"Waqua has plenty of arrows in his quiver, and can get more."

"Thou art an independent fellow," exclaimed Arundel; "but there is one thing I have to offer thee which thou must accept—that is, my hand, and it is a sign that I will be thy brother."

There was something in the action and expression of Arundel's face that was irresistibly attractive to the Indian. He took the offered hand into both of his and replied, "Waqua gives his two hands to the white man. He loves the white man, and the Great Spirit sent Waqua to protect his brother."

"Thou hast established a claim to, my friendship stronger than often exists. Be sure we will be friends. My brother is on a hunting path. What success has he?"

"A deer," replied Waqua, stepping into a bush, returning with the carcass on his shoulder, and throwing it upon the ground.

"Is my brother's lodge distant?"

"It would not tire a new born fawn to run the distance. My white brother shall see the wigwam of Waqua, and rest his limbs, and then Waqua will go with him to the lodges of the white men at Shawmut."

It was yet early in the day. There was no need of hurry, and the wish of the Indian of itself was enough. It would have been indeed ungracious to deny acquiescence to one who had just saved his life, and Arundel therefore at once signified his assent. But before they started, the Indian with the knife which he took from his neck, despoiled the panther of its skin. Throwing it then across his shoulders on top of the deer's carcass, he led the way out of the path in a direction different from that in which Arundel had been travelling.

It was truly as Waqua had said, and a few moments sufficed to reach his habitation. It stood by itself, near the margin of the Charles river, which empties into Massachusetts Bay, and was merely a rough hunting lodge, made of bark, yet so constructed as effectually to answer the purpose for which it was designed during the milder months. Doubtless in winter it was deserted for the more comfortable wigwam in the village.

Arrived at his dwelling, Waqua took down some skins suspended on one side, and spreading them upon the ground, courteously invited his companion to a seat. Arundel was glad to rest after his late violent conflict, and availed himself of the opportunity to brush off the dirt, and re-arrange his torn and disordered dress. Meanwhile, Waqua kindled a fire, and cutting off some bear steaks, threw them on the glowing coals. The exercise and danger of Arundel had given him an appetite, and with no little interest he watched the process. The meal was soon ready, and justice done to it by both; and upon its conclusion, it became apparent that it was not on its account only that Waqua had desired to return to his wigwam. It was also to make some alteration in his toilette, therein betraying that fondness for ornament which is equally active in the savage and in the civilized exquisite. For the garments he had worn, others were substituted of finer quality, and more showy appearance. Over his shoulders was thrown a robe of beaver skins; in his hair were stuck some red feathers, and from his ears hung pendants carved out of bone, into a rude imitation of birds. Belts of wampompeag encircled the arms above the elbow, and fell over the robe, hanging down the shoulders. The preparation was completed by painting the cheeks and forehead vermillion. Thus decorated, with bow in hand, an ornamented quiver on his back, and tomahawk in girdle, Waqua considered himself fit to be presented at any court in the world.

Nor when he advanced, conscious of the improvement in his appearance, and stepping as though he were lord of the unbounded wilderness, did Arundel attempt to conceal his admiration of the forest Apollo. Waqua remarked it in the other's eyes, and a gleam of satisfaction lighted up his face. Throwing the deer he had killed over his shoulder, and taking a small bundle of skins in his hand, the Indian preceded his companion on their way to the settlement.



CHAPTER VIII.

"Absit, quoth the doctor."

DON QUIXOTE.

Upon arriving at the little town of Boston, Arundel made the Indian promise to return to him at the ordinary or inn where he had his quarters, after the furs and venison should be disposed of. Waqua was glad to make the promise, and the two separated; the one, directing his steps towards his lodging; and the other, to seek a purchaser for his commodities. Arundel was anxious to express his gratitude, and, besides, was interested by the talk of the child of the forest; while Waqua, on his part, was evidently disposed to meet any advances.

Eleazar Nettles, the worthy host of the Ship-tavern, who Stood at the door of the low rambling building, welcomed his lodger with all the cordiality he could throw into a face originally not ill-looking or unpleasing, but which, in consequence of practising an appearance of mortification, (in order to stand well with the grave citizens), which neither belonged to the calling wherein he was engaged, nor by nature to itself, seemed an odd mixture of earthly depravity and of heavenly grace. Not that Eleazar was a bad fellow. Nature had originally enclosed in his dumpy body a good-humoured soul enough, and, in a less austere community, where the bent of his disposition might have had fair play, he would have been a rather jolly dog. He was, however, a victim of fate. By what disastrous chance his lot was cast in that grim-visaged region, has never been satisfactorily explained, but being once in it, and a publican by profession, it was necessary to conform to the habits and manners of those about him, unless he desired to see his license taken away, and himself a suspected person, as well as without employment. These prudential considerations contending with Eleazar's nature, had sobered the otherwise mirthful features of his face, and made him present the appearance of a merry and a sad man rolled into one, each striving for the mastery, and each alternately achieving victory, according to circumstances. The merry man was safe in the presence of Arundel, and, therefore, his mouth dissolved into a pleasant chuckle as he welcomed him.

"It is a joy and an honor, Master Arundel," he said, "to see again a discreet young gentleman like yourself, whose spirits—ahem!—are lively as my own ale, and yet chastised by a godly 'havior. You must have had something of a walk this morning. What refreshment may it please you to take?"

While uttering this speech, he had been busy ushering into the tap or common reception room the young man, who, by the time it was finished, was seated.

"Thy guess hits the mark, mine host," he said? "but what is fitting I leave to thy discretion. Thou shalt prescribe like a physician."

"Thou art a sweet-tempered gentleman, and easily satisfied," answered the host, "and I should be no better than a heathen salvage to abuse thy goodness. To begin, I have some of the famosest malt liquor that ever ran down throat with a relish."

"Avaunt, with thy detestable malt liquors. You inveigled me once into tasting the decoction, and methinks that should satisfy thee, if not me. Thou wilt hardly succeed a second time. It will never do. Thy cellar contains something better, to my knowledge."

"As you say," replied the landlord, (whose habit was to recommend his ale to those who he knew would not take it, in order, perhaps, to make his wines taste the better, by consideration of the contrast)—"as you say, Master Arundel, my malt liquor, though the best in the country, is not for high-bred gentlemen like yourself. I have Spanish wines, and French wines, and wines from Italy, and from the Canaries, and"—

"Any will do," said Arundel, knowing that a single kind was made to play the part of vintages from all parts of the world; "so be prompt, good man, for my thirst increases."

While the publican, whose business was not sufficiently large to warrant him to employ a tapster, was absent, Arundel looked round the apartment to see what company was present. At no great distance from where he sat were half-a-dozen persons, some of whom, by their dress, seemed to be sailors, and others citizens. As he turned to look at them, two or three, who were his acquaintances, saluted him; and the conversation, which his entrance had a little interrupted, flowed again with a full current.

"A queer bit of a town, good-man Fairweather, the saints have built up for themselves," exclaimed a man in a sailor's jacket. "Do you know what it looks like to me?"

"How should I know, Capt. Sparhawk, how Boston looks to you?" answered the man addressed.

"That depends upon the strength of the liquor, methinks," said a third.

"That answer, Billy Pantry," said the Captain, "for a lubber that knows not the difference between the futtock shrouds and Jacob's ladder, and whose head is so little and his paunch so big, is what my old schoolmaster called a Lucy—Lucy—damn the other part of the name—there I miss stays, by Neptune!—anyhow, it begun with a Nat, but there was more of it."

"Natwood," suggested Billy Pantry. "I know a Polly Natwood in Suffolk, one of the completest wenches"—

"If she was not completer than thy wit," interrupted the Captain, "her figure-head was left unfinished. But, avast there; we are drifting off soundings. Where was I? Aye; belay, I have it. I was telling you what your beggarly town looks like."

"Aye, but about Lucy," said another, who had not spoken before, and whose perception looked dimly out of his hazy eyes! "I should like to hear first about her. I always liked the women."

"Hear old Wheat," cried the Captain—"the wicked villain. All the knowledge he has of the women, I'll be qualified on the main brace, is what he got from Betty Quickfist when she hit him a cuff on the ear for his impudence, and twisted it out o' shape, as ye may see without taking a quadrant for the observation."

"Why," said Billy Pantry, turning his mess-mate's head about, "his two ears are much alike, and, as you say, Captain, lop damnably; so he must have caught it on both of them, though this one here, away to windward, looks as if it had been cut off and stuck on again."

"Shut up your duff-trap," said Wheat, gruffly, "or I'll send your teeth on a cruise down your throat."

"Come, come," cried the Captain, "I choose to do all the quarreling for this company. How now, my masters, is there to be no discipline when my foot is off the quarter-deck? If another man speaks above his breath, by the beard of father Neptune, I will stop his grog. Where was I? Let me take the latitude once more. Aye, here away bearing up to tell how I liked this prig of a town."

"Blast my tarry top-lights and to'gallant eyebrows. Do you call this a town?" demanded Bill. "Folk does not call a thing like this a town in old Hingland."

"Aye, old England forever," cried the Captain, standing up. "Boys, fill your cups all round, and we will drink a health to our dear old mammy."

"I should like to pleasure you, Captain," said one of the citizens, "and will drink in all reason till sundown, but there is a law against drinking healths."

"I suppose there will be a law next," exclaimed the Captain, "against eating, and that will finish the job. The rest of you may do as you like, but Jack Sparhawk never yet was afraid of any man, and is not going now to strike his peak to Admiral Winthrop. So here's a toast for ye:

"Prosperity to England's friends! Perdition to her foes! Heaven to herself! to hell she sends All Spaniards and Crapeaua!"

Saying this, he drained his cup. "And now, boys, about this little starched old maid of a town—"

"There you are, in a fog, Captain," interrupted Pantry. "How can it be an old maid, when, on every tack, half a dozen children, like so many porpoises, come across your bows?"

"Any wit but thine own would easily box that compass," answered the Captain. "But talking is thirsty business, and we will have up another bottle. Halloa, old Nettletop, bear a hand with some more of your weak-waters. What do you stand gaping there for, like a chicken with the pip? Off with you. And now, while old Thistle is rummaging the locker, I will give you my mind about this matter of—"

But, alas! an incident now occurred which has deprived posterity forever of the invaluable opinion of Captain Sparhawk respecting the appearance of Boston in 16—, and of his explanation of the phenomenon suggested by Bill.

Some five or ten minutes before, a grave looking personage, with a long staff in his hand, had stolen quietly into the room, unnoticed by any one but Arundel—the landlord being absent at the time—and taken a seat where he could overhear the conversation. Upon mine host's return, and noticing the stranger, he exhibited some embarrassment, and endeavored to catch the attention of the drinking party without attracting that of the new comer. His efforts, however, were in vain, and assuming an air of deep mortification, he waited for what should happen. Upon being required by the Captain to supply more wine, he had shaken his head, which it seems was not taken much notice of by the sailor, and was preparing to reply, when he was anticipated by the stranger. Lifting up his staff, and pointing with it at the table, he said,

"Furnish no more strong liquor, good man Nettles, to these carousers. Methinks they have already had more than enough for their souls' or bodies' health."

"I will not gainsay thee, master Prout," said the host, "and will obey, as becometh a man who respects Thee and thine office; but the wine is good and can do no harm, as thou mayest convince thyself by trial. I will pour thee out a cup."

"Nay," said Master Prout, "I need it not. I do stand amazed," he added, bending his brows severely on the host, "that, a man professing godliness, and one of the congregation, shouldst administer to the carnal appetite till the graceless sinner is converted into a swine."

"Dear Master Prout, be not so hard on a friend. I knew not the strength of my wine, or that these strangers were so unaccustomed to drinking. The wine hath been but lately bought, being part of the cargo of the Abstemious, and thou knowest I A indulge not, else I should have been acquainted with its potency, and regulated things accordingly. But thou seest the six have drunk only so many poor bottles."

"Enough, goodman Nettles," answered Prout. "Remove, now, these incitements to temptation, and after that will I drop a word of friendly advisement into the ears of these offenders."

During this conversation a profound silence had prevailed at the table—the three citizens recognising in the intruder one whose authority it would be folly to resist, and the sailors apparently confounded at the boldness of the interference, and curious to hear what should pass between the landlord and his dictatorial visitor. But when mine host, in obedience to an order from the latter, began to take away the bottles and cups, Captain Sparhawk, who had sat leaning on his elbow upon the table and eyeing the two, now seemed to think that his dignity required some interference on his part.

"How now, my masters," he exclaimed. "What coil is this? Are we to be boarded in this piratical way, and see all our stores and, provisions captured without a blow? Run up the red cross, Wheat. Call all hands to repel boarders, and follow me."

"Cease thy papistical babble; it doth vex my soul more even than thy drunkenness," cried Master Prout.

"Papist in thy teeth and drunkenness to boot," exclaimed the excited captain, at the same time striking at Master Prout, who, however, easily eluded the blow of the intoxicated man.

The other two sailors now manifested some intention of coming to the assistance of their superior, but were held back by the citizens, and restrained, moreover, by a knowledge of the formidable power of Master Prout, who was well known as a sort of censor or guardian of the morals of the place, appointed by the magistrates.

"Keep quiet, man," said Prout, pushing the obstreperous captain back into his seat, "or thy mazzard and my staff may become better acquainted than will be altogether agreeable. Do thou hold him, good man Nettles, as being in some wise accountable for his condition. So shalt thou, also, partake of the savory crumbs of advice which it is my intention to bestow on this man of Belial and his companions."

Master Prout, thereupon drawing a chair, placed it immediately in front of the captain, and seated himself, while mine host held the delinquent fast. The functionary paid no attention whatever to the exclamations and ejaculations of the sailor, which, furious at first, gradually died away until they ceased entirely, but went on steadily with his speech.

"Thou art a stranger," he said, "and therefore am I the more disposed to overlook thy transgression, seeing that thou art not acquainted with the manners of the godly town of Boston, and art not yet prepared to realize thy privilege in being permitted to visit it. Moreover, I see by thy garments and speech that thou art one of those who go down to the sea in ships, and who, though they behold the wonders of the deep, are, for the most part, unaffected by the mighty works of Him at whose word the stormy wind ariseth, or at His rebuke chasteneth itself into a calm. But thou art a man having within thee an immortal soul, and my spirit is troubled exceedingly, and my bowels are like to burst within me, when I behold thee given over to folly. Hearken thou, for my lips shall utter judgment, and thine ears shall drink in understanding.

"Behold here, in this Boston, have godly fugitives from oppression, men whose faces are set as steel against all evil, set up their habitations, to be an enduring city unto the Lord; and, within our borders, may no scoffer or profane person, as was Esau, nor riotous liver, abide. But the necessities of our position do in some wise constrain us, for trade and other useful purposes, to allow communication with them who are not of our way of thinking. Therefore do we grant unto them free entrance, for a time, into our Canaan, sobeit they observe the limits of decent moderation, and vex not our souls beyond Christian patience, hoping, moreover, that, seeing our righteous example, they may be converted from their evil ways, and trusting that the Lord will preserve us from defilement. But we hold not ourselves bound to tolerate rioting and drunkenness, which are not convenient, but contrariwise, to restrain them by the sword of the magistrate, if need be. Of both these thou art, unhappily, guilty, inasmuch as thou didst forget where thou art, and wert mindful only of the customs of thy heathen companions at home; and were I extreme to mark what is done amiss, surely thy punishment were heavy. But this is thy first offence, and I hope will be thy last; therefore say I unto thee, go and sin no more, especially as thy fault is not of public notoriety, and goodman Nettles and thy friends, for their own sakes and this good youth (turning to Arundel) and myself, to avoid scandal, will keep silence thereupon. I pass over thy rude and silly speeches as proceeding not from thyself, but from the evil spirit of wine that mastered and made a fool of thee. Henceforward, while remembering our mercy, dread our justice, shouldst thou be tempted a second time to offend."

Having thus spoken, Master Prout rose, and deliberately clapping his steeple-crowned hat upon his head, stalked demurely out of the apartment, satisfied that after his rebuke the company would be unable to obtain any more strong potations. In this supposition he was perfectly correct—goodman Nettles too thoroughly understanding his own interest and the character of the man to venture to disobey him; for though Master Prout felt friendly to the publican, as was evident, there were some things he would not overlook, and no offence could be committed more heinous than disregarding his orders. Captain Sparhawk, who toward the close of the Puritan's address, had been subdued into a most unwilling silence, manifested, as soon as it was finished, a desire to reply; but the host placed his hand on the recusant's mouth, and compelled him to be silent.

"Art mad?" he whispered. "Dost wish to ruin me, and have thine ears nailed to the whipping-post, and perhaps cut off? Remember thou art at Boston, and not in old England. Here, men drink in a godly manner, and use the gifts of Providence as not abusing them; and not like blinded papists, or as some say, like them of the Church of England; but I am more liberal, as becomes one of my profession. Be thankful for the clemency of Master Prout, a worthy man, and a considerate, whose advice is like silver nails driven in by the master of assemblies."

Thus continued, in this strain, the astute landlord, until Master Prout had left the house, and was out of hearing, when he released the captain, and allowed him liberty of speech.

If the publican had expected a burst of angry language from the sailor, he was agreeably disappointed. So far from venting his feelings in that way, the worthy captain seemed now to consider all that had happened as a capital joke, and broke out in a hearty laugh.

"Queer country, my men, this," he said, "where a meddlesome tipstaff will not let a true-blooded Englishman pay toll to his Majesty's excise. But old Sour-chops is gone, and we will have 'tother bottle now to drink better manners to him; so bear a hand, Nettle, Thistle, or whatever you call yourself."

"I dare not give you more wine for the present," said the host. "Master Prout's authority is absolute in this matter, and not a drop from spigot or bottle runs on your account. Be reasonable, noble captain," he continued, seeing that the sailor was disposed to insist on his demand, "and consider that in refusing thee, I do in some sort prejudice myself for our mutual benefit."

Here the companions of the captain interfering, and the citizens, in particular, insisting that on no account would they drink more, the refractory Sparhawk, after some growls at the "queer country," was obliged to submit, and soon after, paying the reckoning, took leave with his company.

The scene was not altogether new to Arundel, who had looked on with amused interest. It was not the first time when he had seen the official in the exercise of his somewhat arbitrary authority, order away, like the physician of Sancho Panza in his famous government of Barrataria, the goblet, just as it was about to be carried to the lips of the expecting guest. He had before laughed at the stare of bewildered disappointment of the astonished toper, and the subdued humor of Master Prout, hardly concealed by his austere exterior, but he felt no disposition to censure the severity of the regulation. It was of the utmost importance, as well for the peace and good order of the colony, as in accordance with the principles of self-denial and virtuous living on which it was founded, that every disorder should be checked in the bud. Considering the variety of adventurers, of all shades of character, from the religious enthusiast, seeking in unknown regions, invested with strange charms by a heated imagination, the kingdom of saints upon earth, which he had vainly hoped to erect in the old world, down to the reckless freebooter, whose life had been passed in wild indulgence, unrestrained by law, human or divine, whom chance or design had thrown upon their coast, it is obvious that a vigilant eye and strong hand were necessary to note and repress every incipient sign of irregularity or turbulence.

Yet did the host sigh as he dropped into a seat at the departure of the company. With one eye fixed upon a heavenly and the other on an earthly treasure, he was counting up in his mind the crowns he had lost by the intrusion of Master Prout, and at the same time lamenting the depravity of men who could bear no more than a bottle of wine apiece.

"Master Arundel," he said at length, "I do admire the wisdom—ahem—of the worshipful magistrates in the care they take of the citizens and visitors of our godly town. By the appointment of Master Prout to the office which he doth sometimes exercise with somewhat of rigor, they do, too, in a manner avouch the value of my calling, and their desire to countenance it, and that in agreement with Scripture, for is it not written that He hath given wine to gladden man's heart? Nevertheless, methinks, being one of the congregation, a modicum might be left to mine own judgment in regard to the capacity of my guests. Not that I care about the two or three pieces whereof his interference hath deprived me—ahem—but the feelings of godly men who know best what is good for them, are hurt needlessly oftentimes. The wine is good, as can be proved by our own virtuous citizens, who have not injured themselves by early rioting, and are able, as a reward of their youthful temperance, to drink twice as much as this Captain Sparhawk, who hath probably, in a measure, injured his constitution by indulgence in bad liquors. Man is truly a fallen creature," concluded goodman Nettles, heaving a deep sigh,—"ahem—or such wine could never affect him."

Arundel felt no inclination to discuss the subject, and soon retired to his apartment.



CHAPTER IX.

"With wild surprise, As if to marble struck, devoid of sense, A stupid moment motionless."

THOMSON'S SEASONS.

A couple of hours elapsed before Waqua made his appearance, after disposing of his skins and venison. He had exchanged them for such articles as his savage taste fancied, among which Arundel noticed a small mirror, in a brass frame, hung like a medal on his breast, and a red woollen sash tied around his waist. As the Indian, thus bedecked, entered the room, it was with an increase of dignity becoming one possessed of such splendid ornaments, whereat, however, Arundel found it difficult to repress a smile. But it was important to the maintenance of their new friendship that no such levity should be perceived, which might have aroused the resentment of the savage. Suppressing then the feeling, and regarding his tawny friend with a face of welcome, the young man said:

"You look bravely, Sachem; it is a pity the Indian girls do not see you."

"They will see," said the Indian, "when Waqua returns to his village. Look," he continued, presenting the mirror to Arundel, and, unable to conceal his admiration, "it is a still spring in an open plain."

"You will not be obliged now to leave the wigwam and seek the clear water when you wish to paint your face."

"Waqua thanks the white man," said the Indian, gazing admiringly at himself in the mirror, "for the clear frozen water which he can carry with him wherever he goes. Waqua will never more be alone, for whenever he pleases he may look into the bright frozen water and see a warrior. Let me behold my brother in the wonderful medicine."

He held up the glass to Arundel, and laughed, as he saw the reflection.

"My brother's face is now in the frozen water," he said, "and whenever I look into it, I shall see my brother as well as Waqua."

"And trust me, Waqua, that I will be a true friend unto thee. I do begin to think that the extraordinary liking of the knight for thy race is not misplaced."

"Speaks my brother of Soog-u-gest, of the white chief who lives away from his people in the forest?"

"I speak of the Knight of the Golden Melice, of him whom the Indians call Soog-u-gest, or the eagle. I had left his lodge but a short time when Heaven sent thee to my aid."

"The tall, white chief, men say, is not like other white men. He loves the forest children, and they love him."

"Love begets love, and one noble quality attracts another. But it is my turn, Waqua, to show you hospitality; and to a strong, healthy fellow like you, dinner, methinks, can never come amiss."

The meal which, upon the order of Arundel, was served up, seemed to meet with the unqualified approbation of the Indian. Yet this is an inference derived, not from the manner in which he partook of the repast, but from the quantity which he ate. Although unacquainted with the mode of using a knife and fork, and, therefore, compelled to depend upon the instruments furnished by nature, there was nothing in his conduct that resembled ill-breeding. He accepted, with a grave courtesy, whatever was offered, eating deliberately, and expressing no preference for one thing over another. His entertainer fancied that, from time to time, he cast a stolen glance, as if watching motions in order to accommodate himself to them. However that may be, the young white man was greatly pleased with the untutored politeness of his red companion, and desirous to please him in all respects, did not deny his guest the stimulus of strong water; taking care, nevertheless, that the wine drunk should be in too small quantities to affect him injuriously. Of this, Waqua partook with peculiar zest, and it is fortunate that he had one more prudent than himself to stop him before temperate indulgence became excess. For so great is the delight which the Indian temperament derives from the use of intoxicating drinks, that it is difficult to regulate the appetite. Brought up without much self-control, if civilization be taken as a standard,—regardless of the past, heedless of the future, and mindful only of the present,—the wild child of nature quaffs with eager joy the fire-water, which seems to bring him inspiration, and to extend the bounds of existence.

"Waqua knows," said the savage, holding up his cup at the end of the meal, "that the Great Spirit loves his white children very much, else never would he have given them the dancing fire-water that streams through me like the sun through morning clouds."

"Beware," said Arundel, "that it be not more like the lightning, which marks its path with destruction. But, Waqua, come thou now with me. I saw no red cloth in thy lodge, and there was but little paint in thy pot, and I know where there is plenty."

"My brother is an open hand, and will make Waqua's wigwam as gay as the breast of the Gues-ques-kes-cha."

With these words, the Indian followed Arundel into the street, walking in his tracks, and the two pursued their way in the direction of one of the principal store-houses.

The street led directly by the house of the Assistant Spikeman, and, as they passed, the eyes of the young man were busy, as was natural, to discover traces of his mistress. Nor was he doomed to disappointment. As he came opposite, a casement opened, a small white hand was thrust out, and beckoned to him. Thus invited, Arundel stepped within the door, whither he was followed by the savage. In those days, the simple forest children thought there was no harm in asking for a hospitality they were ever ready to grant themselves, and which they considered a duty; nor inasmuch as they never attempted to take away anything by violence, but thankfully accepted whatever was offered to them, were their visits generally discouraged. Indeed, the importance of treating them with indulgence was sedulously inculcated by both elders and magistrates, as being conducive to their own security as well as from higher motives. The expediency of such conduct was so obvious that few were found to disregard it. Hence the Indians, on their visits to the settlement, were accustomed, if they wanted food, or to enter the houses for any other purpose, to step in with the same freedom almost as into their own wigwams. If now and then a circumstance occurred inconsistent with the sacred duty of hospitality, it was not considered as reflecting disgrace upon the whole community, but only on the sordid churl who was the occasion of it, and whose domicile was ever afterwards carefully avoided.

The young man and his dusky companion were met by Prudence, who, while conducting them into a room, whispered:

"Why, Master Miles, who expected to see you? People said you was ever so far away in the woods, living with bears and wolves. Have you got one here?"

"Poh, poh! pretty Prudence, no one hath better reason to look for me than thyself, seeing thy message brought me. As for my copper friend, he is the gentlest savage that ever took a scalp. Do not be frightened, and clap thy hand on thy head: he will none of thine. But thy mistress, where is she?"

"I declare, Master Miles, you have scared almost all the breath out of my body. Oh! how my heart beats! Follow me quick, for I want to get out of the way."

"Waqua will wait for his brother here," said the young man, turning to his follower, whose eyes he noticed were fastened on a full length portrait hanging on the wall; "for which reason," he added "and, during my absence, may make acquaintance ith the venerable ancestor of Master Spikeman, who hath followed his descendant's fortunes across the sea."

He waited for no reply, such was his impatience to see his mistress; but, preceded by Prudence, hastily left the apartment, and was ushered into the presence of the young lady.

One who saw Eveline Dunning would never have wondered that her lover had followed her to the new world. She was one of those charming beings who are irresistibly attractive—whom to behold is to love, and whose presence "clothes the meanest thing in light." Her features were regular, her complexion delicate and brilliant, her eyes blue and sparkling, and her hair of a rich brown. Those blue eyes were commonly calm and soft, though there were times when they could kindle up and flash, and the full red lips became compressed, hinting at an energy of character which required only circumstances to call it forth into exercise. Her person was of the ordinary height, and most perfectly formed, and she moved with a grace which only faultless proportions and high breeding can impart.

"My Eveline, my best and my dearest," said Arundel, imprinting a kiss upon the blushing cheek she nevertheless offered him, even before the considerate Prudence had retired, shutting the door after her, "how blessed am I, once more to breathe the air sweetened by thy breath."

He led her to a seat, and, retaining her hand, sat down by her side.

"And how dearly I love to have thee near me, Miles," she answered; "the perils I make thee encounter for my sake too plainly tell."

"Nay, sweet, the danger is only in thy imagination. Conscious that the right is on our side, we may defy Master Spikeman and all his wicked devices, certain that we shall yet triumph over them."

"Would that I felt thy confidence, but sometimes I am quite sad."

"Dearest Eveline, why thus cast down?" exclaimed Arundel, looking at her anxiously and kissing off a tear. "Has anything happened? What makes thee unhappy? Of what art afraid?"

"Not cast down, not unhappy, not afraid, Miles, but anxious on thy account, and weary of imprisonment. My jailer hath lately dropped some threats respecting thee which have filled me with apprehension, and it was in consequence of my grief thereat, and of something I said, that Prudence, without my knowledge, sent thee a message, as she afterwards told me."

"And I hope thou art not angry with her for being the cause of my present happiness?"

"I feel not like chiding her or any one," answered Eveline, smiling, "but would speak seriously during the few moments we are together. Oh! Miles, I have it from a sure hand, (though thou must not inquire thereafter), that Master Spikeman is endeavoring to poison the minds of the Governor and of the Assistants with false reports against thee, such as that thou art disaffected against the government. Oh! Miles, be prudent; for if anything were to happen to thee it would make me very unhappy."

"The lying varlet! the cozening knave!" exclaimed the young man, indignantly. "So this is the way whereby he designs to accomplish his purpose! But I defy his machinations. I have an advantage over him whereof he knows not."

"What is that, Miles?" inquired Eveline, seeing that he hesitated.

"He, whose the right is, hath every advantage over him in the wrong," answered her lover, rather evasively; "but would that I could persuade thee to cut the Gordian knot and put an end to this torturing suspense, by flying with me, and giving me a lawful right to be thy protector according to the wishes of thy father."

"Cease, Miles, and do not importune me in a matter wherein the impulses of my heart make me but too ready to forget the suggestions of prudence."

"But how long mean you to submit to this unjust violence?"

"I know not. Be assured, however, that nothing but dire necessity shall induce me to take a step, the thought of which burns my cheeks with blushes."

"Do you distrust me, Eveline?" said Arundel, reproachfully.

"No; but it becomes Eveline Dunning; it becomes one whom thou hast thought worthy to be sought for across a stormy ocean; it becomes the descendant of a long line of honorable ancestors; it becomes a woman, whether in the thickly peopled city or in the wilderness, among strangers or with her own kindred, to avoid even the appearance of evil. Much will I endure, and long will I bear my thraldom, before I will allow the thought of such a mode of deliverance to harbor in my mind."

"My judgment tells me thou art right, Eveline, however much my heart rebels; but is there no emergency which can make thee cast off this slavery?"

"None such has arisen, and whatever difficulties may harrass me, I hope to be equal to them."

"And years, long years, may drag along with weary feet, while we are wasting our youth in hopeless sighs over the tyranny of a heartless villain, lingering in this dreary land, where a smile is a vanity and a light heart a crime."

"Does it pain thee so much," inquired Eveline, half reproachfully, "to remain in the wilderness?"

"Nay, lovely one, where thou art is no wilderness, but a paradise. Hither I came, attracted by the love that binds my soul to thine, and this land will I never leave alone. A cabin with thee in these wilds were better than a palace ungraced by thy presence."

"I thank thee, Miles, and thy words strengthen my courage. So long as thou feelest thus, I cannot be unhappy. But shouldst thou ever change; shouldst thou weary of the delays and vexations which thy love for Eveline Dunning doth impose, hesitate not to avow it, and thou shalt be free, though my heart break in bidding thee farewell."

"Eveline, dearest Eveline," cried her lover, catching her to his bosom, "how canst thou speak thus? He who hath found heaven will never voluntarily resign it."

But why pursue a discourse which can have but little interest except for the speakers? The reader will suppose the further conversation which would naturally take place between two young persons in their situation. Owing to the vigilance of Spikeman, it was a long time (so at least it seemed to them) since they had met, and the interview was sweeter for that reason. While the precious moments are flitting by them unheeded, let us return to Waqua.

The Indian was so absorbed in the contemplation of the portrait, that he paid no attention to the jesting observation made by Arundel as he left the room, but continued motionless, gazing fixedly upon it. It represented a man of middle age, of a stern and somewhat forbidding countenance, standing with the open palm of the right hand thrown forward, as if he were addressing the spectator. It was exceedingly well done,—so graceful was the attitude, so boldly stood out the figure, so admirable was the coloring, so illusive the air of life. It was the first portrait that Waqua had seen, and he very naturally mistook it for a living person.

Seeing, as he supposed, a man with eyes fastened on him, standing in an attitude soliciting attention, and as if only waiting until the conversation between those who entered should cease, to address him, Waqua, with instinctive politeness, had stopped, and looking full at the painting, awaited the speech. He was somewhat surprised and scandalized, under the circumstances, at the garrulity of his companions, and, to confess the truth, Arundel sunk considerably in his estimation. However, he made all allowances for the rude manners of the whites and differences of customs, though hardly restrained by such considerations from uttering a rebuke for the others' want of respect to age, and to the master of the house, for whom he took the picture. As, after Arundel and the girl left the apartment, the figure remained standing, with eyes fastened on Waqua, and his hand continually extended, the Indian, considering it an invitation to be seated, sat down in a chair. He expected now to be addressed, and modestly dropping his eyes waited for what should be said. Thus sat Waqua, until, surprised at the continued silence of the other, he raised his eyes, and beheld him still in the same position, with lips partly open, yet emitting no sound. The situation of the Indian now became more and more embarrassing, and he hesitated what course to pursue. Greatly perplexed, he turned the matter over and over, until finally he reached the conclusion that this was a mode of welcome among the white men, and that the politeness of the other kept him silent, in order that the visitor should first take up the word, in which opinion he was confirmed by the sedate and unmoved expression of the face. With such a notion occupying his mind, he rose from his seat, and throwing the beaver robe a little off the right shoulder to allow opportunity for gesticulation, he stood before the picture, and after a moment of grave thought addressed it.

"Waqua," he said, "is a young man, and ashamed to speak first in the presence of his elder; but the customs of the white men are very different from those of their red brethren, and perhaps among his white brothers the young men speak first that their folly may appear. Because he thinks his white brother desires him to speak, he will make a very little speech."

"The silent chief (so he called the picture, not knowing what other name to use) knows that Waqua is a friend, because he sees him in company with the white man who went away with the chief's daughter with the strawberry lips. Waqua only asks the hospitality of the silent chief, and permission to remain in his lodge till his friend returns."

Thus having spoken, Waqua gathered up his robe upon his shoulder, and awaited a reply.

But in vain. Still the figure preserved silence, and maintained the same immovable attitude, gazing on him with eyes from which there was no escaping, and which seemed to pierce into his soul. The uneasiness of Waqua increased. He felt no fear, but a confusion of thought which threatened to obscure entirely his faculties. The idea crossed his mind that the man was dumb, but that accounted only for the silence. Why the immobility? If he were dumb, at least he could walk, for well-formed limbs were visible. But the man was quite still, not even winking, only fastening his eyes steadfastly on his own. To the excited imagination of the Indian, the eyes began to assume a deeper sternness, and he found it more and more difficult to withdraw his own. Suddenly, a thought darted through his mind, which made him shiver all over, and spring from his seat. The idea of fascination caused the start. He had more than once beheld the black snake extended on the ground, charming, with his glittering eyes the anguished bird which, with fainter and fainter screams, striving to delay a fate it could not escape, kept flying round and round in constantly diminishing circles, until it fell into the jaws of the destroyer. The same fatal influence he had seen exercised upon rabbits and other small game, the prey of the snake, and he did not doubt that a like fascination was attempted to be practiced on himself, and that the man was a conjurer. The thought threw him into a rage, and he determined to take vengeance for the insult. Drawing, therefore, his tomahawk from his girdle and brandishing it over his head, he exclaimed,

"Waqua is a warrior, and not a bird to be made weak by a white medicine."

But before the enraged Indian could cast the weapon from his hand, he felt his arm suddenly arrested, and, turning, beheld the laughing face of Prudence Rix.

"Stop, stop!" cried the girl, hardly able to speak for merriment; "what are you going to do? It is not a man, but only a painting."

It is not probable that the Indian perfectly comprehended the explanation of Prudence, who, in spite of her affected fears, had been, without his knowledge, an amused spectator of his conduct; but her interposition had the effect to prevent any violence, especially, as upon looking again at the portrait, he felt no longer the awe which had oppressed him, and therefore knew that the charm had lost its power. He lowered the tomahawk to his side, and addressed himself to her.

"What white man ever entered the wigwam of Waqua and was not invited to a seat on his mat? Who can say that Waqua fastened his eyes on him like a snake?"

"But see," said the girl, advancing to the portrait, and passing her hand over its surface; "it is nothing but a cunning painting. Come and satisfy thyself."

Waqua complied, in part, with Prudence's invitation, feeling some contempt for a man who would permit such an indignity and advancing to the picture regarded it with keen and inquisitive glances. He refused, however, to touch the figure, until Prudence, taking his hand in hers, placed it on the canvas. But no sooner did he feel the flat surface, than, uttering a cry of astonishment, he leaped backward, almost overturning Prudence in his haste, keeping his eyes on the picture, and ejaculating twice or thrice the expression, "Ugh!"

"What a simple savage thou art," exclaimed Prudence, "I tell thee it cannot bite. It can neither hear nor see, and thou art a man to be scared by it!"

The Indian felt the taunt, conveyed quite as much in the tone as in the words, and without replying, but as if to show that he was above the feeling of fear, holding the tomahawk in one hand, he passed the other over the whole surface, as far as he could reach, winding up the achievement with eyes wild with wonder, and snorting out divers astonished "ughs!"



CHAPTER X.

"Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, And shook his very frame for ire, And—'this to me!'—he said."

MARMION.

At this moment the Assistant Spikeman entered the room. His advance had been so noiseless that it was unobserved by either the girl or the Indian, so entirely were they engrossed by the adventure of the portrait.

"Whom have we here?" he exclaimed. "Methinks, Prudence, there are other parts of the dwelling more fit for such visitors."

"I desired to see," said the girl, evasively, "how a savage would act who never had beholden a painting. There is no great harm in that," she added, pouting.

"And doubtless he mistook it for a live man. Master Vandyke had skill, I trow, to deceive more learned eyes than those of a wild Indian. But, Prudence, thou knowest that I mean not to chide thee. Far different words arise spontaneously to my lips. But go, now, and I will pay the honors to thy red friend."

"He is no more friend of mine than I hope all the world are my friends," answered the girl, glad to get away to acquaint the lovers that Spikeman was in the house.

"I wish," she muttered, as she closed the door, though not so loud as to be overheard, "that some folk were not so great friends of mine."

"Have my people given my friend anything to eat?" inquired the Assistant, on the departure of the girl.

"Waqua is not hungry," answered the Indian. "His white brother has fed him until he has no place for more."

"What thinks Waqua of the painted man?" asked the Assistant, observing that the eyes of the savage wandered every now and then to the painting.

"It is a great medicine," replied the Indian, noticing with admiration the resemblance between it and the Assistant, (whose father's portrait it was.) "My brother loved his father very much, and so, before he was called to the spirit land, my brother put him on a board, even as white men put faces in frozen water. But my brother is wiser, because he makes his father stay on the board, instead of disappearing like faces in frozen water."

"My brother is right," said the Assistant, not unwilling to avail himself of an opportunity to impress on the mind of the savage the superiority of the whites; "but he has seen little of the wisdom of the white man. It is a light thing to put a man upon a board, though at the same time he may be in the spirit land. It is wonderful to Waqua, but a white child understands it. If Waqua remains the friend of the white man, greater and more wonderful things shall he learn."

"Waqua is an Indian, with an Indian head, and he is afraid it is not big enough to hold all these things. It makes his head ache to think of them."

"My brother's head will grow. But will he follow me now into another part of my dwelling?"

The Indian made a gesture of assent, and the Assistant preceding him, the two went in the direction of the room where were Arundel and Eveline.

Prudence, when she left Spikeman and Waqua together, had rushed in upon the lovers to apprise them of the Assistant's presence. The proud spirit of the young man revolted somewhat at the idea of stealing out of the house like a felon, and a little time was spent before the expostulations of Prudence and the entreaties of Eveline could prevail. And when he rose to leave, some time longer was consumed in tender leave-takings, which, though they seemed instants to the lovers, were lengthened almost into hours to the anxious waiting-maid. Hence it happened that when the door was opened, Arundel was confronted by the Assistant. Surprise and indignation were both expressed in the countenance of Spikeman, as he demanded to what circumstance he was indebted for the honor of the young man's company.

"Master Spikeman knows," answered Arundel, "without any averment on my part, that I came not to see him."

"It needs no declaration of thine to assure me of that," said Spikeman.

"I do nought," said Arundel, "which I will not avouch by both deeds and words. Plainly, I came to see Mistress Eveline Dunning, and strange indeed would it be, were I in this strange land to avoid her presence."

"Speak out the whole truth," said Spikeman, with rising passion, "and avow that like a thief thou didst steal in to corrupt the affections of my ward, and teach her undutifulness to her guardian."

Before the young man could reply, Eveline interposed.

"You do Master Arundel wrong, sir," she said, "to charge him with aught unbecoming. He comes hither in open day, and that by my special invitation."

The eyes of the spirited girl flashed, and her cheeks were crimson, as she made the avowal.

"This from you, Eveline Dunning," exclaimed Spikeman, with ill-suppressed rage. "Have you so far forgotten the modesty of your sex as to make this declaration in public? I knew before, that this boy had bewitched you, but dreamed not that he had triumphed over all maidenly reserve."

There was something insufferably insulting, both in the tone and in the insinuation concealed in the language, which was not entirely understood by the pure mind of Eveline, but which was maddening to her lover.

"Only a base ingrate and liar," he cried, "would slander celestial purity. Master Spikeman knows that what he utters is false."

"Ha! darest thou, malapert boy," said Spikeman, advancing to Arundel with his arm raised, as if about to strike; but Waqua stepped between them. He had gravely listened to the heated conversation, and supposed he understood its purport.

"Let not the wise white man," he said, addressing Spikeman, "imitate a mad wolf in his anger. Give to my brother for his wife the girl whose cheeks are like the summer morning, for her heart has hid itself in his bosom."

The fury of Spikeman, thus bearded in his own house, was now directed to the savage. Anger appeared to have completely deprived him of reason, for turning upon the Indian with glaring eyes and exerting his strength to the utmost, he hurled him with irresistible force across the room against the wainscot, where his head struck a post, and he fell bleeding on the floor.

Waqua was instantly on his feet again, and his first motion was to clutch the tomahawk, but Arundel catching his arm, compelled him to desist from his revenge. Holding the savage by the arm, Arundel passed out of the apartment, leaving the Assistant standing as if petrified by his own violence, while Eveline, pale, yet resolute, had sunk upon a seat, and Prudence was hysterically shrieking. As soon as they stood in the street, Arundel said:

"I am grieved, Waqua, that thou, on my account, shouldst have been the object of the ruffian's rage. Its possibility occurred not to me."

"Let not my brother grieve," said the Indian. "It is nothing; not so much as the scratch of a bear's paw."

"I take blame to myself for this day's unhappy violence, and hope that no further mischief may spring out of it. Will my brother grant me a favor?"

"The ears of Waqua are open," said the savage.

"Promise me, for my sake, to seek no revenge, but to leave it in my hands."

But the Indian looked moodily on the ground. "Waqua," he said, "will kill his enemies himself."

"If," continued the young man, "my brother knew that an attempt to punish the bad white man would bring ruin on the maiden and on me, would he be willing to destroy them too?"

"Waqua will do no harm to his brother."

"Waqua's heart and mine are one, and he has a wise head. He sees that the arms of the English are very long, and their hands strong, and he will not run into them, for they will crush him."

"My brother shall see the inside of Waqua. Let him look up. Behold, the sun shines because he is the sun, and the wind stirs the forest leaves because he is the wind, and water runs, and fire burns, because the Master of Life made them thus; and so the Indian will never forgive, for then would he cease to be an Indian. But Waqua will do nought to injure his brother."

With this unsatisfactory answer the young man was forced to content himself as well as he could, though his mind misgave him as to the possible consequences of the insult. He trusted, however, that Spikeman's knowledge of Indian character would place him sufficiently on his guard to make abortive any attempts against him, and determined to keep a watchful eye upon his wild companion for the present, and until time should have blunted sensibility to the injury. For this reason, and in order also to counteract, as far as might be, the effect of the incidents at the house of the Assistant, after purchasing the articles which they came out to procure, he took the savage with him on the visit to the Governor, which he had promised the knight to make. Nor is this a circumstance that should excite surprise; it being the policy of the colonists to cultivate the best understanding with the natives, to accomplish which object the latter were not only admitted into their houses, but sometimes even invited by the principal inhabitants to seats at their tables. They found Winthrop at home, and were admitted to his presence.

"Welcome, young friend," he exclaimed, "with England's red rose still blooming in thy cheeks; and a welcome, too, to my Indian brother."

"This, right worshipful sir," said Arundel, "is Waqua, to whom I owe my life, which he saved this morning from a panther."

"Ah!" said Winthrop, "one of the hazards not uncommon in our wild-beast-infested forest, and young blood is rash. But relate to me thine adventure."

Arundel was obliged to detail the circumstances of his escape, which he did with the greater pleasure, as contributing thereby to recommend his companion to the favorable consideration of so powerful a person as the Governor. At the conclusion of the narrative, Winthrop devoutly said:

"The praise be to Him to whom it justly belongs, and whose unsleeping Providence perpetually watches over us. Yet," he added, turning to the Indian, "be not the instrument forgotten by whom He manifested his favor. The life of a white man is very precious, and Waqua may ask much because he saved it."

"It is a small thing," replied the Indian. "My brother would have killed the beast himself without Waqua's arrow; it only saved him a little trouble."

"How modest is ever true merit, Master Arundel," said Winthrop, "and that is noticeable in both civilized and savage. This community of feeling doth, as I take it, evidence, in connection with other matters, the truth revealed in the Scripture, (nature herself thereunto bearing witness,) that we are descended from one common parent, of whose qualities all do partake, even to the remotest generations. But, however desert may be disclaimed by thy preserver, it were shame, morally, as also censurable in another view, were I to show myself no sense of the obligation."

So saying, the Governor opened the desk before him, and taking therefrom a medal attached to a glittering chain, presented it to the Indian,

"Take it," he said, "and wear it in testimony that the white chief knows how to estimate thy service, and desires to cultivate thy friendship."

But the Indian held not out his hand to receive the proffered medal.

"Why dost hesitate?" inquired Winthrop, in some amazement, (for never had he known before an ornament, of which the savages are usually so fond, refused.) "Is there aught else that would pleasure thee more? Speak freely thy thoughts."

"Waqua thanks the white chief," replied the savage, softly, "but he wears only one totem, and that is one which cannot be taken from his neck. See!"

So saying, he threw open the folds of the robe of skins that covered his chest, and disclosed upon his naked bosom the picture of a turtle. It was painted upon or pricked into the skin in divers colors, so as to be indelible, and though rudely done, was sufficiently well executed to convey an idea which could not be mistaken of what was intended to be represented.

"Waqua," he continued, "will have but one totem, and it is that of his ancestors; but if the white chief desires to please Waqua, let him recollect and teach his people that the same Great Spirit made red men and white men, and wishes them to be brothers."

The sagacity of Winthrop penetrated the motive of the savage, and wonder at the refusal to accept the token was lost in admiration of the other's jealousy of whatever might imply a want of exclusive devotion to his tribe, or a placing of himself in a position inconsistent with perfect independence. He scrutinized the Indian with much more attention than he had at first bestowed upon him, and fancied that in his daring face he read an air of nobleness and command which at first he had not remarked.

"It troubles me, Waqua," he said, "to have thee refuse this badge of my friendship, and which would be a declaration to the world that thou wert my friend, and the friend of the white man, but sith it may not be, receive my promise that I will inculcate the maxim on my people, that we are all descended from the same heavenly father, and bound to love and to practice actions of mutual kindness. I were less, indeed, than Christian man were I to do otherwise."

"And now I have a petition to proffer to your excellency, and which lies very near to my heart, and without the granting whereof the life saved by Waqua will be of little value to me," said Arundel.

"A thing of moment, indeed; and with such a consequence following its rejection, a prayer which I cannot refuse."

"It is your reputation, honored sir, for justice, which emboldens me, who am but a comparative stranger, with no further claim to your consideration than one man has upon his fellow to do him right, to address you, and endeavor to secure your all-powerful interest in my behalf."

Here the eyes of the Governor fell with an inquiring look upon the Indian, and the mute appeal was understood by the young man.

"I care not," he said, unwilling, by any appearance of a want of confidence, to hazard an interruption of the friendly relations existing between himself and the savage, in whom he already felt a considerable interest—"I care not if Waqua hears my story; he is my brother and may look into my heart."

A gratified expression crossed the countenance of Waqua, but, without a remark, he rose from his seat, and, with a delicacy little to be expected among the wild children of Nature, withdrew to a distant part of the room.

"It is better thus," said the Governor, "if thy complaint, as I partly suspect, touch a member of the Government. The secrets of a family should not be blazoned to the world. Our little Commonwealth is a family, and it becometh each one tenderly to guard the good repute of all."

"I crave your Excellency's pardon," said the young man, casting down his eyes at the rebuke, "for my imprudence; but your sagacity has already divined what forces me to fly to you for succor. It is of the unjustifiable conduct of the Assistant Spikeman I would speak."

"It is as I supposed. Something of this have I heard, but only as flying gossip, which it were unmanly in any one to heed; and which, as such, it were disgraceful in the ruler of a people to regard. But, if the charge come, bearing upon itself an authentic stamp, it is a different matter."

"The words which I shall utter I will avouch with my blood. A great and grievous wrong hath been committed and is continued, against which both Heaven and earth cry out."

"It is a heavy charge, and now to the proof."

Hereupon Arundel entered upon the particulars of the breach of faith on the part of Spikeman, and of the restraint exercised by him over Eveline; to all which Winthrop listened with profound attention, by neither word nor sign interrupting the narrative. Upon its conclusion, however, he began in the spirit of the profession wherein he had been educated, to ask questions and urge objections,

"Thou hast truly, Master Arundel," he said, "made out a case of great hardship, if the view taken by thee be correct; and, understand me, I doubt not thine entire sincerity. But what further testimony than that of the young lady hast thou, her representations being contradicted by Master Spikeman?"

"What!" cried the young man, with some warmth, "is not the word of Eveline sufficient to outweigh the prevarications of a thousand tricksters like this Spikeman?"

"This is no proper language," said Winthrop, a little sternly, "but Amor semper coecus," he added, smiling, "This rule I take to be without exception. Am I to understand that thou hast no further proof?"

"There is the asseveration of Eveline Dunning, met only by the denial of the Assistant Spikeman, who would deny every truth, so only it were necessary for his purpose."

"Thou dost prejudice thy cause by want of moderation. It seemeth me, however, that Master Spikeman hath no necessity to join issue with thee on the facts, and that a bare demurrer were all-sufficient to throw thee out of court. Forgive me for inflicting this pain, but I do it not without a motive, which is to possess thee fully of the manner in which this matter is viewed by others."

"There is then no justice in this land," cried the young man.

"I have thus far," Winthrop went on without heeding the exclamation, "considered the case, under the supposition of a denial on the part of Master Spikeman (whom thou dost not deny to be the rightly constituted guardian of Mistress Dunning) of the facts which, in thy opinion, impose on him a duty to give thee his ward in marriage. But suppose, as I have said, he were to demur to thy declaration, that is to say, admit the truth of all thou hast said, but deny that any obligation resulted therefrom to comply with thy wishes, would thy condition be thereby bettered?"

"Admitting the facts, I see not how he could do otherwise than hasten to perform the desire of his deceased friend; but this he will never do, forsworn and treacherous that he is."

"Thus may passion speak, but not so the unprejudiced reason concerning thy difference with Master Spikeman. Might he not reply to thy reproaches—that it was only when Master Dunning was weakened by sickness that he did yield to importunity; but that in the days of unclouded health, and when the mind sat like a king upon his throne, he did steadily oppose thy union with his daughter, and then ask thee which he was in duty bound to obey—the settled purpose of his friend, as demonstrated by his daily life and conversation, or a chance word of sickness, perhaps, of delirium? That Edmund Dunning did at first, even till his death-bed, deny thee his daughter, thou dost admit; and this is a weighty argument, hard to be overcome by a dying whisper. The reason thereof will satisfy most, for is it not written, 'Be ye not unequally yoked with unbelievers?' Seest thou not that it is only thyself who dost stand in the way of thy happiness? Oh! that the light of Divine truth might penetrate thy mind, and make thee, in all respects, worthy of the lovely lady."

"Eveline Dunning would despise me, were I, even for the sake of her hand, to renounce the faith of my fathers."

"Not for the sake of her hand, (that would be only a collateral blessing,) but for other and worthier motives. Very precious and encouraging is the promise in the Scripture, 'Seek ye first the kingdom of heaven, and all other things shall be added unto you,' Doubt it not, and consider also how sweet is the tie that doth bind consenting hearts with one true faith—a faith consoling exceedingly—a faith to lift high above the tempests of adversity—to heal the wounds of earth, and to be crowned with glory and immortality in heaven."

"Were I even to join the congregation, which, in my present way of thinking, I might not do without guilt, Master Spikeman would, doubtless, find means to make vain my suit."

"Judge him not so harshly. What motive can he have, other than to perform his duty to the living and to the dead? Think, rather, that Providence hath, in its own wonderful way, determined to lead thee by the silken cord of thy affections unto grace. Be not disobedient unto the heavenly impulse."

"I perceive that I have failed in my prayer, and can have no hope of your intercession, honored sir," said Arundel, rising, "and will therefore take my sorrowful leave."

"It pains me," said Winthrop, also rising, "that, under present circumstances, I am compelled to deny it. I may not do aught to contravene a resolution of the deceased Edmund Dunning, which seems to have been inspired by Heaven; but, the cause of that resolution being removed, no one will be happier to promote your purpose. I say this the more cheerfully, because thy happiness is within reach, to be wisely seized or unwisely refused."

"With thanks for your Excellency's good will, and lamenting that it is fruitless, I will now depart."

Hereupon, the young man making a sign to his companion, the Indian approached. The sight of the latter seemed to suggest an idea to Winthrop, for, turning to him, he said:

"On the morrow I expect an embassy from some of your countrymen, Waqua. Will not the chief remain to witness it?"

On the quiet countenance of the Indian only an inquiry was to be read.

"The Taranteens," said the Governor, in answer to the look, "desire to brighten the chain of friendship between the white men and themselves, and it ought to give pleasure to a wise chief to behold it."

"Waqua is a young man," replied the Indian, "and is not wise; but he has heard the old men of his tribe say, that no faith was to be placed in the word of a Taranteen."

"Let them beware," said Winthrop, who, from obvious motives of policy, adopted this tone in the Indian's presence, "how they attempt to deceive me. The friendship of the white man is like the blessed sun, which brings life and joy; his enmity, like the storm-clouds, charged with thunders and lightnings."

"Listen!" said the Indian, laying his hand on the arm of the Governor. "The beavers once desired the friendship of the skunk. They admired his black and white hair, and thought his round, bushy tail, which was different from theirs, very beautiful; so they invited him into their lodges; but when he came, his scent was so bad that they were all obliged to abandon them. The Taranteens are the skunk."

"I have no fear that they will drive us away," said Winthrop, with a smile. "They have every reason to conciliate our favor, and we would be at peace, if we are permitted, with all men. We came not into these far off regions to bring a sword, but the blessings of civilization and of the Gospel."

"Waqua will come," said the Indian, "but the Taranteens are a skunk. The white chief will remember the words of Waqua, and will say, before many days, that he spoke the truth."

"We know how to deal with the treacherous," answered the Governor, "but anticipate no evil now."

With these words, and, as if striving by extraordinary courtesy to palliate the pain which he had inflicted on Arundel, he accompanied the two to the door of the apartment, where he dismissed them.



CHAPTER XI.

Oh! he sits high in all the people's hearts.

SHAKESPEARE.

It was evident that, so far from anything being to be expected from the interposition of the Governor, he was opposed to the marriage of Arundel as long as the latter should remain outside of the charmed circle of the Church—a full communion with which was necessary, even to the exercise of the rights of a citizen. But the young man was incapable of deception. His ingenuous mind turned, displeased, away from the bait the wily Governor had presented; and, dearly as he loved his mistress, he would have preferred to renounce her rather than play the hypocrite to obtain the prize. He was not much cast down, for, having sought the interview, not from the promptings of his own judgment, but out of deference to the wishes of the knight, he was not greatly disappointed. He remained firm in the resolution, whatever might be the risk, to release Eveline from the constraint exercised over her by her guardian. Silent, with the Indian silent following in his footsteps, he returned to his lodgings to brood over his prospects and to devise schemes.

The next day was the time fixed for receiving the Taranteens; and not without interest, notwithstanding the pre-occupation of his mind, did Arundel look forward to the event. Such deputations or embassies were, indeed, not uncommon, and the young man had already been present at more than one occasion of the kind; but great consequence was attached to the present, and unusual preparations were made to convert the ceremony into a scene that should be imposing to the imagination of the savages, and forcibly impress them with an idea of the power of the English.

The name Taranteen was given to the natives living on the banks of the river Kennebec, in the present state of Maine, and embraced a number of tribes, among whom were those called by the French Abenakis. They were a fierce and proud race, and had spread the terror of their arms to a wide distance from their hunting grounds. There was a perpetual feud betwixt them and the Aberginians, as the Indians on Massachusetts Bay were styled, who, in consequence of wars with their northern neighbors, as well as of the pestilence which had desolated their wigwams, had become reduced from the condition of a powerful people to comparative insignificance. These Taranteens had, at the beginning of the settlement of the colony, occasionally done some mischief, descending these rivers in canoes in small bands, plundering the cabins of exposed settlers, and sometimes murdering the inmates. As the power of the whites increased, and their name became more terrible, these forays had almost ceased, and in most instances the colonists were able, in one way and another, to obtain satisfaction for the wrongs committed. There was no defined state of hostilities existing betwixt them and the Taranteens, nor could it be said they were strictly at peace with each other, and it was felt that great advantages might result from an interchange of activities and a formal establishment of friendly relations. The efforts of Winthrop and of his council had been for some time directed to this object, but hitherto they had been frustrated by the intrigues of the French, who found it for their interest to discourage intercourse between the Taranteens and the colonists, lest the lucrative trade with the former, of which they enjoyed the monopoly, might be diverted from them entirely, or diverted into other channels. In these exertions the French traders were not a little aided by the Jesuit missionaries scattered among them, who naturally favored their countrymen, and besides were afraid of the spiritual influence which the heretical Puritans might exercise over their dusky neophytes. For even at that early period, the zeal of the Romish Church had penetrated the wilds of North as well as of South America, and erected the sacred crucifix where before stood the stake of the victim. Solitudes which, until then, had only trembled to the horrid war-whoop, were now tranquilized by the soft sounds of the lowly muttered mass. The ferocity of the natives began to be softened, and if not christianized and practising only the outward ceremonies of Christianity, they had at least taken the first step towards civilization. In this state of things a circumstance had occurred, which made abortive any further opposition of the missionaries and traders.

A shallop, or small vessel employed by the colonists in fishing, had picked up at sea, at a considerable distance from the land, a canoe containing some half a dozen Indians, who were on the point of perishing from hunger. They were Taranteens, who had probably ventured out too far from the Main, and been caught in a storm, and swept out by currents, until they lost all knowledge of their situation, and had been for some days paddling about in the fogs, which prevail in those latitudes near the coast, in a vain attempt to retrace their course to land. The starving wretches had been taken on board the shallop, and instead of being destroyed as they expected, had been kindly treated, and brought in safety to Boston, where they were presented to Winthrop. The Governor, politic as well as humane, seized the favorable opportunity to cultivate a better understanding than had hitherto existed between his own people and the eastern tribes. He was completely successful in making the impression he desired upon the rescued Taranteens; and when they took their departure, loaded with presents, it was with a lively regret that they had not sooner become acquainted with a people so hospitable and generous. Among their number was an inferior chief, endowed with the gift of eloquence, which often exists in a high degree among the red men. His eulogies of the colonists on his return were so glowing, and his representations were so well confirmed by his companions, that the exertions of the Frenchmen were no longer able to stifle their curiosity to know more of their neighbors, especially as the report of their returned tribes-men effectually contradicted the monstrous fictions which had been invented to deter them. Such was the origin of an embassy which was a source of fear to the French, and of hope to the English.

It is not surprising that Winthrop, thinking highly of the importance of the occasion, should avail himself of all the means at hand to produce a striking and imposing spectacle, and that he should be seconded, to the best of their ability, by the colonists. As Arundel walked along he could observe indications of the approaching ceremonies. The roll of a drum, mingled with the shriek of a fife, and the blast of a trumpet was heard; an occasional passenger either on foot or horseback, with a musket on his shoulder, and whose face was not to be seen daily in the streets of the town, loitered on his way; the guard at the door of the Governor's house was doubled, more for show than for any other purpose, and a greater number of the assistants than usual was to be seen. Several of these gentlemen lived in the town, but some resided on their plantations in the neighborhood, and came to Boston only for purposes of business, or diversion, or pleasure. Several men were also engaged in drawing a couple of culverins to the place of audience, which was to be in the open air. Waqua, as he walked demurely after Arundel, doubtless noticed all that was passing, but he made no remark, nor through his appearance of indifference was the interest which he really felt perceptible.

When they reached the inn, they found an unusual number of persons there collected. Here were to be found not only the captains and inferior officers of the vessels, who, while in harbor, were accustomed to make this a place of resort, but divers colonists from the country round, who, upon the requisition of the Governor, had assembled, provided with military equipments. The heart of the landlord, goodman Nettles, rejoiced, and his contradictory face beamed with pleasure, as, surveying the increasing crowd, he calculated what quantity of ale and wine and victuals they would put down their throats, and how many pounds, shillings, and pence, into his own pocket. On such occasions the large circle of his benevolence comprehended all mankind—Indians as well as whites. As the two entered the public room of the inn, they heard rising above the confused din of voices, that of Captain Sparhawk, who seemed objecting to the preparations.

"If they were good Christians," he said, "the sail would fit better to the yard. If they were even your frog-eating mounseers, with their popery and d——d wooden shoes, ('I hope,' he added, 'a man may curse the Pope,') I wouldn't care about touching off a culverin or two by way of good fellowship; but as for these whopping red skins, it will all be no better than so much powder thrown away."

"Canst not let the Indians alone, Captain?" cried mine host. "Ahem! for my part I believe there's many a proper man among them, though 'tis a grievous pity," he added, sighing, "that they be'nt Christians."

"Avast, and belay there with a double turn, goodman host," exclaimed the Captain. "Of what use do ye think would it be to make the red skins Christians? Keep your weather eye open, and tell us if ye don't see breakers ahead. Hark ye! do ye think it would be so very pleasant to have the sharks swim into heaven and go jumping and yelling round like so many red devils as they are?"

"But, Captain, if divine grace once entered their hearts, they would give up all such ways, you know," sighed the host.

"Tell that to a landsman," answered the Captain, "and not to a man who was with Jacob Le Maire the first time when them harricanes that dances the devil's hornpipe the whole year round Cape Horn ever had a chance to split an English jib. (Old Jacob—the Dutch, do ye see, the ignorant beggars, capsize it into Yacob),—old Jacob, or Yacob, as the Mynheers spoil it, was a stout fellow, if he was a Dutchman. He was like a grampus when he set his teeth, and a southwester couldn't blow harder if he chose. But where away was I when I begun chase after old Jacob Le Maire? Aye, aye, here away with Indians on the weather bow, bearing up into heaven. What does the Scriptures say, goodman Nettles, about an Ethiopian changing his spots?"

But mine host was at the moment too busily engaged with new guests to attend to questions of theology.

"You're out o' your reckoning there, Captain," said Bill Pantry. "It is a leopard—a sort o' wild beast, as one may say, that finds it unhandy to get rid of his spots. They are pricked in by natur', I take it, in a manner, with Indy ink, so that it isn't scrubbing will take 'em out."

"And why should not an Ethiopian have a right to spots as well as a leopard, or yourself, Bill, with a big anchor settling in the mud, on your right arm, and the Union Jack flying on 'tother. Answer me that, man, before you interrupt your superior officer again."

"Why, do ye see, Captain," Bill began.

But the impatient sailor waited for no answer to his question, for looking round, his eyes happened to fall on Arundel, with the Indian near him, and immediately rising, he approached them.

"How are ye, once more, my hearty?" he inquired, extending his hand to Arundel, while he looked at the Indian. "Is this one of the plenipo-po-pothecaries? That's not it, but it's as much like as children generally are to their fathers."

"Plenipotentiaries you mean," answered the young man, with a smile. "No, this is not a Taranteen; he is one of our own Massachusetts Bay countrymen."

"I thought," said the Captain, "he looked too young for such a line of business, though he looms up as grand as a king's ship. But these Indians, if they be heathens, have some wit as well as other folk, and they know that older chaps are fitter for the like of this here navigation. Howsoever, there's something that pleases me in the cut of your dark colored friend's jib. Would it be asking too much for the honor of an introduction?"

"Captain Sparhawk," said Arundel, "this is my noble friend Waqua, to whom I am under the greatest obligations."

The Captain offered his hand to the savage, who, acquainted with this custom of the whites, extended his own. As for what the seaman had been saying, Waqua had but an imperfect conception of it.

"Do ye see, Master Arundel," said the Captain, "I think there is some difference between the red skins and the blackamoors. To be sure they are all heathens, and for that reason not much better than so many big monkeys; and there's a comfort in that, do ye see, because that gives us a right to catch and make them do our disagreeable work. Anyhow, I've read in Scripture that Ham, who was the old ringleader of the niggars, was made black on purpose. Now, according to my notion, these red skins are a sort o' cross betwixt Ham's and Japhet's children, who were cousins, you know, for do ye see, though they're darkish, they have got long hair like us white men. But come, let us sit down and splice the main brace to better acquaintance."

Arundel accepted the invitation to a seat, for he knew not how better to pass the time than in watching the humors around him, but declined participating in any potations. The Indian too, much to the surprise of the Captain and of Arundel, refused to drink, and to the pressing entreaties of the former only answered,

"Waqua is not thirsty."

"I believe," said the Captain, peevishly, "that the bad manners of these crop ears will spoil the very heathens themselves at last. Whoever heard of an Indian before who refused drink when he could get it?"

"Noble Captain," said Arundel, "be not offended at our friend, who is not accustomed to wine, and therefore is probably afraid of the effect upon himself; nor with me, who never could bear more than half a dozen glasses, and have already sufficiently indulged."

"Well, if there is anything I pray for more than for another," exclaimed the disappointed Captain, "it is that I may never become a milksop (saving your presence, Master Arundel)."

"There is not much danger of that," said the young man, laughing. "But what is the difficulty across the room?"

A group of some dozen persons had been engaged for a considerable time in animated conversation, the tones of which had gradually been growing louder, until at last they could be heard above all other noises. As the sounds increased, the general hum of conversation died by degrees away, until the whole interest was centered in the group above mentioned.

"I will stand by stout Capt. Endicott," said a strongly built man in citizen's dress, and holding a musket in his hand, "resting assured that he does nothing without a reason, and that his conduct doth spring from a godly zeal."