Rodolph's English companions concurred in this view, and willingly lent their aid to convey the body of Fingal from the place of his death. A couple of poles were cut hastily, and a rude light litter was formed; for Squanto wished that Coubitant should find traces of such preparations, as they would help to convince him that they had thus borne away the wounded or dead form of the ambassador.

'Now,' said he, when all was ready, 'not another moment must be lost. Even now the keen eye of the foe may be upon us, and our stratagem may be in vain. Two of you must bear the litter, and must carefully place your feet in the same spot, so as to form but one track; and lead our pursuers to believe that only three men have passed along. And there, throw that bloody handkerchief on the path, and Coubitant will take it as a trophy of success. 'Stay,' he exclaimed, as Rodolph and one of his friends were about to raise the lifeless form of Fingal from the ground 'stay one moment, and I will completely deceive that deceiver.'

He smiled as he spoke, for he felt it a pleasure and a triumph to outwit the wily Coubitant. Then, while the body of the dog was supported, he carefully pressed his feet on the soft path, so as to leave a distinct impression, and convince any who should examine the trail that it was not the dog who had been wounded. This cunning device he practiced again and again until they had passed through the wood, and entered the grassy meadow, where such precautions were no longer needed. Then the party quickened their steps, and paused not again until they had struck deeply into the forest that succeeded to the undulating reach of meadowland.

The way seemed long to Rodolph. He desired to reach his cherished home; and yet he dreaded to return and sadden the heart of his little Edith with the story of Fingal's death, and the sight of the inanimate form of her last and much-loved playfellow. Had it not been for this catastrophe, he would have kept from his wife and child the knowledge of the cruel attempt that had been made on his life as such knowledge could only distress them, and cause them needless anxiety and alarm in future. But the death of Fingal must be accounted for; and, let the consequence be what it might, it must be accounted for truly, and without prevarication. Therefore it was that Rodolph dreaded meeting those whose presence was the joy and the sunlight of his life.

He reached his home, and silently entered his blooming garden; and, with Squanto's assistance, laid the body of Fingal, now cold and stiff, beneath the venerable tree that shaded Edith's bower. Then he entered his dwelling, and found its inmates busily employed at their usual domestic occupations, and overjoyed at his sudden and unexpected arrival. But, in spite of his own pleasure, a shade of sadness and anxiety was on his brow, which he could not hide from the quick eye of Helen; and she eagerly inquired the cause.

Sadly Rodolph told his story; and joy and deep gratitude for the preservation of her beloved husband so filled and engrossed the heart of Helen, as, for a time, to overpower every feeling of regret for the loss of the faithful animal, who seemed to have been providentially directed to accompany his master, and save his life at the sacrifice of his own.

But Edith keenly felt the loss she had sustained. She was thankful— very thankful—that her father had been restored to their home in safety; but she did not the less deplore the death of her dear companion: and, unable to restrain her tears, she hurried from the house, and ran to hide her grief in her lonely bower. For some time her parents did not perceive her absence, for they were occupied with their own feelings of pious gratitude; but presently Rodolph remarked that she had left the room, and remembered where he had deposited the body of her favorite. He rose, and went towards the spot, accompanied by Helen; and tears of sorrowful sympathy arose in the eyes of both, as they beheld the desolate child lying on the ground by Fingal's side, with her arms around his neck, and her long waving hair hanging over his inanimate face, that had never before met her gaze without an answering look of intelligence and affection.

Gently they raised her, and spoke to her words of love and comfort; but she long refused to be comforted. And though, at length, she became calm and resigned, and never was heard to utter one murmur at this fresh stroke of sorrow, yet her pensive sadness became more confirmed, and plainly showed that she mourned for Fingal, not only as her lost companion, but also as a connecting link between her own heart and the memory of her lamented brother. Poor Edith! her early life was one of trial and disappointment; but 'it was good for her to be afflicted.'



CHAPTER XIV.

'O Christian warriors! wherefore did you thus Forget the precepts of your Lord and Chief, And lend yourselves to deeds of guilt and blood! Did ye not know—or, knowing, did not heed— Those solemn words of His, when death was nigh, And He bequeathed a legacy of "peace" To His disciples? "They that take the sword Shall perish with the sword." O, well it were If ye who left your native land, and sought A desert for the liberty of faith, Had acted more according to that faith, And sought to win the souls you rashly sent To meet their God and yours!' ANON.

Yes, well, indeed, lied it been if the settlers had been able and willing to preserve, unbroken, the friendly relations with the Indians, which, after the first natural distrust felt by the natives towards the white strangers had subsided, they were, in several instances, able to establish. But such was not the case. They received many provocations from the natives, even from those who professed to be most friendly towards them, and also from the settlers who followed them from the mother-country; and they did not always meet these provocations in the truly Christian spirit which, it must be allowed, generally pervaded their councils, and actuated their public and private proceedings with the wild tribes by whom they were surrounded.

Even Masasoyt—their friend and ally—was about this time nearly estranged from them, and on the point of joining the Narragansetts in a project for their destruction. This change in his sentiments was the result of the machinations of Coubitant, assisted by the foolish pretensions and love of interference which rendered Squanto almost as dangerous as he was useful to his employers. His boasting tales about the power of the English settlers to imprison and to let loose the desolating plague at their will and pleasure, had been told to the Sagamore of the Wampanoges, as well as to Coubitant and Miantonomo; and suspicions had arisen in the breast of Masasoyt, which he vainly strove to infuse into his more enlightened and trustworthy son, Mooanam. Nothing that his father could say had any effect in weakening the friendship entertained by the young Sachem, and his brother Quadequina, towards the emigrants; and it was owing to this steady friendship that they were made acquainted with the altered feelings of the Sagamore in time to prevent their ripening into open hostility.

Mooanam communicated to the President the doubts and suspicions that had taken possession of his father's mind, and advised him immediately to send the faithful and devoted Hobomak to Packanokick, to endeavor to remove the evil impression, and restore his confidence in the Pilgrim Fathers. He also convinced both Bradford and his council that the conspiracy which Squanto had represented as already formed, and only waiting the concurrence of Masasoyt to be carried into deadly effect, was as yet in its infancy, and might, by judicious management, be altogether broken up. The Pokanokit interpreter had greatly exaggerated, in his report to the Governor, all that he had heard from Coubitant while at the Narragansett village; and had persuaded him, in spite of the opinion expressed by Rodolph, to believe not only that he and his people had been cursed by the Powows, but also that the tribes to which these satanic conjurors belonged were uniting for the common purpose of attacking and destroying the British settlement.

All this was done by Squanto, with no serious intention of injuring his new friends, but from a vain desire to make himself important, and show the extent of his knowledge and sagacity. His vanity was, however, very near proving fatal to him: for when the trusty Hobomak had explained to the Sagamore the real motives and intentions of the settlers towards the natives, and had convinced him that all the strange and mysterious stories that Squanto delighted to tell were either pure inventions or gross exaggerations, a second change was effected in the old Chief's feelings, and he sent to demand that the faithless interpreter should be immediately delivered up to him.

The Governor was extremely reluctant to comply with this demand, as he well knew how cruel and how summary were the judgements of the native Chiefs; and he, as well as the whole of the colony, felt a regard for Squanto, notwithstanding his folly and his errors. Nevertheless, the Pokanokit was a subject of the Sagamore, who had made an express stipulation in his treaty with the settlers that any of his people, who might take up their abode in the colony, should be given up to him whenever he required it; and therefore Bradford felt himself compelled to abandon Squanto to his fate.

The messengers who accompanied Hobomak on his return to New Plymouth were loaded with a quantity of valuable beaver-skins, which they laid in a pile at the Governor's feet, as a bribe to induce him to comply with Masasoyt's demand. These the Governor rejected with indignant scorn, observing that no man's life could be purchased from the English; and that if he resigned the interpreter into the power of his native sovereign, it was only because truth and justice required it, and not from any base motives either of fear or advantage.

Then the messengers approached the wretched man, who stood calmly awaiting the decision of the Governor; and he saw one of them draw from his belt the knife that Masasoyt had commanded him to plunge into the culprit's heart. But Squanto did not tremble. All the native fortitude, so characteristic of his race, was manifested in this awful moment; and the bystanders felt a respect for the Pokanokit that he had never before inspired.

Gladly would each individual have interposed to save him; and breathlessly they watched the movements of the President, whose signal was to fix the moment of Squanto's death. Bradford hesitated: the word trembled on his lips, when suddenly looking towards the sea from the summit of 'the Burying Hill,' on which the assembly stood, he espied a shallop bounding over the waves, and advancing directly towards the shore beneath.

He made this a pretext—certainly, not a very well grounded one—for delaying the execution of Squanto's sentence; and declared that he would not give the fatal signal until he had ascertained the object and the contents of the approaching vessel. This faltering on the part of the Governor excited great wrath in the messengers of Masasoyt; and, without any farther parley, they took up their beaver skins, and departed to their home. Squanto's forfeited life was thus providentially spared; and the conduct of Bradford was, through Mooanam's good offices, overlooked b the Sagamore. But that life was not greatly prolonged. Very soon after this event he was seized with I virulent fever, while on a short journey with the Governor, and, in spite of all the care and attention that were bestowed on him, he died, much regretted by the whole colony.

The boat, whose seasonable approach had been the means of arresting the fatal stroke, was found to have been sent from some English fishing vessels, many of which now constantly frequented the shores of New England. It conveyed to the colony an addition of several able-bodied men, who were joyfully welcomed by the settlers, as laborers were just then much wanted, both in the fields and in the increasing town. These men were sent out by an English merchant named Weston, who had long endeavored to encourage the colonization of New England; but from very different motives to those which had actuated the Pilgrim Fathers, and led them to forsake the comforts of a European home for the toils and uncertainties of an American wilderness. A desire for profit appears to have been the ruling principle in Weston's mind. He was, therefore, very indifferent as to the moral character of the men whom he sent out to join the emigrants, and was only solicitous to secure a quick return of the money that he had expended: and, finding that the prospect of gain from a connection with the New Plymouthers was doubtful and tardy, he had resolved to found a colony himself.

For this purpose he had, some time previously, obtained a grant of a portion of land in Massachusetts, and sent over sixty men to cultivate it, in two ships, which he placed under the command of his brother-in- law. The arrival of this fresh band of emigrants had proved a fruitful source of trouble and annoyance to the first settlers, for they were chiefly idle and profligate vagabonds, who had no settled occupation at home, and no characters to sustain. Weston himself described them in a letter to Bradford, as 'tolerably rude and profane.' And a friend of the Pilgrims wrote from England to warn them against having any connection with the new colony: and recommended them to have it distinctly explained to the Indians, that they were a new and independent society, for whose conduct and good faith they could in no way be responsible.

Notwithstanding all these warnings, and the very unprepossessing appearance of the new emigrants, the Plymouthers had shown more kindness and hospitality than they had prudence and caution: and had received their countrymen into their own settlement on their arrival in America. They had even permitted on half of their number to reside at New Plymouth during the whole summer, while the strongest and healthiest had proceeded to Massachusetts to fix on a spot for their settlement, and prepare habitations. They had decided on a place called Wessagussett,[*] a little to the south of Boston; and thither they were afterwards followed by their companions from New Plymouth. The long residence of these men among the pious and high-minded Pilgrims had not, however, made any salutary impression on their minds: and all the kindness and hospitality they had received were most ungratefully forgotten.

[Footnote: New Weymouth]

In various ways the new colony vexed and annoyed the men of Plymouth; but in no way more seriously than by their conduct towards the natives, which was so different to the just and upright dealings of the Pilgrims, that the Indians began to lose their confidence in the white men, and to suspect deceit and imposition where hitherto they had only found truth and justice. Weston's colony was, indeed, scarcely settled at Wessagussett, before complaints were sent by the Indians to their friends at Plymouth, of the repeated depredations that were committed by the new settlers, who were continually carrying off their stores of corn, and other property: and these accusations were by no means surprising to Bradford and his council, as they had already detected them in many acts of theft during their stay at New Plymouth.

The harvest of this year was poor and scanty; and the great accession to their numbers, caused by the visit of Weston's settlers, had entirely consumed the stores of the Plymouthers, and reduced them again to actual want. Joyfully, therefore, they hailed the arrival of two ships from the mother country, laden with knives, beads, and various other articles, that would be acceptable to the Indians in the way of barter, and enable the settlers to purchase from them the necessary supply of provisions, for which they had hitherto been compelled to pay very dear in skins and furs. Meanwhile, the colony of Wessagussett was in a still worse condition. They had quickly consumed all the food with which the generous Plymouthers had supplied them, and had then stolen everything on which they could lay their hands. They had also sold almost all their clothes and bedding, and even their weapons; and were brought to such extreme necessity that they did not refuse to do the meanest services for the Indians who dwelt near their settlement, in return for such means of subsistence as the red men were able to furnish them with. For this condescension—so unlike the dignified yet kind deportment of the Plymouthers—the natives despised them, and treated them with contempt, and even violence. Thus early was the British name brought into disrepute with the Indians, when men bearing that name came among them for mere purposes of speculation and profit, and ware not governed by the Christian principles of humanity and justice that distinguished the earliest settlers in New England from all those who followed them. Nor did the evil consequences of their ill conduct rest with themselves. They fell also on the peaceably-disposed colony of Plymouth, and were the means of involving them in hostilities with the natives, which had hitherto been warded off by the kind and judicious management of the Governor and his assistants.

The general state of peace which had, up to this period, been maintained with the Indians, was greatly to be attributed to the bold and decisive measures that were always adopted by Miles Standish, the military chief of the little community, and the leader of every warlike expedition. He well knew how to impress the natives with a due respect, for he never tolerated the slightest injury or insult, and yet he never permitted his men to be guilty of any act of injustice or oppression towards the red men.

Since the arrival of Weston's disorderly colony, Captain Standish had shown himself even more decided in maintaining the rights and the dignity of the Plymouthers, and had endeavored to show the natives that they were not to identify the new comers with those whom they had already learnt to know and to respect. But at length, in spite of all these judicious measures, the Pilgrims were drawn into the quarrel that subsisted between their countrymen of Wessagussett and the natives; and, having drawn the sword, they certainly forgot the principles of mercy and humanity that had hitherto guided them. Active measures were, undoubtedly, called for; but cruelty and stratagem were unworthy of these Christian warriors.

The continued marauding expeditions of the men of Wessagussett had exasperated the neighboring tribes to the last degree; and the state of weakness to which they were reduced by their own thoughtless and improvident conduct, led the natives to suppose that they would fall an easy prey to their combined force. They, therefore, again formed a combination to attack and utterly destroy these oppressive intruders into their country. Probably the council of Chiefs, who met in the depths of the forest to arrange their plan of operations, would have contented themselves with contriving the destruction of the new and offending colony, which they might easily have effected had they confined their projected operations to that object alone. But there was one in the council who could not rest satisfied with such a partial vengeance on the white strangers; and his fiery eloquence, and false assertions and insinuations, prevailed over the rest of the Chiefs to disregard every treaty, and every obligation that ought to have bound them to the settlers of New Plymouth, and to include them also in their savage scheme of massacre and plunder.

The argument by which he finally overcame the scruples of those Chiefs who had allied themselves with the first emigrants, and had acquired a regard and respect for them, was one of self-preservation. He boldly asserted that the men of New Plymouth would never either pardon or forget the destruction of their countrymen of Wessagussett, but would immediately lay aside the mask of kindness and forbearance with which they had hitherto concealed their undoubted project of acquiring the dominion of the whole country, and gradually destroying the red men; and would call forth all their supernatural powers, and blast them with fire and plague, unless they were taken by surprise, and annihilated at one fell swoop. All the superstitious fears of the ignorant natives were thus aroused, and if there were any in the assembly who were too well acquainted with the white men to credit all that Coubitant asserted, they thought it either unsafe or unwise to express their opinions any further.

Happily for the settlers, one such faithful and friendly spirit was there to watch for their interests, and provide for their preservation. Masasoyt had resumed all his kindly feelings towards his English allies, since the misunderstanding occasioned by Squanto's meddling propensities had been explained away by the trusty Hobomak. He had also recently been visited by Edward Winslow, when he was afflicted with a severe illness, and the Christian soldier had ministered to his relief in a way that had excited both the wonder and the lively gratitude of the Sagamore. When, therefore, he obeyed the summons of Coubitant to join the general council of Chiefs, he had no intention of consenting to any hostile measures being undertaken against his powerful and beneficent friends. Weston's wild and disorderly crew had excited his anger in common with that of all the other neighboring Sachems; and he was quite willing to combine with his red brethren for their chastisement—perhaps, even for their utter destruction: but he did not confound the Pilgrim Fathers, who had never failed in truth and honesty, with the deceitful and marauding vagabonds who wore white faces, and called themselves Christian subjects of King James, while they acted like heathen savages.

At first, Masasoyt met the malignant arguments and false assertions of Coubitant with an open and generous statement of the upright conduct of the strangers towards himself and his tribe, during the three years of their residence in New England; and urged the assembled Chiefs to beware how they attempted to molest men whose power to resist and punish any such attempt was only equaled by their willingness and ability to benefit those who treated them with confidence and integrity. But he soon perceived that his arguments in favor of mercy and justice were powerless, when opposed to the fierce and crafty harangues of Coubitant; and he, therefore, forbore to make any further reply, and even appeared to acquiesce in the decision of the council, that the only means of securing the safety and independence of the Indian tribes was utterly to exterminate the invaders.

The proposed plan for accomplishing this barbarous project, was first to surround and fall on the miserable and sickly colony of Wessagussett; and then, before the news of the massacre could reach New Plymouth, to hasten thither, and wreak on its unsuspecting and unprepared inhabitants the same fierce vengeance.

The day and hour were fixed, and every necessary preliminary was minutely arranged; and then the council broke up, and the Chiefs returned to their respective dwellings, to collect and fully arm their followers, and prepare to meet again at the appointed time and place, with both hands and hearts read to execute the bloody deed.

Masasoyt retired like the rest; and, attended by the little band of warriors who formed his bodyguard, be took the forest path that led to his dwelling at Packanokick. But he did not long pursue that path. When he had proceeded such a distance through the forest as to feel sure that he should not, by turning to the right, cross the route of any of the other Chiefs, he dismissed all his followers, except two of the most trusty and confidential. The rest he desired to proceed immediately to Packanokick, and inform his people that they must prepare for a warlike expedition, and that he was going to visit his son, Mooanam, in order to give him directions to join in the enterprise with that portion of the tribe that was under his authority.

This was very far from being the truth; but the Indian Sagamore considered that every falsehood and stratagem was allowable, and even meritorious, that could further a desired object, especially if that object was so undoubtedly good in itself as that which now engrossed his thoughts and wishes. He did not know that it is sin to 'do evil that good may come'; and therefore we must judge him by his generous motives, and not by his heathen practice.

Having thus freed himself from those on whose discretion and fidelity he could not fully rely, he changed his course, and traveled straight towards New Plymouth. There was no beaten track through the tangled woods in that direction; but the position of the sun, and the appearance of the trees, were sufficient guides for the sagacious Indian Chief, and, in spite of his advanced age, he pursued his way with vigor and activity. Frequently his path was obstructed by the luxuriant growth of underwood, or by the cable-like creepers that hung in every direction, crossing each other like the rigging of a ship, and presenting obstacles that nothing but the tomahawks that hung from the girdles of the natives enabled them to overcome. With these weapons— ever ready, in the hand of an Indian, either to cut his way through the forest, to fell the timbers for his wigwam or his canoe, to slay the game that his arrows have brought to the ground, or to cleave the skull of his enemy—did old Masasoyt and his devoted followers divide the large tough climbing plants that obstructed their passage. Sometimes, also, when the sun was totally obscured and the necessary windings in their course would hive rendered them uncertain whether they were following the right direction, these useful tomahawks enabled them to consult the Indian compass.

The manner in which these children of the wilderness supply to themselves the want of that invaluable instrument is both curious and ingenious, and it proved of essential use to the Wampanoge Chief on this occasion. Whenever he found himself at fault from the absence of the sun, or any other direct indication of the proper course, he raised his battle-axe, and struck a heavy blow at some neighboring pine or birch tree, on each side of which he cut a deep notch, and then, by examining the grain of the wood, he could tell which was the north, and which the south side—the former being easily ascertained by the greater closeness of the concentric rings, and consequent hardness of the fiber. The sap being more drawn to the south side by the action of the sun, causes the rings on that side to swell more; and this operation of nature has been observed by nature's children, and employed by them as a sure guide in their long wanderings through the pathless forests where they find a home.

The journey to New Plymouth was rather a long one; but the Sagamore and his companions were each provided with a small quantity of their usual travelling food, nokake—or meal made of parched maize—which they carried, in true Indian fashion, in their hollow leathern girdles. When they came to a pond, or brook, they paused to eat a few handsful of this simple provision, which is so dry that it can only be swallowed when either water or snow is at hand, ready to wash down each mouthful; and, consequently, in summer the natives have sometimes to travel long distances before they can avail themselves of the food that is already in their hands.

Immediately on his arrival at New Plymouth, the Sagamore repaired to the dwelling of Bradford; and, requesting a private interview—at which no one was allowed to be present except the Wampanoge interpreter Hobomak—he informed him of the conspiracy of the natives, and warned him to be well prepared for the intended attack. Could he have given this warning, and ensured the safety of his allies, without betraying the whole of the conspirators' projects, he would gladly have done so; for he both despised and hated the men of Wessagussett, and he was willing that they should he treated as they seemed disposed to treat such of his race as they could get into their power. He even made an attempt to persuade Bradford to leave them to the fate they so well deserved, and to connive at their destruction, which would remove an increasing evil from the first colony.

But the President soon convinced him that such a course would be altogether at variance with the precepts and principles of that religion in which he gloried, and which it was his chief aim, and that of all his Christian brethren, to exalt and make honorable in the eyes of the natives: and that, therefore, no selfish considerations could induce them to abandon their countrymen to destruction, notwithstanding their ingratitude towards themselves, and their ill conduct towards the Indians.

With this decision Masasoyt was extremely dissatisfied: but he could not now withdraw the information he had imparted, even if he desired it; and he also felt it to be most politic to secure the friendship of the white men, even if it should involve the sacrifice of the lives of some of his own countrymen, and interfere with their projects of vengeance on their foes. This was most likely to be the case in the present instance; for the Governor was excited to great indignation by the intelligence f this second conspiracy, in which several of the Chiefs who had signed the treaty with Captain Standish were concerned; and he immediately summoned the gallant soldier, and the rest of his council, to deliberate on the best means of defeating it.

It now only wanted three days of the time appointed for the gathering of the red warriors, and the attack on Wessagussett. No time was, therefore, to be lost; and it was soon determined that Standish, with a band of eight men, should march the following morning at day-break, and come stealthily upon the savages before they could he fully prepared for the assault. It was a bold—perhaps a rash—measure, for so small a party to go forth, and encounter the native forces thus combined. But Standish, though a man of prudence and discretion, was a stranger to fear; and he and his followers had already learnt the power of order and discipline, in compensating for any disadvantage of numbers. It was, therefore, with cheerful confidence that the military force of the settlement prepared for their march and they plainly showed on what that confidence was founded, by requesting the prayers of the congregation for their success.

A great part of the night was, accordingly, spent in prayer; and the blessing of the God of truth and mercy was solemnly asked upon an enterprise that the leaders well knew was about to be carried out by fraud and cruelty.

At sunrise, the soldiers met on 'the Burying Hill,' and the staff of office was given, with much solemnity, to Captain Standish, by the pious and venerable Brewster. They had already taken leave of their wives and families, who did not altogether share the cheerful exultation displayed by the Puritan warriors; and who were not permitted to be present at this final ceremony, lest their anxious fears should disturb the composure of their husbands and fathers. Notwithstanding this characteristic prohibition, Helen, and her younger daughter Edith, had ventured to station themselves in the path that led down 'the Burying Hill,' in the direction in which Standish and his men were to march, that they might take one more farewell of Rodolph before he left them on an expedition which, to their minds, seemed fraught with danger and uncertainty; and where they feared he might again be exposed to the vengeance of his untiring foe.

The gallant little band marched down the hill, and came where Edith and her child stood waiting, beneath a tree, for what might be their last look on one most dearly loved; and when Rodolph saw them he forgot the strictness of discipline and order required by his commander, and left the ranks to indulge the feelings of his heart, by again embracing his weeping wife and child.

The stern captain instantly recalled him; and when he saw a tear glistening in the eye of the husband and father, a slight expression of wonder and contempt passed over his countenance. He marveled that so brave a soldier and so strict a Puritan as Rodolph Maitland should still remain subject to so much worldly weakness. But Standish was not, at that time, a married man; and he was very deeply imbued with all the severe and unbending principles of his sect, which even went so far as to demand the suppression of all natural feelings—making it a fault for a mother to kiss her children on the Lord's day—and inflicting actual punishment on the captain of a ship for having embraced his wife on 5 Sunday, when, after a long separation, she hurried to meet him, as he landed from the vessel! To such puerile littlenesses will even great minds descend.

Rodolph was unmoved by the commander's contemptuous glance. He knew his own unflinching Puritan principles, and his own undaunted courage; and he knew his value in the eyes of Standish. The captain knew it also, for he never liked to go on any enterprise that required bravery and cool judgement without securing the aid of Maitland; and although the tenderness of his friend's feelings, and the warmth of his domestic attachments—so different to the coolness and apathy which was so prevalent in the community—were a continual subject of surprise and pity to the iron-hearted leader, yet he highly respected him, and even loved him, as much as such a gentle feeling as love of any kind could find admittance to his breast.

They journeyed on then—that stern captain, who had no tie to life, and deemed it a privilege to die with 'the sword of the Lord and of Gideon' in his hand, fighting for the cause of his own peculiar sect, in which alone he thought salvation could be found; and that warm-hearted husband and father, who felt that he had left behind him what was far dearer than life itself—those who alone made life precious to him-and who yet was willing to sacrifice all, if honor and duty demanded it. Which was the braver man of the two?

Both were brave; but Standish was the most unscrupulous. He considered that any stratagem was lawful which could place his heathen enemies in his power; and no arguments of the high-minded and truthful Maitland could convince him that deceit and treachery, even towards their infidel foes, were unworthy of Christian warriors. Miles Standish was resolved to use some device to get the chiefs of the conspiracy off their guard, and, by destroying them, to break up the hostile confederacy altogether: and as Maitland was bound to obey his orders, and also knew the utter impossibility either of changing the resolves of his captain or of deserting the enterprise, he was compelled to join in proceedings that he could not approve.

When the little band had arrived at the spot indicated by Masasoyt, and within a short distance of the Indian place of rendezvous, Standish commanded his men to halt for rest and refreshment for the last time before the expected encounter with the army of savages who were assembling for their destruction. This halting-place was situated on the summit of a considerable elevation, well covered with trees and bushes, and overlooking a plain, on the further side of which the Indian camp was formed. The advantageous position in which the emigrants were posted enabled them to obtain a full view of their enemies without being perceived by them; and Captain Standish resolved to remain there quietly that night, in order to recruit the strength of his men after their rapid and toilsome journey, and to mature his plans for subduing the horde of natives before him with so small a band as now surrounded him, and who waited but his orders to rush on to the most desperate enterprise.

The Wampanoge interpreter, Hobomak, accompanied the party at his own desire, and that, also, of his sovereign, Masasoyt. Standish was glad of his assistance in his capacity of interpreter: he had already shown such devoted attachment to the English, that they entertained no fears of his either betraying or deserting their cause; and, on this occasion, he fully justified their confidence.

Early in the morning, the leader announced his intention of going himself to the Indian camp, to make overtures of peace, and to invite the Chiefs to a conference; and he desired his men to construct a strong and spacious wigwam for their reception, and to make a door to it, which could be closed and fastened securely. He did not then explain his project more clearly; but Rudolph understood it, and his soul revolted from the treachery he suspected. 'Now,' said the captain, having finished his directions to his well-disciplined followers, 'who will volunteer to go down with me and Hobomak to the heathen camp, and to carry the flag of truce before me? It may be a service of danger to enter that hornet's nest; and no one who has left his soldier's heart at home with his wife or his children, had better attempt it.'

Rudolph felt the sarcasm, though it was uttered good humoredly, and he instantly replied—

'I am ready, my chief, to attend you wherever you may go; and if I have left my heart's affections at New Plymouth, you shall see that I have brought with me none the less of courage and fidelity to my leaders and my countrymen. The dearer my home, the more energetic shall be my efforts to preserve it from desolation. Besides,' he added, In an undertone, so that only Standish should hear: 'I much prefer going boldly into the midst of the enemy, even at the risk of my life, to remaining here to assist in constructing a trap for their destruction.'

'You are a brave fellow, Maitland,' said the captain, grasping his hand with warmth and energy, 'but you have brought some peculiar prejudices over from Europe with you, and do not yet perceive the difference of warring on equal terms with civilized troops—as you were accustomed to do in your youth—and contending with a horde of savages, who know nothing of the laws of honor, and who are even now combined to destroy us all, without either challenge or preparation. Come along with me, and leave the rest to do as I have directed. Necessity has no law; and if we do not meet those cunning natives with equal cunning, we shall have no chance against them.'

'Truth and sincerity appear to me the strongest necessity; and the God of truth will order the results as he pleases,' answered Rodolph. 'But I have sworn to obey your orders, and you need not fear the constancy of either my heart or hand. I know my duty as a soldier, and I will do it.'

'I know you will, Maitland,' replied his commander; and his respect for his conscientious friend rose higher than ever, while a slight misgiving as to the righteousness of his own projected plan passed through his breast. It did not abide there, however, for he was really satisfied that he was acting in conformity to the will of God, and that he was fully justified in asking for His blessing to crown his murderous schemes with success.

Maitland took the flag of truce, which consisted of a long spear, with a white handkerchief attached to the summit, and preceded the captain, who followed in full uniform, attended by his swarthy interpreter. As soon as they emerged from the wood that covered the halting-place, and entered the open plain, they were espied by the keen and watchful eyes of the natives; and a messenger was dispatched to meet them, and bring them to the presence of the Indian leader, Wattawamat, who was regarded as the chief of the conspirators.

Captain Standish assumed a pacific air, and desired Hobomak to advance before him, and inform the Chiefs that he came to propose terms of reconciliation and peace. He then himself approached them; and, with the aid of the interpreter, made to them a rather lengthy harangue on the benefits that would accrue to them from preserving peace with the white men; and his sorrow, and that of his employers, on having accidentally discovered that the tribes of Massachusetts entertained feelings of enmity towards the British settlers at Wessagussett.

Ever and anon, during the translations of the various paragraphs of this speech, Rodolph observed the keen eyes of the captain, as they carefully surveyed the surrounding force, and examined the individuals who appeared to be their leaders. And once, when his own eye followed the direction of his commander's, his glance encountered one that instantly riveted it, and excited in his breast some sensations—not of fear, for Rodolph knew not the feeling—but of inquietude and distrust. Yes; Coubitant was there, gazing at his supposed victim with amazement and hatred; and half inclined to believe that some supernatural power must belong to the man who could have been wounded with his deadly arrow, and yet survive to confront him once more. There he stood—with disappointed vengeance in his heart, and fury flashing from that eye of fire.

But while he kept a continual watch on every movement of Rodolph's, his quick ear lost not one word of the speech that Hobomak was rendering into his native tongue. He heard when, in Standish's name, he invited the Chiefs to meet him in the wigwam that his men were constructing on the border of the thicket, and where, he said, he would smoke with them the pipe of peace, and give to them the presents that the Governor had sent, as pledges of his friendly intentions.

The moment this invitation had been delivered, Coubitant approached Wattawamat, and whispered a few words in his ear, to which the Chieftain gave a sign of acquiescence; and then the Nansett left the assembly, and disappeared among the trees and bushes that bounded the plain on every side.

Wattawamat gave no immediate reply to the proposal of the English Chief; but, as is not unusual with the Indians, kept up a long discourse, and contrived to lengthen the audience for a considerable time. Another Indian then approached the Sachem, and again whispered to him some words that gave him evident satisfaction, for he smiled grimly, and displayed his fine row of ivory teeth for a moment, as he nodded approbation to the messenger. Then, resuming his wonted gravity of demeanor, he replied to Captain Standish that he was satisfied, by his assurances, of the good faith of the white men, and that he and his brother Chiefs would avail themselves of his invitation, and meet in the wigwam a little before sunset; where he hoped so to arrange all the little disagreements that had occurred between the red men and the mighty strangers, as to be able to establish between them and all his countrymen the same friendship and alliance that appeared to exist with the Wampanoge tribe, whose Chief, he observed, with a slight curl of his lip, had failed in his promise to attend their meeting that day.

The cause of this favorable decision on the part of Wattawamat was the report that Coubitant had just sent him of the insignificant force of the English, which that crafty and swift-footed warrior had contrived to ascertain, by running round the border of the weed to the place where Standish's men were at work, and taking an accurate and unobserved survey of their numbers.

He felt convinced that it would be easy for the Chiefs, and such of their attendants as might be allowed to follow them to the place of conference, to overpower and destroy every one of the little band of whites, and then to prosecute their original intention of carrying fire and slaughter into both the British settlements. In all this scheme there was nothing so grateful to the ruthless heart of Coubitant as the idea of Rodolph's death; and that too, as he trusted, by his own hand. O, how he panted for the devilish joy of tearing off his scalp, and carrying it back to throw it triumphantly at Henrich's feet! We shall see whether such joy was accorded to him.

Standish and his companions took their leave, and returned to the hill, where they found great progress had been made in building the wigwam; and two hours before sunset it was completely wattled round, leaving only a small aperture near the top to admit light, and a narrow place of entrance, to which a strong door was affixed.

The captain then explained his plan, which was approved by all but Maitland; and he forbore to urge any further opposition, which, he felt, would now be useless. A temperate meal was partaken of, and a hymn sung by the undaunted little company; and pipes and tobacco having been plentifully placed in the hut, the sides of which were decorated with pieces of gay colored calico, and a few knives and trinkets, as pretended gifts to the Chiefs, nothing remained but to await the arrival of the victims.

Soon the Indian Chiefs, decked in all their bravery of feathers and embroidered skins, came marching a cross the plain, followed by a few attendants less richly adorned. Standish and his party went to meet them, and conducted them with much courtesy to the wigwam, which was soon obscured by the clouds of smoke that issued from the pipes of the grave and silent assembly. But this silent gravity did not long continue. Captain Standish addressed the Chiefs, and strove to speak kindly to men whose deaths he was compassing all the while: but, whether his resolution somewhat failed as the moment for the execution of his bloody purpose drew on, or whether he was disconcerted by the absence of Rodolph, who refused to enter the wigwam, and assist at the slaughter, so it was that he manifested evident signs of weakness and indecision.

The Chiefs were emboldened by this, and they were troubled by no qualms of conscience on the subject of shedding the white men's blood. They rose from their seats on the ground, and began to taunt the captain with his want of eloquence, and also with the smallness of his stature, which was despicable in their eyes. Then, growing still bolder as they became excited, they drew their knives, and whetted them before the eyes of their hosts: flourishing them round their heads, and boasting how they had already shed the blood of many white men in the distant European settlements.

It was a fearful scene: but the real peril of his situation instantly restored the commander to his wonted resolution and firmness. He called on his men to be ready, and not to allow one of the Chiefs to escape from the wigwam, and with his hand on his pistols, he waited the proper moment for action. The Indians continued to pour forth the most abusive epithets: but they did not begin the expected attack, and it was evident that they were a little intimidated by the undaunted bearing of the white men. One of them, however, seemed actuated by some desperate purpose, and to be regardless of aught else. From the moment of his entrance into the wigwam, his eyes had sought some object that they did not find: and now, in all the excitement of the approaching conflict, his only aim seemed to be to make his way through the entrance in search of some person on whom he desired to wreak his fury. It was Rodolph whom Coubitant sought, and who was now, providentially, out of his reach, and waiting the result of the deed against which he had vainly protested.

At length the wrath of Standish broke loose. He gave the appointed signal, and the door was closed—shutting in friends and foes in one small field of battle, or, rather, of carnage. The scene in the dimly- lighted wigwam was terrific; and the yells of the infuriated natives broke, with a sickening effect, on the ears of Rodolph Maitland, who could not consent to share in what he considered a murderous conflict, and not an honorable war; and who yet felt as if he was deserting his countrymen, by thus remaining inactive.

But if he felt undecided as to his proper course of action, that indecision did not last long. In a few moments the door of the wigwam was violently burst open, and the combatants rushed out, struggling and bleeding, from the den of slaughter. All the white men came forth, for, though many of them were wounded, not one had fallen. But three of the Indians lay dead and dying on the floor of the hut; one of them being the mangled body of Wattawamat, who was slain by Standish with his own knife—that very knife which the savage had sharpened for the purpose of plunging it into the heart of the white chief!

Where was Rodolph now? In the midst of the fray, fighting desperately and successfully. The moment he saw the battle raging in open field, and beheld the blood flowing from the wounds of his countrymen, he forgot all else except that his strong right arm wielded a trusty blade; and its skilful stroke soon brought another of the red warriors to the ground, and chased away those who sought to secure their wounded comrade. The Indians saw that they were overmatched, and that nothing but flight could save the remainder of their party; they therefore uttered their wild war-cry once more, and commenced a rapid retreat down the hill, pausing several times to send back a volley of arrows on their victorious foes; which, however, fell harmless to the earth, though more than one was aimed at Rodolph, by the strong and skilful hand of Coubitant.

But rest was not to be afforded to the little conquering band. While they were securing the wounded Indian, and binding up their own wounds, they discovered a movement in the body of savages on the other side of the plain, and truly surmised that they were preparing to attack them in greater numbers. Standish instantly gave orders that the Indian whom Rodolph had brought to the ground should be hung to a neighboring tree, which was as instantly executed; and he re-entered the tent, to make sure that no life remained in those three who lay on its bloody floor. All were dead: and Standish, approaching the body of the Chieftain Wattawamat, raised his good broad sword, and at one blow severed the head from the trunk. Then seizing the gory head by the long scalp-lock, he carried it forth as a trophy, and desired one of his men to secure it, and carry it back to New Plymouth.

No time remained for further parley. A band of Indians were approaching across the plain; and Standish disdained to fly, even before such superior numbers. Every musket and pistol was hastily loaded, and the undaunted party marched down the hill to meet the coming foe. They met: and in spite of the furious onset of the savages, they were again made to feel that their undisciplined hordes were no match for the well- aimed fire-arms of the white men, and had no power to break the order of their steady ranks. Once more they fled, leaving another of their number dead on the field, and they returned no more to the charge. During all this affair, Hobomak had remained a quiet spectator of the combat, and of the defeat of his countrymen; and now he approached the English captain, and complacently praised his bravery and military prowess; and he remained as devoted as ever to his Christian friends.

The triumphant soldiers returned to New Plymouth, and were received with joyful exultation by the Governor and the inhabitants, who felt deeply grateful for the deliverance that had been accorded to them, and the safety of the brave men who had fought in their defense. All the little band had been preserved from serious personal injury; but Rodolph Maitland had also been preserved from blood-guiltiness, and that was more to him than life and safety, and to his Christian and devoted wife also.

The head of Wattawamat was brought to New Plymouth, and the dreadful trophy was conspicuously placed over the entrance to the fortress, as a warning to the natives against any future conspiracies for the destruction of the white men. So great, indeed, was the terror inspired by the power and the severity of the settlers, that many of the natives—who were conscious of having been engaged in the conspiracy, though undiscovered—left their wigwams, and fled into the woods, or concealed themselves in reedy morasses, where a great number of them perished from hunger and disease. The settlers were much distressed at this result of their proceedings, which, at the same time, they considered to have been perfectly justified by the necessity of self- preservation. But when their venerated pastor Robinson—to whom they had, ever since their emigration, looked for guidance and sympathy— heard of these sad events, he expressed the deepest sorrow, and begged them never again to be led away by the fiery temper of their leader; adding these touching and impressive words—' How happy a thing had it been, if you had converted some before you had killed any!'



CHAPTER XV.

'A change came o'er the spirit of my dream: The boy was sprung to manhood; to the wilds Of distant climes he made himself a home. And his soul drank their beauties; he was girt With strange and dusky aspects; he was not Himself like what he had been:—on the sea, And on the shore, he was a wanderer.' BYRON.

On the border of a green meadow, watered by a narrow stream, the wigwams of a large Indian settlement were lighted up by the slanting beams of the setting sun, as they shone, soft and bright, through the tall dark pines and gently-waving birch trees beneath which the village was erected. The deep red trunks of the ancient fir trees contrasted beautifully with the silvery bark of the birch; and between the shadows which were cast by the gigantic boles of these, and many other varieties of timber, the sunbeams played on the smooth soft turf, and illuminated a scene of peaceful joy and contentment.

Towards the center of the broken and irregular semi-circle in which the huts were arranged, rose two wigwams, of a size and construction superior to the rest; and around them were planted many flowering shrubs and fruit-bearing plants, that clearly showed the habitations to have been permanently fixed for some seasons, and to have been occupied by persons who possessed more of good taste and forethought than are commonly displayed by the improvident natives. Many climbing plants also threw their luxuriant branches over the sides and roof of these rude, but picturesque dwellings, and the brilliant blossoms hung gracefully around the eaves and the doorway, and moved gently in the evening breeze.

On a neatly-carved bench, in front of one of these wigwams, sat an aged Indian Chief, and by his side a young woman, who seemed to possess all the ease of manner and refinement of a European, but whose clear brown skin, and glossy jet-black hair and eyes, at once showed her to be of the same race as her venerable companion. Her dress was also Indian, but arranged with a taste and delicacy that rendered it eminently becoming to her graceful figure; while her hair, instead of being either drawn up to knot on the crown of the head, or left loose and disheveled in native fashion, was braided into a truly classical form, and simply adorned with a beautiful white water-lily—a flower that Oriana always loved.

Two other figures completed the group that was formed near the wigwam door. One of them was a young man of tall end muscular form, whose dress and richly-carved weapons would have proclaimed him to be an Indian warrior and chieftain, had not his curling brown hair, and deep blue eyes, spoken of a Saxon lineage. Courage and intelligence gleamed in those fearless eyes, but no Indian fierceness or cunning were there; and as the tall warrior stooped towards the ground, and lifted up in his arms a laughing little child that was reclining on the mossy turf, and tearing to pieces a handful of bright-colored flowers that his father had gathered for him, the smile of affection and happiness that lighted up those clear blue eyes, showed that a warm and manly heart was there.

'Ah! Ludovico!' said the happy young father, as he fondly kissed the child, whose azure eyes, and long black eyelashes and curling raven hair, showed his descent both from the fair race of Britain, and America's wild wandering children. 'Ah, Ludovico! how well I remember your uncle, when he was a merry infant like you, and used to roll on the grass in my sweet sister Edith's garden, and tear its gaudy blossoms, as you do these flowers of the forest. Those were happy days,' he added—and the bright smile of careless mirth changed to one of pensive sadness—'yes; those were happy days that never can return. If my sisters, and my playful little brother, yet live, they must be changed indeed from what they were when last I saw their sweet faces on that eventful evening, that fixed the course of my destiny. Edith must now be a woman—a lovely woman, too; and little Ludovico a fine open- hearted boy. And my beloved parents, too: O, that I knew they were alive and well and that ere long they would see and bless my Oriana and my child!'

And Henrich seated himself by the side of his young Indian wife, and gazed in the face of his laughing boy, with an expression at once so sad and sweet, that the child became silent and thoughtful too; and, dropping the flowers that filled his little hands, he gently clasped them as if in prayer, and looked long and searchingly into his father's eyes.

'There, now you look exactly as my brother used to do when he knelt at my mother's knee, and she taught him to lisp his evening prayer,' exclaimed Henrich and his eyes glistened with emotion, as home, and all its loved associations, rushed into his mind.

Oriana saw his sadness; and felt—as she often had done before on similar occasions—a pang of painful regret, and even of jealousy, towards those much-loved relatives whom her husband still so deeply regretted. She laid her hand on his, and raising her large expressive eyes to his now melancholy countenance, she gently said—

'Does Henrich still grieve that the red men stole him away from the home of his childhood, and brought him to dwell among the forests? Is not Oriana better to him than a sister, and are not the smiles of his own Ludovico sweeter to his heart than even those of his little brother used to be? And is not my father his father also? O Henrich—my own Henrich'—she added, while she leaned her head on his shoulder, and tears burst from her eyes, and chased each other down her clear olive checks, to which deep emotion now gave a richer glow—'tell me, do you wish to be set free from all the ties that bind you to our race, and return to your own people, to dwell again with them; and, perhaps, to lift the tomahawk, and east the spear against those who have loved you, and cherished you so fondly? Often have you told me that your Indian wife and child are dearer to you than all that you have left behind you at New Plymouth. But tell it to me again! Let me hear you say again that you are happy here, and will never desert us; for when I see that sorrowful look in your dear eyes, and remember all you have lost, and still are losing, to live in a wilderness with wild and savage men, my heart misgives me; and I feel that you were never made for such a life, and that your love is far too precious to be given for ever to an Indian girl.'

The smile returned to Henrich's eyes, as he listened to this fond appeal; and he almost reproached himself for ever suffering regret for the blessings he had lost to arise in his mind, when those he still possessed were so many and so great.

'Dear Oriana, you need not fear,' he replied, affectionately; 'I speak the truth of my heart when I tell you that I would not exchange my Indian home, and sacrifice my Indian squaw, and my little half-bred son, for all the comforts and pleasures of civilized life—no, not even to be restored to the parents I still love so dearly, and the brother and sister who played with me in childhood. But still I yearn to look upon their faces again, and to hear once more their words of love. I well know how they have all mourned for me: and I know how, even after so many years have passed, they would rejoice at finding me again!'

'Yes; they must indeed have mourned for you, Henrich. That must have been a sad night to them when Coubitant bore you away. But I owe all the happiness of my life to that cruel deed—and can I regret it? If my "white brother" had not come to our camp, I should have lived and died an ignorant Indian squaw—I should have known no thing of true religion, or of the Christian's God—and,' continued Oriana, smiling at her husband with a sweetness and archness of expression that made her countenance really beautiful, 'I should never have known my Henrich.'

'Child!' said old Tisquantum, rousing himself from the half-dreamy reverie in which he had been sitting, and enjoying the warm sunbeams as they fell on his now feeble limbs, and long white hair. 'Child, are you talking again of Henrich leaving us? It is wrong of you to doubt him. My son has given me his word that he will never take you from me until Mahneto recalls my spirit to himself, and I dwell again with my fathers. Has he not also said that he will never leave or forsake you and his boy? Why, then, do you make your heart sad? Henrich has never deceived us—he has never, in all the years that he has lived in our wigwam, and shared our wanderings, said the thing that was not: and shall we suspect him now? No, Oriana; I trust him as I would have trusted my own Tekoa: and had my brave boy lived he could not have been dearer to me than Henrich is. He could not have surpassed him in hunting or in war: he could not have guided and governed my people with more wisdom, now that I am too old and feeble to be their leader: and he could not have watched over my declining years with more of gentleness and love. Henrich will never desert us: no, not if we return to the head-quarters of our tribe near Paomet,[*] as I hope to do ere I close my eyes in death. So long as I feared my white son would leave us, and return to his own people, I never turned my feet towards Paomet; for he had wound himself into my heart, and had taken Tekoa's place there: and I saw that he had wound himself into your heart too, my child; and I knew that he was more to us than the land of our birth. Therefore I have kept my hunters wandering from north to south, and from east to west, and have visited the mountains, and the prairies, and the mighty rivers, and the great lakes; and have found a home in all. But now our Henrich is one of us, and never will forsake us for any others. Is he not Sachem of my warriors, and do they not look to him as their leader and their father? No; Henrich will never leave us now!'

[Footnote: The native name for Cape Cod, near which the main body of the Nausetts resided.]

And the old man, who had become excited during this long harangue, smiled at his children with love and confidence, and again leaned back and closed his eyes, relapsing into that quiet dreamy state in which the Indians, especially the more aged among them, are so fond of indulging.

Tisquantum was now a very old man; and the great changes and vicissitudes of climate and mode of life, and the severe bodily exertions in warfare and hunting, to which he had been all his life exposed, made him appear more advanced in years than he actually was. Since the marriage of his daughter to the white stranger—which occurred about three years previous to the time at which our narrative has now arrived—he had indulged himself in an almost total cessation from business, and from every active employment, and had resigned the government of his followers into the able and energetic hands of his son-in-law. Henrich was now regarded as Chieftain of that branch of the Nausett tribe over which Tisquantum held authority; and so much had he. made himself both loved and respected during his residence among the red men, that all jealousy of his English origin and foreign complexion had gradually died away, and his guidance in war or in council was always promptly and implicitly followed.

And Henrich was happy—very happy—in his wild and wandering life. He had passed from boyhood to manhood amid the scenery and the inhabitants of the wilderness; and though his heart and his memory would still frequently revert to the home of his parents, and all that he had loved and prized of the connections and the habits of civilized life, yet he now hardly wished to resume those habits. Indeed, had such a resumption implied the abandoning his wife and child, and his venerable father-in- law, no consideration would ever have induced him to think of it. He had likewise, as Tisquantum said, on obtaining his consent to his marriage with Oriana, solemnly promised never to take her away from him while he lived; therefore, at present he entertained no intention of again rejoining his countrymen, and renouncing his Indian mode of life.

Still 'the voices of his home' were often ringing in his ear by day and by night; and the desire to know the fate of his beloved family, and once more to behold each fondly-cherished member of it, would sometimes come over him with an intensity that seemed to absorb every other feeling. Then he would devise plan after plan, by which he might hope to obtain some intelligence of the settlement, or convey to his relatives the knowledge of his safety. But never had he yet succeeded. Tisquantum had taken watchful care, for several years, to prevent any such communication being effected; and it was, as we have seen mainly with this object that he had absented himself from the rest of his tribe, and his own former place of abode.

He had led his warriors and their families far to the north, and there he had resided for several years; only returning occasionally to the south-western prairies for the hunting season, and again travelling northward when the buffalo and the elk were no longer abundant in the plains. In all these wanderings Henrich had rejoiced; and his whole soul had been elevated by such constant communion with the grandest works of nature—or rather, of nature's God. He had gazed on the stupendous cataract of Niagara, and listened to its thunders,[*] till he felt himself in the immediate presence of Deity in all its omnipotence.

[Footnote: O-ni-ga-rah, 'the Thunder of Waters,' is the Indian name for these magnificent falls.]

He had crossed the mighty rivers of America, that seemed to European eyes to be arms of the sea; and had passed in light and frail canoes over those vast lakes that are themselves like inland oceans. And, in the high latitudes to which the restless and apprehensive spirit of Tisquantum had led him, he had traveled over boundless fields of snow in the sledges of the diminutive Esquimaux, and lodged in their strange winter-dwellings of frozen snow, that look as if they were built of the purest alabaster, with windows of ice as clear as crystal. And marvelously beautiful those dwellings were in Henrich's eyes, as be passed along the many rooms, with their cold walls glittering with the lamp-light, or glowing from the reflection of the fire of pine branches, that burnt so brightly in the center on a hearth of stone. Well and warmly, too, had he slept on the bedsteads of snow, that these small northern men find so comfortable, when they have strewn them with a thick layer of pine boughs, and covered them with an abundant supply of deerskins. And then the lights of the north—the lovely Aurora, with its glowing hues of crimson and yellow and violet! When this beauteous phenomena was gleaming in the horizon, and shooting up its spires of colored light far into the deep blue sky, bow ardently did Henrich desire the presence of his sister—of his Edith who used to share his every feeling, and sympathize in all him love and reverence for the works of God! But in all those days and months and years that elapsed between the time when we left Henrich in the hunting-grounds of the west, and the time to which we have now carried him, Oriana had been a sister—yes, more than a sister-to him; and she had learnt to think as he thought, and to feel as he felt, till he used to tell her that he almost fancied the spirit of Edith had passed into her form, and had come to share his exile.

Certainly, the mind and feelings of the Indian girl did ripen and expand with wonderful rapidity; and, as she grew to womanhood, her gentle gracefulness of manner, and her devoted affection towards Henrich, confirmed the attachment that had been gradually forming in his heart ever since he had been her adopted brother, and made him resolve to ask her of the Sachem as his wife.

Since the conduct of Coubitant had excited—as we saw in a former chapter—the suspicions of Tisquantum, and had so evidently increased the dislike of Oriana, the Chieftain had abandoned all idea of bestowing his daughter's hand on him or of making him his successor in his official situation; and the departure of the cruel and wily savage had been to him, as well as to Oriana and Henrich, a great satisfaction and relief. None of them wished to see his dark countenance again, or to be exposed to his evil machinations; and all were fully aware that the marriage of the white stranger to the Sachem's lovely daughter was a circumstance that would arouse all his jealousy and all his vengeance. Nevertheless, this apprehension did not deter the old Chief from giving a joyful consent to the proposal of Henrich to become his son in fact, as he had long been in name and affection; and the summer of the year 1627 had seen the nuptials celebrated in Indian fashion. On the same day, also, the young widow, Mailah, became the wife of Henrich's chosen friend and companion, Jyanough, who had never left the Nausetts since first he joined them, but had followed his brother-in- arms in all his various wanderings.

It was a joyful day to the tribe when this double marriage took place; and great was the feasting beneath the trees on the shores of the mighty lake Ontario, where their camp was pitched. Game was roasted in abundance, and much tobacco was consumed in honor of the happy couples, who were all beloved by their simple followers; and for whom fresh wigwams were built, and strewed with sweet sprays of pine and fir, and furnished with all that Indian wants demanded, and Indian art could furnish. With some difficulty, Henrich prevailed on the Sachem to permit his daughter to forego the native custom of cutting off her hair on the day of her marriage, and wearing an uncouth head-dress until it grew again; but at length he was successful, on the plea that Oriana, being a Christian, and about to unite herself to a Christian also, could not be bound to observe the superstitious and barbarous ceremonies of her race. Her fine black locks were, therefore, spared; but Mailah was a second time robbed of hers, and appeared for many months afterwards with her head closely shrouded in the prescribed covering.

Much did Henrich wish that he and his bride could have received the blessing of a minister of the Gospel, as a sacred sanction of their union. But this could not be: and he endeavored to supply the deficiency, and to give a holy and Christian character to what he felt to be the most solemn act of his life, by uniting in earnest prayer with Oriana, Mailah, and Jyanough, that the blessing of God might rest upon them all, and enable them to fulfil their new and relative duties faithfully and affectionately and 'as unto the Lord.'

Three years had elapsed since that day, and no event had occurred to interrupt the domestic happiness of those young couples, or to disturb the perfect friendship and unanimity that reigned between them. They were a little Christian community—small indeed, but faithful and sincere, and likely to increase in time; for little Lincoya was carefully instructed in the blessed doctrines which his mother and his step-father had received, and when Henrich's own son was born, he baptized him in the name of the Holy Trinity, and gave him the Christian name of his own loved brother Ludovico; and earnestly he asked a blessing on his child, and prayed that he might be enabled to bring him up a Christian, not in name only, but in deed and in truth.



CHAPTER XVI.

'Wrath is cruel, and anger is outrageous; but who is able to stand before envy? 'Open rebuke is better than secret love. 'Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.' PROV. xxii, 4—6

Tisquantum still sat dozing on his favorite seat before his dwelling, and Henrich and Oriana remained beside him, silently watching the peaceful slumbers of their venerable parent, and the playful sports of their child, who was again roiling on the soft green turf at their feet, and busily engaged in decking the shaggy head and neck of a magnificent dog with the gay flowers that were scattered around him.

It was Rodolph—the faithful Rodolph—who had once saved Henrich's life from the treacherous designs of Coubitant, and who had often since proved his guard and his, watchful protector in many seasons of peril and difficulty. His devotion to his master was as strong as ever; and his strength and swiftness were still unabated, whether in the flood or the field. But years had somewhat subdued the former restless activity of his spirits, and, now that he had dwelt so long in a settled home, his manners had become so domestic, that he seemed to think his chief duty consisted in amusing the little Ludovico, and carrying him about on his bread shaggy shoulders, where he looked like the infant Hercules mounted on his lion. They were, indeed, a picturesque pair, and no wonder that the young parents of the beautiful child smiled as they watched him wreathing his little hands in the long curling mane of the good-tempered animal, and laying his soft rosy cheek on his back.

Such was the group that occupied the small cultivated spot in front of the chief, lodges of the village: and thus happy and tranquil might they have remained, until the fading light had warned Oriana that it was time to lay her child to rest in his mossy bed, and to prepare the usual meal for her husband and her father. But they were interrupted by the approach of Jyanough and Mailah, accompanied by the young Lincoya; and also by a stranger, whose form seemed familiar to them, but whose features the shadow of the over-hanging trees prevented them at first from recognizing.

But, as the party approached, a chill struck into the heart of Oriana, and she instinctively clung closer to her husband's arm, as if she felt that some danger threatened him; while the open, manly brow of Henrich contracted for an instant, and was crossed by a look of doubt and suspicion that was seldom seen to darken it, and could not rest there long. In a moment that cloud had passed away, and he rose to greet the stranger with a frank and dignified courtesy, that showed he felt suspicion and distrust to be unworthy of him. Rodolph, also, seemed to be affected by the same kind of unpleasant sensations that were felt by his more intellectual, but not more sagacious fellow-creatures. No sooner did the stranger advance beyond the shadow of trees, and thus afford the dog a full view of his very peculiar and striking countenance, than he uttered a low deep growl of anger; and, slowly rising from the ground, placed himself between his little charge and the supposed enemy, on whom he kept his keen eye immovably fixed, while his strong white teeth were displayed in a very formidable row.

Coubitant—for it could be no other than he—saw clearly the impression that his appearance had excited on the assembled party of his old acquaintances; but he was an adept in dissimulation, and he entirely concealed his feelings under the garb of pleasure at this reunion after so long a separation. The candid disposition of Henrich rendered him liable to be deceived by these false professions of his former rival; and he readily believed that Coubitant had, during his absence of so many years, forgotten and laid aside all those feelings of envy and jealousy that once appeared to fill his breast, and to actuate him to deeds of enmity towards the white stranger, whose father had slain his chosen friend and companion.

But was it so? Had the cruel and wily savage indeed become the friend of him who had, he deemed, supplanted him—not only in the favor of his Chief, but also in the good graces of his intended bride—and who was now, as he had learnt from Jyanough, the husband of Oriana, and the virtual Sachem of Tisquantum's subject warriors? No: 'jealousy is cruel as the grave; the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame'; and in the soul of Coubitant there dwelt no gentle principles of mercy and forgiveness to quench this fiery flame. He was a heathen: and, in his eyes, revenge was a virtue, and the gratification of it a deep joy: and in the hope of attaining this joy, he was willing to endure years of difficulty and disappointment, and to forego all that he knew of home and of comfort. Therefore had he left the tribe of his adoption, and the friends of his choice, and dwelt for so many winters and summers among the Narragansetts, until he had acquired influence in their councils, and won for himself rank in their tribe. And all this rank and influence he had, as we have seen, exerted to procure the destruction of the white men, because one of their number had caused the death of his friend, and he had vowed to be revenged on the race. He hated the pale-faces, and he hated their religion and their peaceable disposition, which he considered to be merely superstition and cowardice; and now that he had failed in all his deep-laid schemes for their annihilation, all his hatred was concentrated against Henrich, and he resolved once more to seek him out, and, by again uniting himself to the band of Nausetts under Tisquantum, to find an opportunity of ridding himself of one who seemed born to cross his path, and blight his prospects in life.

Until Coubitant had traced his old associates through many forests, and over many plains, and had, at length, found the place of their present abode, he knew not that all his former hopes of becoming the Sachem's son-in law, and succeeding to his dignity, were already blasted by the marriage of Oriana to Henrich, and the association of the latter in the cares and the honors of the chieftainship. For some years after his abrupt departure from the Nausetts—and while he was striving for distinction, as well as for revenge, among the Narragansetts—he had contrived, from time to time, to obtain information of the proceedings of those whom he had thought it politic to leave for a time; and, as he found that no steps were taken towards connecting the pale-faced stranger with the family of the Sachem by marriage, after he had attained the age at which Indian youths generally take wives; and it was even reported that Tisquantum designed to unite him to the widow of Lincoya—his jealous fears were hushed to sleep, and he still hoped to succeed, ultimately, in his long-cherished plans.

It was not that he loved Oriana. His heart was incapable of that sentiment which alone is worthy of the name. But he had set his mind on obtaining her, because she was, in every way, superior to the rest of her young companions; and because such a union would aggrandize him in the estimation of the tribe, and tend to further his views of becoming their chief.

After the failure of his schemes for the utter destruction of the British settlements, and all his malicious designs against Rodolph in particular, his personal views with regard to Oriana and Henrich, and his desire to rule in Tisquantum's stead, returned to his mind with unabated force, and he resolved again to join the Sachem, and endeavor to regain his former influence over him, and the consideration in which he had once been held by his subject-warriors. But the removal of the tribe to the north, and their frequent journeyings from place to place, had, for a great length of time, baffled his search; and when, at last, he was successful, and a Nausett hunter—who had been dispatched from Paomet on an errand to Tisquantum—met him, and guided him to the encampment, it was only to have all his hopes dashed for ever to the ground, and his soul more inflamed with wrath and malice than ever.

On reaching the Nausett village Coubitant had met Jyanough, and been conducted by him to his hut, where he learnt from him and Mailah all that had happened to themselves and their friends since he had lost sight of them; and it had required all the red-man's habitual self- command and habit of dissimulation to enable him to conceal his fury and disappointment. He did conceal them, however; and so effectually, that both the Cree and his wife were deceived, and though that the narrative excited in him no deeper interest than former intimacy would naturally create. But this was far from being the case. Oriana and the chieftainship were lost to him at present, it is true; but revenge might still be his—that prize that Satan holds out to his slaves to tempt them on to further guilt and ruin. To win that prize—and, possibly, even more than that—was worth some further effort: and deceit was no great effort to Coubitant.

So he smiled in return to Henrich's greeting, and tried to draw Oriana into friendly conversation, by noticing her lovely boy; who, however, received his advances with a very bad grace. He also addressed Tisquantum with all that respectful deference that is expected by an aged Indian—more especially a Sachem—from the younger members of his race; and, at length, he succeeded in banishing from the minds of almost all his former acquaintances those doubts and suspicions that his conduct had once aroused; and he was again admitted to the same terms of intimacy with the Chief and his family that he had enjoyed in years long gone by.

Still, there was one who could not put confidence in Coubitant's friendly manner, or believe that the feelings of enmity he once so evidently entertained towards Henrich were altogether banished from his mind. This was Jyanough, whose devoted attachment to the white stranger had first led him to mistrust his rival; and who still resolved to watch his movements with jealous care, and, if possible, to guard his friend from any evil that might be designed against him.

For some time, he could detect nothing in Coubitant's manner or actions that could, in any way, confirm his suspicions, which he did not communicate to any one but Mailah; for he felt it would be ungenerous to fill the minds of others with the doubts that he could not banish from his own.

The summer advanced, and became one of extreme heat. The winding stream that flowed through the meadow—on the skirts of which the Nausett encampment was formed—gradually decreased, from the failure of the springs that supplied it, until, at length, its shallow waters were reduced to a rippling brook—so narrow, that young Lincoya could leap over it, and Rodolph could carry his little charge across without any risk of wetting his feet. The long grass and beautiful lilies, and other wild flowers, that had grown so luxuriantly along the river's brink, now faded for want of moisture; and the fresh verdure of the meadow was changed to a dry and dusky yellow. Day by day the brook dried up, and it became necessary for the camp to be removed to some more favored spot, where the inhabitants and their cattle could still find a sufficient supply of water.

For this purpose, it was resolved to migrate southwards, to the banks of the broad Missouri, which no drought could sensibly affect; and there to remain until the summer heat had passed away, and the season for travelling had arrived. Then Tisquantum purposed to bend his steps once more towards the land of his birth, that he might end his days in his native Paomet, and behold the home of his fathers before his death. To this plan Henrich gave a glad assent; for he surely hoped that, when he reached a district that bordered so nearly on the British territories, he should be able to obtain some information respecting his relatives, and, perhaps, even to see them. And Oriana no longer dreaded returning to the dwellings of her childhood, for she felt assured—notwithstanding the occasional misgivings that troubled her anxious heart—that Henrich loved her far too well ever to desert her; and that he loved truth too well ever to take her from her aged father, let the temptation be never so great.

All, therefore, looked forward with satisfaction to the autumn, when the long journey towards the east was to commence: but they well knew that its accomplishment would occupy several seasons; for the movement of so large a party, of every age and sex, and the transport of all their baggage across a district of many hundreds of miles in extent, must, necessarily, be extremely slow, and interrupted by many pauses for rest, as well as by the heat or the inclemency of the weather.

Coubitant also expressed his pleasure at the proposed change, which would afford occupation and excitement to his restless spirit, and which, likewise, promised him better opportunities for carrying out his ultimate schemes than he could hope for in his present tranquil mode of life. His constant attention to Tisquantum, and his assiduous care to consult his every wish and desire, had won upon the old man's feelings, and he again regarded him rather as the proved friend of his lost Tekoa, than as the suspected foe of his adopted son Henrich. He frequently employed him in executing any affairs in which he still took an active interest, and he soon came to be looked upon by the tribe as a sort of coadjutor to their white Sachem, and the confidential friend of the old Chieftain. This was just what Coubitant desired; and he lost no opportunity of strengthening his influence over the Nausett warriors, and making his presence agreeable and necessary to Tisquantum.

The time appointed for the breaking up of the encampment drew near, and both Henrich and Oriana felt much regret at the prospect of leaving the peaceful home where they had spent so many happy days, and where their little Ludovico had been born. Their comfortable and substantial lodge, shaded with the plants that decorated it so profusely and so gaily, had been the most permanent dwelling that they had ever known since their childhood: and though they hoped eventually to enjoy a still more settled home, they could not look on this work of their own labor and taste without affection, or leave it for ever without sorrow.

In order to lessen the fatigue of Tisquantum it was arranged, at the suggestion of Coubitant, that he should precede the old Sachem, and his immediate family and attendants, to the place of their intended encampment; and should select a suitable situation on the banks of the Missouri, where he and the Nansett warriors could fell timber, and prepare temporary huts for their reception. This part of the country was familiar to him, as he had traveled through it, and dwelt among its plains and its woods in the days of his wandering youth: and he gave Henrich minute directions as to the route he must take, in order to follow him to the river, which, he said, lay about three days' journey to the southward.

To the south of the present encampment arose a considerable eminence, that was thickly wooded to the summit on the side that overlooked the Nausett village, and partially sheltered it from the heat of the summer sun. On the other side it was broken into steep precipices, and its banks were scantily clothed with shrubs and grass, which the unusual drought had now rendered dry and withered. A winding and narrow path round the foot of this hill was the only road that led immediately into the plain below; and by this path Coubitant proposed to conduct the tribe, in order to avoid a long detour to the west, where a more easy road would have been found. He described it to Henrich, who had often been to the summit of the range of hills that overlooked it in pursuit of game, but who was ignorant of the proposed route into the Missouri district; and, after some conversation on the subject, he proposed that the young Sachem should accompany him the following morning to the brow of the mountain, from whence he could point out to him the road he must take through the broken and undulating ground that lay at the bottom of the hill; and the exact direction he must follow, after he reached the wide and trackless prairie that intervened between that range and the hills that bordered the Missouri.

At break of day the march of the tribe was to commence; but as several of the Nausetts were acquainted with the intricate path round the base of the hills, it was not necessary for Coubitant to lead them that part of their journey in person. He therefore proposed, after pointing out to Henrich all the necessary land-marks which could be so well observed from the summit, to find his own way down the steep side of the rugged precipice, and rejoin the party in the plain.

This plan was agreed to; and Coubitant invited Oriana to accompany her husband, that she also might see and admire the extensive view that was visible from the heights, and observe the track that her countrymen would follow through the valley beneath.

Oriana readily acceded to this proposal, not only because she loved to go by Henrich's side wherever she could be his companion, but also because—in spite of the present friendly terms to which Coubitant was admitted by her father and Henrich—she never felt quite easy when the latter was alone with the dark-browed warrior.

The morning was clear and bright; and before the sun had risen far above the horizon, and ere the sultry heat of the day had commenced, Coubitant came to Henrich's lodge, and summoned him and his wife to their early walk up the mountain. With light and active steps they took their way through the wood, and Rodolph followed close behind them—not now bounding and harking with joy, but at a measured pace, and with his keen bright eye ever fixed on Coubitant.

In passing through the scattered village of huts, the dwelling of Jyanough lay near the path. Coubitant ceased to speak as he and his companions approached it; and Oriana thought he quickened his pace, and glanced anxiously at the dwelling, as if desirous to pass it unobserved by its inmates. If such was his wish, he was, however, disappointed; for, just as the party were leaving it behind them, they heard the short sharp bark of Rodolph at the wigwam door, and immediately afterwards the answering voice of Jyanough.

'Rodolph, my old fellow, is it you?' exclaimed the Cree, as he came forth from his hut, and looked anxiously at his friends, who now, to Coubitant's inward vexation, stood to greet him.

'Where are you off to so early?' he inquired of Henrich; and why is Coubitant not leading our warriors on their way?'

'We are but going to the brow of the hill,' replied Henrich, 'that Coubitant may point out to me the path by which we are to follow him. He will then join his party in the plain, and I will quickly return to accompany you on our projected hunting scheme. We must add to our stock of provisions before we commence our journey.'

'I will ascend the hill with you,' said Jyanough; and Coubitant saw that he took a spear in his hand from the door of the wigwam. Forcing a smile, he observed, as if carelessly—

'It is needless, my friend. Henrich's eye is so good that he will readily understand all the directions that I shall give him. Do you doubt the skill of our young Sachem to lead his people through the woods and the savannas, being as great as his prowess in war and his dexterity in hunting? Let him show that he is an Indian indeed, and wants no aid in performing an Indian's duties.'

'Be it so,' answered Jyanough; and he laid aside the spear, and reentered the hut, rather to Henrich's surprise, and Oriana's disappointment, but much to the satisfaction of Coubitant.

Rodolph seemed displeased at this change in the apparent intentions of his friend; and he lingered a few moments at the door of the lodge, looking wistfully at its master. But Jyanough bade him go; and a call from Henrich soon brought him again to his former position, and his watchful observation of every movement of Coubitant.

The brow of the hill was gained: and so grand and extensive was the view to the south and west, that Oriana stood for some time contemplating it with a refined pleasure, and forgot every feeling that could interrupt the pure and lofty enjoyment. Beneath the precipitous hill on which she stood, a plain, or wide savanna, stretched away for many miles, covered with the tall prairie-grass, now dry and yellow, and waving gracefully in the morning breeze. Its flat monotony was only broken by a few clumps of trees and shrubs, that almost looked like distant vessels crossing the wide trackless sea. But to the west this plain was bounded by a range of hills, on which the rising sun shed a brilliant glow, marking their clear outline against the deep blue sky behind. And nearer to the hill from which she looked, the character of the view was different, but not less interesting. It seemed as if some mighty convulsion of nature had torn away the side of the hill, and strewed the fragments in huge end broken masses in the valley beneath. Over these crags the hand of nature had spread a partial covering of moss and creeping plants; and many trees had grown up amongst them, striking their roots deeply into the crevices, and adorning their rough surfaces by their waving and pendant boughs. Through the rock-strewn valley, a narrow and intricate path had been worn by the feet of the wandering natives, and by the constant migrations of the herds of wild animals that inhabited the prairie, in search of water or of fresher herbage during the parching heat of an Indian summer.