Coubitant started: and he looked embarrassed for a moment, when he caught the penetrating eye of Mailah fixed on his countenance. But he quickly recovered his self-possession, and manifested such joy at the escape of the white stranger from a watery grave, that Mailah almost chid herself for her dreadful suspicions.

Coubitant accompanied her and the Sachem on their way through the forest, and when they met Henrich and Oriana, he again assumed such an appearance of pleasure, and so warmly congratulated the former on his miraculous deliverance, that the generous English youth strove to banish from his mind the fearful thoughts that had arisen there while he struggled for life close to the canoe, and wondered at the want of skill and strength displayed by his companion in his abortive attempts to save him. Oriana coldly received his greeting. She had long suspected that he regarded Henrich with hatred and jealousy; and her worst suspicions had that day received a strong confirmation. Still she resolved to conceal them—at least at present—from all but Jyanough, whose friendship for Henrich would, she knew, render him peculiarly alive to all that concerned his safety.

She had not long to wait, for the hunters soon returned; and she observed that, when Jyanough heard the story of the day's adventure, he cast a glance on Coubitant that made the conscious savage quail. But when she related to the young Cree all that she and Mailah had observed, he could restrain his feelings no longer, and plainly told her that he was convinced that Coubitant was the author of the calamity, and that it was not the first attempt he had made at Henrich's life.

They resolved that he should communicate all his suspicions to the Sachem the following morning, and urge him to take measures for the safety of his adopted son: but what was Jyanough's surprise, when he opened the subject to Tisquantum, at being informed that Coubitant had already left the camp with the Pequodees! Jyanough knew that it was their intention that morning, at day-break, to set off on their return to their own woods and plains, and he found that the wily Nausett had expressed a desire to accompany them, and join in the war that was going on between their tribe and some of their neighbors, in order to distinguish himself as a warrior. It was not the Sachem's intention to rejoin his tribe for a considerable time. He was fond of wandering, and proposed to travel towards the north when the hunting season should be over; and he also felt a reluctance to take his now greatly beloved captive back to that part of the country where it was possible he might gain intelligence of his friends, or, perhaps, even make his escape to them. He had, therefore, consented to Coubitant's request, and evidently felt an undefined satisfaction in his absence.

This being the case, and the departure of Coubitant having removed all present danger to Henrich from his malicious schemes, Jyanough forbore to express all he felt to the old Sachem; and he returned to Oriana with the pleasant intelligence that the enemy of her white brother had departed.

To the young Squaw-Sachem this news imparted infinite relief; and even Henrich could not regret it, although he found it difficult to believe that all the suspicions of his friends were well-founded. Still the events of the preceding day were quite sufficient to make him doubt more than ever the sincerity of Coubitant's professed regard; and he felt that he should be happier now that the dark-browed savage was gone. To his pleasant life of freedom we will now leave him, and return to New Plymouth, where many events—deeply interesting to the settlers—had occurred since his involuntary departure, and supposed death.



CHAPTER XI.

'There went a dirge through the forest's gloom. ...An exile was borne to a lonely tomb, "Brother;"—so the chant was sung In the slumberer's native tongue— "Friend and brother! not for thee Shall the sound of weeping be."' HEMANS.

Sadly and slowly the Pilgrim Fathers passed along the scattered village of log huts which was their home in their voluntary exile, and wound up the pathway that led towards the summit of the mount, afterwards called 'the Burying Hill,' on which they had constructed a rude fort or storehouse, and whither they were now bearing to his last earthly home the chief and the most respected of their community. The Governor Carver—he who had presided over their councils, and directed all their movements since the memorable day of their landing, and had been the friend, the physician, the comforter of his little flock, through all their trials and all their sufferings—had fallen a victim to disease and over-exertion, just as spring, with all its brighter hopes for the future, had set in.

It was but a few days after Henrich's capture that this heavy affliction befell the colony, and added greatly to the gloom which the loss of young Maitland had already cast over the whole village. The departure, also, of the vessel in which the Pilgrims had come out to America, occurred at the same time; and, although not one of the exiles desired to return to the land of their birth, and to abandon the enterprise on which they had entered so devotedly, yet it was a melancholy hour when they bade adieu to the captain and his crew, and saw the Mayflower sail away towards their still much-loved, country.

The scurvy and other diseases—combined with the hardships and privations to which they had been exposed during the winter and early spring—had fearfully reduced the number of the ship's company; and of those who remained, the greater part were weakened by illness, and dispirited by the loss of so many of their brave comrades, whose graves they had dug on the bleak shores of New England. The return of spring, and the supply of provisions that the settlers were able to obtain from the friendly Indians, had checked the progress of the fatal complaints that had so fearfully ravaged the colony during the severity of winter; and had restored the survivors of the ship's crew to comparative health and strength. The captain was, therefore, glad to seize the first opportunity of abandoning a shore which had presented to him so cheerless and melancholy an aspect, and of leaving the steadfast and devoted exiles to the fate which they had chosen, and which they were resolved to abide in faith and hope.

On the very day that the Mayflower set sail, and while its white sails could still be distinguished in the eastern horizon, the Governor—who took an active part in every occupation, and even every labor that engaged the settlers—was busily employed in sowing corn in the fields that were considered as the common property of the colony. In directing and superintending this work, he was greatly assisted by the skill and experience of Squanto, the native who, as we have already related, had been so treacherously carried off to England by Hunt, and had, on his return to America, sought out, and attached himself to, the settlers. By them he was greatly regarded, and his knowledge of the English language rendered his services of inestimable value in all their intercourse with the Indian tribes; while his acquaintance with the soil on which they had established themselves, and the native modes of cultivating grain and other vegetable produce, was of the greatest use to men who were only accustomed to European agriculture.

The maize and other grain were sown in the fields that had been richly manured with fish, to ensure an abundant crop;[*] and the laborers returned in a body to the village, led by their venerable and respected President; but no sooner had Carver re-entered his dwelling than he swooned away and never recovered his consciousness. In a few days he breathed his last, to the unutterable grief of his widow, and the deep regret of all the settlers, whose love and confidence he had won during his brief government, by his clear-sighted wisdom and his universal kindness.

[Footnote: It was the custom of the Indians to manure their fields with shads or allezes, a small fish that comes up the rivers in vast numbers at the spawning season. About a thousand fish were used for every acre of land; and a single alleze was usually put into every corn-hill, when they buried their grain for winter consumption; probably as a charm to keep off the evil demons and hostile wandering spirits.]

As his funeral procession wound up the hill, tears might be seen on the cheek of many a sturdy Pilgrim; and sobs and lamentations broke forth from the women and children. After his remains were laid in their resting-place, a fervent prayer was offered up by Brewster (whose age and character caused him to be regarded as the pastor of the colony, although he had never been called to the ministry after the custom of the Puritans); and then a hymn was sung by the united voices of the whole congregation.

When this simple ceremony was over, and the grave of the departed President was closed, and laid level with the surrounding ground—in order to conceal it from the prowling Indians—the assembly repaired to the fort, or store-house, that stood on the summit of the hill, and which also served the purpose of a meeting-house or chapel. Its rude end unadorned simplicity suited, the peculiar ideas of the Puritans, who, in their zeal to escape from the elaborate ornaments and pompous ceremonial employed by the Papists, had rushed into the opposite extreme, and desired that both their place of worship, and their mode of performing it, should be divested of every external decoration and every prescribed form. The more their place of meeting for prayer resembled an ordinary habitation, the better they considered it suited to the sacred purpose; and they were, therefore, perfectly satisfied to possess no other church than the rude fort, built of logs and posts, and used indifferently as a granary for the public stores, and as a fortress for the defense of the colony from any incursions of the hostile tribes.

In this primitive chapel, Brewster was accustomed to lead the devotions of the Pilgrims and their families, every 'Lord's Day' morning and afternoon;[*] and also on any other occasion of their assembling together. But as they were in continual expectation of the arrival of the venerated John Robinson, to resume his office of regular pastor of the flock, they had not taken any measures to gratify their ardent desire of hearing the 'blessed sermon' three times en every Lord's Day, from some holy man entirely devoted to the service of God. The addresses occasionally delivered to the congregation by Brewster, or by any other of the ruling elders who might preside at a meeting, were called 'discourses' not sermons; and the interpretation of certain portions of Scripture, which was sometimes undertaken by any member of the congregation who felt equal to it, was called 'prophesying.' These were the only modes of spiritual instruction employed by the first settlers, until they procured clergymen from England, or appointed ministers from among their own elders; and these means were highly valued by the settlers, who had abandoned home, and kindred, and the comforts of civilized life, for no other motive than to secure to themselves the privilege of worshipping God according to their own ideas of what was good and profitable to their souls. The talents and the elevated piety of William Brewster rendered him both a very valuable teacher, and also, in the eyes of the Puritans, an efficient substitute for their expected pastor.

[Footnote: The Puritans never used the names Sunday or Sabbath. They objected is the first as savoring of Paganism and to the second as pertaining to Judaism; and yet they enforced the observance of the Christian's day of rest with almost Mosaic strictness.]

On the present mournful occasion he addressed the congregation, in a very impressive manner, on the heavy loss they had sustained in the death of their valued President; and exhorted them to remember and to imitate his piety, his charity, and his exemplary patience and self- denial, under the trying circumstances that had marked the period of his brief government. These circumstances had become less painful, it is true, since their friendly intercourse with the Wampanoges, and the genial change in the weather; but still the trials of the Pilgrims were by no means over, and their need of faith in the good providence of God, and of persevering resolution in the path which they had chosen for themselves, remained as great as ever.

Deeply was the less of their first President felt by the colony, for every individual mourned him as a private friend, as well as a wise end benevolent ruler. But the blow fell with more crushing power on her who had shared his checkered life of joy and sorrow for many years in Europe, and had accompanied him into exile, with the devoted feeling that his presence would make the wilderness a home. His sudden removal, and the cheerless blank that succeeded, were more than the strength of his afflicted widow could endure; and in six weeks she followed him the grave. From that time, it appeared as if the severity of the scourge that had ravaged the infant settlement was exhausted, for scarcely any more deaths occurred during that year; and many who had hitherto suffered from the effects of disease, regained their usual strength, and lived to a remarkably advanced age.

William Bradford was the individual selected by the community to fill the arduous and responsible office that had been held so few months by Carver; and the choice was a most judicious one, for he was a man well suited to be the leader of a colony exposed to the peculiar difficulties that surrounded the Puritan exiles. His uncommon sagacity and penetration of character, and his undaunted resolution in times of danger, caused him to be regarded as the very prop and support of the settlement; and his worth was so generally acknowledged, and so highly appreciated, that he continued to be annually elected Governor for twelve succeeding years: and never did he disappoint the confidence thus reposed in him. His treatment of the Indians was one point on which he showed both the correctness of his judgement, and the right feelings of his heart. He ever acted towards them with true Christian benevolence and equity; and, at the same, he preserved that authority and superiority over them which were necessary to the safety and well- being of the colony; and he also carefully kept from them those European weapons, the possession of which might render them dangerous to the settlers, and aggravate the frequent hostilities among their own rival tribes. Unhappily, a different course was afterwards pursued by the leaders of the colony of Massachusetts; and the evil con sequences of such short-sighted policy were soon but too apparent, and tended to involve not only the new settlers, but also the original colony of New Plymouth, in quarrels and disturbances with the natives. This however, did not occur for some time after the period of which we are now speaking; and, for the present, Bradford succeeded in maintaining the best possible relations with the already friendly Wampanoges.

William Bradford had been originally brought up as a husbandman; and although he had abandoned this calling to devote himself to the study of the Scriptures, and the writings of the Fathers—for which purpose he had acquired the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages—he still retained such a, know ledge of agriculture as proved extremely useful to him as the leader of a young colony, whose support was to be mainly derived from the land of which they had taken possession. He also spoke French and Dutch fluently; and the diary and letters that he has left to posterity show him to have been both a well informed and a truly pious man. When the Puritans left Amsterdam under their pastor, John Robinson, and settled at Leyden, Bradford was scarcely twenty years of age. He there learnt the art of dyeing silk, in order to support himself while he pursued his theological studies, and also performed the part of historian to the community of which he had become a member; and he remained with the congregation during all the years of their residence in Holland, and attached himself with the most affectionate reverence to their generally beloved and respected minister.

One of the first acts of his administration, as Governor of New Plymouth, was to send another embassy to Masasoyt, the Great Sagamore of the whole Wampanoge tribe, in order to strengthen and confirm his present amicable feelings towards the white men, by means of presents, and other marks of friendship. Squanto, as usual, accompanied the party as interpreter; and nothing could be more satisfactory than the interview proved to all parties, especially to the Indian Chief, who was made both proud and happy by the gift of a red military coat, adorned with silver lace. This he immediately put on, over the paint and other savage ornaments in which he was decorated for the state occasion; and he greatly diverted the members of the embassy by the increased air of dignity that he assumed, and the grandiloquous manner in which he began to extol his own power and glory.

'Am I not,' he exclaimed, in a loud voice, 'Masasoyt, the great king? Am I not lord of all the people of the Lowsons; and of such and such places? And he enumerated nearly thirty uncouth Indian names of places over which he claimed sovereignty, his wild subjects uttering a yell of joy and exultation in answer to each word he uttered. The savage monarch then proceeded to ratify and augment the agreement into which he had already catered with Edward Winslow, and promised to guarantee to the English settlers an exclusive trade with his tribe; at the same time entreating them to prevent his powerful enemies, the Narragansetts, from carrying on a commercial intercourse with the French colonists.

Notwithstanding the boasted power of this 'Chief of chiefs,' the scarcity of provisions was so great in his village of Packanokick at the time of this embassy, that he was only able to offer his white friends one meal during their visit to him, which lasted a day and two nights; and this solitary display of regal hospitality consisted of two large fishes just caught in a neighboring lake, and which were divided amongst forty hungry persons. In spite of this temporary distress, he pressed the deputation to remain longer with him; but the object of their mission having been attained, they were glad to leave the residence of the Sagamore, which possessed far less of comfort and civilization than were to be found in the picturesque summer camp of his son and inferior Sachem, Mooanam.

This lovely spot continued to be much frequented by the settlers, between whom and their copper-colored neighbors a strong feeling of mutual regard became established; and this friendship proved a great advantage to both parties, in a social as well as a political point of view. The Wampanoges found the benefit of their alliance with the mighty English during the autumn of that year, when the dread which their name and power had inspired proved a safeguard to the friendly Indian tribe, and preserved them from a combined attack of several other tribes who had, by some mysterious means, been instigated to unite for their destruction.

The intelligence of this conspiracy reached the settlers when a party of them were on the peninsula of Cape Cod, whither they had gone to bring back a young English boy, named Francis Billington, who had lost himself in the forest some time previously, and, after having subsisted for several days on wild fruits and berries, had reached a camp of the Nausett Indians, hitherto so adverse to the Pilgrims. This seemed a good opportunity for endeavoring to establish more friendly relations with the tribe, and Bradford sent off ten men in the shallop to negotiate for the boy's restoration, and to offer gifts to the Nausetts, who, happily, were not so cruel and blood-thirsty a party as those who had kidnapped Henrich Maitland. The overtures of the settlers were well received, and they presented the Chief of the village with a pair of knives, and also returned to the natives a quantity of corn, more than equal to that which they had taken from the graves and huts that they had discovered on their first landing, and which belonged to the Nausetts. This act of justice gained for the settlers the esteem and confidence of the Indians; and as these original possessors of the soil did not dispute the title of the newcomers to the portion of the American soil on which they had established themselves, they considered henceforth that their claim was valid, and that they could stand before the natives on terms of equality.

The lost child was safely restored to Rodolph, who, as usual, shared the conduct of the expedition with Edward Winslow. The joy and gratitude of the boy's father, at being permitted to convey him home uninjured, may be better imagined than described; and while Maitland sympathized in his feelings, he could not help sadly contrasting the fate of his own lost Henrich with that of the more fortunate Francis Billington. But he believed that his son's earthly career had closed for ever; and both he and Helen had submitted to the bereavement with Christian piety and resignation, and had taught their wounded hearts to restrain every impulse to repine, and even to feel thankful that their beloved boy had been spared any protracted sufferings and trials, and had been permitted so speedily to enter into his rest. Had they known his actual late and condition, how much of painful anxiety would have mingled with the sorrow of separation, from which they were now exempt!

The restoration of the little wanderer having been effected, and a good understanding having been established with the Nausetts of Cape Cod, the negotiating party lost no time in returning to New Plymouth, and communicating to Governor Bradford the intelligence of the conspiracy against Masasoyt, to which allusion has already been made, and of which they had been informed by the Nausett Sachem. The news was startling to Bradford and to his council, who all felt the imperative necessity of using immediate efforts for the assistance of the friendly Wampanoges. They were impelled to this resolution, not only in consideration of the alliance that had been formed between themselves and the Sagamore Masasoyt, but also from a conviction that the safety and welfare of the infant colony depended essentially upon their possessing the friendship and the protection of some powerful tribe, like the Wampanoges, whose numbers and warlike character caused them to be both feared and respected by their weaker neighbors. It could only be by a combination of several tribes that any important defeat Of the Wampanoges could possibly be effected: and such a combination the Nausetts declared they knew to have been already formed; though by what means, and with what motive, remained at present a mystery.

The Indian interpreter, Squanto, was therefore sent off to Masasoyt's residence at Lowams, in order to ascertain the grounds of the quarrel, and to effect, if possible, a reconciliation, without the necessity of the Pilgrims having recourse to arms in defense of their allies. The interpreter was also accompanied by Hobomak, a subject of the Wampanoge chieftain's, who had lately left his own wigwams and settled among the English, and who had already attached himself to the white men with an uncommon degree of devotion. But ere the swarthy ambassadors reached the village of Packanokick, they were suddenly attacked by a small party of Narragansett warriors, who lay in ambush near their path through the forest, and were conveyed away captives to the presence of a fierce looking Indian, who appeared to be a man of power and authority, and who was evidently awaiting their arrival in a small temporary encampment at a little distance.

No sooner had Hobomak glanced at this dark chieftain, than he recognized Coubitant, the bitter foe of the settlers, and the captor of Henrich Maitland. Coubitant had originally been a subject of the Sachem Masasoyt; but some offence, either real or imaginary, had converted him from a friend into a bitter foe; and then it was that he had wandered towards the Spanish settlements, and obtained that prejudiced notion of Christianity to which we have formerly alluded. When tired of his wild roaming life, he had united himself to that portion of the Nausett tribe which was under the guidance of Tisquantum; and his attachment to the Sachem's son, Tekoa, had induced him to remain a member of the tribe during his life, and to devote himself to the object of revenging his death, after that event had occurred at the first encounter with the white settlers.

Hitherto that object had been frustrated by what appeared to him Tisquantum's incomprehensible partiality fur Henrich, which had so entirely prevented his wreaking his vengeance on the innocent son of the slayer. But his was not a revenge that could expire unsatiated, or change to friendship, and expend itself in acts of kindness, as that of Tisquantum had done. No: the thirst for blood remained as strong in the breast of Coubitant as it was on that very hour when he beheld his brother-in-arms fall, bleeding and dying, beneath the mysterious firearms of the white men; and he hoped still to pour forth the white man's blood, as an oblation to the spirit of his friend. Therefore it was that, when he found himself foiled in all his malicious schemes for Henrich's destruction, and also perceived that he was himself becoming an object of suspicion to Jyanough and to the Sachem, he had resolved on quitting the Nausetts, and returning with the Pequodees into the neighborhood of the English settlement. He hoped to stir up several smaller tribes to join with the Narragansetts, and to make war against the Wampanoges—the allies of the Pilgrims—and thus to deprive the hated whites of their aid and protection, and, possibly, also to engage the settlers in the quarrel, and then to find an opportunity of taking one or more of them captive, and slaking the desires of his vindictive spirit in the agonies that he would inflict on his victims. Truly, 'the dark places' of his heart were 'full of the habitations of cruelty.'

These deep-laid schemes of the wily savage had hitherto met with full success; and by means of deceit and misrepresentation, he had roused up and irritated the feelings of several Sachems and their dependants, and induced them to agree to coalesce for the destruction of the Wampanoges, and then to turn their arms against the settlers, with the view of expelling them altogether from the country. His spies had discovered the intended embassy of Squanto and Hobomak to the village of the great Sagamore of Lowams; and he had, consequently, taken effectual means to intercept it, as he feared its having a favorable aspect.

On the captives being brought before him, he scornfully reproached them as the dastardly tools of the white men, and as traitors to their own nation; and he declared his intention of detaining Squanto as a prisoner, and as a hostage also, in order to ensure the return of Hobomak to New Plymouth, with the message that be designed for the Governor. This message consisted of a threat—which Hobomak well knew he would execute—that if, on being liberated, he proceeded to Packanokick, instead of returning to the settlement, he would flay the unhappy Squanto alive, and send his skin and scalp to the white-hearted English, to show them that the red men scorned their interference, and knew how to punish it.

Hobomak departed, and reluctantly left his companion in the hands of the cruel Coubitant. But he had no power to liberate him, and his only hope of obtaining any effectual succor for him, was in hastening to New Plymouth, and persuading the Governor to send a well-armed force to cut off the retreat of the Narragansetts and their leader, and attempt the rescue of their caked interpreter. Hobomak was fleet of foot, and he rested not until he had arrived in Bradford's presence, and told him of the fate that had befallen Squanto. Weak as the colonists were, and sincerely desirous as they also felt to preserve peace with the natives, they yet deemed it incumbent on them to show the Indians that they would not tamely submit to any insult or injury. Captain Standish was, therefore, immediately dispatched with a body of fourteen men, well armed and disciplined, who were at that time nearly all the men capable of bearing arms of whom the colony could boast. Led by Hobomak, they rapidly traversed the forest, and came upon Coubitant's party soon after they had left their encampment. The Indian leader had anticipated, and desired, this result of his conduct; and his heart swelled with malignant joy when he beheld the hated Rodolph among the foremost of the assailants. Now he deemed the evil spirit whom he worshipped was about to repay him for all his abortive schemes and disappointed efforts, by throwing the very object of his vengeful hatred into his power.

Forward he sprang, whirling his heavy tomahawk round his head, as if it had been a child's toy, and preparing to bring it down on the white man's skull with a force that must have cloven it in two. But Standish saw the impending blow, and, quick as thought, he drew a pistol from his belt, and fired it at the savage. The ball passed through his arm, and the tomahawk fell bloodless to the ground. Had it but drunk the life-blood of Rodolph, Coubitant would have been content to die. But his foe still lived unharmed; and quickly he saw that three of his own followers were also severely wounded, and that his party of naked warriors were altogether incapable of resisting the fierce and well- sustained attack of their civilized assailants. His only chance of safety, and of future vengeance, lay in flight; and to that last resource of a brave spirit he betook himself. He was quickly followed by all his band, who were dismayed at the sound and the fatal effects of the British fire-arms and, leaving Squanto behind them, they were soon concealed from view by the thick underwood of the forest. The object of the expedition having been attained, Standish did not pursue the fugitives, but returned in triumph to the settlement, well satisfied that he had given the Indians a salutary impression of the decisive conduct, and the powerful measures, that would ever be adopted by the white men, when their honor was insulted in the slightest degree.

That such an impression had been made on the red men was soon evident, from the anxiety which was manifested by several of the neighboring tribes to be admitted into the semblance, at least, of an alliance with the mighty strangers. Nine Sachems intimated their desire to acknowledge themselves the subjects of the white men's king, who dwelt on the other side of 'the great water'; and a paper was accordingly drawn up by Captain Standish to that effect, and subscribed with the uncouth autographs of the copper-colored chieftains. Among these— strange to say—the mark of Coubitant, who had been raised to the rank of Sachem by the Narragansetts, was to be seen; but the sincerity of his friendly professions will be shown hereafter. At present, it suited him to unite with the other chiefs in their pledge of allegiance to King James, and of amity towards his British subjects; but he never openly approached their settlement, or made the slightest advance towards becoming better acquainted with them. His evil designs slept, indeed, but they had not expired. They only waited the fitting opportunity to be as actively pursued as ever.



CHAPTER XII.

'Calm on the bosom of thy God, Young spirit! rest thee now! E'en while with us thy footsteps trod His seat was on thy brow.

Dust to its narrow house beneath! Soul to its place on high! They that have seen thy look in death, No more may fear to die.

Lone are the paths, and sad the bowers, Whence thy meek smile is gone But oh! a brighter borne than ours, In Heaven, is now thine own.' HEMANS.

We have observed that very few deaths took place in the colony of New Plymouth during the second year of their exile, and after the fatal stroke that deprived them of their President; but among those few, there was one that carried grief and desolation into the hearts of the family with whom our story is chiefly connected, and who were already deeply afflicted by the loss of the first-born. Ludovico Maitland had always been a delicate child, and on him, consequently, the care and attention of his mother had been principally bestowed. Helen had watched and tended him through all the severities of the first winters in the New World, and many had been the privations that she had voluntarily endured, unknown even to Rodolph, who would not have suffered her thus to risk her own health, in order to add to the comforts of her youngest and most helpless child. When the blessed springtime came, and all nature began again to smile, she hoped that Ludovico would also be renovated, and bloom again like the flowers he loved so well. And her hopes appeared to be realized: for the sweet playful child resumed his sports, and the bright color again glowed on his soft cheek; and his parents deemed it the hue of health.

At the time when Henrich was stolen away, the little fellow had been remarkably well, and even Helen's fears for him had almost subsided; but, whether it was the effect of the shock that he sustained when he saw his brother seized by the fierce savages, and torn away from him, and when he fled so breathlessly to tell the fearful tidings; or whether it was merely the result of his own delicate constitution, which could no longer bear up against the change of climate and food— from that time, he visibly declined. It is true he never complained, and his cheerful spirits were unaltered; but the watchful eye of affection could trace the insidious steps of disease in the changing color, and the too frequently brilliant eye.

Since Edith had lost her constant friend and companion, Henrich, she naturally devoted herself more to her younger brother, and little Ludovico became not only her lively play-fellow, but also her intelligent pupil; and the occupation which she found in the care of the engaging child served to divert her mind from the first real grief she had ever known. Her mother's sorrow, though borne with the most perfect resignation, had greatly affected her health; and as she had entire confidence in Edith's steadiness, she was glad to leave the care of Ludovico principally to her, especially when she observed the good effect which the new responsibility had on her spirits. The two children were, therefore, left much to themselves; and, with their mother's sanction they passed a great portion of their time at the camp of Mooanam, where they were always most kindly received, and where they made rapid progress in acquiring the language, and also many of the useful and ingenious arts, of their swarthy friends.

The departure of Coubitant and his savage band, after their cruel design against the peace of Rodolph's family had been accomplished, removed all fears of injury or molestation from the minds of the settlers; for no hostile Indians now remained in their immediate neighborhood, and the path from New Plymouth to the village of the friendly Wampanoges became a beaten and frequented track; so that Edith and her little charge could go to and fro in safety, under the protection of Fingal, a magnificent dog belonging to their father, and their constant companion and playfellow; and frequently they were accompanied, on their return to the British village, by the Chieftain's wife, Apannow, and her little boy, Nepea, who was the darling of both Edith and Ludovico.

A strong attachment also sprang up between Apannow and Helen; for the Squaw-Sachem was possessed of much natural gentleness of disposition, and was most ready to adopt all those habits of civilized life that she saw practiced among her English friends, and that it was possible for her to transplant to her Indian home. She was, likewise, willing to listen to the doctrines and precepts of the Gospel, and to admit their beauty and their holiness, although it was long—very long—ere she, or any of the adults of her tribe, were so far converted to the Christian truth as to be either desirous or fit to be baptized. But there was no bigotry or opposition in the mind of Apannow; and she became a kind and sympathizing friend to Helen and to her children.

Rodolph was necessarily much engaged in agricultural occupations, and also in the business of the government, as he was one of the council who were appointed to assist the President, and to share the labors and responsibilities of his frequently very difficult office. The gradual change in little Ludovico's health was, therefore, not so soon observed by his father as by Helen and Edith; and when he returned to his much- loved home after the toils and cares of the day, his wife forbore to arouse fresh anxiety in his breast, by telling him of her own fears. On the contrary, she rejoiced to see the pleasure and animation that lighted up the sweet child's expressive countenance, as he ran to meet his father, and the happiness of both as they played under the wide- spreading trees that shaded their now luxuriant garden. At such times, while listening to Ludovico's ringing laugh, and watching his light footsteps as he chased his father and Edith from tree to tree, she flattered herself that all must be well with the joyous child, and that her apprehensions were unfounded. But, again, when the following day found him pale and exhausted, and all the more so for the excitement and exercise of the previous evening, these foreboding fears would return, and her heart would sink heavily at the prospect of the coming woe.

The short summer of North America attained its height; and, as the heat increased, so did Ludovico's young life wane away, and his strength become daily less. Rudolph now saw, as plainly as his afflicted wife, that their only remaining son was soon to be taken from them; and he strove to arm both himself and her with the only power that could support them under such an aggravated calamity. He constantly led her to look only to Him who 'gave,' and who also 'takes away,' and without whom 'not a sparrow falleth to the ground'; and to trust Him even in the depth of sorrow: and he had the satisfaction of seeing her become more and more resigned, and more and more strong in faith to meet the coming trial.

Slowly and gently it came; but it came at last: and though his parents and his sister had long given up all hope of retaining their loved Ludovico on earth, and had endeavored to resign him into the hands of his Heavenly Father, yet, when the blow came, they felt it sudden, and found how little they were prepared for it. One warm summer evening the sweet child was carried by Rodolph to Edith's bower, that he might look once more at the flowers he had helped to plant and to tend; and his soft eyes seemed to take a last farewell of every cherished object, and to follow the setting sun with a fixed gaze, that said those eyes would never see it set again. But there was no sadness—no regret—in the gentle countenance; and the infantine lips still smiled, as they whispered the evening prayer that he had so often repeated with Edith. Young as he was, Ludovico had learnt to love his Redeemer, and to feel that to 'depart, and be with Christ, was far better than to abide on earth; and the 'valley of the shadow or death,' which the Lord so mercifully made easy to his flesh, had no terrors for his young spirit.

Could his parents, then—could even his broken-hearted sister—bear to disturb his angelic calmness by any display of their own grief? No: they restrained it; and even tried to smile again as they replied to his touching remarks, and spoke of the happy day when they should all meet again in heaven, and dwell for ever in the presence of that gracious Savior, who was new taking him, as they believed, to join his dear brother Henrich.

As twilight came on, his father bore him back to the house, and laid him again on his little couch; and ere the glorious sun arose to lighten the earth once more, his spirit had passed away into that realm of perfect light where they 'have no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it; for the glory of God does lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.' And many tears were shed for him, when the sight of the grief of those he loved so dearly could no longer disturb his peace, or check the willing spirit in its heavenward flight.

The sorrows of the Maitlands—thus renewed and aggravated—excited the warmest sympathy throughout the colony; for they were universally respected and beloved, and their calm and pious resignation drew forth the admiration of the whole community of Puritans, who deemed any strong expressions of grief to be altogether unsuitable to Christians. But Rodolph and Helen did not the less feel their chastisement, because they forbore to express their feelings to any other than to God, and to their revered friend and minister, Brewster. On Edith, this second blow fell even more heavily than the first; for, since Henrich's loss, she had devoted herself to her younger brother, and felt for him almost a mother's love: and now her pupil, her playfellow—the sunshine of her life—was taken away from her! Truly, the Lord was preparing her in the furnace of affliction for the future lot to which He had appointed her; and sorrow did net visit her in vain. Her character was strengthened and matured, and her mind was taught to find resources in itself that proved hereafter of inestimable value to her, and to those most nearly connected with her.

The thoughts and attention of her parents—and indeed of the whole colony—were at this time diverted greatly from their own private cares and interests, by an event of much importance to the settlement. This was the arrival of a vessel, called the Fortune, from the mother- country, bringing out to the colony a new and more comprehensive charter, obtained for them by the Society of Plymouth, and also twenty- five fresh settlers, who were chiefly friends and relatives of those already established in New England. How welcome these familiar countenances, that recalled days of happiness long passed but not forgotten, were to the hearts and memories of their brethren, none but exiles can tell! The new comers were indeed joyfully received, and hospitably entertained by the Pilgrim Fathers; who invited them to take up their quarters in their rude but comfortable dwellings, and to share their scanty stores. Unfortunately, the new settlers were unable to contribute any thing to these stores; for all their own provisions were already consumed on the voyage. This accession to their numbers, therefore, added greatly to the inconvenience of the colony, and occasioned such a scarcity of food, that the Governor was obliged to put the whole community upon a daily allowance; an arrangement to which they all submitted without a murmur. And not only did the original settlers thus consent to endure privation for the sake of their newly- arrived friends and relatives, but they also contributed more liberally than their narrow means could well afford, to provision the Fortune for her voyage home. This was the occasion of the first mercantile adventure of the Pilgrims, who took the opportunity of the return of the ship to England, to send to the Society with which they were connected a quantity of furs and timber to the value of five hundred pounds. But success did not attend their speculation; for the vessel fell into the hands of the French, and all their hopes of profit were, for the present, blasted.

It is needless to dwell on all the continued and various hardships that these brave men, and their families, had to endure for several ensuing winters. A few circumstances that more especially exemplify their manners and mode of life, will be sufficient for the purposes of our narrative, the course of which must necessarily be somewhat interrupted by these details. Some knowledge of the habits of the adventurers, and of the events that befell them at this early period of their history, is however needful for the illustration of the story; and they shall be briefly given, before we take up the thread of the narrative a few years subsequent to the period of which we are now speaking.

For some time the friendly relations with the Wampanoges, which had been established by Carver and further cemented by Bradford, remained undisturbed, and no signs of hostility were shown by any other of the neighboring Indian tribes. This was probably owing, in a great degree, to the wholesome example of decided measures that had been given to the natives on the occasion of the capture of Hobomak and Squanto, and also to the efficient means of defense that were now adopted by the settlers. On their first arrival in New England, they had planted their guns on the hill which commanded the rising city of New Plymouth, and which afterwards received the name of 'the Burying Hill.' There, as we have seen, the remains of the venerable Carver were deposited; and there the infant form of Ludovico Maitland was laid in its last narrow resting-place, and shaded by shrubs and plants that Edith, and the faithful servant Janet, delighted to place there, and to tend and water with untiring care and watchfulness.

This hill was converted, during the first year of the Pilgrim's residence in New England, into a kind of irregular fortification. The storehouse—which was also the chapel and the council hall—stood on the summit, and this was surrounded by a strong wall of timber, well furnished with batteries, on which a watch was kept night and day, to look out for the approach of any hostile parties of Indians. At a considerable distance from this building ran a strong wooden palisade, that enclosed the height entirely, and was divided into four portions, the entrance to which was securely fastened every night; and the able- bodied men of the colony, under the command of Miles Standish, were arranged in four squadrons, to the care of each of which one quarter was entrusted. The occupation which this charge entailed on the limited number of men who were capable of undertaking it, in addition to their necessary labors and employments in building their dwellings, cultivating their fields, and procuring provisions by hunting and fishing was both heavy and incessant; but disease had nearly left the colony, and want, though occasionally felt to a painful degree, was not always their portion; and the Pilgrim Fathers were cheerfully contented with their lot.

Still, it was a lot that involved much of hardship and personal privation, as a drawback to the liberty, both religious and political, that had been obtained by emigration. The harvests were scanty, and not nearly sufficient to provide bread for the increasing community, and also seed for the following year, and the supplies that were occasionally procured from the Wampanoges, and their allies, were very uncertain. At one time, every species of grain became so scarce that the settlers had recourse to pig-nuts as a substitute for bread; and the last pint of corn that remained to the colony, after the fields were sown, was counted out among the whole community, when five grains fell to the share of each person, and these were looked upon as a rare treat, and eaten as a particular dainty. Cattle were, as yet, unknown in the colony; and their chief subsistence consisted of game, wild fowl, and fish, of which the supply was frequently both scanty and precarious. 'Often,' we are told in the diary of the Governor Bradford, 'we do not know in the evening where we shall get a meal next morning; but yet we bear our want with joy, and trust in Providence.' And strong, indeed, must have been the faith and patience of these Pilgrim Fathers, which sustained their spirits amidst such long-continued trials, and enabled them to meet and overcome such complicated difficulties without hesitation and without a murmur!

At one period their only food was fish, and occasionally merely shellfish; but never was this miserable fare partaken of by the emigrants, who assembled to receive their respective portions, without a blessing being asked, and thanks being offered by the pious Brewster, who, with a spirit of gratitude too often unknown to those who revel in abundance, praised God for having permitted them 'to suck out of the fullness of the sea, and for the treasures sunk in the sand.' While such an example of holy trust, and patient submission to the will of God, was set by the leading men of this suffering colony—men who were both loved and respected—not a complaining word was uttered by the rest. All felt that they were bound to emulate the faith and piety of their high-souled Governor, and their venerated elder.

And, truly, they had need of every motive, and of every aid—both human and divine—that could keep their souls in peace, when actual famine at length stared them in the face. The second winter had been endured; and, in spite of cold and privation, the health of the colony had improved; and spring again brought brighter hopes, and better prospects of the summer's harvest. But before the grain was well grown up, a drought came on, that threatened the utter destruction of the crops. For six long weeks not one drop of rain fell on the thirsty land. 'The sky was as brass' to the fainting emigrants, and 'the earth was as iron' to them. Yet these men of God did not despair. They were accustomed to regard every dispensation of Providence, whether prosperous or afflictive, either as a special blessing from the hand of God, to support and encourage His believing people, or as a Fatherly chastisement, to punish their iniquities, and excite them to greater piety and watchfulness. 'It pleased God,' said Edward Winslow, in speaking of this inflict ion, 'to send a great dearth for our further punishment.' Under this conviction, the congregation were called on by the Governor and the elders to set apart a day for special humiliation and prayer, in order to entreat the Lord to remove from them his chastening hand, and to 'send a gracious rain upon His inheritance.'

The call was universally obeyed; and men, women, and children assembled themselves together, fasting, on 'the Burying Hill,' to listen to the solemn address delivered by Brewster, and to unite in fervent prayers and humble confessions to their God and Father. The sky that morning was clear and bright as ever; and the sun walked in unclouded brilliance and majesty through the deep blue vault of heaven. For eight hours, the devotions of the assembly continued almost without interruption; and it seemed as if 'none regarded, neither was there any that answered.' But as the sun was sinking towards the western horizon, a cloud, 'as it were a man's hand,' was seen to rise as if to meet the glowing orb; and, ere he sank, his rays were obscured by a heavy bank of clouds. Joy and gratitude now filled the breasts of the suppliants, and the dim and anxious eye of many a mother, who had watched the declining forms of her little ones in silent anguish, was lighted up with hope, and glistened with a tear of thankfulness. Such, indeed, had been the sufferings of the younger children, although the greatest sacrifices had been made by their parents in order to provide them with the food so necessary to their existence, that Helen had frequently poured forth her heartfelt thanksgivings to her Heavenly Father, that He had seen fit to remove her gentle and idolized Ludovico from a scene of so much distress; and had called him away to a land where want, as well as sorrow, is unknown, in a manner, and at a time, which allowed her to ensure his ease and comfort to the last. To have seen her darling pine for food, which she could not procure for him—to have watched that fondly-cherished child sinking into his grave from the actual want of proper nourishment, and to know that in the land they had abandoned all that was needed to prolong his precious life was teeming in profusion—would, she weakly thought, have been more than her faith could have endured. But Helen erred in that doubting thought. She was a Christian: and had her Lord and Savior seen fit thus to try her, He would also have given her grace to meet the trial as a Christian; for His promise to each one of His people is sure: 'As thy day is, so shall thy strength be.'

Edith, her only remaining child, was strong and energetic in mind and body; and she was no burden to her mother. Cheerfully she had borne her share of privation; and, uncomplainingly, she had assisted Helen and Janet in seeking for roots and berries hour after hour in the forest, when no other food was to be obtained. Now, on this day of fasting and prayer, she stood beside her mother and Rodolph, and lifted up her young voice in prayer for heavenly succor, and in praise, when the first signal of coming aid was seen in the crimson west.

The whole congregation had risen from their posture of supplication, and were gazing with deep interest and emotion at the gathering clouds, when they were startled at observing a large party of Indians emerging from the thicket below, and advancing towards the palisade that formed their outer fortification. At first they imagined them to be a hostile body of Narragansetts, or Pequodees, who had discovered the manner in which that day was being spent among the pale-faces, and had resolved upon breaking the recently-formed treaty, and attempting their destruction while they were thus assembled together and unarmed. But these apprehensions were soon removed by the appearance of their friend Mooanam, who advanced from the rest of his party, and hurried forward, holding in his hands a fine fish, and calling on his allies to open their gates and admit him and his followers into the fortress, for that he had brought them food.

Joyfully his summons was answered, and the generous red men entered the enclosure, and laid before the Governor a quantity of, fish, sufficient to supply the whole community with several wholesome and acceptable meals. The kindness of this offering was highly estimated by the settlers; for they well knew that their Indian friends had long been suffering privations little less than what they had themselves endured, and that their prospects for the future were hardly more cheering than their own. The native and untaught courtesy, also, with which the seasonable gift was offered, added not a little to its value.

'Behold!' said Mooanam to the President, when he and his attendants had placed the fresh spoils of their lake in order before him—'Behold what the good Mahneto has given to his children in their day of distress! And the red men could not eat and be in plenty, while they knew that the faces of their white brethren were pale with want, and their little children were crying for food. Take this, my brother, and let the hearts of your people be glad, and bless Mahneto while they eat. I and my young men will return to the supper that our squaws are preparing.'

'We do bless Mahneto, who is the God and father both of the red and white men!' replied Bradford with solemnity; for he was deeply impressed by the pious feelings of the Sachem, and touched by his considerate kindness. 'We do bless Mahneto; and we bless you also, our faithful and generous friends, who have thus so promptly shared with us the produce of your labors, instead of reserving it for your own future wants. But here is enough for you and us; and you and your young men must abide tonight in our village, and partake with us of the abundance that you have provided. We leave the future in the bountiful hands of Him who has thus made you His instruments to provide for us a table in the wilderness.'

'We will remain,' said Mooanam, 'and to-morrow some of your people shall go with us to our lakes, and fish in our canoes. The clouds are rising, and we shall, perhaps, have even better success than we have met with today. But tell me, my white brother,' he continued—while he looked inquiringly at Bradford—'tell me why your village is deserted this evening, and why no sounds of labor met our ears as we passed through the silent street? This is not the white men's day of rest; and the white men do not leave their work to sleep or dance, as the red men too often do. Why, then, are you and your people—even your squaws and your little ones—assembled here today, and what caused that joyful song that died away as we came to the foot hill?'

'We have spent the day in fasting and prayer,' replied the President. 'We know that our Great Father has sent this long drought upon us, to chasten us for our sins: and we have met to humble ourselves before Him, and implore Him to send us the fruitful showers from heaven, before our crops are altogether withered in the ground. He alone can command the clouds to drop fatness; and when He sees that His punishment has done its appointed work, He surely will take it away. Even now, while we were making our prayers and supplications unto Him, and confessing our sins, He has sent a token that He has heard our cry, and will grant our request. Look at those clouds that are rising over the western hills, and gradually spreading like a curtain across the sky. For six weary weeks those clouds have been withheld, and we have been humbled; and, at times, our faith has well nigh failed. But the faithfulness of our God never fails; and now we are confident that, ere long, His blessing will descend upon us.'

Mooanam made no reply; but he gazed intently on the gathering clouds, and then looked searchingly into Bradford's fine expressive countenance, as if to be assured that he had heard and understood aright. Squanto stood beside him; and his aid had been several times required by both parties, in order to the carrying out the above discourse: and now the Sachem drew him aside, and conversed earnestly with him in a low voice. He was making him repeat, in his own tongue, the words of the white man; and Bradford heard him say to the interpreter, as he turned away to rejoin him, 'Now we shall see whether the Great Spirit really hears the prayers of the white men.'

The President understood this remark, and fervently he lifted up his own heart to the Lord, and prayed that the hopes of His suffering and trusting people might now be fulfilled; not only for their own relief, but also that the minds of the dark heathen might be impressed, and that they might see and feel the power and the goodness of the Christians' covenant God.

While Mooanam and the Governor were engaged in conversation, the assembly had dispersed to their own homes; each family carrying with them their respective portion of the food so liberally offered by their Indian friends, and eager to partake of the first plentiful meal that they had enjoyed for several weeks; The hope of coming rain also cheered the hearts of the Pilgrims; and there was joy and gratitude throughout the village that evening.

The Sachem and his people were gladly received and entertained in the dwellings of the Governor and principal inhabitants; and when Mooanam lay down to rest, he long gazed through the opening in the wooden wall of the chamber that formed its only window, and watched the heavy clouds as they sped across the sky, and observed the face of the glimmering moon, that looked out so calmly and brightly between their dark moving masses. The soul of the Sachem was deeply impressed; and he thought of all that Bradford had said to him, and wondered whether the God of the white men was indeed the God of the Indians also.



CHAPTER XIII.

'It shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.' ISA. lxv, 24.

Mooanam awoke from his sleep soon after the dawn of day appeared. He looked up at the open window, and a strange feeling of awe came over his soul, as he beheld the rain falling gently and steadily from the dull grey sky. He sprang to his feet, and hurried into the next apartment, where he found the President and his family already assembled, and gazing at the descending shower in silent admiration.

The Sachem caught the hands of Bradford in both his own; and while a tear of deep emotion glistened in his dark eye he exclaimed—

'Now I see that your God loves you. When the red men ask for rain, and use their conjuring arts to induce the Great Spirit to hear their wild cries, he gives it, it is true; but he gives it with hail and thunder, which makes the evil still greater. Your rain is of the right kind; it will restore the drooping corn. Now we see that your God hears you, and cares for you.'

The same impression, to a certain degree, was made on all the Indians, who were taught to regard this seasonable rain as the settlers themselves regarded it—as a special interposition of Providence for their relief. And were they wrong in thus looking upon it as an answer to their prayers, from a prayer-hearing God? And was it vain superstition that led them to rejoice as much in this proof of the goodness and benevolence of the God whom they served, and of His guiding and protecting hand being outstretched for their succor, as in the prospect of coming plenty that was thus afforded to them? Surely not. Their faith, and love, and confidence in God were all animated and strengthened by their conviction that the relief thus seasonably received came directly from Him who has promised in his faithful Word, that 'all things,' whether joyous or grievous, 'shall work together for good to them that love Him; to them that are called according to His purpose.'

So deeply was Hobomak, the Wampanoge interpreter, impressed by this instance of the pious trust of his white friends in the providence of their God, and of the protection they enjoyed under His guidance and government, that he gave himself up to a serious consideration of their religion and so sincere was his desire for spiritual knowledge, and so humble and teachable did he show himself, that, after a time, he was judged fit to be admitted into the pale of the Christian church. He was baptized as the first fruits of the settlers' efforts to evangelize the heathen among whom they had cast their lot: and he lived a firm friend of the white men, and died, after residing many years among them, 'leaving a good-hope that his soul went to rest.'

The welcome rain continued to fall for several hours without intermission, on the morning that succeeded the Pilgrim's day of prayer and humiliation; and Mooanam sent his young men home to fish in the lake, while he remained with his white friends, intending to follow them in the afternoon, with a party of the settlers, to share their sport. As the day advanced, the clouds broke, and warm sunshine, interrupted by frequent refreshing showers, succeeded to the settled rain of the morning. So favorable, altogether, was the change, that Winslow gratefully remarks: 'It is difficult to say whether our withered corn, or our depressed spirits, were most refreshed and quickened. So great was the benevolence and goodness of our God!'

The Pilgrims had prayed for rain; and when their prayers were granted, they did not neglect the equally incumbent Christian duty of thanksgiving. Again the congregation ascended 'the Burying Hill'; and again their united voices rose to heaven in prayers and songs of praise. Mooanam formed one of the assembly; and he listened with deep and reverent attention to the devotions of his friends, frequently applying to Hobomak, who stood at his side, to explain to him the words and sentences that he did not comprehend.

The service concluded, and the women and children were descending the hill by the path that led to the village, leaving the Governor and his council to discuss some public business, and the other men to arrange themselves as usual into companies, for the manning of their fortification and other necessary employments. Just at that moment a native, attired in the costume and equipments of a Narragansett, was seen to approach the foot of the hill, bearing a bundle of strange appearance in his hands. With a quick and decided step he mounted the height, and glanced fiercely at the females and their children, whom he passed in the winding path, and who all involuntarily shrank from the gaze of his piercing and singularly expressive eye. In the breast of Janet that glance struck a chill of horror; for she had once before encountered it, and never could she forget or mistake it again. It seemed that Fingal recognized it also, and knew the evil that it foreboded. He was bounding down the hill by Edith's side, and, with expressive looks and actions, inviting the pensive child to join in his gambols, when the savage approached. Instantly he paused, and took his stand close to his young mistress, as if to guard her from some apprehended danger; and, as the red warrior passed, and bent his eye on Edith, the sagacious creature uttered a low deep growl, and seemed ready to spring at his throat, if the hand and voice of his young companion had not restrained him. Fingal was a noble specimen of the St. Bernard breed of dogs, whose sagacity is such as frequently to appear like human reason, and his intelligence was not inferior to that of the best of his race. In this instance it did not mislead him.

The dark warrior strode on without one sign of courtesy, and paused not until he had entered the group of elders and councilors who stood around the President, prepared to attend him to the public hall. The white men made way for him to approach the Governor; and, as he did so, his keen eye met that of Rodolph Maitland, and instantly kindled with a deeper fire, and gleamed with an expression of almost diabolical vengeance, which was seen by Rodolph, and understood by him for he, too, could not fail to recognize in the Narragansett warrior that same Coubitant who had fought so well at 'the first encounter,' and who had afterwards attended the Nausett Chief, Tisquantum, when he and his people were repulsed in their attack on New Plymouth. It was evident to Maitland that this savage entertained towards him and his race a peculiar sentiment of hatred; but the cause of this feeling was unknown to him.

The idea, however, that Henrich's loss was in some way connected with this man—or that he could give him some information respecting the nature of his son's death, and the place where his remains had been deposited—came forcibly to his mind; and, regardless of the cold malignant gaze that Coubitant fixed on him, he hastily approached him, and exclaimed in the Indian tongue—'Surely you are the Nausett warrior whom I saw with the Sachem of that tribe. If so, you can tell me the fate of my son—the boy who was carried off, and, I fear, cruelly slain when Tisquantum and his people retired from these woods. O, tell me how my boy was murdered, and where his dear remains were laid!'

Rodolph's fine countenance was lighted up with eager animation. A tear of fond regret and affection glistened in his eye, and he could have grasped the hand of the swarthy savage, and almost have blessed him, if he would have told him that his darling Henrich had died by a single blow, and that his body had been laid unmolested to rest. But Coubitant drew back, and with a smile of fierce mockery and infernal triumph, replied briefly—

'Ha! you found his bloody coat then. May your heart's blood soon flow forth as his did; and may my eyes see your body equally mangled and defaced!'

At the same moment, he placed the bundle that he carried on the ground before the President, saying, 'This comes from the Chief of the Narragansetts!' and, turning away, hastily descended the hill, and was lost to view among the trees of the skirting wood, before the council had time to resolve on the course they should pursue respecting his detention, or Rodolph had recovered the shock that his cruel words had inflicted.

The curiosity of the Governor and his friends was now directed to the strange-looking package that lay on the ground. On examination, they found the envelope to be composed of a dried snakeskin, which was quickly opened, and disclosed several Indian arrows. Squanto gazed on these with a significant look; and on being questioned by Bradford as to the meaning of so singular an offering, he informed him that it was the native mode of declaring war.

The well-known enmity of the Narragansetts towards the Wampanoges—the friends and allies of the settlers—rendered this hostile declaration no surprise to the Governor and his council. But the fact of its being conveyed by Coubitant, who had so lately, in the character of a subordinate Narragansett chieftain, subscribed the written acknowledgement of King James's supremacy, excited no small astonishment. It was a source, also, of regret, as it proved how little dependence could be placed in the professions of the natives. To enter on a war with the numerous and powerful tribe of the Narragansetts, was likewise far from being desirable in any point of view; for the Pilgrims were little prepared either to meet such formidable antagonist's in the field, or to resist the continual attacks and aggression's that constitute the greatest share of Indian warfare.

A consultation was therefore held as to the best method of replying to the challenge of the Narragansett Sachem; and it was finally determined that the most prudent and effectual course would be to show a resolute appearance, and give no cause to the native's to suppose that they dreaded their enmity. A bold acceptance of the challenge might, it was urged both by Squanto and Hobomak, strike terror into the savages, and deter them from prosecuting their present hostile intentions.

Bradford, therefore, adopted the Indian method of communicating this reply by expressive signs; and, taking the arrows—which appeared to be poisoned—from the snakeskin, he placed some gunpowder and balls in the significant wrapper. He then inquired who among his trusty warrior's would volunteer to take the packet to the dwelling of Cundincus,[*] the Chief of the Narragansetts. Several offered their services; and, among those, none was so eager to be employed as Rodolph Maitland. He felt an earnest desire to see and speak with Coubitant once more: and no fear of the personal risk that he might incur in the expedition could deter him from thus making another attempt to obtain some certain information respecting his lost son.

[Footnote: Afterwards called by the settlers, 'Canonicus.']

Had the President known how much reason there was to fear that treachery might be exercised towards Maitland, he would surely not have suffered him thus to risk his valuable life. Rut he was ignorant of all the peculiar circumstances that had occurred to show that he was a special mark for the vengeance of Coubitant: and the confidence he felt in his courage and ability led him—on this occasion, as on many others—to select him as his ambassador. Two companions were assigned to him, and Squanto was desired to attend the party as interpreter.

When Helen heard that her husband was appointed to convey a reply to the war-like message of the dark savage whom she had met on the hill, and whose aspect had filled her with terror, she felt an involuntary dread; and gladly would she have dissuaded him from accepting the office of ambassador—which she knew not he had so earnestly solicited—had she not been well aware that all such attempts would be useless. Rodolph was not a man to shrink from any service that was required of him for the public good; and least of all from any service that involved danger and difficulty. He, however, concealed from his anxious wife the fact that he had recognized in the Narragansett messenger a deadly and determined foe, knowing how greatly—and perhaps how justly—her fears would be increased, if she suspected that the Indian champion was one of those who had planned and executed the capture of her eldest son.

But Janet had, as we have seen, remembered the swarthy savage, and the scene with which his countenance was associated in her mind; and when she had an opportunity of speaking to her master in private, she implored him to resign the embassy into other hands, and not thus rashly to encounter a foe, whose public conduct had proved him to be unworthy of confidence, and whose expression of countenance betokened both cruelty and treachery. But all her arguments were unavailing. Maitland had undertaken the charge of the expedition at his own request; and he would have felt himself dishonored in now declining it from any personal motives, even had he been, in the least degree, inclined to do so. On the contrary, his spirit was roused and excited by the very perils he was conscious he might have to encounter; and his desire to obtain, and convey to Helen, some intelligence of Henrich— even if that intelligence should still for ever the doubts end hopes, that, in spite of every past circumstance, would sometimes arise in his own heart, and that of his own wife—was so great that nothing could have turned him from his purpose. He, therefore, desired the faithful Janet to preserve the same silence on the subject of Coubitant that she had already so judiciously adopted towards her mistress; and assured her that he would neglect no precaution that might preserve him from the treacherous intentions of the Indian, should any such be actually entertained by him.

The next morning Rodolph started at break of day, to convey the reply of the Governor to the Narragansett Sachem, whose tribe inhabited the district now called Rhode Island, lying to the south-west of New Plymouth. He was accompanied by two friends, and likewise by the interpreter, Squanto. His faithful dog, Fingal, also showed such a strong desire to follow his master, that, although it was Maitland's usual custom to leave him at home as a guard, during any of his occasional absences, when his services in hunting were not required, he could not, in this instance, resist his eager pleadings. Helen, also, assured him that she should feel no apprehension at being deprived of her usual protector, as no danger was likely to menace her dwelling; and the increase in the population of the village, from the arrival of the new settlers, had added an inmate to the family, in the person of Claude Felton, a stout young laboring man, who had become the useful assistant of Maitland in his agricultural occupations, and proved a good and faithful servant.

To his protection and watchful care Rodolph Maitland committed his little family; and, taking a cheerful farewell of his wife and Edith, he commenced his journey through the wild and almost trackless woods. Guided by Squanto, the party reached the village of Cundineus, and were received into the presence of the Sachem and his nephew Miantonomo, who shared with him the cares and the dignity of his chieftainship.

With the assistance of the interpreter, Rodolph informed the Chiefs that he was the bearer of the reply of the mighty strangers to the bold challenge that had been sent to them on the part of Cundineus and Miantonomo; and he invited them to open the packet which he laid before them, in order that they might fully understand the nature of that reply, and judge whether the subjects of the powerful king of Great Britain were terrified at the audacity of the red men. Probably Squanto made some additions of his own to the harangue of the ambassador; for a very ludicrous change of expression appeared on the countenances of the savage Chieftains. The looks of fierce defiance with which they had received the embassy gave way to anxious and timid glances, which they hastily cast at the ominous snake-skin, while they involuntarily drew back, as if they feared it would explode, and punish their rash temerity.

Rodolph saw the effect of Squanto's version of his speech, and resolved to increase it. He understood enough of the native tongue to perceive that the interpreter had alluded to the potent and deadly properties of the contents of the snake-skin, and he desired him to inform the Chiefs that the musket which he carried in his hand contained a very small portion of the same substance, and he would give them proof of its power. He then glanced for a moment into the lofty trees that surrounded the place of audience, and perceiving a monkey that was clinging to one of the wide-spreading branches, nod chattering angrily at the intrusive foreigners, he took a deliberate aim, and in another instant the creature lay lifeless and motionless on the ground. The Indians were startled at the report, and amazed at the effect of the invisible messenger of death. They hastened to examine the dead animal but one drop of blood issuing from its skull was the only indication that some missile had pierced its brain; and the veneration of the Narragansetts and their Chiefs for the prowess of the white men evidently rose in a great degree.

But there was one among them who did not share the wonder or the awe of the assembly. He stood silent and motionless, at a little distance from the group, with his eyes intently fixed on Rodolph's countenance, and a smile of malignant scorn and triumph on his own dark features. His arms were folded across his scarred and painted breast, and his right hand grasped the handle of a long knife that was stuck into his deerskin belt. The action seemed to be involuntary, and without any present purpose; for he remained in the same position, unobserved by Rodolph, until he and his attendants had retired to the hut appointed them by Cundineus, to rest and refresh themselves, end await the reply of the Chief.

Rodolph then desired Squanto to make inquiries for Coubitant, and, if possible, to bring him to the hut. But the sagacious interpreter had seen and recognized the white man's face; and he earnestly entreated Maitland not to give him any opportunity of executing the vengeance which was evidently burning at his heart, and ready to break forth in some deed of fatal violence. Rodolph's English friends also joined so warmly in these entreaties that he at length consented that Squanto should seek the savage, and endeavor to draw from him all the information that he could give respecting Henrich's death. He did so, and a long conversation took place that evening, the result of which was that he assured Rodolph that his son had indeed been murdered in the wood, as he had always supposed, and that his scalp had been torn off even before life was extinct, whilst his body had been conveyed to the next encampment, and burned with many heathen rites, to appease the troubled spirit of Tisquantum's son Tekoa.

The father shuddered, and turned away to hide the rising tear, as he listened to this harrowing but false account. He, however, fully believed it; and felt that, henceforth, it would be vain to cherish any hope concerning his son, except that blessed hope which is the privilege of the Christian—the sure and certain hope of meeting hereafter, in the presence of the God and Savior in whom he had taught his child to place his trust. He said no more; he did not even question Squanto as to the cause of his having spent so long a time in conferring with Coubitant, when all the information he had obtained amounted merely to the sad assurance that his son had suffered a dreadful death. Had he done so, the interpreter might have found it difficult to account for his conduct, as he had professed a strong dislike to Coubitant, and a distrust of all his motives and actions. The fact was, that the wily savage had discovered Squanto's love of importance, and his desire to be supposed to possess the confidence of the white men, and by flattering his vanity, he had drawn from him all the information he could give with respect to the strength of the settlers, and their capability of resisting an attack of the natives. Squanto took care to exaggerate the numbers and the power of his employers; but still it appeared to Coubitant, that if he could once more induce the neighboring tribes to combine and invade their territory, there was every probability of their being utterly exterminated and nothing short of this could satisfy the feeling of hatred that he entertained towards the whole race of the strangers. By way of exalting the might of the settlers in the minds of the native, Squanto assured Coubitant that the white men kept the plague, of which the Indians well knew the desolating effects, imprisoned in a cellar, where they also stowed, their gunpowder, and that they could let it loose upon their foes at their pleasure. This strange evidence was heard also by Miantonomo, whom Coubitant called to join the conference, as he, knew that he already hated the English; and he desired to strengthen that feeling to the utmost, for the furtherance of his own plans.

From Coubitant, Squanto also received some intelligence, which, in the minds both of the superstitious interpreter and his heathen informant, was of vital importance to the settlers, and calculated to inspire them with dread. This was the awful fact that, a short time previous, several of the neighboring tribes had met in the adjacent forest, and that the Powows of the whole district had passed three days and nights in cursing the strangers, and uttering against them the most horrible imprecations. The effect of this diabolical proceeding, in causing the defeat of their foes, Coubitant did not do not; and, in spite of his veneration for the English, and his conviction that their deities were more powerful than the Indian demons, Squanto was filled with apprehensions on their account. He communicated the circumstance to Rodolph, and was surprised and almost offended at the smile of indifference and contempt with which the Christian listened to him. But he found it impossible to make him attach any importance to what seemed to him so serious a calamity; and, by degrees, his own fears subsided and his mind was reassured by the arguments and the cool composure of Maitland.

Rodolph and his companions lay down to rest for the night in the Indian hut, across the entrance of which Squanto placed several strong boughs, and spread a cloak of deer-skin over them. This was done ostensibly for the purpose of keeping out the cold night wind, but really to serve as a screen from the prying eyes of Coubitant, whose intentions he much mistrusted, and also as an obstacle to any attempt he might possibly make to violate the laws of honor and hospitality, by a secret attack on the person of the ambassador. Whether the savage actually meditated any such act of treachery, was not known; but if he approached the hut with a murderous purpose, he was probably deterred more by the fierce growlings of Fingal—who lay at the entrance, but scarcely slept that night—than by the barrier of boughs and deerskin.

Several times were the party awakened by the trusty watch-dog's angry bark; and once, when Rodolph hastened to the entrance, and drew aside the curtain, he thought he could descry more than one retreating figure in the uncertain darkness. The continued uneasiness of Fingal prevented his master from again giving way to sleep until after day had dawned, when his faithful guard became tranquil, and he likewise sought the repose which he greatly needed before recommencing his fatiguing journey.

Ere he set out on his homeward way, Rodolph again repaired, with Squanto, to the presence of the Chief; to demand his message to the British Governor; and he was informed by Cundincus, that he had already dispatched a messenger to restore the dreaded packet, and to deprecate the wrath of the pale-faced Chieftain. This was all the ambassador could desire; and, taking a courteous leave of the Sachem, he and his attendants resumed their journey without further delay.

For a considerable distance their path lay through the forest; and the underwood was so close and thick that the road consisted of a narrow track, scarcely wider than would admit of two persons passing one another along it, and only calculated for travelling in 'Indian file,' which is so much practiced by the natives. In this manner our party proceeded, Rodolph leading the way, and his attendants following singly; while Fingal, who seemed rejoiced to have left the village, bounded along at his master's side, ever and anon leaping up to express his joy by licking his face and hands.

'Down, Fingal!' said his master, kindly patting his favorite's head, and stroking his thick shaggy mane. 'Down, my good fellow; your joy is too boisterous for this narrow, thorny path. You shall expend your superfluous strength and spirits on the plain yonder; for I think I detect some game scudding across the green meadow before us.'

Rodolph paused to adjust his gun; and the sagacious dog ceased his wild demonstrations, end paused also until the task was completed. Then as his master rose to proceed, he once more sprang up to his shoulder, end his intelligent eyes asked leave to dash through the covert, and drive out the expected game.

But why did that bound of pleasure change instantaneously into a convulsion of agony? and why did the noble creature fall by his master's side and look so earnestly up into his face? Surely, in the midst of his own death struggle, he sought to tell him, with that mute eloquence of love, that danger was near. Rodolph knew that it was so; but no danger could then have compelled him to leave his dying friend— the friend whose life was now ebbing away as a sacrifice for his own. Yes! the shaft that had pierced through the neck of Fingal was designed for Rodolph's breast; and he who cast it deemed that it had found its intended mark, when, through the bushes, he saw the white man's form bend quickly and suddenly to the ground. Then Coubitant fled exultingly, and his savage heart beat high with joy and triumph.

But Rodolph thought not of him, or of his malice. He only saw his faithful dog expiring at his side, and knew that he had no power to aid him. It was evident that the arrow was poisoned, for the wound, otherwise, appeared too slight to be mortal; and the foam that gathered on Fingal's jaws, and the convulsive struggle that shook his form, showed too plainly that his sufferings would soon be over. The companions of Rodolph urged him to join them in instant flight; for they felt the peril of their present situation, where the surrounding thicket gave such ample opportunity to their lurking foes to take a deadly aim, while, at the same time, it prevented them from either discovering or pursuing their assailants. But all their arguments, and all their entreaties, were unavailing so long as Fingal continued to lick his master's caressing hand, and to reply to his well-known voice, by looks of intelligent affection.

Soon, however, his head sank powerless on Rodolph's knee, and the bright glance of his eye faded away, and life and motion ceased. Was it unmanly in his master to brush a tear from his eye, as he rose from the ground, and turned away one moment from the lifeless form of his favorite?

'I will not leave him here,' he said. 'The savages shall not mangle his body, as they would gladly have mangled mine. His death has saved my life; and all that remains of him shall be carried to a place of safety, and buried beyond the reach of those who slew him.'

'Yes,' replied Squanto readily—for he desired the removal of the dog from that spot, for other reasons beside the gratification of Maitland's feelings—' Yes; we will carry him away, and hide him from Coubitant's eyes. Doubtless he will return here, as soon as all is quiet, to see the success of his murderous attempt; and when he finds the path thus stained with blood, he will be satisfied, and pursue us no further than to see whether we bury our dead companion in the forest, or bear him to his home. We must, therefore, carry Fingal all the way to New Plymouth, lest he should follow on our trail, and discover that he has only slain a dog.'