bitter vengeance against those who thus degraded him, if ever the opportunity should come. And it came sooner than he expected, though not through his own people, as he had hoped. Before the features of the landfall became recognizable the wind hauled to the eastward and the weather thickened, with every indication of a storm. Thus the skipper was greatly relieved shortly before night to find his ship running into a broad bay between two distant headlands that he believed to be the capes of Virginia, though in reality they were those of Delaware. Without attempting to discover the mouth of the James, he sought only a lee under which the night might be passed in safety. When this was found and the ship was snugly anchored for the first time since leaving Bristol, not only the captain but his entire company began a carouse to celebrate this successful termination of their perilous voyage. Liquor flowed freely in the cabin, and was served forward in such generous measure that a liberal portion even found its way to the wretched bondmen who expected shortly to be sold into years of servitude. Thus by midnight nearly every man on board was helplessly drunk, and most of them were asleep. Up to this hour the storm had steadily increased in violence, and the ship, though still safe, was surging heavily at her cables. At the same time but a single figure was in motion on her decks, and he was creeping forward as stealthily as though fearful of being discovered. Gaining the bow undetected, he bent for a minute over one of the straining cables, and when he arose two of its hempen strands had been severed. Then he stepped quickly to the other, drew his keen blade across it once, twice, three times, and with the last stroke it parted. The one first cut gave way almost at the same moment, and the freed ship started up the bay like a restive steed just given a loose rein. With his long-meditated design thus successfully accomplished, Nahma darted back to his place of hiding and awaited developments. He had long since discovered that he was destined to be sold into slavery among those white men who had settled far to the southward of his own country. Tales of their injustice and cruelty towards the natives had reached Montaup even before he left there, and had filled his boyish heart with a fierce indignation. Now he was determined not to fall alive into their hands, and believed that on this night or never he must effect an escape. He could not swim to shore because of the distance and the heavy seas. All the ship's boats were inboard and securely lashed, so that he could not make off in one of them. Consequently his only feasible plan seemed to be to let the ship herself drift until she fetched up on some beach, from which he might gain the safe cover of the woods. He had never experienced a shipwreck and knew nothing of its terrors. Even if he had he would not have hesitated to carry out his desperate plan. The captain of the drifting ship, too hard-headed to be overcome by any amount of liquor, was the first to become aware that her cables had parted. He stumbled on deck, bawling out orders that were mingled with strange oaths, and, gaining the wheel, put his vessel's head before the wind that she might scud without danger of being thrown on her beam ends. Then he bellowed for assistance, but it came tardily, and was of slight avail. There was but one spare anchor, and when finally it was broken out, bent on, and got overboard, the ship was so far in the open that it could not hold. So the helpless vessel drifted for several hours, and shortly before daybreak struck with such force that all of her masts went by the board. Then ensued a period of horrible crashing, grinding, and pounding, with which were mingled the shrieks of drowning men. Some of the strongest swimmers reached the shore, bruised and breathless but still alive, and foremost among them was the almost naked form of him who had caused the disaster. Battered and beaten by roaring breakers, weak and nearly perished with cold, Nahma was at the same time upheld by such a spirit of exultation as he had never before known. He was once more free and once more lying on the beloved soil of his native land. No sooner had he regained his breath after being flung on the beach than he struggled to his feet and staggered to the safe shelter of a forest that grew almost to the water's edge. He did not look back nor give a thought to what was taking place behind him. The white men who would have sold him into slavery might care for themselves, as might those who had so recently degraded him by their blows and curses. An hour later our young Indian was seated by a camp-fire of the Saganaga or Delawares, and telling them in sign language, supplemented by the few words they had in common, of the wonderful treasure that the sea had brought to their very doors. They, recognizing the splendid belt of wampum that he wore, listened to him with closest attention; and when he had finished, all the able-bodied men of the village hastened to the scene of the wreck, leaving Nahma to the kindly hospitality of those who remained behind. That night there was no village in the Delaware nation, nor probably on the entire Atlantic coast, so rich in scalps and plunder as the one in which the son of Longfeather was an honored guest. CHAPTER XXVI SASSACUS THE PEQUOT This utter destruction of the ship and of her entire company gave great satisfaction not only to the young Indian who had suffered so much on her but to the Saganaga, who were at that time feeling very bitter against white men on account of the recent stealing of a number of their tribe to be sold into slavery. It had been the usual case of a cordial welcome to the strangers from beyond the sea, a brisk trade by which the confidence of the Indians was won, and then a sudden sailing with some twenty of them on board. Now, thanks to Nahma, the Lenni Lenape were revenged and their hearts were lightened of a burden. Also they had acquired wealth beyond their wildest dreams, and were very grateful to him who had thrown it in their way. He did not tell them that he had been a slave in the white man's country, for he was determined to keep that humiliating knowledge to himself. So he only gave them to understand that he too had been kidnapped, and let them imagine it to have been of recent occurrence. They had at once recognized the Belt of Seven Totems that Nahma wore diagonally across his breast when first appearing among them, though no member of their tribe had ever before seen it. They, however, knew it from description; for, among American Indians, tribal totems and the belts of principal chieftains were as well known as are the banners of European nations, and the coats of arms of their rulers, among white men. The Saganaga also knew that none but Longfeather or his eldest son might wear the Belt of Seven Totems, and so they treated Nahma with every mark of consideration. Finding that he was desirous of returning at once to his own country, they furnished him with clothing, weapons, and a belt of wampum bearing the likeness of a serpent, which he was to deliver to the Peacemaker as a badge of friendship. They also provided an escort of young warriors, who would guide him to the country of the Pavonias. These people, who were a branch of the Saganaga, occupied the territory lying on the south side of the Shatemuc at the point where it flows into the sea, and they willingly furnished Nahma with a canoe in which to continue his journey. Launching this craft on the waters of the narrow, tide-swept channel afterwards known as the Kill von Kull, and receiving from his friends a goodly store of parched corn, our traveller set forth alone on the last stage of his homeward journey. On leaving the Kill he crossed New York Bay, undotted by a single sail, passed the densely wooded island that was to be known as "Governor's," and entered the East River. Here he came upon a scene of enchanting beauty. On his right stretched the level salt marshes and wooded plains of Long Island. On the other hand lay rock-ribbed Manhattan, rugged with hills and valleys, among which sparkled many crystal springs and rippling brooks. It was covered from end to end and from water's edge to water's edge with groves of stately forest-trees interspersed with grassy glades in which fed herds of deer. Over all was flung the exquisite veil of a May verdure, while the air was heavy with the scent of blossoms and filled with the song of mating birds. On the river's edge brown rocks were fringed with fantastic sea-growths that waved in the swift tide like banners streaming in a breeze. Brooding ducks and wading heron peopled every placid cove, fish leaped from the clear waters, and white-plumed gulls flecked the blue sky. The beauty and peace of nature reigned undisturbed over all; for, as yet, no Old World keel had cleaved those waters, and the site of what was destined to become the greatest city of the earth was still untainted by the blight of civilization. Nor did Nahma see a human being on his whole journey from bay to sound. In the place destined to hold millions of his kind he was alone. Skirting the northern shore of Long Island Sound, the solitary voyager, always taking pains to avoid observation, passed the country of the Mohicans and entered upon that of the Pequots. During the four days thus occupied he had not held communication with any man, having shunned alike the infrequent villages of bark huts and the camp-fires of fishermen or shell gatherers, as well as their canoes. He did not wish to be delayed or recognized before reaching the country of his own people. Consequently he hesitated for a moment when, on the fourth day of his journey, he discovered two figures in a canoe making signals of distress. They were midway between an island lying several miles off shore and the mainland, and their canoe was so low in the water that it seemed about to sink. One of the figures was that of a man, who was paddling with desperate energy, while the other, evidently a woman, was furiously bailing water from the sinking craft. Only for a moment did Nahma hesitate, and then he headed with all speed in that direction. The water-logged canoe sank before he reached it; but, within a few minutes, he had rescued the survivors, and they were safely bestowed in his own craft. With this accomplished, he started towards the land that had been their objective-point when, as he afterwards learned, their canoe had been pierced and ripped open by a sword-fish. Whether this had been done with malice, playfully, or by accident they could not tell; but it had so endangered their lives that they would, almost of a certainty, have drowned had not the stranger come to their rescue. Not a word was spoken by any one of the three until the canoe had nearly gained the land. Then the rescued man, who, though young, was of commanding aspect, turned from his paddling in the bow and said,-- "Thou hast saved us from death and I will not forget it. I am Sassacus, chief of the Pequots." Nahma's heart leaped within him. The Pequots formed one of the tribes acknowledging the authority of his father, and this youth was his own cousin. He was about to make reply, when the other continued: "I perceive thou art a stranger, and if thy business be not too pressing, my lodge would be honored to shelter thee as a guest." "Gladly would I tarry," was the reply, "but I may not, for I bear a belt from the Saganaga to Longfeather the Peacemaker, that must be promptly delivered. The name by which I am known is Massasoit." The Pequot chieftain turned and gazed keenly at the speaker. "Have not the Lenni Lenape learned that Longfeather has gone the great journey?" he asked. "Dead! Longfeather dead, and I not with him at the end!" cried Nahma, shocked by the suddenness of this news into an unpremeditated betrayal of feeling. "When did he die, and how? Was he killed in battle?" "He went to the place of Okis when the willow leaves were the size of mouse-ears, and he was killed by the pale-faces who come from the sea with death and destruction in their hands," answered the young chieftain, bitterly. "Killed by the white man!" gasped Nahma, his face growing black and the cords of his neck swelling with rage. "Then by his blood I swear----" "Wait," commanded Sassacus. "Not directly did the men from the sea take his life, nor was his blood shed. With the falling of leaves one of their winged canoes came to land near Montaup. From it were set on shore two men more nearly dead than living. Then the great canoe departed, leaving them to die. The dwellers of that country took pity on them and cared for them; but they died, and in a short time all who had gone near them were also dead. The plague spread from the Pokanokets to the Nausets, the Nipmucks, the Naticks, the Abenakis, and may still be spreading in the land of cold, though on this side it was stayed by the coming of warm weather, and thy---- Longfeather was the last to die of it." For a few moments Nahma sat silent. Then, lifting his face, on which were unconcealed traces of a mighty grief, he said, "I will go with thee, Sassacus." "It is well," replied the other, and no further word was spoken between them until after a landing was made. Even then the subject that had so greatly affected the new-comer was not again mentioned until after he had been taken to the lodge of the young chieftain and refreshed. This having been done, the guest requested that his host would walk apart with him, and when they were by themselves he said,-- "Thy news of the Peacemaker hath so confused my plans that I am at a loss how to proceed and would learn further from thee. First I would know who exercises authority in place of the great Wampanoag? Left he a son to rule in his stead?" Sassacus looked curiously at his guest as he answered,-- "Longfeather had a son who should take his place, but he disappeared many moons ago." "How?" "No man knows for a certainty. Some say that he joined the Iroquois, and others that he was taken prisoner by the Hurons of the cold land. In that case there is small chance of his being now alive." "Who, then, wears the Belt of Seven Totems?" "No one wears it," replied the other, gravely, "for it also disappeared at the same time. Miantinomo the Narragansett claims the place and authority of Longfeather in the name of Canonicus, his father, and is even now at Montaup." "Miantinomo!" exclaimed Nahma, bitterly. "By what right does he make such a claim?" "By the right of a strong arm," replied the other. "Is he loved and respected as was Longfeather?" "No; he is hated by many and feared by all." "Why, then, was he allowed to assume authority?" "Because there was none other to dispute him." "If one should come----?" began Nahma, hesitatingly. "If one should come wearing the Belt of Seven Totems, or bearing other proof that he is the son of Longfeather," said Sassacus quickly, and with a meaning glance at his companion, "then would he find many to support his claim." For a full minute Nahma hesitated, and the young men gazed steadfastly at each other. Then Nahma slowly thrust a hand within his buckskin shirt, and, drawing forth the Belt of Seven Totems, displayed it to his companion. "Here is the Peacemaker's badge of authority," he said, "and here also is he who should succeed him, for I am Nahma, son of Longfeather." "I have known it, my brother," replied Sassacus, "since the moment I saw thy face on hearing news of thy father's death, but I would not speak till thou hadst spoken. Now, however, I gladly acknowledge thee as my sachem, and will at once make public announcement of thy coming." "Not so," objected Nahma. "For the present, and until I can meet Miantinomo face to face, I must be Massasoit of the Lenni Lenape. If, however, my brother will go to Montaup with a following of his young men, I will gladly travel in his company." CHAPTER XXVII A ROYAL HOME-COMING By murder, treachery, fraud, and force Miantinomo the Narragansett had finally attained the position upon which he had so long cast envious eyes. At the death of Longfeather he had caused himself to be proclaimed Peacemaker, or ruler of the confederated New England tribes, in the name of his adopted father, who was now too old to take an active part in affairs of this kind. The various stories concerning Nahma, circulated from time to time, had not disturbed him, for did he not know that his rival was dead? Nor had he any fear that the Belt of Seven Totems would ever again be seen in those parts, since he had given it to a white trader in exchange for a hatchet, and it had been carried to that mysterious place beyond the sea from which nothing ever returned. He had also learned with satisfaction of Sacandaga's death, for that chieftain was the only red man who had ever seen the belt in his possession. With all traces of his own treacherous dealings thus wiped out, the ambitious young man had no hesitation in proclaiming Canonicus, his father, to be Longfeather's successor by virtue of his position as head of the strongest tribe in the confederation. Although Miantinomo was generally disliked, no person felt strong enough to dispute this claim, and so he was sullenly accepted as Lawgiver of the tribes. In this capacity he hastened to take possession of Montaup, which had become the recognized seat of government. There he at once proceeded to belie his assumed character of Peacemaker by making preparations on a large scale for invading the country of the Iroquois. He had never forgiven them for refusing to treat with him simply as a Narragansett, and now that he was in a position to command a war-party equal to any they could put in the field, he believed the time for humiliating them had come. He sent a runner to the Hurons urging them to attack the Iroquois from the north about the time that he proposed to cross the Shatemuc, and he imagined that the combination thus formed would prove overpowering. He also hoped that all this warlike activity would divert the thoughts of those who were displeased with his usurpation of authority, and he knew that a successful war would firmly establish his position. So Miantinomo had sent messengers to every tribe and clan of the New England Confederacy bidding their warriors assemble at Montaup, and already were a great number thus gathered. Among others Sassacus had received a summons to this effect, but the fiery Pequot had determined to disobey it and risk the consequences. Now, however, the coming of Nahma had so changed the aspect of affairs that he gladly accepted the invitation to present himself at Montaup accompanied by a strong body of picked warriors. Miantinomo, who had feared that Sassacus more than any other might rebel against his self-assumed authority, received him with effusive hospitality. "Now do I know," he said, "that my undertaking against the arrogant Iroquois will succeed, since they have no warriors to equal the Pequots in bravery." "It is good that you esteem my young men so highly," replied Sassacus, "and it is certain that they will do what may be to establish firmly the power of the Peacemaker. I am also accompanied to Montaup by one who will doubtless prove more welcome than all the others. He is a medicine-man of the Saganaga, who brings to the Peacemaker a belt of friendship from his people." "Say you so!" exclaimed Miantinomo, his dark face lighting with pleasure, for an alliance with the Lenni Lenape of the south as well as one with the Hurons of the north would render him invincible. "Where is he? Why has he not already been brought to the lodge of council?" "He is an old man and weary, who secludes himself from the common gaze in a lodge of skins that was pitched for him as soon as the canoes came to land," replied Sassacus. "He desires not to make his message public, since it is for your ears alone. For this reason he requests that a new medicine-lodge be erected in which he may receive you in private and with ceremonies befitting so important an occasion." "An old man say you?" inquired Miantinomo, doubtfully. "He has every appearance of extreme age and decrepitude." "Have you seen the belt that he bears?" "I have seen it, and know it to be a serpent-belt of the Saganaga. He hopes also to take one from you, that his people may know his mission to have been truly performed. If his terms be not granted, then with his belt will he depart to the land of the Iroquois." "Without doubt I will grant all that he asks," replied Miantinomo, hastily, "for a friendship with the Saganaga may not be thrown away. At once shall a medicine-lodge be built, and when next the shadows are shortest then will I meet him." "If it is your pleasure I will see to the building of the lodge," said Sassacus. "It is my pleasure," answered the other, and with this the interview ended. By noon of the following day the medicine-lodge, a simple affair of poles and bark, stood finished on the edge of a cleared space that formed the public gathering-place of Montaup. It was a mere shell bare of all furnishings, as was noted by the many curious persons who peeped in at its open doorway. The news that something of absorbing interest was to take place within it had attracted a large assemblage to its vicinity, where they waited with eager curiosity. At the same time there was but little mingling of those belonging to the several tribes represented. The Narragansetts, with Miantinomo seated in front of them, were grouped by themselves close to the lodge but a little to one side. Although they outnumbered any of the visiting delegations, they formed but a fraction of the whole gathering. Opposite to them and equally near the lodge stood the Pequots with the plumed head of Sassacus towering above them, and beside him stood our old acquaintance, Samoset. The Wampanoags were there in full force supported by a large delegation of their near relatives, the Pokanokets. Besides these were representatives of every New England tribe that had acknowledged the authority of Longfeather. All were warriors, armed as for battle, and headed by their most experienced chiefs. About half an hour before the sun attained his meridian a distant chanting of voices, accompanied by the measured beating of medicine-drums, announced the opening of the ceremonies, and a buzz of expectation swept over the great assembly. Then appeared a procession of medicine-men clad in fantastic garb calculated to inspire those who beheld it with awe. Most prominent among them was an old man enveloped in a long robe of costly furs. He was so feeble and bent with age that he leaned heavily upon a stick and was also supported by two attendants. Directly in front of him walked a boy, very proud of his honorable position, and bearing in outstretched hands the wampum serpent-belt of the Saganaga so displayed that all might see it. The procession halted before the lodge, while its members engaged in a medicine-dance, circling with furious gestures and wild cries about the central figure of the old man. Precisely at the hour of noon the dancing came to an abrupt end, and the old medicine-man, taking from the boy who had borne it the belt of the Saganaga, entered the empty lodge alone. For a few minutes his voice was heard in the feeble chanting of an incantation, and then it invited the presence of the Peacemaker. Upon this Miantinomo stepped forth without hesitation and entered the lodge, vanishing from sight beyond its heavy curtain of double deer-skins. The light of the interior was so dim that for a moment he could see nothing; then he made out the form of its solitary occupant standing before him, and holding the belt that he believed was to confirm him in his assumed position. The old man, leaning on his stick, was still enveloped in the long robe that covered him from head to foot. Gazing steadfastly at Miantinomo, he said, sternly,-- "Why dost thou come here? I summoned Longfeather the Peacemaker." "He is dead," replied the other, "and I----" "Then should his son Nahma have come in his place," interrupted the old man. "He, too, is dead," said Miantinomo; "that is," he added, hastily, "he is dead to this people, for he is a traitor and dwells in the lodges of their enemies." "Thou, then, art authorized to fill his place?" "I am so authorized by Canonicus, my father, and will seek to wipe out the shame cast upon the name of Longfeather by his unworthy son." "Why, then, dost thou not wear the Peacemaker's badge of authority, the great Belt of Seven Totems?" "Because it was stolen and carried away by Nahma the renegade." "Now do I know that thou liest!" exclaimed the old man with an energy of voice as startling as it was unexpected. "Thou knowest, better than any other, that the son of Longfeather was foully murdered while he slept on the farther bank of the Shatemuc. Thou knowest that his body, stripped of its badge of authority, was flung into the river. Thou knowest that the Belt of Seven Totems, first used to blind the eyes of Sacandaga, was afterwards sold to a white-faced trader that it might disappear forever beyond the salt waters. Thou knowest who first put in circulation the false tale that the son of Longfeather was a traitor and a renegade. Thou knowest, and I know, for such things may not be hid from the Okis. Also will I prove to thee that the dead may live, and that evil designs may come to naught even when they seem most likely to succeed. Look, then, and tremble, thou dog of a murderer." [Illustration: "LOOK, THEN, AND TREMBLE, THOU DOG OF A MURDERER"] With these words the dimly outlined form of the old man straightened into erectness, his stick fell to the ground, he flung back his enveloping robe, and at the same moment a slab of bark dropped from the roof of the lodge, allowing a flood of noonday sunlight to stream on the place where he stood. For an instant Miantinomo stared dumbly at the figure, young, tall, and handsome, richly clad and wearing across its breast the Peacemaker's Belt of Seven Totems, that gazed sternly at him with accusing eyes. Then, with a great cry of terror, he rushed from the lodge and fled like one who is pursued by a deadly vengeance in the direction of the nearest forest. As the startled assemblage, gathered to witness his crowning triumph, gazed after the flying figure in bewilderment, their attention was further attracted, and they were thrilled by a shout of joyful amaze. Instantly all eyes were again turned towards the lodge, where in place of an old medicine-man stood a young chieftain, as noble a specimen of his race as ever trod American soil. Depending from one shoulder was the long-lost Belt of Seven Totems and from the other a serpent-belt of the Saganaga. At his feet knelt Samoset, crying out that it was indeed his brother and his master, Nahma, the son of Longfeather. "I am the son of Longfeather, and I was Nahma," said the young man, so distinctly that all might hear. "But now and henceforth am I Massasoit the Peacemaker." Upon this the whole assemblage, led by Sassacus and his loyal Pequots, broke into a joyous tumult of welcome and crowded about the youth who, so long lost to them, had been thus marvellously restored to his rightful position. Only the Narragansetts took advantage of the glad confusion to steal away unnoticed and follow the trail of their dishonored leader. CHAPTER XXVIII IN THE COUNCIL-LODGE Massasoit could not relate the whole story of his adventurous wanderings, since no Indian known to have been a slave might afterwards be accepted as a leader among his people. Consequently he omitted all reference to his unhappy experiences in England. Nor did he ever mention that he had crossed the great salt waters; but he told of his adventures among the Iroquois, as a captive to the Hurons, while in Quebec, and on a ship that was to have carried him into slavery among the Yengeese of the south. He described the destruction of that ill-fated craft, together with the loss of her company, his own welcome at the hands of the Saganaga, and his homeward journey, to all of which the assemblage listened with breathless attention. In conclusion, the young chieftain said,-- "I have told all there is to tell. When I left you Longfeather ruled this land. He has gone from you never to return. I am his son, and it was his wish that I should be Peacemaker in his place. If that be also your desire, or if it be not, now is the time to speak. Will you have Massasoit for your sagamore or another?" Standing very straight and gazing proudly about him, the young man awaited an answer, and it was promptly given. First came Sassacus, saying,-- "The Pequots accept Massasoit as their Peacemaker and will listen to his words." After him in grave procession came the chiefs to tender their allegiance; and a few days later the venerable Canonicus came also, for Massasoit had not told that Miantinomo had attempted to murder him, and so the Narragansetts were not yet outcast from the federation. Thus did Massasoit occupy his father's place in the great lodge of council, while his authority was acknowledged from the Shatemuc to the sea, and from the country of the Mohicans to that of the Hurons, who dwelt near the great river of the north. With his position thus established, the young sachem, leaving Sassacus to hold Montaup during his absence, set forth on an expedition of the utmost importance both to himself and to his people. It had three objects: first, to find his mother, who had fled from Miantinomo; second, to restore the peaceful relations with the Iroquois that had been threatened by the usurper; and last, but by no means least, to visit the lodge of Kaweras. As a following worthy of his rank he took with him one hundred warriors, and with these he pressed forward over the trail that he had followed as a youth three years earlier. At the village of Peace, on the river of sweet waters, he found Miantomet, and raised her in a moment from the dejection of a childless fugitive to a proud motherhood, with the son, whom she had so long mourned as dead, once more restored to her. But only for a short time might these two enjoy their reunion, for Massasoit found that whole section of country alarmed over an invasion of Hurons, who were said to be coming down the valley of the Shatemuc in formidable numbers. So he pushed on, hoping to form a junction with the Iroquois before the common enemy should arrive. The eastern Iroquois or Maquas were hard beset. Two powerful expeditions had descended at once upon the country of the Five Nations. One, under leadership of our old acquaintance Champlain, had crossed Lake Ontario, penetrated deep into the territory of the Oneidas, and was supposed to be advancing upon the Maquas from the west. Another expedition, accompanied by three white men, was coming from the north by way of the Shatemuc, and already were fugitives flying before them to the palisaded villages, bringing sad tales of rapine and destruction. As though this state of affairs were not bad enough, it was reported that the New England tribes, led by Miantinomo, were advancing from the east. Thus it seemed as though the Maquas were doomed to destruction, and a feeling of despair had seized upon the warriors gathered for the defence of their three palisaded strongholds. One night, during this unhappy condition of suspense, a group of chief men were seated about a small fire in the council-house of the easternmost village, gloomily discussing the situation. News had come that the enemy was close at hand, and that the village would be assaulted by overwhelming numbers on the morrow. So oppressed were the councillors by the hopelessness of their situation that for some time they sat in silence, and one among them appeared to be dozing, as though exhausted. Suddenly this one, who was our old friend Kaweras, awoke, uttering an exclamation of pleasure, and looked about him with smiling cheerfulness. "What pleases my brother?" asked he who sat nearest. "Has he seen a vision of the spirit land to which all of us will go before the setting of another sun?" "No," replied Kaweras. "It is not yet time for visions of the spirit land." "How so, when even the youngest warrior knows that we are in no condition to withstand an attack of the Hurons and of those armed with thunder-sticks who accompany them?" "It is because he who is to deliver us even now approaches, and in a vision have I seen him." "Comes he from the west, and is he the Wild-Cat of the Oneidas?" "No. He is from the east, and more powerful than the Wild-Cat or any other single chieftain of the Iroquois. He is not of us, but he has already fought with us. I have known him, but until now I have not known him. Whence he comes or how he has passed our young men I know not, but even now he is at hand. Behold, he is here!" The old man had risen to his feet in his excitement, and now stood staring eagerly at the skin-hung entrance. As he finished speaking the curtain was drawn aside and a young warrior stepped within the lodge. He advanced to where the firelight fell full upon his face, and then stood motionless as though awaiting recognition. Nor was it long in coming, for, after a moment of silence, Kaweras stepped forward with extended hand, uttering the single word, "Massasoit." "Yes, my father, it is Massasoit," was the reply; but the old man hardly noticed what was said, for his eye had fallen on a belt worn by the new-comer, and he was studying its devices with an expression of amazement. Finally he said, in a low tone,-- "It is the Belt of Seven Totems, the great colier of the Peacemaker." "And I," responded Massasoit, "am the Peacemaker, since I was Nahma, son of Longfeather. For thy exceeding kindness to me in other days am I now come with a war-party to help the people of Sacandaga in their time of trouble." "How came he inside our walls?" asked one of the chiefs, suspiciously. "That will I tell at another time," replied Massasoit. "Now there are things of more importance to be considered." The young man did not care to acknowledge that Aeana had given him admittance, but so it was. He had left his warriors in concealment at some distance from the village while he went alone to discover the exact state of affairs. That same afternoon, before warning of the near approach of the Hurons had been given, he had seen several women go to a small stream for water, and recognized Aeana among them. After a while he managed to toss a small packet so that it fell at her feet. Glancing about with a startled air, the girl picked it up, and found in it the embroidered tinder-bag that she had concealed in her sister's gift to Massasoit so long ago that she had almost forgotten the incident. As she gazed at the token, hardly knowing whether to be frightened or pleased, the low call of a wood-dove attracted her attention to a nearby thicket. Hesitatingly she moved close enough to hear the whispered words, "Be not afraid. I am here as a friend to help the Maquas against their enemies; but first I would see Kaweras. At moon-setting will I come alone to the gate, and I rely upon thee to give me admittance." Outwardly calm, but with a wildly fluttering heart, Aeana rejoined her companions without having been for an instant out of their sight, and returned with them to the village. There she debated long with herself as to whether she should tell her father or Otshata of what had happened; but, until the time of moon-setting, she had not found courage to do so. She had not meant to admit the young warrior without their knowledge, especially as news had come, within an hour, of the near approach of the Hurons; but a will stronger than her own seemed to compel her, and finally she did as Massasoit desired. Then, sadly frightened, she whispered, "In the council-house is Kaweras," and fled away into the darkness, leaving the young man to discover his bearings as best he might. Having at length gained the council-lodge and being received as already stated, Massasoit was compelled to answer many questions before securing the confidence of all the chiefs. Little by little, however, it was acquired. Kaweras told what he knew of him. The belt that he wore was a potent influence; and finally one, who had been with Sacandaga at the time of his death, recognized the young man as he who had risked his own life to save that of the Iroquois chieftain. After that they listened with closest attention to all he had to say. Thus, before he left them, he had outlined a plan of operations for the morrow, or whenever the Hurons should make an attack, that they promised to follow. Massasoit also instructed the Iroquois as to the nature of fire-arms, which they had heretofore regarded with all the terror of ignorance. He described the manner in which the thunder-sticks must be loaded before becoming effective as weapons, and assured his hearers that, after being discharged, they were for a long time no more dangerous than so many wooden billets. Having thus restored a cheerful confidence to the council, the young chieftain departed and made his way to where his own warriors anxiously awaited him. Immediately upon rejoining these, and without pausing to rest, he led them on a long detour, so that, before daylight, they had gained a position in the rear of the Hurons, by whom the presence of the young Peacemaker was as yet unsuspected. With the rising of the sun hundreds of dark forms might have been seen gliding stealthily from tree to tree in the direction of the Maqua village. At a short interval behind the last of these came another group moving in the same direction, but with even greater caution. Foremost among them was Massasoit, leading his people in an enterprise that would make or mar his own reputation for all future time. Suddenly the morning stillness of the forest was rudely broken by the roar of three muskets fired in quick succession, and the battle was begun. CHAPTER XXIX WINNING A BATTLE, A WIFE, AND A FRIEND Upon the advice of Massasoit, the Iroquois had set up dummies to draw the musket-fire of the enemy; also most of their young men had been placed in ambush outside the walls. These, though few in number as compared with the advancing host of Hurons, sprang to their feet with frightful yells and rushed towards the place marked by the smoke of the now empty muskets. They seemed doomed to certain destruction, and the Hurons calmly awaited their coming. All at once, and without warning, a flight of arrows from the rear brought a score of the invaders to the ground, and at the same moment the woods behind them seemed alive with yelling foemen. For a few minutes the bewildered Hurons, thus entrapped, fought desperately. Then the three white men, who were objects of Massasoit's especial vengeance, were killed while hurriedly endeavoring to reload their muskets. As they fell their savage allies, who had until now regarded them as invincible, broke into a panic-stricken flight, each man endeavoring only to save himself. After them raced Massasoit and his warriors, together with the jubilant Iroquois, and many and fierce were the hand-to-hand conflicts that took place in the dim forest coverts that day. At its close, when the wearied but exultant victors gathered once more at the wildly rejoicing village, their trophies of scalps and prisoners outnumbered their combined forces. The following week was devoted to the wildest forms of savage festivity, and the rejoicings were redoubled near its close by the arrival of a runner from the west, bringing the great news that the other invading force under Champlain had been defeated and driven back by the Onondagas and Oneidas. In all this time of feasting Massasoit was the hero and central figure. Not only had he saved the Maqua village and probably the whole tribe from destruction, but, on that day of fighting, he had proved himself the foremost warrior of his people and had brought in more Huron scalps than any other. He found no difficulty in forming a compact with the Iroquois on behalf of his own people, by which both were bound not to cross the Shatemuc except for friendly visits. Thus our young chieftain would have been supremely happy but for one thing, and that was his treatment at the hands of Aeana. This girl, who now seemed the most beautiful and desirable of all earthly creatures, behaved to him in a manner so strange that he could in no wise account for it. Not only did she refuse to grant him an interview, but she studiously avoided meeting him, and went no longer with the other women to the stream for water. Thus he had not been able to exchange a single word with her, and as the time for his departure drew near he was in despair. In his distress he sought out Otshata, as he had done once before, and, pouring out his heart, asked her what he should do. Otshata laughed in his face. "What fools men be!" she said. "Dost thou not remember, Massasoit, the time when she bade thee fetch water?" "Well do I remember." "And thou performed the service?" "Truly, I did, even as she bade me." "And she scorned the offering when it was brought to her?" "Even so, and taunted me with the name of 'squaw.'" "Remembering that, art thou still at a loss to know why she now refuses to meet thee?" "To my confusion, I am," replied the puzzled youth. At this Otshata laughed again long and heartily; but at length she asked,-- "Didst thou ever know a woman to accept friendship with a slave when a master might be had?" Then, still laughing, she ran away, leaving the young man to ponder her words. As a result of this conversation, Massasoit announced that he and his warriors would depart for their own country on the morrow, and at daylight of the next morning they had disappeared. That day Aeana, heavy-hearted and with lagging step, went with the other women for water. As she bent over the stream an exclamation from one of her companions caused her to look up and directly into the eyes of Massasoit, who stood on the opposite bank. With a shrill cry of dismay, Aeana turned and fled towards the village; but, swiftly as she ran, Massasoit overtook her ere she had covered half the distance. Seizing her in his arms, he picked her up and, despite her struggles, bore her swiftly away. On the edge of the wood he paused to utter a far-carrying yell of triumph, and then, still bearing his precious burden, he disappeared amid the leafy shadows. But his defiant challenge was answered, and half a dozen young Iroquois, all of whom were aspirants for the hand of the arrow-maker's beautiful daughter, dashed forth in hot pursuit. This race for a bride was over a forest course something more than a mile in length. At its farther end was the Shatemuc and a waiting canoe containing a single occupant. As Massasoit gained this and it was shoved off, the foremost of his pursuers was so close that he fell into the water in a vain effort to grasp the elusive craft. Beyond the river the Iroquois might not pass by the terms of their recent treaty, and thus on its farther side, Massasoit felt his prize to be as secure as though he already had her at Montaup. As they stepped out on the land that acknowledged the son of Longfeather to be its ruler, Aeana regarded the bold youth with eyes that laughed even through their tears, and said, "I hate you; but if you had not done it, then should I have despised you forever." So Massasoit won his bride, and in far-away Montaup, beside the great salt waters that bathe the rising sun, no woman led a happier life than did the daughter of Kaweras. After this several years were passed in peaceful content by those New England tribes owning the rule of Massasoit. With his superior knowledge of the world he was able to teach them many things that caused them to prosper as never before. Only was he worried by the Narragansetts, who, while sullenly admitting his authority, awaited eagerly an opportunity to renounce and defy it. In the mean time Aeana had presented the Peacemaker with two sons, the younger of whom, named Metacomet, was to become famous in after-years as King Philip. With all his peace and apparent security Massasoit had one ever-present fear, and it was of the white man. He had a knowledge greater than any of his people concerning the number and power of these dwellers beyond the sea, and he dreaded lest they should seek to obtain a foothold in his country, as they had already done both on the St. Lawrence and the James. As one measure of precaution against this he issued orders to every New England tribe that they should hold no intercourse with any whites attempting to trade on the coast. So determined was he to carry out this policy that when an unfortunate French trading vessel was wrecked on a shore of Massachusetts Bay, he caused her to be burned, and commanded that all survivors of her crew be put to death. Holding these views, Massasoit became very angry when it was reported to him that the Narragansetts, in defiance of his authority, were actively trading with an English ship that had appeared on their coast, and he at once determined to make an example that should be remembered. A runner was despatched to his trusted ally Sassacus, whose country lay beyond that of the Narragansetts, ordering the Pequots to advance from the west until they should meet Massasoit coming from the opposite direction. Then, gathering a strong force from the tribes near at hand, the Peacemaker set forth for the scene of unlawful trading. So demoralized were the Narragansetts by the simultaneous appearance of two powerful war-parties within their borders that they offered only a slight resistance before fleeing to their palisaded stronghold, where they anxiously awaited the expected attack. In the mean time the captain of the English vessel, which was snugly anchored in the mouth of a small river, where he had been carrying on a brisk and most profitable trade with the Indians, was disgusted to have it suddenly cease. For days a fleet of canoes had surrounded his ship. Now not one was to be seen, nor could any of the natives be discovered on shore. His recent great success had been largely due to the fact that he had on board an English-speaking Indian, through whom all negotiations had been conducted. When a whole day had passed without change in the situation the captain consulted with this Indian, and asked what he supposed had become of the natives. "They be fearful to come off since they have learn that you steal red men for slaves," was the answer. "Ho, ho! Is that all? But think you, Squanto, that they have any furs left?" "Me think they keep back many of the best." "By the Lord Harry! Then must we go to them, since they are afraid to come to us. Boat away, there! And, Squanto, you may come too if you will promise to make no attempt at escape." "These be not my people," replied the Indian, evasively. "That's so. I picked you up at a great distance from here. But never mind. If you serve me truly perhaps I will take you back there some day. Attempt to play me false, though, and I will kill you as I would a rat. Tumble in, then, and let us hie ashore." It was a strong boat's crew and heavily armed that thus made a landing in search of the trade which no longer came to their ship, and they followed a plainly marked trail leading from the beach to the place where had been an Indian village. Now it was deserted and void of life, though their guide announced that it had been occupied as recently as a few hours before. While the new-comers were prowling about with hopes of discovering something in the way of plunder, their attention was distracted by a column of smoke rising in the direction of their boat. They had left it hauled partially out of the water and in charge of two well-armed men. Now, hastening back, they were panic-stricken by the discovery that the boat was in flames. It was also badly crushed, as though it had been lifted bodily and dropped on a ledge of sharp rocks. Worst of all, it contained the dead bodies of those who had been left on guard. The weapons of both men were missing, and they had been scalped but not otherwise mutilated. Taking advantage of the confusion following this discovery, the Indian guide dove into a nearby thicket and disappeared. A minute later, while the whites were huddled about their burning boat attempting to extinguish the flames, a great flight of arrows, that seemed to come from every direction at once, instantly killed more than half their number. Then came a rush of yelling savages, and in another minute but one man was left alive. He was wounded, but his life had been spared by the express order of Massasoit. The Indian guide had been made prisoner, bound, and left to himself; but now that all was over, the young leader, ordering his warriors to remain behind, went to him. Stooping, he severed the prisoner's bonds and assisted him to his feet. Then gazing steadily at him, he cried in a voice that trembled with emotion,-- "Tasquanto, my brother, dost thou not remember Massasoit?" CHAPTER XXX THE PILGRIMS OF PLYMOUTH Since being separated from Massasoit years before in Plymouth harbor, Tasquanto, whose name the English had shortened to "Squanto," had known nothing of the fate of his fellow-captive beyond that he had been sold as a slave in London. In the mean time he had been received into the household of Sir Ferdinando Gorges, Governor of Plymouth, who had large interests in the New World, and had been taught to speak English. Then he was sent on trading-vessels to act as interpreter between whites and Indians. In this capacity he had made several voyages to America, but always so closely guarded that never until now had he been allowed to set foot on his native shores. Tasquanto was so overcome at finding in the great sachem Massasoit, concerning whom he had heard much, his own long-lost friend that for a few moments he was speechless with joyful amazement. When he had succeeded in partially expressing this, he related briefly how he happened to be in his present situation, and added that the cruel taskmaster from whom he had just escaped was the same Captain Dermer who had formerly betrayed them into slavery. "I knew it when first I saw him this morning," replied Massasoit, grimly, "for his evil face has ever been pictured in my heart. For that reason have I spared his worthless life until I could consult with thee, my brother, as to how we may best deal with him." "Did you, then, know me also?" asked Tasquanto. "The moment I set eyes on thee. Those white dogs had been slain an hour sooner but for thy presence among them and a fear of doing thee harm. Now, what say you? Shall this man be delivered to the tormentors, or shall he be killed where he lies? It is certain that his punishment must be great, for he has earned all that may be given. Also I do not care that he should recognize me and spread the report that I was once his slave, for that would shame me in the eyes of my people. Thou, too, must ever keep secret the matter of my having crossed the salt waters." "I will remember," replied Tasquanto. "As for this white man, I would crop his ears with the same brand of ownership that he has placed upon many an Indian captured and sold into slavery. Then would I let him sail away in his own ship as a warning to all other white men. Death he deserves, since he has treated many of our people to death and worse, but to him the shame of cropped ears will be even more bitter than death." So favorably was Massasoit impressed with this idea that he ordered it carried out at once. Thus, half an hour later, the brutal Dermer, who had done so much to cause the name of Englishman to be hated in the New World, was set adrift in a canoe, minus both his ears, and allowed to depart to his own ship. It is recorded in history that he reached Virginia, where he soon afterwards died from wounds received at the hands of New England savages. Having thus satisfactorily concluded one part of his undertaking, Massasoit next turned his attention to the rebel Narragansetts. Moving his entire force against their stronghold, he demanded that all goods received from the English should be delivered up, and also that Miantinomo should come to his camp, bringing a chief's belt in token of submission. Massasoit swore that, in case his demands were refused, he would not depart from that place until every rebel in the fort was destroyed. So mild were these terms in comparison with what had been expected that they were instantly accepted, and a cruel war between neighbors was averted. With peace thus restored, the authority of Massasoit over the great territory, already named New England by Captain John Smith, was so firmly established that until the day of his death it was never again questioned. But if one of his two chief causes for anxiety was thus removed, the other was looming ominously near. Some six months after Tasquanto's escape from his long captivity a little English ship, buffeted by winter gales of the North Atlantic, was slowly approaching the American coast. Although only of one hundred and fifty tons' burden, or about the size of a small coasting schooner of to-day, she carried one hundred passengers besides her crew and an immense quantity of freight. For three months had her passengers--men, women, and children--been on board the overcrowded little craft, and they were sick for a sight of land. Their destination was the mouth of the Shatemuc or Hudson River, but their first landfall, made under a cold December sky, was the bluff headland, stretching far out to sea like a beckoning finger, that Gosnold, some twenty years earlier, had named the Cape of Cods. From here the ship was headed southward towards her destination, but soon became involved in a labyrinth of shoals covered with roaring breakers. Also she was beaten by adverse gales until her weary company hailed with joy her captain's decision to run back to the safe shelter of Cape Cod. Here, in what is now the harbor of Provincetown, the sea-worn strangers disembarked, so profoundly happy at finding themselves once more on land that the wooded wilderness seemed a paradise. They had come to establish homes in the New World, and though disappointed at not gaining the more southerly latitude for which they had set out, they now determined to remain where they were, since it was too late in the season for further explorations. Still, they spent two weeks in examination of the country close at hand, and finally selected a site for settlement across the bay enclosed by Cape Cod. Here was a good harbor, plenty of fresh water, and much land already cleared of forest growth by its former Indian occupants. They named this place "Plymouth" after the last English port from which they had sailed, and on Christmas day began the work of building houses. During that winter half of these stout-hearted settlers died, so that in the early spring only fifty persons, enfeebled by the sickness from which but seven had wholly escaped, remained to make good their claim to the land they had thus seized. During all this time the colonists had not encountered any of the native owners of the soil, though they had caught occasional glimpses of vanishing forms, and often saw signal-fires or smokes that denoted the presence of watchful observers. In spite of these things they did not hesitate to appropriate Indian property wherever they found it. Thus, when they discovered hidden stores of corn and parched acorns, laid by for winter use, they promptly removed them to Plymouth. Also whenever they ran across an Indian lodge, they took from it everything that seemed to them of value. They even robbed Indian graves of their sacred relics, and these things were reported to Massasoit by his scouts. From the first appearance of the _Mayflower_ on the stormy horizon he had known of all its movements. He had been relieved when it started southward, and was greatly disturbed by its return to Cape Cod. He was also much puzzled to account for the doings of its company, since evidently they were neither traders nor fishermen. Why had they brought women and children with them? Also why had they in the first place attempted to sail to the southward, if his country was the place they were seeking? He finally decided that they must be bound for the Virginia settlement of white men, and were only waiting until the winter storms were over before resuming their voyage to the country of Powhatan. This decision eased Massasoit's mind, for, while he was determined that no whites should settle within his boundaries, he was also averse to unnecessary bloodshed. So he awaited patiently the departure that he believed the strangers would make with the coming of warmer weather. If they did not so depart, he knew that he could wipe them out of existence as easily as he could crush a worm that came in his path. Thus forbearing to disturb them, he waited and watched, receiving almost daily reports from his scouts, who at all times lurked in the vicinity of the feeble settlement. He heard with grim satisfaction of their rapid decrease in numbers, and grew wroth at their violation of Indian graves and their appropriation of unguarded Indian property. Still he forbore to molest them, but as spring drew near he sent Samoset to learn how soon they intended to depart. To his dismay this messenger brought back word that the English had no intention of ever again leaving the place where they had established themselves. "Then must I remind them that I have no desire for their presence," quoth Massasoit, and at once he sent out runners to gather a large force of warriors in the vicinity of Plymouth. Accompanied by a body-guard of sixty men, the sachem himself hastened to the place of rendezvous and established a camp, from which he sent Tasquanto among the whites to learn in detail their strength and intentions. With his ready command of English and his knowledge of white men's customs, gained by painful experience, Tasquanto or "Squanto," as he now called himself, found no difficulty in gaining all the information he desired from the strangers. He even learned their names and the relative rank held by their leading men. When Tasquanto returned and reported these things, he mentioned one name that caused Massasoit to start and betray symptoms of great agitation. "Art thou certain that one among them is so called?" he asked. "I am certain," replied Tasquanto. "Then go quickly and ask that man, as he values his own life and that of his people, to meet me alone by the big pine that looks down upon his lodges. I will be there unaccompanied. Stay! Take to him this belt that it may be to him a token of safe-conduct and true speaking." With this Massasoit removed from his own person the great Belt of Seven Totems and handed it to Tasquanto. He also instructed the latter to withdraw beyond earshot when he had conducted the white man to the place of meeting. Half an hour later Massasoit, with unpainted face and simply clad, stood alone at the foot of the great pine, looking down on the group of poor little huts that sheltered the feeble English remnant. Within a mile of the place were gathered five hundred warriors awaiting but a signal from him to utterly destroy the helpless settlement. Then to him came an Englishman, young, sturdy, and heavily bearded. As he approached within a few paces he halted and examined the Indian curiously, for he had been told that he was to meet a sachem who was ruler of many tribes. On the other hand, Massasoit gazed into the bearded face of the white man with an eagerness that was almost disconcerting. Then, as though satisfied with his scrutiny, he extended a hand, exclaiming as he did so,-- "Winslow! My frien' Winslow!" For a moment the other hesitated, then his face lighted joyously as he grasped the proffered hand in both of his, crying,-- "Massasoit? They told me the name of the mighty chieftain was Massasoit, but never did I suspect that he was the friend whom I had found and lost in London." For an hour the two, thus strangely brought together after years of distant wanderings, held converse with each other while the fate of the New World hung upon their words. When their conversation was finally ended, Winslow had promised never to reveal the fact that the proud sachem had once been bought and sold as a slave in England. He had also promised that the colony to which he belonged should never commit an act of aggression against the people of Massasoit, but that his friends should be their friends and his enemies their enemies. On his part, and out of an abounding gratitude for the only friendship shown him at a time when he stood most in need of friends, Massasoit agreed that the poor little English settlement should be allowed to exist, and, moreover, promised to protect it from its enemies to the full extent of his power. Then the two parted, the one to go back to his wondering warriors and dismiss them to their homes, the other to carry the glad news into Plymouth that the great Massasoit was ready to make a treaty of friendly alliance with his English neighbors. So on the morrow Governor Carver, accompanied by Winslow, sturdy Myles Standish, and others of his principal men, met Massasoit. Then, after much feasting and an exchange of courtesies, they mutually signed a treaty of friendship that remained unbroken for upward of half a century from that memorable date. Thus was the crumb of bread once cast upon troubled waters by Edward Winslow returned to him again with a thousand-fold of increase after many days. Thus also did Nahma, son of Longfeather, now become Massasoit, wearer of the Belt of Seven Totems, make possible and establish forever the white man's settlement of New England. * * * * * * N. B. When the good ship _Mayflower_ returned to England from that her most memorable voyage to the New World she bore in her cargo a packet of richest furs, together with many specimens of dainty beadwork, consigned to Lady Betty Effingham, who dwelt near to Bristol, England, with goodly wishes from her friend and humble servant, Massasoit. +-------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's note: | | | |Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | | | +-------------------------------------------------+