The news of the war between the English and his old friends, the Pequodees, soon reached him; and, in an incredibly short time, he arrived in their country, and joined Sassacus in his fortified village. It was he who travelled from thence to the head-quarters of the Nausetts, near Cape Cod, and secured their assistance in the coming conflict; and then returned in time to send a trusty emissary to meet Tisquantum, and deliver to him a courteous message from Sassacus.

This message had the desired effect; for Tisquantum called a council of his braves, and submitted to them the request of their powerful ally, that they would fight with him against the Narragansetts. The emissary was instructed to say nothing of the quarrel with the English; for Coubitant wished to get Henrich into the power of the Pequodees, before he became aware of the service that was to be required of him; and he trusted that no intelligence would reach him in the desolate country through which he and his warriors would have to march.

All the assembled council were unanimous in their decision, that the request of Sassacus should be complied with; and Tisquantum then turned to Henrich, who sat beside him, and said—

'My son! the days are past when I could lead forth my warriors to the battle, and wield my tomahawk with the best and the bravest. I must sit in my tent with the children and the squaws, and tell of the deeds that I once could perform, while my young braves are in the field of fight. You must now be their leader, Henrich; and let them see that, though your skin is fair, you have in your breast an Indian heart.'

'I will, my father,' replied the Young Sachem. 'Your warriors shall be led into the thickest of the battle, even as if your long-lost Tekoa went before them with his glancing spear. Tisquantum shall never have cause to feel shame for the son of his adoption.'

'I know it, my brave Henrich,' said the old Chief, 'I know that the honor of Tisquantum's race is safe in your hands; and that you will fight in defence of my ancient friends and allies, even as I would have fought in the days of my young strength. Come away, now; my warriors must prepare to go with the messenger of the great Sassacus. No time must be lost in giving him the aid he asks; and you, my son, will be ready by to-morrow's dawn to lead them on their way. I cannot go with you, for these feeble limbs are unfit to travel at the speed with which you must cross the forests and the plains; neither could the women and children bear it. We will follow the course that we designed to take, and go to the land of my fathers in the far east; and there we will wait for our victorious warriors.'

As Tisquantum said this, he left the hall of council, which consisted of a shadowing maple tree, and led his companion to the hut of boughs, in which Oriana and Mailah sat anxiously awaiting the result of the conference. They did not regret when they heard that their husbands were to hasten to the scene of war, for they were Indian women, and could glory in the deeds of their warriors. But when they were informed that the main body of the tribe was to pursue the intended route towards Paomet,[*] their grief and disappointment were very great.

[Footnote: Cape Cod]

'Must I leave you, Henrich?' exclaimed Oriana. 'Must I know that you are in the battle-field; and wounded perhaps, and wanting my aid, and I far away? Let me go with you! You know that Oriana can bear danger, and fatigue, and hardship; and with you there would be no danger.'

'It cannot be,' replied Henrich, gently but decidedly. 'Your father cannot travel, as we must do, with no respite or repose; and you, my Oriana, could not leave him and our boy. You must go with them to Paomet, my love; and prepare a home for me after the fight is done. The camp of the fierce Pequodees is no place for you.'

Oriana felt that her husband was right; and she said no more. But she did not the less sorrowfully assist him in his preparations for the journey and the battle, or feel less keenly the grief of separation when, at daybreak on the following morning, he and his warriors were ready to set out.

'My son,' said Tisquantum, as he grasped the hand of Henrich, 'I have one request—I would rather say command—to impress upon you before we part. Let it not be known in the camp that you are a pale-face. I know that your good arm will bring glory on yourself and those who follow you; and I would have that glory belong to my own people, among whom you have learned to fight. I ask it also for your own sake; for in the camp of Sassacus there may be some who regard your race with jealousy and hatred, and would not bear to see a pale-face excelling the red men. You may trust my warriors. They look on you as they would have done on my Tekoa. But you may not trust either our Indian friends, or our Indian foes.'

Henrich regarded this precaution as needless; yet, when Oriana joined her entreaties to those of her father, he readily gave the promise required. His costume and accoutrements were strictly native; and constant exposure to the air and sun had burnt his skin almost to a copper color. But his eyes were a deep blue; and his hair, though now dark, had a rich auburn glow upon it, that differed greatly from the jet black locks so universal among the Indians. To hide this, Oriana gathered it up into a knot on the top of his head in native fashion, and covered it with a close black cap. Over this his Sachem's coronet of feathers was placed; and it would have required a very scrutinising and suspicious eye to have detected the disguise. The blue eyes alone gave intimation of an European extraction; and they were so shaded by long black lashes, and had an expression so deep and penetrating, that few could discover of what color they were. The tongue of Hannah, too, had learnt to speak the Indian language with a pure, native accent, that no one could acquire who had not been brought up among the red men; so that there was little fear of his being known for a pale-face, amid the excitement and confusion of the war.

The warriors departed; and Tisquantum's party resumed their journey, though not so joyously as before their separation from those who were going to meet danger, and, perhaps, death.

With unremitting speed, the Nausett braves pursued their way, and reached the land of the Pequodees before the campaign had begun. Sassacus had, as we have seen, taken up his position in one of his boasted forts, and he wanted no reinforcements there; for his presence was regarded by his people as a panoply of strength. He, therefore, sent to desire the Nausett detachment to march to Fort Mystic, and assist the garrison there in defending it against any attack that might he made.



CHAPTER XXIII.

'Merciful God! how horrible is night! ...There the shout Of battle, the barbarian yell, the bray Of dissonant instruments, the clang of arms, The shriek of agony, the groan of death, In one wild uproar and continuous din, Shake the still air; while overhead, the moon, Regardless of the stir of this low world, Holds on her heavenly way.' MADOC.

Henrich was now called on to perform the part of an Indian leader in an Indian camp. It was no new position to him; for, during his years of wandering with the Nansetts, he had taken an active part in many of the wars that were being waged by the tribes among whom they had sojourned, against their hostile neighbors. He, therefore, was fully conversant with Indian modes of warfare; but he was as unaccustomed as his followers were to the defence of a fortress, or to a pitched battle between assembled forces in an open field.

He had not been long at Fort Mystic ere he found that he was about to be opposed to some of his own countrymen, and the information filled him with grief and dismay. It is true, he had dwelt so long among the Nausett Indians, and all his personal interests were so bound up with theirs, that he felt as if they were indeed his kindred. But still his heart yearned towards his own people and the friends of his childhood, and the idea of being instrumental in shedding the blood of a Briton was utterly repugnant to him. It was now, however, too late to retract. He had pledged his word to Tisquantum that he would lead his warriors bravely against the foes of his allies, and honor forbad him to decline the post of their Sachem and commander. He therefore concealed his scruples and anxieties in his own breast, and resolved to do what he now felt to be his duty. It was with much satisfaction that he learnt, from one of the Indian spies, that the detachment of troops from New Plymouth had been unable to join the forces of their countrymen; for thus he should be spared the trial of being placed in opposition to those with whom, perhaps, he had been brought up in childhood. Towards the other settlers be entertained a far less friendly feeling; as reports of their cruel and unjust conduct towards the natives had, from time to time, reached him during his residence in different parts of the continent.

The Pequodees and their allies treated him with respect and honor, as the representative of their ancient friend Tisquantum; and if his English blood was known to any of them, they made no remarks on the subject. They did not dare to notice what such a man as the Nausett Sachem appeared to be, chose to conceal.

But it is certain that there was one in the fortress of Mystic whose keen eye had penetrated the disguise, and to whom the features of Henrich were so familiar, that he could even read his thoughts in his open and ingenuous countenance. Coubitant was already in the castle before the Nausett detachment arrived; and, while he dexterously contrived to conceal himself from Henrich, he watched him narrowly, and his eye was on him when he first became aware that English soldiers were with the foes with whom he must contend. Then did the savage exult in the painful struggle that he could perceive the news excited in his rival's breast, and he hoped that the white Sachem would find some pretext for leaving the fort, and deserting to his own countrymen. He kept spies continually watching his every movement, with orders to allow him full liberty to escape, but to follow and secure him before his purpose could be effected, and bring him in bonds to receive from Coubitant's own hand the punishment of a coward and a deserter.

But he waited in vain for any such attempt on the part of the young Sachem. Henrich never left the fortress, and employed himself in endeavoring to keep his men from sharing in the revelry and wild security of their countrymen.

In this endeavor he had but little success, and Jyanough alone remained with his friend, and took no part in the noisy songs and dances that followed the feast, and con-tinned almost until midnight.

Then a deep and profound stillness gradually succeeded to the barbarous noises of the wild festival; and long before day-break the exhausted revellers were all buried in a heavy sleep. Even the watch, whose business it was to patrol round the fort, had that night carelessly left their respective stations, and come inside the palisades to light their pipes. Here they found none awake but the Nausett Sachem and his friend, who were slowly walking among the weary and sleeping warriors, attended only by a large and powerful dog. There was another wakeful eye in the fortress, and that was even now fixed on Henrich. Bat he whose dark soul looked forth from that singular eye, was himself concealed from view, and was intently watching the object of his hatred, and hoping that he would now attempt some act of cowardice or treachery.

Henrich and Jyanough approached the guard, who had thus thoughtlessly left their post, and desired them immediately to return to their duty. But while the men remonstrated on the uselessness of so strictly keeping a watch, now that no present attack could be expected, they were startled by the loud and furious barking of Rodolph, who had wandered to the open gate, and thus gave ominous warning of approaching danger. The terrified guard now reached to the gate, accompanied by Henrich and Jyanough, when, to their dismay, they beheld in the faint moonlight a large body of men approaching close to the fort.

They easily discerned that the foremost of the troop were Europeans; and they raised a loud cry of 'Owannux! Owannux!'—Englishmen! Englishmen!—which quickly aroused the sleepers, and brought them towards the gate. In the next minute the fort was thickly hemmed in by the British force, and a second dense ring was formed beyond them by their Indian allies.

The main entrance was soon forced by the swords and muskets of the vigorous assailants; and, though the Pequodees fought with all the fury of despair, they were driven back, and compelled to retreat towards the wigwams. They were closely pursued by their foes; and, at length, threw themselves into the huts, which contained the terrified women and children, and resolved to defend them to the last gasp. While the murderous strife continued, the light of day began to dawn; and soon the full glow of the rising sun revealed the work that had been done in darkness. The ground was strewed with dead and dying Indians; but the band of English warriors was yet unbroken, and was fiercely bearing onward towards the wigwams. Their numbers were small, indeed, when compared with those of their opponents; but the latter had no firearms, and a panic seemed to have struck them from the force and suddenness of the attack. Still they defended the lines of wigwams with desperation, until Mason, with amazing boldness, entered one of them, and, seizing a brand from the hearth, set fire to the roof of reeds. An Indian warrior was in the act of levelling his arrow at him, when an English officer sprang forward, and cut the string of the bent bow with his sword.

This officer caught the eye of Henrich; and, though he knew not why, riveted it by a strange and unaccountable attraction. He was a noble- looking man; and, though his dark hair was slightly tinged with grey, his muscular limbs had apparently lost none of their force, and his spirit none of its courage and energy.

So fixedly was the attention of Henrich fastened on the gallant soldier, that, for a time, he was regardless of the battle that raged around him, and of the fearful conflagration that was spreading along the Indian huts. These were only composed of weed and dry moss and reeds; and the flames quickly caught hold of them, and promised soon to bring the conflict to a dreadful close.

The eye of Henrich was still fixed on that noble English officer; and the instinctive feeling of admiration and respect with which his aspect inspired him, was increased by seeing him, regardless of his own safety, actively engaged in rescuing an Indian woman and her child from a mass of burning ruins.

He had been observed by other eyes also—by eyes that recognised him, and glared with irrepressible fury as they fell on him'. An Indian warrior approached him from behind, while he was unguardedly pursuing his work of mercy; and Henrich saw the savage preparing to strike a deadly blow, that would have cleft the head of the stranger in twain. Could he stand and see the noble Briton thus fall by a secret and unresisted attack? No! every feeling and every instinct of his heart forbad it! One instant his tomahawk flew in a gleaming circle round his head; and the next it fell with crushing force on the right shoulder of the savage, and sank deeply into his chest. It was a timely blow, and saved the white man's life. But it could not save him from a severe wound in the back, where the axe of the Indian fell heavily, as his arm dropped powerlessly by his side—never to be raised again.

Coubitant sank on the ground; and, as he turned to look on his unexpected assailant, his blood-shot eyes met those of Henrich, and glared fiercely, first at him, and then at his intended victim, whose life had been so strangely preserved. They stood side by side, unconscious of the tie that bound them so closely together. Coubitant knew it well; and he felt in this awful moment that Mahneto had, in righteous retribution, sent the son to preserve the father's life from the hand of him who had hated both alike. He hated them still: and, even with his dying breath, he would not reveal the secret that would have united those seemingly hostile warriors in the embrace of deep affection.

Rodolph had not seen the friend whose timely aid had partially averted the deadly blow that had been aimed at him by the savage. But, on turning round, he was astonished to perceive that his foe and his avenger were apparently of the same party. The latter—whose countenance expressed the deepest indignation, and who was raising his bloody hatchet from the prostrate form of the wounded Indian—was evidently not one of the allies of the English; and his dress and ornaments, and air of dignified command, indicated him to be a Chief among his own people. Why, then, had he come to the aid of an enemy?

Rodolph gazed inquiringly at the fine countenance of the young Sachem, which was now bent upon the dying Indian at his feet.

'Coubitant!' he exclaimed in the Nausett tongue, 'is it, indeed, you whom I have thus slain unknowingly? You have been a bitter and an untiring enemy to me; but it was not for this that I smote thee to the earth. I knew you not. But I saw you aim a cowardly blow at the white chief; and I saved him. I forgive you now for all your hatred, and all your evil designs, which Mahneto has thus recompensed upon your own head.'

'I ask not your forgiveness,' replied the savage in a deep, struggling voice—for the hand of death was on him, and the dark fire of his eye was waning out. 'In death, I hate and defy you! And in death I enjoy a revenge that you know not of.'

He strove to raise his hand in menace, but it fell to the ground; and, with a groan of suppressed agony, he expired.

The fight was raging with unabated violence, and the conflagration had already spread to the farthest end of the fortress. Henrich looked around for his comrades, who were bravely contending with their powerful foes at some distance, and he hastily prepared to join them. But, as he turned away, he courteously waved his hand to Rodolph, and said in the English language, but with an Indian accent,

'Farewell, brave Englishman!'

Rodolph started. That voice had thrilled through his heart when it had spoken a strange language: but now it struck upon him with a sense of familiarity that be could not account for, as the Indian Chief was evidently an utter stranger to him. He returned his parting salutation and 'farewell'; but still he watched his retreating form, and thought he distinctly heard him utter the name 'Rodolph!' as a large dog, which had stood near him during their brief encounter, bounded after him over foe heaps of slain and dying.

'Surely it was my own fancy that conjured up that name,' thought Rodolph. The next moment he found himself compelled again to join the conflict, and, at the head of his little band, to fight his way out of the fortress, which was rapidly becoming a prey to the devouring flames. All the English withdrew outside the palisades, and thickly surrounded the fort; while their Indian allies, who had hitherto kept aloof, now took courage to approach, and form a second circle outside. The most furious despair now took possession of the souls of the devoted Pequodees: and their terrible war-cry was heard resounding high, and mingled with the agonising yells of the women and children, and helpless aged men, who were expiring amid the flames. Many of the warriors climbed the palisades, and leaped down among their foes, hoping to escape; but they were quickly despatched by the muskets and bayonets of the English; or if any had power to break through the first hostile line, they fell beneath the battle-axes of the Mohicans.

Rodolph had received a considerable wound, but it had not entirely disabled him. At the head of his men he passed through the open gate of the fortress, and attempted still to lead and command them. He found, however that his strength was failing, and that he could no longer wield his good broad sword. He therefore stood leaning on it, and watching, with mingled feelings of pity and horror, the progress of the work of destruction.

Presently he saw a side entrance to the fort thrown suddenly open, and the form of the Indian Chief—whose tomahawk had saved his life, and whose voice had awakened such strange feelings—appeared rushing forth. He was attended by another striking looking warrior, and followed by a band of determined natives, who were resolved to escape, or sell their lives dearly.

Rodolph's men, who occupied the position opposite to that gate, raised their muskets to fire on these brave men; but their commander loudly and authoritatively bade them desist.

'Hold! I command you!' he exclaimed. 'Let that noble Chieftain escape, and all his attendants for his sake. He saved my life in the fort; and death to the man who injures him!

He attempted to rush forward to enforce his orders, but pain and loss of blond prevented him from moving; and he would have fallen but for the support of one of his comrades.

Meanwhile, Henrich and Jyanough, and their band of Nausetts, had rushed through the unopposing ranks of the English, and were now contending desperately with the Indian line beyond. The British troops paused, and looked after them; and the sympathy that brave men feel for each other prevented any of them from attempting to pursue or molest them. On the contrary, all now wished them success.

With breathless anxiety Rodolph gazed after them, and watched the towering plumes that adorned the noble head of the Sachem, as he bore onward through the opposing crowd of Indians. He passed, and gained the plain beyond, attended by his followers; and, from the elevated position at which the fort was erected, Rodolph could still watch the little band retiring, until the Indian heroes were hidden from view by a thicket.

So fiercely had the fire seconded the efforts of the English that the whole conflict only lasted one hour. In that brief space of time, between five and six hundred Indians—young and old, men and women— were destroyed by fire and sword; and the small remainder were made prisoners of war by the English, or carried off as prizes by the hostile natives. Only two of the British soldiers were slain, but many were wounded; and the arrows remaining some time in the wounds, and the want of necessary medicine and refreshment, added greatly to their sufferings The medical attendants attached to the expedition, and the provisions, had all been left in the boats, and a march of more than six miles through their enemies' land was necessary, in order to reach them.

Litters were therefore constructed and, in these, the wounded were sent off under the charge of the Mohicans, while the able-bodied men, whose number was reduced to little more than forty, prepared to follow as a rear-guard. The whole party were still near the smoking ruins of the fort, when they were startled by perceiving a large body of armed natives approaching. These were a band of more than three hundred Pequodees, sent by Sassacus to aid the garrison of Fort Mystic. Happily, they did not discover the small number of the English who were in a condition to oppose them, and they turned aside, and avoided a re-encounter. The white men took advantage of this mistake on the part of their enemies, and hastened forward with all the speed that circumstances would allow.

But they had not proceeded far when their ears were assailed by the most discordant yells from the Pequodees. They had reached the scene of devastation; and, when they beheld the ruined fort, and the ground strewn with hundreds of mangled corpses and expiring friends, their fury knew no bounds. They stamped and howled with rage and grief, and madly tore their hair; while they gave vent to their excited feelings in that fearful and peculiar yell, at the sound of which the stoutest hearts might quail. Then, with a wild and desperate effort at revenge, they rushed down the bill in pursuit of their cruel enemies. The rear- guard turned, and met the onset bravely. The savages were received with a shower of bullets, which checked their furious assault; but they hung on the rear of the English, and harassed them during the whole of their retreat. They, however, reached their vessels in safety, and arrived in triumph at Hartford, from which port they had sailed three weeks before.

This discomfiture proved a death-blow to the pride and power of the redoubted Sassacus. Disgusted alike by his arrogance, and by his recent defeat, many of his own warriors deserted him and attached themselves to other tribes; and the Sachem then destroyed his second fortress, end carried off his treasure to the land of the Mohawks, near the river Hudson, and, with his principal Chiefs, joined that warlike race.

Meanwhile, the remainder of the troops from Massachusetts, whom the Government had not thought it necessary to send with Captain Mason, had landed at Saybroke, led by Captain Houghton, and attended by Wilson as their spiritual guide. They arrived just in time to hear of the successful issue of the campaign; and had, therefore, nothing left for them to do, except to join a small band from Connecticut, and keep down or destroy the few Pequodees, or other hostile Indians who still lurked about the district, and kept the settlers in fear and anxiety. These wretched natives were chased into their most secret haunts, where they were barbarously slain; their wigwams were burnt, and their fields desolated. Nor were the English the only foes of the once terrible Pequodees. Their Indian rivals took advantage of their present weak and scattered condition, to wreak upon them the suppressed vengeance of bygone years; and pursued, with ruthless cruelty, those whose very name had once inspired them with awe and dread. And yet—with shame be it said!—the Christian leader of the troops of Massachusetts, himself a member of the strict and exclusive Church of Boston, surpassed these savages in cruelty.

On one occasion, he made prisoners of nearly a hundred Pequodees. Of these miserable creatures he sent the wives and children into servitude at Boston, while he caused the men—thirty-seven in number—to be bound hand and foot, and carried in a shallop outside the harbor, where they wore thrown overboard. If this barbarous deed was not committed by the directions of the Christian Fathers of Massachusetts, yet they certainly neither disclaimed nor censured it. Indeed, so little were cruelty and oppression, when exercised against the red men, regarded as crimes by many of the settlers, that one of their learned divines, even of the age succeeding the perpetrations of the above appalling event, expressed it as his opinion that 'Heaven had smiled on the English hunt'; and added, with horrible and disgusting levity, 'that it was found to be the quickest way feed the fishes with the multitude of Indian captives!'

The other tribes who had joined the Pequodees in opposing the conquering white men, were pardoned on their submission; but that devoted race, who fought like heroes to the very last, were extirpated as a nation from the face of the earth. The very name in which they had so long gloried, and which had been a terror to all the neighboring tribes, was not permitted to remain, and to tell where once they had dwelt and reigned unrivalled. The river, which had been called the Pequod, received the appellation of the Thames; and the native township, on the ruins of which an English settlement was founded, was afterwards called New London. Numbers of the women and boys, who were taken captive from tune to time by the British troops, were sold and carried as slaves to Bermuda, and others were divided among the settlers, and condemned—not nominally to slavery, for that was forbidden by the laws of New England, but—to perpetual servitude, which must, indeed, have been much the same thing to free-born Indian spirits, accustomed to the wild liberty of the forests and the prairies.

Sassacus—the once mighty Chief of this mighty and heroic people—was basely slain by the Mohawks, among whom he had sought fellowship and protection, for the sake of the treasures that be had brought with him from his own lost dominions; and his heart was sent by his murderers as a peace-offering to the government of Connecticut.

Thus ended the war which had been commenced as a necessary measure of self-defence, and in which the pious and high-minded Roger Williams had, at first, taken so active and influential a part. The manner in which it was carried out, and the cruelty that marked so many of its details, were repulsive in the highest degree to his just and benevolent spirit; but where mercy was concerned, his opinion and advice had no influence with the stern men of Boston. The only act which met with his approbation in the conclusion of the campaign, was the assignment of the depopulated lands of the Pequodees to Uncas, the Chief of the Mohicans. As being a conquered territory, the usual laws of war would have annexed it to the territory of the victors. But, in this case, the settlers adhered to their original principle of only obtaining, by purchase from the natives, those tracts of land on which they desired to settle; and a great part of that which was now bestowed on Uncas, was afterwards bought back from him and his inferior Sachems, or obtained by friendly contract, until the English became possessors of the whole district.

At a subsequent period, the Pequodees who had escaped from their desolated land, and joined other tribes, assembled themselves together, and made one final effort at establishing their independence in a distant part of the country. But their power and prosperity were broken for ever. Captain Mason was again sent to subdue this remnant of the tribe; and the destruction that was accomplished on these unhappy exiles spread a fear of the white men through all the Indian race in that part of the continent. From that time the settlers of Connecticut—who had been the original cause of this cruel war—enjoyed an unbroken peace and security for forty years.



CHAPTER XXIV.

'The voices of my home! I hear them still! They have been with me through the stormy night— The blessed household voices wont to fill My heart's clear depths with unalloyed delight! I hear them still unchanged; though some from earth Are music parted, and the tones of mirth— Wild silvery tones, that rang through days more bright, Have died in others—yet to me they come Singing of boyhood back!—the voices of my home!' HEMANS.

One Sabbath evening, a few months after the events related in the last chapter, and when the short second Indian summer, that so often returns late in the month of September, was at its height, the inhabitants of New Plymouth were assembled at their meeting-house on 'the Burying Hill,' and engaged at their usual devotions. None were left in their dwellings except those whom age or sickness prevented from joining the rest of the congregation, or those who were necessarily detained by the care of young children.

The habitation of Rodolph Maitland was, therefore, deserted by all but Janet, who would gladly have gone that evening to listen to the husband of her young mistress; for Roger Williams was to lead the prayers of the congregation, and to deliver to them the customary address. But Edith's little girl demanded her care; and old Janet took too much pride and pleasure in the interesting child to repine at having the charge of her, even though it prevented her from attending at the meeting-house on the first occasion of Roger's officiating there since his marriage.

Little Edith was just beginning to walk alone, and it was her delight to play in the bright sunny garden, and pluck the gay flowers that still bloomed there in profusion. She was thus engaged, and murmuring a sweet but inarticulate song that her mother had attempted to teach her, when Janet, apprehending no danger, returned for a moment to the house, to perform some domestic duty.

Just then a stranger, followed by a large dog, entered the garden by the wicket gate that led towards the forest, and stood silently gazing around him, without at first observing the happy and occupied child. He was tall and of a commanding appearance; and his costume, which was richly ornamented in the Indian fashion, bespoke him to be a native of high rank. But had any one closely examined his countenance, they would have discovered beneath those long dark lashes, and clearly marked eyebrows, the deep blue eye of the Saxon race, which was also indicated by the rich brown hair, that, now unconcealed, waved across his manly forehead. A keen eye would also have detected on the features of that seeming Indian Sachem an expression of deep thought and strong emotion, that told of old remembrances not yet obliterated, and of feelings that belonged to home and kindred.

Yes! Henrich was, indeed, absorbed in those recollections that were revived in his breast by the sight of objects once so familiar, but which many years had elapsed since last he had looked on. Much was changed: but much was still the same. The rude hut commodious log-house that once stood on that site was now replaced by a substantial and picturesque dwelling in the Elizabethan style of architecture, whose deep bay windows were hung with the sweet single roses that were natives of the woods, and other flowering plants; while wreaths of the well-known Virginian creeper, now glowing in its scarlet hue of autumn, climbed to the summit of the carved gables and pinnacles that ornamented the building, and hung from thence in rich festoons.

On the front of this dwelling the evening sun fell brightly, and its slanting beams likewise partially illuminated the garden with long streaks of light, while other parts were thrown into strong shadow by the trees and shrubs that grew among the flower-beds. One of these—a noble tulip-tree—rose in the centre of the enclosure and stretched its giant arms wide on every side. On this tree the eyes of the wanderer rested long; and then he approached it, and stood looking wistfully towards a bower that was situated near the old tree, and over which the creepers fell in wild luxuriance.

Was it a tear that glittered in that warlike stranger's eye, as a ray from the western sun fell on his face through the thick overhanging foliage? And did those manly limbs tremble as he clasped his hands over his face, and sank on the rustic seat beneath the tulip-tree?

'I cannot enter the house!' he exclaimed, in a low voice. 'I cannot seek those loved ones there where once we dwelt in happiness together; and where, perhaps, none now remain to welcome the wanderer home! O, that some one would appear who might tell me of their fate!'

Henrich spoke to himself in his native tongue. He could not speak a strange language in that old familiar spot; and his voice attracted the notice of the little girl, who was now slowly moving towards him, her hands filled with the spoils of the flower-beds. She stopped, and gazed at the stranger, and then uttered a faint cry of fear that at once roused Henrich from his reverie. His eyes fell on the lovely child, and instantly his memory recalled the features and expression of his brother Ludovico, to whom the little Edith bore a strong resemblance.

With an irresistible impulse he sprang forward, and caught the little girl in his arms, and sought, by caresses, to soothe her fears, and hush her cries of terror. But those cries had caught the watchful ear of Janet; and, with all the speed that she could use, she came running from the house, merely anticipating that her charge had fallen down, or was alarmed at finding herself alone.

What was, then, her terror and amazement at seeing her in the arms of an Indian! One instant she stood rivetted to the spot, not knowing how to act. The next she turned, and again hurried in to the house, from whence she escaped by a back door, and sped breathlessly towards 'the Burying Hill.' She knew that the service was over—for the last strains of the parting hymn had been borne down by the evening breeze as she left the house—and therefore she would find help and succor from the returning congregation. That deep, melodious sound had been heard by Henrich also; and it had struck a chord in his heart that vibrated almost to agony. The stillness and abstraction of his look, as he listened to the dying cadence, silenced the cries of the little child. She gazed into his upturned eyes; and, possibly, she felt that those eyes had an expression that was neither strange nor terrible—for now she suffered the stranger to seat himself again on the bench beneath the tulip tree, and place her gently on his knee.

Such was the picture that met the eyes of Edith, and her husband, and parents, as they rushed into the garden, followed by the trembling and exhausted Janet.

'My child! my Edith!' shrieked the young mother and sprang towards the tree. That name told a long history to the wanderer which his heart had already guessed. The Indian warrior rose, but he did not fly. No! he only met the terrified mother; and as he placed her child in her trembling arms, he folded them both in his own.

In amazement and indignation at this rude action, Roger now caught his arm, and in the Indian tongue, inquired hastily—

'Who are you? and what can cause this freedom?'

I am Henrich Maitland!' exclaimed the stranger; 'and the Lord has brought me back to my home once more.'

Oh, the music—the thrilling, startling music—of those words to the ears and hearts of those who bad so long believed him dead! The surprise and joy were too intense for Helen, and she sank fainting into the arms of her long-lost son: while Rodolph grasped his hand, and exclaimed with deep emotion—

'Now, God be praised! my brave, my blessed son! Surely His mercies are infinite, and His ways past finding out! Now I know why my heart yearned so strangely towards the Indian Chief who saved my life in the Fort of Mystic; and why his voice had such a thrilling and familiar tone, that spoke of home, and bygone years. Look on me, my Henrich, and say, do you not recognise the English soldier whom your generous interference preserved from a dreadful death?'

The change in Rodolph's dress, and his own overpowering emotions, had hitherto prevented Henrich from discovering that, in the noble-looking man whom he was proud to call his father, he also beheld that gallant British officer whose appearance had so powerfully attracted him in the conflict of Fort Mystic. But when he looked into that fine countenance, he well remembered every feature; and he wondered why he, had not known him, even when they met so unexpectedly in the excitement of the battle.

That was a happy hour; and, in the joy of meeting so many that he loved, Henrich for awhile forgot that any one was missing. But soon be looked around, as if seeking some familiar object, which did not meet his eye. He feared to ask for Ludovico: but his father saw the inquiring look, and guessed its import.

'He is gone!' he said, gently. 'Your brother did not remain with us long after you had left us; and his young spirit is now where we believed that yours had long been dwelling in peace. He would have rejoiced to see this day, dear Henrich; for he, as well as Edith, mourned your loss sincerely. But he is happy now, and we will not regret him. The Lord has restored to us one of our sons in a manner so strange, and under such extraordinary circumstances, that we can hardly realise the blessing. Tell us, Henrich, how this has been brought about.'

The violent agitation occasioned by such a meeting had now somewhat subsided; and the wanderer could calmly relate the story of his adventures, while his mother and sister sat on each side of him, gazing fondly at his much-changed, but still familiar countenance; and the scarcely less interested Janet seated herself on the turf, with little Edith on her knees. Rodolph and Roger Williams also reclined on the ground, and all were impatient for the narrative.

'Our group is not complete,' said Henrich. 'Come hither, Rodolph!' And then, addressing his dog in the Indian language, he made him lie down at his feet.

'Then my ears did not deceive me?' exclaimed Maitland. 'When you left me, Henrich, in the midst of that fearful fray, I thought I heard you pronounce my name; and the sound startled me strangely. Have you, then, called your unconscious companion by your father's name; and in all your wanderings, and your trials, and temptations, has that name been dear to you?'

'Heaven only knows how dear!' replied the Sachem. 'The remembrance of my parents, and all they taught me in my childhood, has been not only my joy and consolation, but my safeguard also. You will find me very unlearned and ignorant in all worldly knowledge, for I have had no means of keeping up the little I had acquired. But, God be praised! I have been kept from forgetting Him, and the Saviour in whom you taught me to put my trust. Nor have I been quite alone in my faith. One there is of whom I shall have much to tell you in the course of my history, who has been, and is, my spiritual companion and support. I have had many blessings!'

'How truly is it declared, "Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord"!' exclaimed Helen, as she raised her eyes in grateful gratitude to Heaven. Now she and Rodolph felt that they had, indeed, recovered their lost son—not for time alone, but for eternity.

Henrich's long and adventurous story was told: and so many were the questions and the comments that it called forth, that long are it was finished the light of day had all departed, and been replaced by the softer rays of the unclouded moon. It was with mingled feelings of disappointment and of gratitude, that Henrich's friends heard of his marriage with an Indian female. But as he described her character, and spoke of her sincere and humble faith, and of all that she had been to him since the first day of his captivity, they became more than reconciled to the alliance, and thanked God who had so mercifully provided their son with such a friend and companion, to cheer his otherwise lonely life. They, and Edith also, felt impatient to become acquainted with this new relative, whom they were already prepared to love; and, as she was now dwelling near Cape Cod with her father and the rest of her tribe, they hoped to do so before the winter set in.

Henrich promised that this hope should be compiled with; but it was a source of sorrow and disappointment to his family, when they heard that he was pledged to the aged Tisquantum never to take his only and beloved child from him as long as he lived. He could not, therefore, at present change his mode of life, or take up his abode at New Plymouth but must return to dwell with his Indian friends, and fill the place of Tisquantum's son and representative, until the old man should be gathered to his fathers.

The days that Henrich passed in the home of his childhood flew rapidly away. All his old friends gathered around him to welcome him on his unexpected return, and to offer their congratulations to his happy parents and sister. The joy of the venerable Brewster at again beholding his young friend and pupil, and at finding him still a sincere and intelligent Christian, was very great; and even among those who had never known him, his adventurous story, and his frank and engaging manners, excited the deepest interest. Between himself and his brother-in-law, Roger Williams, a strong and lasting friendship was established; and when the time arrived for Henrich to return to Paomet, Roger proposed to accompany him, and assist in escorting his wife and child to pay their promised visit to New Plymouth. This offer was gladly accepted; and the English minister and the Indian Chief set out on foot. The journey was comparatively easy to men who had long been accustomed to such toils and difficulties as both Henrich and Roger had, for years, been inured to, and they reached Paomet very quickly.

But sorrow met them there. The first sound that fell on their ears as they approached the village was the Indian dirge for a departing soul. Henrich listened for a moment to catch the exact direction from whence the ominous sound proceeded, and then darted forward with such velocity, that Roger, active as he was, could with difficulty follow him. Henrich hastened towards a large dwelling at the upper end of the village; and entering the low door, he beheld a sight which, though it filled his heart with unaffected grief, was yet, in some sense, a relief to his fears.

It was not for his wife or child that the wail was being made. It was Tisquantum who lay on the bed of death, and who turned his dim and sunken eyes towards him as he passed the threshold. The old man smiled a joyful welcome, and held out his trembling hand to greet him. And Oriana—who was seated on the ground by her father's bedside, in an attitude of deep and silent sorrow—sprang to her feet with a cry of joy, and throwing herself into her husband's arms, burst into a flood of long-suppressed tears.

'You are come at lest,' she exclaimed. 'You are come in time to see my father die, and to receive his blessing. O, Henrich! how I have hoped end preyed for your return. I feared you would be too late; and my beloved father has something to confide to you—I know he has—which will fill your soul with joy. Father,' she continued, in a calmer voice, as she led Henrich to his side, and joined their hands in her own—' Father, say those blessed words again. Tell your son that you believe and love the Christian's God, and that you desire to die in this faith.'

Henrich was surprised. He had not hoped that Tisquantum had been thus far influenced by what he had seen and heard of the Christian religion, and his joy was equal to his astonishment.

He looked inquiringly at the old Chief's countenance, and pressed his withered hand. At length, in a feeble, but calm and decided voice, Tisquantum spoke.

'My son, it is true. I have observed and listened, but I have held my peace. When you were a boy, you talked to me of the Christian's God, and I smiled in my soul at your ignorance. Then I found that you believed in the Great Mahneto, and I was satisfied. But for years I have studied your character, to find out why, young as you were, I felt for you a respect that I never felt for any human being except my own heroic father. At last, I understood that it was because your religion made you true, and brave, and good, and kept you from committing any of the crimes that I saw others guilty of. If all your nation acted as you have done, Henrich, their coming to this land would have proved a blessing indeed to the red men, and our people would not hate them, and seek to destroy them, as I once sought to do. But enough of this. My strength is failing. Henrich, your example has taught me that your God is holy, and just, and good; it has made me feel the truth of the Christian's religion.'

Tears of humble joy and gratitude glistened in Henrich's eyes at this confession. He knelt beside the dying convert, and bowed his head upon the bed; but his heart was too full to allow him to express his thanksgivings audibly. Oriana was equally affected; but another form knelt beside them, and another deep rich voice arose in prayer, which was uttered fluently in the Indian language, and in which the hearts of all present joined fervently, although the speaker was a stranger to all but Henrich.

It was Roger Williams, who had been an unobserved witness of the foregoing deeply interesting scene, and had listened, with deep and grateful emotion, to the words of the expiring Chief. He now spoke the feelings of all his auditors, and, with his wonted power and eloquence, poured forth a fervent prayer for the aged 'babe in Christ,' and blessed the God of all spirits that it had pleased Him, even 'in the eleventh hour,' to call the heathen Chief into the fold of Christ.

When his prayer was finished, Henrich presented his friend and brother to his father-in-law, and told him that, from his lips, he might bear all that one of the Lord's most zealous and devoted ministers could tell him of holy and eternal things. Gladly the old man availed himself of this opportunity of obtaining instruction, end being prepared for what he now earnestly desired—an admittance by baptism into the once despised religion of the white men.

For this task no man was more fitted than Roger Williams. He well knew how to deal with Indian prejudices, and bow to call forth the affections, by the relation of the simple and touching truths of the gospel. Tisquantum heard with a willing and teachable spirit, and he believed, and was at peace. His life was rapidly ebbing away, and no time was to be lost; for though he rallied a little after the arrival of Henrich and Roger, it was evident that his time on earth could only be counted by hours.

The following morning, therefore, at his own earnest desire, he was baptised by Williams, in the presence of his rejoicing children, and of Jyanough and Mailah, who formed a little congregation of sincere Christians in the midst of an heathen population.

The venerable Chieftain did not long survive his admission into the pale of the visible church of Christ. His strength faded hour by hour; but he was calm and collected to the last. He gave to Henrich all his parting directions for the government of his people, if he still continued to live among them, and to be their Sachem. 'But,' he added, 'I know that your heart is with your own people, and that you desire to return to your former home. I cannot blame you; for I well know the yearning of spirit that draws a man to his kindred, and to his father's house. And Oriana will go with you, and make your home and your people her own. If this is to be, then let Jyanough be Sachem in your stead. He also is just and upright, and will guide my warriors with courage and wisdom. There is none besides yourself to whom I could so confidently leave them. And now, farewell, my children! May the good God in whom you trust receive my sinful soul for His Son's sake; and may his blessing rest on those who have led me into the truth.'

Tisquantum had been supported in his bed, while he thus took leave of his sorrowing relatives and friends. He now lay down, and never rose again. Neither did he utter many more words; but lay as if engaged in thought and prayer, and occasionally fixed his failing eyes with fond affection on his child and Henrich. At length they gently closed, and the venerable old Chief slept the sleep of death.

Oriana's grief was deep and sincere, for she had loved her father almost passionately; but she did not now 'sorrow as those without hope'; and, ere long, she was calm. The funeral was conducted in the simple manner of the Puritans; and all Tisquantum's warriors stood respectfully and silently round his grave, while Williams addressed them in their own language, and exhorted them to follow the example of their departed Chief, and examine the faith of the Christians, and embrace it to the salvation of their souls.

Not long after the death of Tisquantum, and before the severity of winter prevented the journey being practicable, Henrich and his wife took leave of the Nausetts, and of their Christian friends, Jyanough and Mailah; and, accompanied by Roger Williams, and two or three Indian attendants who desired to follow their fortunes, took their way towards New Plymouth. Their departure from Paomet was much regretted, for they were greatly beloved by the red men. But the promotion of Jyanough to the Chieftainship gave general satisfaction; and there were even some who thought it was more consistent with their dignity and independence, to be governed by one of their own race, rather than by a pale-face, let his personal qualities he ever so estimable.

Henrich's heart beat high when he again arrived at his father's dwelling, and presented his wife and child to his parents and his sister. He cast searching glances at their countenances, to read their feelings at thus greeting an Indian as their near relative; but he saw no expression that could give him pain. On the contrary, the native grace and beauty of Oriana, and the gentle refinement of her manner, evidently struck them with surprise and pleasure, and made upon them all a most favorable impression. Nor did a further acquaintance lessen this kindly feeling. It was impossible to know Oriana, and not to love her; and she was soon regarded as a daughter and a sister by all her husband's relatives; while the young Ludovico was cherished and caressed by all the household, and by none more than by his little cousin Edith.

The Maitlands were now a happy family; and when, in the ensuing spring, their daughter and her husband again left them to return to their distant home at Providence, they felt they had still a daughter left to them in the Indian wife of their beloved Henrich. This long-lost son did not again leave them, except to pay occasional visits with Oriana to their Nausett friends. But he fixed his permanent home at Plymouth, where his knowledge of the Indian language and manners, and the influence he continued to possess among the Nausetts and other neighboring tribes, enabled him frequently to render important services both to his own countrymen, and the red natives. His own merits, likewise, won for him the love and respect of the settlers of New Plymouth, who appreciated the unaffected devotion, and the simple truthfulness, of his character; and felt that such men as Rodolph Maitland and his son added glory to the history of 'the Pilgrim Fathers.'

THE END