"And I will maintain, in any proper mode," replied an officer-looking personage, "that it was a deed insulting to his majesty, and disgraceful to a British subject. If not treason, it is something very like."

"Bethink you, Colonel McMahon," said the first speaker, "that this is not England. I trow we left her to but little purpose, if we are to enjoy no more liberty here than there."

"What kind of a liberty call you that, Capt. Larkham," demanded the other, "which authorizes Endicott, or any other man, to cut out the cross from the King's colors? Call you yourselves loyal subjects who tolerate such an outrage?"

"And by what authority," retorted Larkham, "was the Papistical sign foisted into the standard of England, except by that of the scarlet woman, whose robes are red with the blood of the saints?"

"Methinks," said the Colonel, "that the flag which waved at Cressy and Poitiers deserved a better fate."

"I pray thee to take to heart and perpend," answered Larkham, with some solemnity, "that I will yield in loyalty to no man, and that the last drop of blood I have is at the service of my country. In this matter a distinction is to be taken. It was not as a contemner of the flag of England, and of the glorious memories connected therewith (he would deserve my dagger in his heart if it were so,) that Capt. Endicott cut out the cross, but as one who is zealous against error—What! is it reasonable to ask us to march to battle with the sign of Rome flaunting over our heads? Shall we do anything which may induce the poor savages (whom, as I am told, the emissaries of Rome are deluding, taking good care to keep out of our reach) to recognize her errors, and admit her power?"

"Such scruples," said the Colonel, "neither you nor I ever heard at home. It required a foreign soil to give birth to them," and as he uttered the word foreign, he threw an emphasis on it which offended the other.

"I shall entreat of your courtesy," said Larkham, slowly, "to weigh well the words which it may be your pleasure to apply to any opinions of mine, I will resent any imputations upon the loyalty of the colony, or upon mine own."

"Think not to affect me by any threats, sir," answered the Colonel, standing up, and looking sternly at his opponent. "I say that it was the act of a rebel, and will avouch my words against you, though the whole colony were at your back."

The last sentence was spoken in a defiant tone, and some mischief might have been the consequence, had not Master Prout, who for some time had been listening to the conversation, placed himself with his long staff in hand, between the two, and commanded the peace.

"I pray ye, gentlemen," he said, addressing them in a manner very different (as becoming their quality) from the style he had adopted toward Capt. Sparhawk, "to consider the great scandal ye occasion by this unseemly altercation. Who is there doubts the godly zeal of Col. McMahon, or the loyalty of Capt. Larkham, or the valor of either? There is no cause of enmity betwixt ye, but contrariwise of peace and good will. How sweet it is for brethren to dwell together in unity! It is like the precious oil that ran down Aaron's beard, yea, even to the skirts of his garment. I pray ye to be reconciled one to the other."

Master Prout was exceedingly fond of hearing himself talk, and a shrewd man withal, he had purposely applied to each gentleman the quality in which he was deficient, and spun out his speech with great deliberation, in order to give time for the passion of the opponents to subside. At its conclusion he was startled to hear a voice just behind him exclaim,

"Well done, Master Prout. A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver."

All turned to the voice, and there stood Endicott himself, who, in the height of the interest excited by the controversy, had entered unobserved, and overheard a part of the dispute. There he stood, with his left hand caressing the tuft of hair on his chin, looking grimly round him.

"Capt. Larkham," he said, as soon as the commotion occasioned by his sudden appearance abated, "I do appreciate thy well meaning love, but hold it an unprofitable thing to engage in debates which can lead to no useful results. What I have done, I have done, and that not in the inconsiderate heat of youthful blood, but with the thoughtful deliberation that becometh manhood. If there be any who impeach the deed, they do it ignorantly, as not understanding the meaning on bearing thereof."

"I impeach it," cried the impetuous Colonel, "and shame it is that so unsoldierly and disloyal an act should pass unpunished."

Here Master Prout advanced, first looking at Endicott for approval, as if about to arrest the audacious speaker.

"Nay, good Master Prout, by thy leave I desire no offices of thine," said Endicott, putting him aside. "I might, with justice, take offence at thy language, which is harsh," he continued, addressing the Colonel; "but I will not, seeing that it springs out of an honorable but misguided apprehension of the matter. Is it possible that a gentleman of Col. McMahon's intelligence, and whose spirit hath been enlightened to see the truth, even to casting in his lot with ours, should condemn an act which me-seems ought to command his sanction? Had it been told me by another, I would have disbelieved what but now mine own ears have heard."

"I repeat," said the Colonel, "it appears to me no better than treason."

"If thou dost esteem me a traitor, step forward and arrest me in the King's name. But no; surely thou dost speak hastily. For the sake of the respect I feel for thee, I will explain the motives of my conduct. Not from any disrespect to King Charles; not because I honor not the flag of my country; but because I owe a higher allegiance, even to the King of kings, cut I out the sign of Papistical idolatry; not as designing to be deficient in any earthly duty, but as intending to make known to the world my protest, and, as far as may be, the protest of this godly colony against a corrupt church, which is no church; and against all, though not calling themselves of her communion, who drink of the cup of her abominations, desired I to remove from before our eyes that which, whenever beheld, only reminded us of a damning delusion and daily oppression. If this were sin, then have I sinned; but I will abide the consequences without flinching, whether in this world or in the world to come."

A deep, stern murmur ran round the room, and it was evident, from the countenances of the company and from the expressions that could now and then be caught, that by far the greater part of them entertained the sentiments of the audacious sectary. Such, it is highly probable, were the sentiments of a majority of the government of the colony, notwithstanding their disavowal, afterwards, of all sympathy, with the act, and public censure of the bold Puritan. Not that a democratical feeling lurked therein, as some may fancy, but for the very reasons manfully proclaimed by Endicott—reasons, not of a political, but entirely of a religious character.

Endicott, a sagacious and daring politician, as well as zealous religionist, heard the sounds and beheld the faces of those around him with satisfaction. It pleased him publicly to vindicate his conduct, and to test the feelings of his countrymen.

"Thou hearest," he resumed, "those sounds and seest these faces, and dost thou believe that all these men are also disloyal? Review thy judgment, I pray thee, and believe that attachment to the Crown may not be inconsistent with hatred of Papistical baubles."

"Capt. Endicott will find it difficult, in my judgment, to satisfy the Privy Council of the propriety of the outrage, as easily as he has satisfied himself and these people," replied Col. McMahon.

"Be assured," replied Endicott, "that whether here or in England—before the Court of Assistants or the Privy Council, I will avouch the deed, even though it should build the steps to a scaffold."

So saying, and looking deliberately around, and with an inclination of the body, which hardly amounted to a bow, he placed upon his head the slouched hat he had taken off on his entrance, and left the apartment. Upon his departure, the company became broken up again into various groups, and began once more to busy themselves with the mugs and cans; and Arundel, tired of the confusion, left, with Waqua, for his own chamber.



CHAPTER XII.

Alas! for them, their day is o'er, Their fires are out from shore to shore, No more for them the wild deer bounds— The plough is on their hunting grounds.

SPRAGUE.

When Arundel awoke the next morning, he found that the Indian, who had coiled himself upon the floor and there passed the night, was nowhere to be seen. It was, indeed, no wonder, since the rays of the sun had, for more than an hour, been striving to penetrate the oiled paper, which served instead of window glass; and no sooner did the young man realize the lateness of the hour than he sprang from his couch, thinking all the while what Waqua would say to his dilatoriness. After making a hasty toilette, he descended the stairs, and, crossing the public room to the door, looked out upon the street. There was quite a number of persons passing backward and forward, many of whom were dressed in the accoutrements of soldiers, and at these he stood gazing awhile and looking round, if perchance he might discover anything of the Indian. But, as he did not appear, the young man turned back to await his coming.

Hour after hour passed away, but Waqua returned not; and Arundel began to fear that his companion had taken some offence, either at himself, or at what had occurred the evening previous. He ransacked his memory, for the purpose of discovering if he had said or done anything to which exception could be taken, or had omitted any courtesy or attention; but he could find nothing to reproach himself with. He was unable to believe that Waqua would steal away without formally taking leave, on account of any slight or impertinence from another, after the command of himself he had exhibited following the violence of Spikeman; and, finally, tried to avoid thinking of the subject, expecting that the truant would turn up at some time during the day, and explain his absence.

Meanwhile, it was understood that the expected deputation of the Taranteens had arrived, and been received at the house of the Governor. Armed men had been constantly coming into town; their wives and children, in some instances, accompanying them; until the settlement had become a scene of gay and animated confusion. The place fixed upon for the reception of the ambassadors (there being no building sufficiently large to contain the number present, and who were anxious to witness the ceremony) was an elevation near the village, commanding a view of the buildings, of the green rolling bay, and of the ships tossing on its waves. Here, under the shade of a patriarchal elm, spreading like an umbrella its immense and gracefully drooping branches over a wide extent of green turf, Winthrop was to give public audience to the dusky delegates.

The hour for the reception had nearly arrived, when Arundel strolled to the place appointed. He found it covered with a crowd of five or six hundred persons, including the women and children. The number of armed men might have been two-thirds of the whole. The women were gossipping together, and the children amusing themselves in sports becoming their age, while the soldiers were ranged in double files, extending from a large chair or kind of throne placed near the body of the tree, thus forming a lane, only by passing through which could access be had to it. The spot where the chair was placed was covered to some little distance around with scarlet cloth—the chair itself as representative of majesty, with cloth of gold—and on either side stood grimly a culverin or small cannon, capable of carrying a ball of seventeen or eighteen pounds in weight—silent, but eloquent orators, to convince of the ability of him who might occupy the seat to enforce his words. Other chairs, to the number of perhaps twenty, were ranged in a semi-circle on either side of the seat intended for Winthrop; while against the body of the tree were leaned partisans and halberds; and it was hung about on nails driven in for the occasion, with shining corslets, and swords, and daggers.

Arundel had barely time to run his eyes over the preparations, when a salvo of cannon announced that the Governor was starting from his house, and presently appeared the procession, preceded by martial music. First came the musicians, whose number it must be confessed was not very large; next followed twenty stout men bearing halberds or staves of about five feet in length, finished off at the end with a steel head in the shape of an axe; immediately after these marched the Governor, attended by his Council of Assistants, all wearing swords at their sides, and several "ministers;" after whom followed the Taranteen embassy, consisting of about a dozen noble looking Indians of various ages, from thirty to seventy; and the whole was closed by two or three hundred men, completely armed with both the offensive and defensive arms of the period. The steeple-crowned hats, the slashed sleeves, the red stockings, russet boots, and rosettes on the shoes, made a combination which, if it would be quaint and grotesque in our eyes, was striking to those who witnessed it.

As the procession came nearer, Arundel could see among those in the immediate neighborhood of Winthrop, the Knight of the Golden Melice, conspicuous for the richness of his habiliments, adopted either to heighten the general effect of the ceremonial, or to increase his authority with the Indians, over some tribes of whom it was known that he possessed considerable influence. The Knight, indeed, well understood how much manner and external adornment affect not only the savage but the civilized man. A perfect master of the former, he was uniformly courteous. No frown ever deformed his face, nor even wrinkle ruffled its placid surface, on which was stamped the expression of a sweet and confiding nature; and, when circumstances required, he knew how to resort to the latter with an effect which seldom failed of achieving its purpose.

When the procession reached the files extending from the throne, the soldiery composing them presented arms, and the musicians stepping on one side, the Governor, preceded by his halbadiers, and accompanied by the Knight, his Council, and the Indians, walked between, and seated himself on the chair of State, while those who were with him occupied the other seats, and the halbadiers posted themselves around.

As Winthrop took his place, the ranks in front were further opened, and the two culverins belched out with fire and smoke a loud and sudden welcome. So near were the Indians to the guns, and so unexpected to them was the discharge, that some of the younger sprung to their feet, as if to repel an attack, dropping again into their places with abashed looks, as their eyes met the reproving glances of their elders.

Arundel, at this moment, felt a hand upon his shoulder, and turning round, beheld Waqua. He was instantly struck with the changed appearance of the Indian. Instead of the few dashes of paint of the day before, exactly one-half of those portions of his face and person, which were visible, beginning at the top of the forehead, and descending down the middle of the nose, was painted with bright vermillion, the other half remaining of its natural color; his hair was gathered carefully up into a knot on the top of his head, and bore a single eagle's feather, and in addition to the light tomahawk which he had worn before, a heavier one was hanging at his girdle.

"Welcome, my brother, exclaimed Arundel, I did not know but that I had lost thee. Where hast thou been, and what means the change in thy appearance?"

"The great white chief invited Waqua to listen to his talk with the Taranteens, (may the wolf crunch their bones,) and Waqua is here. He has painted himself according to the custom of his tribe. This (touching the paint) is for my enemies, and this (in like manner touching the unpainted portion) is for my friends."

Arundel remembering the strong expressions of dislike towards the Taranteens which fell from the Indian the day before, and connecting them with his present preparation, felt some apprehension for what might happen from his boldly uttered aversion, and determined to keep close by him, in order to restrain him from imprudences, and to protect him, if need should arise, from danger. He took care, therefore, during the rest of the day, to carry Waqua with him wherever he moved, or to follow the Indian, when the latter's curiosity tempted him into different parts of the assemblage.

It was seldom, if ever, that the Puritans undertook anything of importance, either of a private or public character, without invoking the blessing and guidance of a superior power. There was good policy as well as piety in the practice; for by admitting the ministers into their councils, and giving them conspicuous parts to perform therein, the magistrates secured their good will and powerful influence with the people; and, indeed, it may well be imagined, that this spiritual aid in a theocratical commonwealth was a part of the system. On the present occasion, the whole assembly rose at a signal from Winthrop, and Mr. Eliot, afterwards known as the Indian Apostle, asked for a blessing. The prayer was like the man himself, earnest and simple, and listened to with a fixed attention, that indicated the religious reverence of the hardy men who were gathered around. The Taranteens themselves, following the example of the others, stood up and fastened their dyes intently on the speaker, as if, though not understanding a word he uttered, they expected to gather some meaning from the motion of his lips.

When the prayer was ended, Gov. Winthrop rose, and requesting Mr. Eliot (who was sufficiently familiar with the Algonquin language to make himself understood in it) to interpret, he commenced an oration to the ambassadors, each sentence, as it was spoken, being translated by Mr. Eliot.

Confining himself to such ideas as he thought would be most appreciable by the rude intellects of the forest children, he began by expressing his pleasure at the visit, and at the pacific spirit which was manifested by his red brethren. He spoke of the happiness of himself and of his people in being able to succor the storm-tossed Taranteens, and of their readiness to extend kindness to the whole nation. He pointed out the reciprocal advantages which would result from the establishment of trade between them, each parting with what he valued less for what he desired more. He dwelt upon the vast power of his own nation, living beyond the sea, toward the rising sun, and riding in safety at pleasure over the mighty waves, in great canoes with wings, some of which were in sight. He adverted to the pestilence which had swept the land just previous to the coming of the whites, hinting that it was the breath of the great Spirit which destroyed the inhabitants, to make room for his more favored people. He concluded by saying, that they were all children of the same parent, who was most pleased at seeing them living together in harmony.

It was impossible to judge, from the countenances or manner of the Indians, how they were affected by the speech,—only the gutteral "ugh," responding from time to time to the translation of Mr. Eliot. This was designed as a sign of attention, or of approval, or the contrary, but it was difficult to the English to determine in any case which. In fact, like skilful diplomatists, the ambassadors preserved their dignity, and concealed their feelings.

When the Governor had resumed his seat, one of the oldest Indians, after a considerable pause, rose, and stepping forward a few feet, so as to separate himself from all around, turned his face to Winthrop, and began a speech in return. It was pronounced with great deliberation, and rendered into English by the interpreter, as the orator proceeded.

"The Taranteens," he said, "are a great nation, who having heard that a people of the same color, but speaking a different language from their friends the French, had taken possession of the country of the Aberginians, had sent him and his companions, that with their own eyes they might see, and with their own ears might hear, if what had been told them was the truth. Besides, they desired to return thanks for the kindness shown to their countrymen, which they would not forget. Let this belt," said the orator, taking a piece of wampompeag from the hands of one of his companions, and laying it on the ground, "preserve my words. It is very pleasant," he continued, "to plant the tree of peace. May the sapling which we shall plant to-day become a bigger tree than the great elm under which we are assembled, and may we, for many seasons, dance together in its shade. The Taranteens are a great people; they have many warriors, and big canoes, and are so strong, that when they talk of peace, it is not so much for themselves as for the sake of others; and as my white brother hath said, hath not the Great Spirit made all men, and doth he not love to see them playing like children in the grass?

"Now let my white brothers open wide their ears, for I am going to say a thing which much concerns them and us. We have heard that our white brothers are very fond of land, and that if we make friends with them they will try to steal away our land. We care not if they take all the land of the Aberginians, but they must not think to have any part of our hunting grounds. We want them all for the game to run in. These two black belts preserve my words.

"But the Taranteens are a great people, and know how to defend themselves, and if Owanux attempt to dispossess them, there will be talk of taking scalps. These three red belts preserve my words.

"My brothers, Owanux will recollect that if the Great Spirit was offended with the Aberginians, and breathed a hot breath upon them and so they died, he smiles upon the Taranteens and increases their number, and makes sharp the points of their arrows, and directs their tomahawks, and subdues all the tribes around unto them. These two belts preserve my words.

"As for trade, the Taranteens enjoy already a good trade with their friends and allies the French; but if they have anything which their brothers Owanux want, they will not refuse to exchange with them. This one belt preserve my words."

Having thus spoken, and been greeted from time to time with an ejaculation from his companions, the old warrior resumed his seat, amid a shower of "ughs."

He was replied to, at the request of Winthrop, by Eliot himself, who gladly seized the opportunity to disabuse the Indians of any prejudices that might have tainted their minds, and to open them for the reception of that Christianity which he had so much at heart.

"It was on account of the wickedness of the Aberginians," he said, "that they were swept off from the face of the land, and it was not merely for the purpose of trade that Owanux or the English had been sent by the Great Spirit to take their places. If the English became wicked, they, also, would be destroyed in like manner, and so would all who should imitate them. But the English were sent to the Indians with a message which was not painted on bark or handed down with pieces of wam-pom-peag, but put into a book whence it spoke always the same words, and they were those which the Great Spirit himself had spoken with his own voice. The message was to make them better and happier; and, he hoped, that they would allow him, at another time, to tell it to them. He heard with great pleasure, and so did the Governor, how much they loved peace. The English loved peace too, and would water the young tree they should plant that day, and fence it round, so that no bear or other wild animal should trample upon it while it was small. The Great Spirit said in the wise book which He had given to the English, that He loved peace; and contained many things, besides, which it would be useful and pleasant for the Indians to know. The book was called Good Tidings; and he hoped that it would rejoice the hearts of his Indian friends."

When Eliot had ended, another Indian arose, and said: "That their friends, the long robes, among the French, had also books, and he had seen them; but he had never seen a book which could speak the Indian language. He thought if the Great Spirit had a message in a book for them, it would be in the Indian language, and that the Great Spirit would teach the Indians how to read it. He hoped his white brothers would not be offended if he said, that he should doubt whether the Great Spirit had a message for them in a book, until he saw the book itself and heard it talk Indian. That was all he had to say."

It was then that Eliot formed the resolution, by God's grace, to translate the Bible into the language of the Indians, a work to which he devoted so many years of his life, and which, in connection with his unwearied labor of love among the natives, conferred upon him the honorable and well-merited title of "The Apostle of the Indians."

Various speeches were made after this, on both sides, of which it is necessary for our purpose to record only one. This was made by one of the youngest and finest looking of the Taranteens. His roving eyes, in wandering over the assemblage, had detected the figure of Waqua; and, as they fell on him, they lighted up with an ominous gleam. He directed the attention of the Indian next to him, a young man like himself, to the discovery, who seemed in like manner disturbed. The two fastened their eyes full on Waqua, but their gaze was returned by him with a look as bold and stern as theirs. At the first opportunity, the one who had first observed Waqua rose and spoke.

"Pieskaret," he said, "is a young man, but this is not the first time his nation has thought him worthy to speak in her councils, and the winds have blown his name through the forests of Canada, and many days travel along the margin of the great salt lake. When the deer and the Aberginians hear it, they fly, though they are afar off."

While uttering these words, he had kept his eyes fastened on the face of Waqua, as if to watch their effect; and he paused. But the features of Waqua remained undisturbed, and he steadily returned the fiery glances of the speaker.

"Pieskaret asks," resumed the Taranteen, "what have the Aberginians to do with our treaties? Who invited one of them, or did he slink without being whistled for between the legs of men into our midst?"

Again the speaker paused, but yet the calm Waqua moved not from his place, nor did he betray emotion.

"The Aberginians," begun the Taranteen again, with a gesture of contempt, "are cowards and dumb dogs: if spoken to, they dare not reply, even with a whine: the Taranteens have put petticoats on them, and there is nothing baser than themselves except their allies, the Pequots."

The hitherto undisturbed mien of Waqua changed at these last words, as by magic. With a clear, steady voice, while his stature seemed to increase, he suddenly cried out:

"Pieskaret, if that be the name of the scolding squaw, is a liar. He knows that when the Taranteens hear the steps of a Pequot they run like wood-chucks to their holes. Sassacus says that they are old women."

Of course, the whole of these speeches was unintelligible, except to the interpreter, to whom no opportunity was given to translate them, and to the Indians. Great surprise, therefore, was felt as the Taranteens all sprung to their feet at the name of Sassacus, and attempted to push through the dense circle that surrounded them. So solid, however, was the mass, that this was a work of some difficulty; even although the politeness of the angry warriors had restrained them less than it did from jostling others out of the way; and, by the time when the foremost Indian had reached the spot where Waqua or Sassacus had stood, the Pequot had vanished. They returned, disappointed, to their places, snorting the name of the redoubtable warrior who had ventured from his distant river to intrude upon a council of his enemies, and shaking their heads with resentment. When Mr. Eliot had explained to the Governor and Assistants the cause of the excitement, Winthrop endeavored to appease their indignation by expressions of regret, and protestations that he was ignorant that the famous head-sachem of the Pequots was among them; but his words were not attended with much effect, and it seemed that the council was about to be broken up, when Sir Christopher asked permission to speak to the Indians. It was granted; and to the surprise of all the Knight began, with great fluency, to address them in their own language. The tones of his voice were as sweet as those of a bubbling spring, and they seemed to fall with a soothing effect upon the irritated spirits of the sons of the forest. What he said Eliot himself could not understand, for the Knight spoke in the peculiar dialect of the Taranteens, which varies considerably from the Algonquin tongue before used. For, besides the general language which received from the French the name of Algonquin, and was nearly universally spoken all along the border of the Atlantic and far into the interior, the various tribes had dialects of their own, intelligible indeed to a native familiar with the parent speech, but strange to one who, like Eliot, had only an imperfect knowledge of it. As the Knight proceeded, those whom he addressed became more and more quiet; and when he ended, they signified their satisfaction at what he had said by the usual, and now unmistakable "ugh."

By this time, the last red rays of the setting sun were lighting up the calm, green surface of Boston harbor, and the council shortly broke up, to resume its sitting on the morrow. The procession was formed again, and in the order in which they came, Winthrop, attended by the Taranteens, was escorted to his house. As Arundel was departing, he felt his arm grasped by some one, and turning round, he beheld the Knight.

"Where is Waqua?" he inquired, in a low tone. "He was standing near thee when he spoke."

"I know no better than thyself," answered the young man, "and would gladly be informed. He vanished suddenly, and without warning."

"I know thee to be his friend, and how thou becamest so. Thou hast now an opportunity to requite him in kind."

"Show me the way."

"Hie thee, then, to his wigwam, for there likeliest mayest thou find him, and warn him against peril from these Taranteens, and, it may be, from the Governor himself."

"Be pleased to explain more clearly, Sir Christopher."

"Waqua is Sassacus, the great head-sachem of the Pequots, between whom and the Eastern Indians is perpetual hostility. He has given them deadly cause of offence, and I fear that they mean to revenge themselves, or that he may commit another imprudent act. It were better that Sassacus should remove himself away for the present. But I may not stay longer talking with thee. Adieu."

Arundel, satisfied of the friendship of the Knight to the Indian, determined at once to follow his counsel. As, however, Sassacus had undoubtedly sought the forest, he considered it most prudent to retrace his steps to his lodging, to procure his gun before venturing into its recesses, where, the prospect was, that he would have to pass the night. This occasioned some delay, and it was not until the twilight of the summer evening had faded, and stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky, that he found himself on the verge of the woods.



CHAPTER XIII.

For thou wert monarch born. Tradition's pages Tell not the planting of thy parent tree, But that the forest tribes have bent for ages To thee and to thy sires the subject knee.

HALLECK.

The young man knew not whither to turn his steps, except to the hut of Sassacus, which, however, he felt doubtful of his ability to find at night. No better plan occurred to him than to make the attempt; he, therefore, pressed forward, guiding himself as well as he could by the stars, glimpses of which he caught from time to time through the branches. He had, however, proceeded but a short distance, when, without a warning sound, silent as a shadow, the Indian stood at his side.

"I sought the great chief," said Arundel, contemplating the renowned warrior, whose name was a synonym with whatever was generous and daring, with more curiosity than he had regarded the obscure Waqua—"to warn him of danger."

"Sassacus fears no danger," replied the Indian; "it is for the Taranteens to tremble when they are in his neighborhood."

"What will the chief do?"

"He will return to his wigwam, but his brother must not go with him; for the Taranteens desire to carry back with them to-night the scalp of Sassacus."

"Nay, I will go with thee to partake the danger, if there be any, but I see no probability thereof. The Taranteens will not seek the scalp of Sassacus, if he hunts not for theirs."

"My brother knows not that they are owls who fly in the night. The eyes of Sassacus can pierce the skin on the bosoms of his enemies, and he saw in them men wandering in the dark, and looking for the chief of the Pequots."

"But how are these strangers to find the way?"

"When did Sassacus ever make a secret of his lodge? He is not a beaver, or a wretched wood-chuck, to burrow in the ground, but an eagle who makes his nest on the highest trees."

From this reply Arundel could only understand, that the place where the hut stood was too well known to make it difficult for the Indians to discover it. There was no knowing what their audacity, thirst for revenge for the insult, and the opportunity to capture or destroy so famous an enemy, might tempt them to undertake; but he trusted that the want of a medium of communication (for only the Knight and Eliot, among the whites, as he supposed, could make themselves intelligible; and the Aberginians were not likely to approach the Taranteens) would be an insuperable obstacle in the way of their purpose, should they entertain any such as that intimated by his companion. It was evident, however, that Sassacus expected an attack during the night, and that so far from shunning the danger, he rather courted it; for it was easily to be avoided, by leaving the wigwam to its fate. There would not be much loss in that, the cabin being rudely built of bark: and the few articles of value which it contained might, in a short time, be removed to a place of safety. Arundel could scarcely be expected to participate in the feelings of the wild warrior in the contemplation of a fight with savages in the dark. Besides, he knew not by how many they might be attacked; and the prospect of a contest betwixt himself and Sassacus, on the one side, and half-a-dozen or more Taranteens, on the other, may well be conceived to have had in it nothing alluring. He would not, however, desert his friend; and, despairing of changing the chief's resolution, he walked in silence after him, turning over in his mind the possibilities of a night skirmish. Sassacus had, probably, an idea of his thoughts, for presently he resumed his attempt to dissuade Arundel from accompanying him.

"My brother," he said, "has no quarrel with the Taranteens. They have come to smoke the calumet with his people, and not to plunder his villages and burn his corn fields. Why should my brother expose his life?"

It was partly to try the courage of the young man, perhaps, and partly to ascertain how far he might be depended on, if there should be a fight, that the Indian asked the question. At any rate, a suspicion of the kind passed through Arundel's mind, and he answered:

"My life belongs to Sassacus. It is no longer mine."

"Sassacus gives his brother back his life. Will he not now return to his big lodge, where he will hear no war-whoop, but only the pleasant song of the gues-ques-kes in the morning?"

"Cease," said Arundel. "Not if there were as many Taranteens in the woods as there are leaves on the trees will I desert thee."

"It is well; and my brother shall see the difference between a Pequot and a wretched Taranteen."

All this time they had been walking without haste in a straight line, the Indian leading the way, and seeming to follow a particular course by instinct; for he looked not at the stars nor at any signs, so far as his companion could judge, to direct his steps. In this manner, they continued to advance, not much conversation passing until they reached the hut of Sassacus. This they entered: and, to the surprise of Arundel, the Indian, after throwing down a few skins for seats, began leisurely to prepare a meal. He lighted a fire outside of the lodge, which, of course, threw a light all around, and served to guide the steps of any wanderers, whether friends or prowling enemies; and waiting until the wood was reduced to glowing coals, threw upon them pieces of meat, whose pleasant odor soon pervaded the atmosphere. The confident bearing of the Indian had, by this time, produced such an effect upon Arundel, that he did not even ask him why he so unnecessarily exposed the place of his retreat, but partook of the viands from the coals, and of the parched corn, which his host produced from the wigwam, with a hearty appetite. His entertainer observed his execution upon the meal with marked satisfaction; and, upon its conclusion, presented him with a pipe, and, taking one himself, was soon under its soothing influence. Arundel, unaccustomed to the use of tobacco, could only inspire a few whiffs, out of compliment to the other, and then sat watching him. The fire light shone full upon the face of the bronze statue—"the stoic of the woods, the man without a tear"—before him, but no ferocity was discoverable in its lineaments. It seemed impossible to suppose that thoughts of bloodshed were passing at that moment through the mind of the handsome youth, dreamily closing and opening his eyes, as the clouds from the pipe floated away over his head, apparently unconscious of danger, intending no ill to others, and not anticipating it for himself.

After smoking his pipe, the Indian, instead of extinguishing the fire, threw additional wood, in considerable quantities, upon it; thereby still further increasing the wonder of Arundel. He next invited the guest into the wigwam, and heaping up several skins in a corner for a couch, said, that he was about to be absent for a short time, but that his brother might sleep meanwhile in perfect security. With these words the Pequot departed, leaving the young man reclined upon his bed, but not to slumber.

Sassacus was gone, it might be an hour, and on his return he threw himself upon the ground; and, in a short time, as was evident from his breathing, was asleep. Arundel could not understand how any one, who was anticipating an attack from enemies from whom he could expect no mercy, was able to rest so calmly. Had he entrusted the keeping of his life—for in a struggle he could expect no more quarter for himself than for his companion—to any other one than the bold and adroit warrior whose fame for cunning was as great as for bravery; or had the relations betwixt himself and the savage been different, he would not have remained in the cabin a moment longer. But he shrunk from the betrayal of a want of confidence, and preferred even to risk life upon the judgment of his wild friend. There lay the chief, softly breathing, his limbs dissolved in sleep, and wearing in the subdued light from the fire outside a placid expression, more like that of the timid deer than of the cougar, whose nature his own resembled. As for Arundel, so highly were his nerves wrought up, that had he ever so much desired it, he would have been unable to sleep. Interminable seemed the anxious hours, and, as the night waned, he became at last almost incapable of mastering his apprehensions. But as more than once he was on the point of waking the sachem, the thought arose that it might look like cowardice, and he forbore.

At last he heard a sound, which seemed to come from just by the side of the wigwam, like the whirring noise which the night hawk makes with its wings. Instantly Sassacus sat up on his couch, and listened. The sound was repeated, and he rose. He looked toward Arundel, and with a smile, inquired how he had rested. The young man, unwilling to confess the state of his mind, answered in an evasive manner, and the Pequot, after regarding him a moment with a pleased expression, stepped to the entrance and cast his eyes up to the stars. After considering them he returned, and motioning to Arundel to arise, said, with some humor, that he was sorry to disturb his brother, but that the skunks he had spoke about were coming, and as he knew that his brother did not like their smell, he would ask his brother to go a little way off. Arundel, without altogether understanding the purpose of his companion, got up, and after examining the priming of his piece, followed his steps.

The chief led him in a direction opposite to that from which they came, to a distance of near a hundred rods, when their course was arrested by the river Charles. Here he stopped, and said—

"My white brother will remain here, while Sassacus goes back to give the welcome of a great chief to the Taranteens."

Arundel now comprehended the design of the other, but it was far from being agreeable to him. The idea of letting the Pequot fight the battle alone was derogatory to his honor, and besides, his curiosity was stimulated to witness the conduct of the savage, and he therefore answered with some asperity—

"For what does the chief take me? Am I a deer to be frightened at the whizzing of an arrow, or the sight of a tomahawk?"

"Sassacus would be grieved should his brother lose his scalp."

"No more. Where the chief is I will be. I am a warrior as well as Sassacus," replied the young man, beginning to retrace his steps.

"It is well," said the Indian, following after him; but when the Pequots go to war in the night they make no noise. My brother must not make thunder (and he touched the gun).

"As thou wilt. I have my dagger."

"It is enough. Sassacus is a great chief, and my brother will obey him for one night."

"In all things, save deserting thee."

"Let my brother come, then," said the chief; "the arrows of the Taranteens shall pierce my bosom before they reach his."

The two now returned together, and upon re-entering the wigwam, Sassacus again invited Arundel to repose, but not before he had removed the skins on which his guest had been lying, into the back part of the lodge, while he made his own couch near the entrance. Determined to see the adventure, if there was to be one, to its termination, Arundel laid himself down to wait for what should happen, while the chief stretched himself out, with his face to the opening. Some brands were smouldering in the ashes, and they threw an obscure light into the wigwam.

As they were thus lying, Arundel thought that he could hear once in a while a faint rustling, but whence it proceeded he was unable, with all his attention, to discover, and at last concluded it was caused by the wind among dry leaves.

He had now become so accustomed to this state of things, that the anxieties which he felt in the first part of the night were gone, and he began to fancy that the expectation of Sassacus was unfounded. The face of the chief was turned away, so that it was impossible to determine whether he were sleeping or not; from the manner of his breathing, however, Arundel judged that he was awake. But suddenly the respirations became long and deep, and he exhibited the indications of a profound slumber. An instant afterwards Arundel, whose eyes were constantly turned to the opening, beheld the face of an Indian peering in. His first impulse was to cry out, but before he could make a sound, he saw a naked arm emerge from behind some skins which hung from the upper part of the lodge quite down to the ground, and bury a tomahawk in the head of the intruder, who fell dead upon the spot. At the same instant, the dreadful war-whoop rung through the air, and the chief leaping to his feet, and accompanied by the warrior, who had been concealed, the two sprung into the open space in front. Arundel too, hastened after them. In the star-light no objects were clearly discernible, but dark figures could be dimly seen, engaged in hand to hand contests, and the cracking of dry branches under trampling feet could be heard. These sounds were mingled with thick panting breaths, and occasionally the fall of a body on the ground. They lasted but a few moments, and then a silence succeeded, as deep as if no living thing were in the forest. As the eyes of Arundel became more accustomed to the darkness, he beheld a tall form near by, which he recognized for that of Sassacus, and immediately approached him.

The chief was standing near the body of a huge Indian, who was lying prostrate on the earth. He was in the last agonies of death, and while Arundel was looking on, the sinewy limbs quivered into immobility. Nor had Sassacus escaped without a wound. The blood was streaming from a gash in his side, indistinctly seen by light from the fire, but he paid no heed to it, and the result proved it not to be dangerous.

When the dusky warrior had breathed his last, the chief uttered a peculiar cry, and immediately half a dozen stalwart men, several of whom had each a fresh scalp hanging at his girdle, surrounded him. He addressed them in their own language, and from his gestures, and the looks of his companions, Arundel supposed that he was speaking of him. He next pointed to the dead body, and seemed to be giving orders concerning it. One of the Indians stooped down, and with his knife made a motion as if to take off the scalp, but being rebuked by the chief, he desisted, and then lent his assistance to two others in bearing away the corpse. Arundel had the curiosity to follow. The three bore the body to the bank of the river, where, binding it with withes to several large limbs of trees, they thrust it into the stream, and left it to find its way to the ocean. A few earnest words, unintelligible to the young man, were on their return spoken by Sassacus, who had meanwhile had a styptic applied to his wound. When he had finished speaking, the Indians dispersed in various directions in the depths of the dark wood, and the chief beckoning to his friend, they entered the wigwam, and disposed themselves to sleep, which delayed not long to close their eye-lids.



CHAPTER XIV.

They spake not a word, But like dumb statues, or breathless stones, Star'd on each other.

SHAKSPEARE.

The time fixed for the audience of the ambassadors on the next day, was in the afternoon instead of the morning, that all things might be done with dignity, and an opportunity afforded to show them the fort erected near the water, and the shipping, and whatever else might impress them with the power of the whites. With this view, the Indians had been committed to the charge of the deputy Gov. Dudley, and of Sir Christopher Gardiner, the latter of whom acted as interpreter. The two gentlemen accordingly employed themselves in the course of the forenoon, in exhibiting to their red friends whatever might, in their judgment, best subserve the object, and at the moment we meet them, were standing on the deck of the ship commanded by Capt. Sparhawk, which lay alongside of the wharf. Of the dozen Indians who had been at the audience on the yesterday only seven were present, and they were all the oldest. The whole group appeared, to a careless observer, stolid and unmoved by what they saw; but one who watched them might notice that they cast inquisitive, though stolen glances, on every thing around. Moreover, upon closer examination, he might fancy an air of uneasiness among them, as ever and anon they turned their eyes toward the houses of the settlement, and the forest that lay beyond.

The jolly Capt. Sparhawk was endeavoring, to the best of his abilities, to do the honors of his vessel, quite unabashed by the presence of either Dudley or Sir Christopher.

"What will ye have to drink, my hearties?" he cried, slapping one of the biggest Indians on the shoulder, who merely turned round and stared at the questioner. "To you, gentlemen," he said, addressing Dudley and the Knight, "I can offer some of Mounseer's, or Don Spaniard's wine, though to my liking, your Rosa Solis is the only drink fit for a man; and I will wager the good ship Rule Britannia against a cock boat that these devils will say so too."

"There is no need," said Dudley, roughly. "It were to obscure the little intellect these savages have, with that which serves no purpose, save to convert them into brutes."

The Knight's reply was more courteous.

"At another time, worthy Captain, it were a pleasure to accept thine invitation, but bethink thee that it is early in the day."

"It is near upon twelve," answered the Captain, looking at the sun, "or I never squinted through a quadrant; and may it please ye, Governor, wont ye let the red skins speak for themselves?"

"Nay," said Dudley, "so long as they are within my charge, nothing stronger than water shall pass their lips."

"But," persisted the Captain, "if all I hear on shore be true, I take it ye are trying to drive a bargain with them imps. Now, have ye never noticed that the best time to trade with a man is when half a dozen glasses have warmed his heart?"

"Peace," said Dudley, "no more of this. We came to see the ship and not to trespass on thy mistaken hospitality."

"The lubberly milksop!" muttered the Captain betwixt his teeth. "But what," he added aloud, "are the red skins looking at so sharp out to sea?"

While this conversation had been going on, the attention of the savages had been arrested by an object floating on the water. It rose and fell on the heaving sea, at one moment visible, and at the next hid from view. At first it had been impossible to say what it was. It might be a spar, or plank, or any part of a shipwrecked vessel. The tide was coming in, and the object became more and more distinct, until an old sailor, whose experienced eyes had also been attracted sea-ward, exclaimed,

"Captain, I'm a green hand, and never weathered the Cape, if there ben't a man lashed on yon spar."

"By St. George's cross, but I believe thou art right, Dick Spritsail," cried the Captain. "It's some poor fellow, I warrant me, whose ship has gone down, and who made a raft to try his luck. Johnny Shark, do ye see, is no pleasant customer to become acquainted with, and so he took a venture on the spar for a Christian burial, instead of making Jonah's viage."

"It's no Christian," replied Dick, "unless the waters in these latitudes have the faculty to turn a man black."

The sailor had hardly pronounced the last words, when one of the Indians, divesting himself of the skin that covered his shoulders, leaped from the side of the ship, and swam in the direction of the object which had attracted their attention. It would seem that his keen eyes, like those of the sailor, had detected the body, and that, unable to repress his curiosity, he had taken this method to satisfy it. Amid the loud and wondering exclamations of the white men, and the subdued gutturals of the Indians, whose straining eyes betrayed their interest, the swimmer, with lusty strokes, breasted the green billows as they came rolling into the bay. When he reached the floating mass he carefully examined it, and then raised a wail sadder than the cry of the loon over the dark waves, when it anticipates the coming storm. It was responded to by his companions on board the ship, in a yell of mingled rage and grief, that was heard in all parts of the village, and far over the water.

"What possesses the imps now?" cried the Captain, as two more Indians, following the example of their tribesman, plunged into the water. "I wonder what they have found?"

"Send a boat after them, Captain, if thou wilt do me a pleasure," said Dudley, "It seems to be something wherein they take a great interest, and it will be only friendly to furnish them assistance."

"O, ho! old bear, canst growl sweetly enough an' it suits thy purpose," said the Captain to himself. "But it shall never be said that Jack Sparhawk was an unmannerly lubber. Halloo, half a dozen of ye," he cried aloud, "run aft and lower the boat. Bear a hand, men; move quick," he added, as they came running from the bow, where they had been standing, toward the stern. "Jump in Bill," he continued, as the keel of the yawl touched the water, "take a couple of men, pull after them red skins, and bring 'em ashore, with whatever they have found in the offing."

In a very short space of time the boat was pulling away into the harbor, and soon reached the object of the search. It turned out to be an Indian, being no other than the warrior Pieskaret, whose corpse the wily Sassacus had committed to the river Charles, wearing the unshorn honors of his scalp, in order to avert suspicion from himself, and fix it on the whites. For rightly did the sagacious chief judge that no Taranteen could be induced to believe that an Indian would forbear to possess himself, if he were able, of the coveted prize, especially that of so mighty a warrior as Pieskaret. And with regard to the Pequot in particular, he, of all, after the provocation of yesterday, would be the last, if he had slain Pieskaret, to be supposed capable of an act of so great self-denial.

The sailors found the Taranteens around the raft, and pushing it ashore, In spite of the remonstrances of the savages, which the white men did not half understand, they unlashed the body from the boughs, and taking it into the boat, pulled for the land, closely followed by the swimmers. As they approached the vessel, they were ordered by Dudley to take it to the wharf, and he and the Knight, followed by the natives, descended the side, and advanced to the spot where the boat was to land. Here, when they arrived, a considerable group of persons had collected, and were examining the corpse.

So short a time had passed since the breath left the body, that it still looked fresh and life-like. There, extended on the sand, lay the strong, bold man, who but a day before had boasted of his prowess, and of the terror of his name; now a dog might insult him with impunity. A deep wound gaped upon his breast, and the water had not washed all the clotted blood from his head. His countenance wore a look of deadly ferocity, and it was evident that he had died as a brave man should, with his face to the foe.

The Taranteens, after the first burst of feeling, looked on in gloomy silence, and began to cast glances of distrust and apprehension around. The scalp-lock of Pieskaret was untouched. He had fallen then in no conflict with Indians. His companions had escaped with the body, and launched it on the water in order to apprise them of what had happened, and of their own danger. In low tones they addressed each other, and drew aside for consultation.

Meanwhile a thousand comments were made by the bystanders. A cloud rested on the weather-beaten face of Dudley, and over the whole group, except the Knight, whose equanimity no circumstance seemed able to disturb.

"I suspected mischief," said Dudley to the Knight, "when this morning, only half the number of the savages presented themselves; and now doth it pass my understanding how this miserable wretch lost his life."

"It is seldom that a brawl disturbs our peaceful settlement," said Sir Christopher, "and I have heard of none during the night. Has your worship obtained knowledge of any such?"

"Of none. And now will great scandal, and even infamy rest on us, by reason of this most untoward event, I fear me that our position with reference to these Taranteens will be worse than it was before, and that now they will be converted from indifferent neighbors into relentless enemies, unless we discover and deliver up to them the murderer, and even that will hardly restore confidence."

"Nor can we say that the man was murdered. It is hard to get a limit to the unbridled passions of savages; and it may be that it was in self-defence, or in the endeavor to prevent some other grievous wrong, that whosoever killed him took his life."

"A mystery doth enshroud the affair. Where lost the man his life, and by whose hand, and for what cause? It could not be where they camped in the night. We heard no disturbance, no signs of violence are to be seen, and the other Indians would have known. If Indians killed him, why took they not his scalp, and why set they him floating on the water? Herein it looks like the foolish prank of drunken sailors. But then what cause of such enmity could there be? for all was done very quietly. And what has become of the missing Taranteens? Are they too killed, or in the forest on their way home? Has Sassacus any hand in this matter? Be it as it may, the bold partizan of the Pequots must be looked after."

"It is as thou sayest, hard to determine," answered the Knight; "but if Indians were concerned in this most lamentable deed, strange has been their conduct. Such truly is not the customary manner of the natives to dispose of their enemies. Wonderful forbearance indeed, and disregard of the traditions and superstitions of the tribes must it require, to allow an enemy, when it can be prevented, to step upon the happy hunting grounds, bearing the unviolated honors of his head."

"It may be," replied Dudley, "that his foes were unable to tear away the bloody trophy; that before they could do so his body was rescued by his companions."

"But how account for his being launched upon the deep? Is this an Indian mode of disposing of friends?"

"My mind is as perplexed as thine. I will consider the thing more maturely hereafter. Thou knowest their heathen tongue. Step forward, may it please thee, and try to calm their irritated spirits, assuring them of our friendship and grief at what we cannot explain."

Thus requested, the Knight advanced, and commenced a speech to the savages, to which they listened in moody silence. What he said was of course unintelligible to all except the Indians, but it appeared not to produce a favorable impression. No sound, whether of approval or the contrary, escaped their lips, as, surrounding the corpse of their companion, they regarded it with ominous brows, until the Knight concluded, when an Indian addressed him in reply.

"How hast thou prevailed?" inquired Dudley, when the Taranteen stopped.

"Alas!" replied Sir Christopher, "no representations which I can make are sufficient to soothe their exasperation or allay their suspicions."

"Ask them," said Dudley, "after their other companions."

A howl of rage, and a few rapid words, were the return to the inquiry.

"What means that?" said the Deputy Governor.

"They say that they suppose they are following the footsteps of Pieskaret."

"If such be their belief, then farewell to any treaty or relations of amity with them. They will soon turn their backs upon both our hospitality and friendship."

The words of the Deputy Governor were indeed prophetic, for the Taranteens, now stooping down, raised their friends' corpse from the ground, and bearing it in their arms, proceeded to their canoes, which were lying at a little distance on the beach. In one of them (not without efforts on the part of the whites to induce them to change their determination) they deposited the body, and covering it with skins, took their paddles into their hands and pushed from the shore.

"They are gone," said Dudley, as they receded from view; "and many a weeping wife and mother may rue this miserable day. Better that the tawny heathen had remained in their trackless forests, listening to the deluding lies of the French emissaries, than come hither as spies upon our condition, and to take advantage of our supposed weakness."

"Is it possible," inquired the Knight, "that thou believest not in the sincerity of the professions of peace made by these poor savages?"

"I trust them not," answered the suspicious Dudley. They are of the seed of the serpent; and as well might one expect light from the caverns of the earth, as fidelity and truth from Indians."

"I pray thee, be not so harsh of judgment," said Sir Christopher. "I have some knowledge of the tribes, and have observed that they are ever mindful of favor, however studious of revenge; nor is it their wont, without provocation, to break their word. Canst thou say that the Taranteens have departed without seeming justification?"

"I suspect that these savages know more of the fate of their companions, and of the cause of the death of this Pieskaret than they choose to disclose. The longer my mind broods over the subject, the more am I convinced that, without fault on their part, they would not have drawn upon themselves destruction."

But this was a view of the case which seemed to find no favor with Sir Christopher. With a courtly grace and insinuating address, without contradicting the other, but rather by the recital of acts of generosity and evidences of nobleness of spirit which had fallen under his own observation among the Indians, he endeavored to dispose the Deputy Governor to a milder judgment. But the prejudices of Dudley were too deeply rooted to be removed by persuasive manners, or tales however skilfully framed.

The unfortunate result of the embassy was deeply regretted by the colonists. They had looked forward to it as a means of increasing their security, and establishing a trade from which they hoped to derive large profits. They must now renounce both expectations. Henceforth their cabins were to be guarded with greater vigilance than ever, and the courted trade was to remain monopolized by the French. Moreover, the evil would probably not end there, but distrust and apprehension spread among the tribes; and if such a feeling were to become universal, and a general union be the consequence, the condition of the colony might become one of extreme danger. The character which the whites would then sustain would be that of men disregardful of the most sacred obligations; of wretches who, after offering the rights hospitality, had taken advantage of the unsuspecting confidence of their guests to murder them. It was true, that the whole twelve ambassadors might have been destroyed, and a part were suffered to leave; but it was feared that the undiscriminating minds of the savages might not give proper weight to the consideration, or might ascribe it to some policy which was the more dreadful because so mysterious. It was seen now how great had been the mistake in permitting Sassacus, the terrible chief of the Pequots, the most dreaded and implacable foe of the Taranteens, to be present at the council. Him the Taranteens had seen in apparent good understanding with the English, and been made the subject of his taunts in their presence. Might they not justly consider this a strange way of courting an alliance? True, the English knew not that Waqua was Sassacus, but would the Indians believe it? Nor had they known, until the interpreter explained, and until it was too late to seize the offender, what he had uttered; but would the Taranteens, amid the excitement of feeling mourning over the loss of friends, much regard that?



CHAPTER XV.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods.

CHILDE HAROLD.

When Arundel awoke after that fierce night, Sassacus had already left his couch and was preparing their breakfast. The young man stepped to the door-way of the lodge, and looked out upon the sylvan scene.

Nothing to remind of what had occurred was visible. A shower had fallen at daylight, and obliterated all traces of violence. The rays of the early sun were shining in the rain drops glistening on the leaves or falling in showers to the ground, as the branches were agitated by the breeze, or shaken by a bird flying from one perch to another. No sounds other than those made by the feathered musicians, or the rattling drops, disturbed the tranquillity of the forest. After gazing round a few moments, while the contrast betwixt the serenity of Nature and the passions of man forced itself on his mind, he threw himself down by his red friend, and together they shared the morning repast. The curiosity of Arundel induced him to inquire, what had become of the Indians, who had rendered so timely a service the night before.

"The breath of Sassacus," replied the chief, "called them out of the ground, and his breath bade them depart. My brother will forget what he saw in the dark. It will be to him like a dream."

Arundel understood by this, that he was desired to be silent respecting what had happened, and indeed no caution was necessary. He, therefore, said, in answer:

"None shall know the exploits of Sassacus till he tells them himself."

"If Soog-u-gest asks, my brother may tell. He and Sassacus lie under one skin."

Thus betrayed itself the simple vanity of the savage, who, with all his caution, was unwilling that his prowess should remain concealed; yet preferred its announcement from some tongue other than his own. It was the first intimation to Arundel that the Knight and chief were acquainted, though Sassacus had once before spoken of Sir Christopher. But the words of the Pequot implied more, viz: that an intimacy existed between them, and this stimulated his curiosity. The anxiety of Sir Christopher that the Indian should be warned of the danger which threatened him, was now explained. They were friends, but why should the Knight conceal the fact?

"Has my brother been long acquainted with Soog-u-gest," inquired Arundel.

"Ne-ka-tunch nee-zusts," (six moons), replied the Indian, holding up six fingers.

"Will the chief tell me what he pleases about him?" said the young man, whose ingenuous nature revolted at any attempt by insidious questions to extract from the savage a knowledge which he desired to conceal. It appeared unworthy of himself, and a wrong to both his friends. "I know little of Soog-u-gest, and would like to learn more."

The fine, bold face of the Indian looked pleased at the frankness of Arundel, and, it is probable, that he was more communicative than if he had been adroitly questioned. His native subtlety might then have taken alarm, and cunning been met by cunning. But Sassacus felt no desire, on his own account, for concealment. The two young men had been strongly attached to each other from the first, and on the side of the Indian, at least, was springing up a friendship for the other, more like that which Plato celebrates among the Greeks, or Cicero dilates upon, than the feeling of modern times.

"Listen, my brother," said the chief. "It is more than six moons since Soog-u-gest came into the woods. Sassacus was laughing when he said that six moons only had lighted the path betwixt him and Soog-u-gest, but he is not laughing now. The white chief built his wigwam in the woods because he loves the Indians and the sound of their language, and Sassacus loves him for that reason, and because he has sat in the lodge on the pleasant bank of the Pequot river, and ate venison with Sassacus from the same fire. All Indians love to hear him tell how great and happy they might be. He knows more of the tribes than any other white man, and has been far toward the setting sun, even beyond the country of the Maquas. Soog-u-gest is very wise, and his eyes pierce far into the darkness. And now let my brother bend down his head, so that not one of my words may be lost. Soog-u-gest has promised to teach the Indians to become wise and powerful like the white men. Perhaps now that my brother knows that, he will help."

"But Governor Winthrop and the ministers will teach all that can be taught you, and so will all the English."

"My brother is mistaken," said Sassacus, earnestly. "Sachem Winthrop's men are jealous of their great Manito, and do not wish to teach the Indians how to talk with him, lest he should like us better than themselves. Now, we want to know how to talk with the Manito who instructed them in so many things. If they are good for Owanux, they may be good for us too."

"Certain am I, Sassacus," said Arundel, "nothing would delight the noble heart of the Governor more than to have you Christians."

"Sassacus wishes not to be a Christian. He was born an Indian, and will live and die true to the traditions of his race. Christian is good for Owanux, but is very bad for the red men. The beavers build dams in the streams, while the eagle flies among the clouds. The English are beavers, but Sassacus is an eagle."

"But how can you attain to the knowledge of the white men, without becoming like them?"

"My brother must not be angry when Sassacus says, that is a pappoose question. See! I can teach my brother to make bows and shoot arrows. Can he not instruct Sassacus how to make guns, and the little black seeds which cause the lightning?"

"That is not so easy as thou thinkest. I know not myself how to make guns, and the powder which thou callest seeds."

"Toh!" replied the Indian, shaking his head, "my brother is afraid Sassacus might hurt himself with the lightning."

"Why should the chief doubt my word? I tell thee that only certain men among us make guns. They are all brought from a great island beyond the sea."

"The English are very cunning. They make them in secret, so that the Indians may not learn."

"It grieves me that my friend thinks I speak to him with two tongues. But I will not be offended. Are we not brothers?"

"When my brother loves Sassacus more he will tell him all about these things, and they will then have one head and one heart."

"They both belong to Sassacus now. But what does he intend to do? Will he return with me to Boston?"

"Let my brother go to Shawmut, and if there is any danger he will let me know, Sassacus will remain."

"You judge rightly. There were peril in showing thyself there now. But how shall I find thee again?"

"When my brother journeys in the forest, and would see Sassacus, let him make a noise like the Gues-ques-kes-cha, and Sassacus, or one of his sanops will find him." He whistled the peculiar note of the bird, (the robin,) and smiled at the awkward imitation of Arundel.

"Good for Indian. My sanops, when they hear, will know who is the Gues-ques-kes-cha."

Thus parted the two friends. As Arundel pursued his lonely way, he kept running over in his mind the events of the day before, and of the past night. He admired the sagacity and courage of the Pequot Sachem, who, assisted either by his own men, or friendly Aberginians, had been able to take a bloody revenge for the attempt on his life. But no satisfactory reason occurred to him why the body of Pieskaret should have been fastened to the raft. It seemed a wanton act of bravado, which he could not reconcile with the known qualities of Sassacus. Concealment and not exposure, he thought, should have been the policy, but on the contrary, the very course had been adopted most likely to lead to discovery. Why again, he thought, is the chief of a distant tribe lurking in these woods? He surely can cherish no evil design against the colony, for there is no misunderstanding betwixt the English and the Pequots.

His thoughts then dwelt upon the Knight, and upon his connection with the savage. Who was this man, who, in the flower of his age, and with all the accomplishments of a gentleman, chose to retire from the world, and with his sad companion, immure himself in the woods? He was no sour anchorite, who regarded with displeasure the innocent enjoyments of life, nor did he appear to be an unprincipled adventurer, who had fled from restraint in the old world, in order to give license to his passions in the new. He was evidently a man of consideration in the colony. He was treated with attention by all, courted by the whites, and held in high estimation by the Indians. That such a man as Sir Christopher Gardiner should adopt that wild life of seclusion, did not indeed strike the mind of Arundel with the degree of surprise wherewith our own are affected, for it was a time of adventure and romance; the poetry of life was not bound up principally in books, but was acted out in deeds; and the occurrence of daily wonders, while it destroyed their singularity, abated curiosity on their account. Hence men expressed no astonishment at the course of life of the Knight; hence, when Arundel became acquainted with him, he felt none, and it was only upon more intimate acquaintance—after Sir Christopher began to take an interest in him; after he had noted the influence exercised by the Knight over the ambassadors; and after he had discovered, as he supposed, a community of aims betwixt the Knight and Sassacus, that his curiosity awoke. To judge from the communication of the Indian chief, it would seem as if the Knight were a sort of missionary among the natives, to teach them the arts and practices of civilized life; but nothing that Arundel himself had noticed, justified any such suspicion. All he knew of Sir Christopher was, that he was passionately fond of the chase, which frequently led him deep into the forest, and had been known in some instances to detain him several days away from home.

As for the pale lady who, always clothed in black, appeared to be devoured by some secret sorrow, and whom the Knight called his cousin, it did not seem at all strange that she should love retirement, to indulge the sad luxury of grief. A bruised heart loves darkness and silence.

The conclusion to which Arundel came was, that it was partly affection for his fair cousin, and partly a love of adventure, which had brought Sir Christopher for a season to America, and that his kindness to the Indians, and familiarity with them, had induced Sassacus, and perhaps others, to indulge hopes as wild and improbable of execution, as their ignorance was boundless. Pursuing these meditations, he proceeded on to the settlement, and arrived at the wharf, whither he was attracted by the little crowd a short time after the departure of the Taranteens, who were still in sight.

It was at the moment when the Knight was about to part from the deputy Governor, that the young man came up. He remarked the disturbed countenance of the latter; but that of the former, whatever he felt, betrayed no emotion.

"Young sir," said Dudley, "I have not seen thee for a long time. How continues Master Arundel to like the new world?"

"Indifferently well," replied Arundel. "Of every land, new or old, something favorable may be said."

"I observe thou dost hanker after the flesh pots of Egypt, and art lean in the midst of abundance. It is because thou lackest those views of truth, and that sustaining faith which can make all trials welcome for their sake."

"Methinks," said the Knight, with a smile, "that the fair rosy cheeks, and rounded limbs of our young friend, indicate no want of the reasonable comforts of life."

"I doubt not," said the rough Dudley, without heeding the observation, "that to them who come hither through an idle curiosity, or for wanton pastime, or for purposes still more unworthy, this fair land possesses only temporary attractions; but for those who, with faith in the promises, have cast in their lot with the people of God, it is the land of promise. Here from altars unpolluted by the abominations of Rome, and free from the besotted mimicry of the Church of England, so called, shall ascend hosannas from the Church and the armies of Israel. Here, into the congregation, shall enter nothing that telleth a lie, or causeth to offend."

He bowed formally, and involuntarily grasping with his left hand the sword that hung at his side, departed.

"Rude, unjust, fanatical, I had almost said blasphemous," exclaimed the Knight, looking after him. "Ungracious Dudley! success crown all thy plans, whereon the true church shall indeed set her seal, and confounded be the devices of her enemies."

"Softly," with no heightened color, with no elevation of the voice, with eyes turned up to heaven as if he were uttering a benediction, spoke Sir Christopher. "And now, Master Arundel," he inquired, taking the young man's arm, "hast found Sassacus?"

Arundel did not hesitate, after the permission given by the Indian, which rightly seemed more like a request, to acquaint his friend with the adventures of the night. Sir Christopher listened attentively, making no comment till the narrative was concluded. He then said:

"The mystery of the morning is explained." And now, in his turn, he related the discovery of the dead body and the indignation of the Indians, and pointed to their canoes fading in the distance.

"The circumstances," he added, "in which we have obtained knowledge of the secret locks it per force in our breasts; and, besides, Sassacus is faultless, having only protected thy life and saved his own, which is an additional reason. But, aside from these considerations, I see not how the disclosure could be attended with any advantage. The chief hath not shown himself hostile, or done aught to make himself amenable to our jurisdiction. Were the story to get wind, it could only excite more the revengeful feeling of the Taranteens and the ill-will of malignant spirits among us, who, through the Pequot, have been disappointed in expectations of trade."

There was no difference of opinion between the two, and it was understood that they should be silent on the subject.

"Master Spikeman," said the Knight, addressing the Assistant who now met them, "it is a pity we had not the benefit of thy prudent counsels in a matter that hath just happened; yet do I trust that our conduct will be approved by thy better judgment."

"Sir Christopher Gardiner stands in no need of the sanction of my poor opinion for anything it may please him to do," answered Spikeman. "But resolve me your riddle."

"Know you not that the ambassadors have left in anger?"

"I know it, and the knowledge fills me with foreboding sorrow."

"Whether we should have detained or allowed them to depart in their present frame of mind, is the question which I would submit to thy decision?"

"I presume not to arraign any conclusion, whereunto either the worshipful deputy or Sir Christopher Gardiner may arrive. Doubtless, they acted after grave consideration."

"Yet, being asked, tell me, with thy usual candor, Master Spikeman, what you yourself would have done in like circumstances?"

The Assistant saw the snare, and determined that the Knight should derive no advantage from the question. He perceived that the object was to estop, by his admissions, any objections to the course pursued in permitting the Taranteens to leave, which he might afterwards be disposed to make. He, therefore, replied:

"Never be it said that I officiously obtruded an opinion; but, Sir Christopher, thus urged, I confess that it had better pleased me had the savages been detained. Opportunity might then have been afforded to disabuse their ignorance and convince them of our innocence."

"I will not say thou art in the wrong, but if the excellent Dudley erred, it is a strange departure from his ordinary admirable judgment."

"I pray thee to understand that I impugn not the action of the judicious Deputy Governor; but wherefore gave you not—you who are so well acquainted with the nature of these heathens—advice to stop them for the present?"

"And how know you I gave it not? But truly, Master Spikeman, I did not. I trust I am not forward to speak before princes. For what saith Holy Scripture: 'Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise; and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding.' Yet had I seen any imminent danger from allowing the departure of the savages, believe me I had spoken, even at the risk of incurring the dishonor to see my counsel rejected."

"It is evident, Sir Christopher, that you have grave doubts on the subject. Now, methinks, it had been well to remember (casting aside, as an inconvenient garment, these scruples) what the wise king of Israel also said, in another place: 'Where no counsel is, the people fall; but in the multitude of counsellors there is safety.'"

"It pains me," answered the Knight, whose courtesy increased with the other's coldness, "not to obtain thine approval. But, Master Spikeman, now that we are alone, (for Arundel, at the very beginning of the conversation, without greeting, or in any wise noticing, the Assistant, had passed on and was out of sight), I avail myself of the good chance to avow my anxious desire to secure thy friendship."

"If such truly be the wish of Sir Christopher Gardiner," returned the Assistant, "it is a thing easy to be compassed."

The countenance of the Knight lighted up, as he replied, "I rejoice greatly at thy words."

"But," continued Spikeman, "I am a man of deeds and not of words. I will be plain with you, Sir Christopher, and show you that it is no fault of mine that I have been unable (however much desiring it) to look upon you as a well wisher of mine, but your own. Have you not interfered in favor of, and harbored, that Philip Joy, convicted of contumelious language against the magistrates and elders, and whom, I have reason to believe, is specially evil-disposed toward myself; and are you not now in open familiarity with, and a supporter of this young man, who but just now parted from you; who deigned not, even by a look, to notice me; and whose business here seems to be to scatter reports intended to work detriment to my character? It is conduct like this which hath separated us one from the other."

"Master Spikeman," said the Knight, deprecatingly, "the relation wherein I stand to Philip is of public notoriety, and, therefore, cannot be unknown to you; and, meseems, is sufficient to excuse the slight favor I show him. Yet, herein will I approve myself loyal unto my regard for thee. I believe thou errest in ascribing an evil intent on the part of Philip, but if he cherish any such, I will take order with him, which shall redound to thy satisfaction. As for this Master Arundel, thou layest more stress upon a casual acquaintance with him than it deserves. I countenance him not. I attach no more consequence to what he may say than belongs to the prattle of a beardless boy. Wouldst have me rude to one who enlivens my solitude, being fresh with news from the old world, and who visits me only through a like love with myself of sylvan sports?"

"I presume not to dictate to Sir Christopher Gardiner," said Spikeman, coldly, "who shall be his associates, or what course in any respect he shall pursue. You will remember that your exculpation (such as it is) was volunteered by yourself."

The eyes of the Knight fell to the ground at this ungracious reply, so that his resentment, if he felt any, was hid under their drooping lids. A faint suffusion passed over his face, but after the pause of a moment, he extended his hand with a smile, while he said:

"I will find means to dissipate this delusive cloud that interposes itself betwixt us. Meanwhile, accept my hand, in token that, however changed thyself, I remain the same."

It was impossible to refuse to take the hand so offered, but it was with no cordial grasp the Assistant received it: and the two parted with feelings of aversion to one another, strengthened by the interview.



CHAPTER XVI.

And, Douglass, more I tell thee here, Even in thy pitch of pride,— Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near, * * * * I tell thee thou'rt defied.

MARMION.

Three weeks followed after the events recorded, without the occurrence of anything deserving special mention. The life of the colonists went on as usual, in erecting new tenements, in cultivating their farms, and in such other occupations as their situation made necessary. But little was seen of the Knight in the settlement, it being understood that he was amusing himself as usual in the sports of the forest. He did occasionally, however, make his appearance in the village, in the prosperity of which he manifested an interest. Notwithstanding the slighting manner in which he had spoken of Arundel, and the displeasure of Spikeman at the favor which he showed the young man, his conduct toward him remained unchanged. As before, Arundel was frequently at Sir Christopher's place, and often accompanied him on short expeditions, though never on distant excursions, which required several days.

The interest of the young man in the Knight increased daily. Sir Christopher's manners were so gracious, his temper so sweet and equable, and the sentiments he expressed so noble, that it was impossible an ingenuous youth should escape their fascination. Yet did Arundei fancy that the attachment which he felt was hardly returned. It might be a mere fancy springing from a jealous sensitiveness, which is disappointed if it be not paid in the full measure of its own coin. Perhaps the inexperienced youth was unreasonable in expecting from his senior, schooled to greater caution by intercourse with the world, the demonstrativeness which characterized his own conduct. Be it as it may, upon more acquaintance, the Knight seemed to his young friend to resemble nothing so much as a polished rapier, which, while it shines to the eye, is cold to the touch. Of the pale lady Geraldine he saw little. He had noticed accidentally a circumstance in reference to her, for which he was unable to account. Having arrived late one afternoon at the residence of the Knight, he found, upon inquiring after him, that he had been absent several days, and was not expected to return for two or three more. Arundel then asked to see the lady, but was answered that she was confined sick to her room and unable to receive any one. Late as it was, for the sun was setting, he was preparing to return to the settlement, when he heard sounding from the edge of the forest the Knight's hunting horn. He stepped to the outer door, and beheld Sir Christopher advancing with the lady.

The former was habited in his usual hunting gear, while the dress of the lady Geraldine consisted of an over-coat of dark cloth, falling just below the knee, fitting tightly about the chest, and rising high into the neck. On her feet were moccasins, of the natural russet shade of the leather, laced up the calf of the leg, so that they nearly reached the skirt, and on her head she wore a black leather cap, ornamented with an ostrich's feather, beneath the protection of which her hair fell down in plaits upon her back. The dress was a mixture of the civilized and of the savage, and as she approached, with a little color in her cheeks, occasioned by the exercise, Arundel thought that she looked even beautiful. Her manner appeared to him to betray confusion, but there was no embarrassment on the part of the Knight. He welcomed his visitor with his customary politeness, merely inquiring how long it was since he had arrived, adding, that his cousin had been persuaded to accompany him on a hunting expedition, for the sake of her health, which would account for the disorder of his house. The two were accompanied by several natives, among whom was the little girl; but their hunt it would seem had been unsuccessful, for they had not much game. A falsehood had been told by the domestic, evidently to conceal the absence of the lady, which Arundel could explain only on the supposition that it was designed to mislead others and not himself, and was said to him only because the servant was unable to discriminate.

In spite of the vigilance of Spikeman, Arundel, aided by the cunning of Prudence, and the connivance of the Assistant's wife, had two or three times seen Eveline; and the lovers, with protestations of eternal fidelity, encouraged each other to look forward to happier days. Philip Joy too, though in disobedience to the orders of the Knight, who had strictly commanded him not to put foot upon the soil under the jurisdiction of Winthrop, continued to keep up a communication with his mistress. Pretty Prudence, like a beleaguered city hard bested, kept the enemy Spikeman at bay; nor did he, with all his parallels and circumvallations, make any progress. Not so, however, thought the Assistant, (for what man cannot the cunning of a coquette deceive?) who every once in a while fancied the fortress was about to capitulate. Whenever he began to despair, a few sweet smiles, or a word of encouragement, were sufficient to re-kindle hope; for though the girl hated him, she yet took a mischievous pleasure in practising her caprices on him, and keeping him dangling at her apron strings.

Such was the state of things, when one morning a canoe was seen entering the harbor of Boston, containing a couple of Indians. They paddled directly up to the wharf, where several persons were standing, looking on, while others were engaged in various employments connected with commerce, and sedately stepping on shore, one of them hauled the canoe upon the beach, beyond the rising of the tide. This being done, they advanced in the direction of the group of white men. The one who was evidently the leader, as well from his walking first, (the other stepping in his track,) as well as from the superior richness of his dress, which was the skin of a moose loosely disposed over his shoulders as a robe, and that of a deer divested of its hair, beautifully tanned, and painted in bright colors, for a breech cloth, with the feathers of some bird in his scalp lock; while the garments of his follower were merely deer skins dressed with the hair; pronounced, as soon as they came within about a rod of the white men, the single word "Taranteen," and then both stopped. So similar were the dress and general appearance of the Indian tribes to one another, that the eye alone would have been insufficient to detect a difference; but the utterance of the word indicated at once to which one the new comers belonged, and their desire to have it immediately understood. Various questions were now asked by the curious, who thronged around the savages, but no answer was returned save the word Taranteen, and some words that sounded like an attempt at French.

The gallant Captain Sparhawk, who, to judge from the part he took in the conversation, and the emphasis wherewith he expressed his opinions, was the principal personage present, having exhausted his stock of Spanish, and German, and French phrases which he had picked up in his trading voyages, as well as sundry uncouth sounds it was his pleasure to call Indian, in a vain attempt to make himself understood, at last decided that the only proper course was to take them before the Governor. At the mention of Winthrop's name, the Indian's face was lighted up with a look of intelligence, and he made a motion With his head as though he knew for whom it was intended.